Page 7 of My Masked Savior
“Morgan Cole.” The syllables feel intimate on my tongue. “Works at Aegis Ironclad Insurance.”
“The asthma girl from the other night?”
I tense. “How’d you know that?”
“Because you texted me to run her basic info four days ago at two AM. Jesus, Damien, take a cold shower.”
“It’s not like that.” I don’t even believe my own words.
“Sure, it isn’t. I’ll have something by the time you get here.”
I reach my car and slide into the driver’s seat. “I’m on my way. Dig deep on this one, E. Social media, previous addresses, old boyfriends. Just find what you can.” I start the engine. “And order some food. I’m starving.”
“Your wish is my command, oh mighty EMT god.” He hangs up before I can respond.
I pull away from the curb, wondering how her self-defense class is going. Too little, too late. But I can do what she can’t.
I’ll find him. And I’ll teach him what fear feels like.
Once I get to Ethan’s building, I find a parking space in the underground car park and get out. I ride the elevator up to the penthouse apartment on the thirty-second floor, scanning my fingerprint on the biometric reader to gain access.
I hammer on Ethan’s door three times, the sound echoing down the marble hallway.
The lock clicks with a sophisticated electronic hum, and the reinforced door swings open.
I push past him. “What’d you find?”
“Well, hello to you, too, sunshine.” Ethan shuts the door.
“Sorry.” I run a hand through my hair, realizing how manic I must look. “What’d you find on Morgan?”
Ethan gestures to his workspace—three massive monitors surrounded by empty Red Bull cans. “Chinese is on the counter. I got your usual.”
I grab a container of beef and broccoli and chopsticks, shoveling some into my mouth as Ethan drops into his chair. The wheels squeak as he rolls back to his keyboard.
“I dug through everything I couldfind on Morgan Cole.” He pulls up a series of documents. “Credit history, employment records, social media, the works.”
“And?”
“And I found something interesting.” His voice loses the sarcastic edge. “So we know she lived in Connecticut before moving here. She’s been in town for five years now, yeah?”
He clicks through her credit card statements. “But here’s something weird—she bought a bus ticket to New Haven two nights ago. It leaves on the 23rd, returns on the 26th.”
I frown. “She’s going back? Does she have family there?”
Ethan types a bit more. “Yes, her parents still live in Madison as far as I can tell. So, no doubt a holiday visit, but it’s the first time she’s returned since moving here, at least according to her records.”
I take another bite of beef and broccoli, mind racing. “What else did you find?”
“Three hospital visits in New Haven over two years before she relocated. Broken wrist. Concussion. Two cracked ribs.”
The food turns to ash in my mouth. I set the container down.
“Police reports?” I inquire.
“Filed twice. Dropped twice.” Ethan swivels to face me. “Classic pattern, man.”
I feel my pulse in my temples throb harder. “Who?”
