Chasing Morgan (7 page)

Morgan was gone.

If he wanted to have that elusive wife and kids, he needed to make it happen. Maybe he could fill the emptiness after Morgan’s abrupt departure from his life with a real woman, one that he could talk to, touch, and have a real life with. He’d been putting off other women because Morgan had always been in his head and on his mind. Now that she was gone, he decided it was the perfect time to put the rest of his life in order. He’d start with Maria.

“I have to say, I’m surprised she isn’t pissed off. She seemed pretty understanding.”

Tyler had to admit, it surprised him too. Every other woman he’d dated would have broken up with him, or at least yelled and called him every dirty name in the book. He appreciated Maria’s easygoing nature even more.

“Maria liked the idea of spending a quiet evening together at her place. Maybe she’s one of those rare women who understands that sometimes, as hard as I try, I can’t be at her beck and call. She said she just wanted to see me, and if that meant she had to wait another hour, she was fine with it.” Tyler’s spirit felt lighter already. He had no way of making things up to Morgan, but he could make things right with Maria.

What’s Morgan doing? Is she okay?

He stopped that train of thought, mentally disembarked, and boarded the new train that lead to Maria and a real relationship.

“Yeah, I guess. Before you take off, check this out. I don’t know if it’s Morgan’s, but I think it’s a safe bet to say it is. I think this is how she earns a living. I guess we could check her taxes and find out where she works…”

“No. We have no reason to invade her privacy like this. Having her father call and finding out about her past… I don’t know, it feels like I’ve betrayed her,” Tyler said.

“You mean
we
. You and I are partners. She may contact you, but you and I are in this together, whatever happens. Her father has no way of finding her.”

“I wish I felt the same way.” He looked at the website Sam had pulled up and his gut twisted when he saw the image of a woman with her arms outstretched and white light, like the light of a star, shining from her silhouette. The image rocked Tyler back on his heels. Morgan. Her long flowing hair, the hint of the outline of her face turned to the side. The shape of her body illustrated in the outline as the light radiated out of her form.

Strange and ethereal and beautiful all at the same time.

He’d only seen her briefly, but she’d haunted him ever since.

Morgan, his psychic ghost.

“I tried to send a message over the website, but when you click on the link to ask your question, there’s a message that pops up and tells you the site isn’t taking requests at this time. I wonder how many people found this site after the press conference. At least, there’s no personal information on the site, no name, address, phone number, nothing. This could be anybody. She must have shut things down with the message if she was getting bombarded with requests.”

“Maybe,” Tyler said, his eyes locked on her image.

“According to the site, she accepts all questions and inquiries. She states clearly, if she can’t answer, you don’t have to pay. If she can, she charges fifteen dollars and sends you an email with your reply. There are no horoscopes. I find that odd. All the other sites I looked at have some sort of fortune-telling platitudes. Morgan deals in simplicity. Either she can answer you, or she can’t. According to all the testimonials, she gave out accurate and precise information. She doesn’t offer up some broad answer that could mean the same thing for any number of scenarios. People talk about how she knew things that no one could have known.”

“I’m not surprised. She never gave us something we couldn’t use. She may not have known the specific case the clue went to, but she was never vague enough that the clue fit any case.”

Tyler gave her credit where credit was due. “She could have said it’s a white guy who’s average height between the ages of twenty and forty. She never did. She’d always give an accurate description.”

If the guy was white, twenty-seven, with dark hair and green eyes, that’s what Morgan told them. Specific. She only called on cases that she could help. She never promised to try on other cases. He liked that about her.

No way did she help them so she could prove something to them, or anyone else. She didn’t do it as a gimmick, or to draw attention to herself. She did the opposite. He, Sam, and Davies were the only ones who knew just how much help she’d provided. He should have never let Detective Stewart coax him into giving up his source. Why didn’t he keep his mouth shut like he’d done on the other cases? Why did he talk about Morgan this time? And to a man who only wanted to prove the FBI incompetent and out to take credit for the bust?

“Yeah, she’s amazingly accurate. So, what do you think? Is this her website?” Sam asked.

“The image of the woman on the first page is her. She added the white light to obscure her identity.”

He’d know her anywhere. He stared at the webpage again and simply sighed. He couldn’t fix this. Frustrated, there was more wrong with this than he could see. He couldn’t call her and find out what scared her away, or warn her about her father. She’d made herself clear. She wanted to be left alone. She’d left him alone. And it pissed him off. This whole damn mess pissed him off.

“I gotta go. If her father calls again… I don’t know. Get rid of him.”

“We have enough information to locate her,” Sam said.

“Why? Why would we do that?” Tyler let his anger show. Sam raised an eyebrow, a look of concern coming over his face. Tyler was usually the calm one in the room when everyone else was falling apart.

“To let her know her father’s looking for her. To tell her we’re sorry her name went out to the press. So that we can ask her to continue helping us when she can.”

Maybe you can tell her you’re in love with her, and you’re miserable without her, you dummy.
That’s what Sam really wanted to say. He held his tongue. Tyler was in no mood to hear it, and Sam didn’t want to start a fight. Tyler held on to denial about his feelings for Morgan. It ate him up inside and Sam had a feeling he traveled the road to ruin by trying to make things work with Maria. She was just a poor substitute for Morgan. They all had been. He wished Tyler would finally come to realize that himself.

“You assume she doesn’t already know all that. Nothing has changed. Her father can’t find her. If he could, he’d have done it already. As far as her helping us, I don’t think she will. At least, not any time soon. You didn’t hear her horrible scream. It’s more than the press conference. I think she knows this will lead to something else,” he said without really thinking it through. “Whatever,” he said, frustrated. “Leave her alone. It’s apparently what she wants. It’s what she’s always wanted.”

With that, Tyler left. He turned his back on Sam and all the Morgan business and headed out to be with Maria.

Sam called after him. “Don’t you think it’s odd that her father lives here and heard the press conference? Don’t you think it’s odd that it upset her they connected her name to us? What do you think she knows that we don’t?”

Sam threw his pen at the cubicle wall. With a bounce, it fell to the floor. Tyler was long gone and neither one of them could sort this out, or get Morgan off their minds. Frustrated and angry with Tyler, Sam grabbed his stuff. Time to go home to his wife and get the kiss waiting for him.

Chapter Eight

M
ORGAN WOKE UP
on the sofa feeling drained and empty. Her throat and eyes hurt from crying herself to sleep. She didn’t know the time, or even care. She just wanted Tyler back. The gaping hole inside her hurt with a pain she hoped to never feel again, but dreaded she might live with the rest of her life.

“Tyler.” His name was a plea, a prayer that he’d come back to her.

Morgan closed her sore eyes, calmed herself with a couple of deep breaths, and pictured Tyler in her mind. She used all her talent to push her consciousness into Tyler’s, to find the connection they once shared and feel whole again.

Like anyone else she tried to read, she caught vague impressions. Something strong shrouded him. She couldn’t push through, but she tried. She called out to him, hoping he’d answer. “Tyler.”

For a moment, she became one with him. He sat on an unfamiliar sofa, a pizza box lay open on a coffee table, and the TV brightened the otherwise dark room. Barely awake, he sat in a daze, not really seeing or hearing anything around him. He didn’t notice her intrusion on his quiet solitude. Everything about him felt different. The hurt and pain matched her own. She wanted to erase it, but didn’t know how. Even now, the connection to him seemed so tenuous and fragile. It took everything inside her to stay with him.

His voice broke the silence for the first time. “Make it stop,” he thought.

She knew just how he felt. She wanted this agony to cease and for them to be together and joined once more in their intimate connection.

A woman called Tyler’s name, and just like that a door slammed on her, blocking her out of Tyler’s mind and sending her consciousness back to the reality of her spot on her sofa with a massive headache to go with her loneliness.

She opened her tear-filled eyes and stared at the cold, dark room and realized he didn’t want her anymore.

Her fault. She’d kept things between them on a purely professional level. Every time he pushed to deepen their relationship, she balked and evaded, despite how much she truly wanted to be with him. He didn’t understand why she did it. She never told him a little boy’s life hung in the balance and she could not, would not jeopardize him for her own selfish desires. Telling him would have complicated things further. He’d understand soon. She hoped.

Her gift had cost her so many things in her life. She’d given them up willingly so she could be who she was, but losing Tyler hurt. Today, she thought her gift more curse than anything. One day soon, she’d see Tyler again, but she didn’t expect a warm welcome. More than their connection had been damaged; their friendship and whatever else they might have shared suffered. She didn’t know if Tyler would ever forgive her for sharing her gift and taking it away.

Maybe she should call him. She immediately thought better of it. The raw pain ate away at both of them from the small glimpse she’d gotten. They needed time. She’d try again tomorrow. Maybe then he’d let her in.

She didn’t know what she’d do if he didn’t, because she needed him to survive what came next.

Chapter Nine

D
AMN THAT PSYCHIC
witch. If it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t be here. He didn’t like the little shop filled with pewter dragons baring their sharp teeth and claws, their crystal eyes staring at him. No matter which way he turned, they followed him. Accusing.

He clenched his sweaty palms. What if she knew his real reason for being here? Would she do the reading, or call the police and have him arrested? The longer he waited for her to speak, the more nervous he became.

He scoffed at the little potion bottles on the table near him. One for love, wealth, health, and wisdom. As if purchasing a glass bottle of some stupid liquid with a cork in it could bring you love, or make you a fortune. Not likely.

Little leather pouches hung from silk cords you could wear around your neck to ward off evil, or bring harmony to your aura. Glass and stone spheres in every color imaginable sat atop ordinary pedestals, and some so ornate they were more interesting to look at than the spheres. Candles made the colored glass orbs sparkle and cast eerie lights in the dark room.

The overwhelming scent of sandalwood and jasmine incense really bothered him. Hot and stuffy, the scents filled the air in the small room to the point of suffocating him. He sniffled and wiped his running nose on his sleeve.

The woman, wrapped in a long purple flowing hooded robe decorated with astrological signs, sat across from him chanting some sort of nonsense. The large clear crystal ball sitting on an elaborate stand between them mirrored everything in the room in inverted reflection.

Suddenly, she stopped and stared across the table, her gaze penetrating and intrusive. A bead of sweat made a track from his hairline down his temple until he wiped it away from his cheek.

“Do you have the donation?”

Donation, my ass. She wanted payment before she told him what he wanted to know. A simple question. He needed a simple answer. He passed over the twenty-dollar bill and wiped the sweat from his brow again. His shirt stuck to his back.

“Ask your question of the universe? Madam Sarina will provide your answer.”

“Does she know who I am? Can she find me?”

If Morgan saw that man take those women and identified the ship he kept them prisoner on, she could see him. He had to stop her—and all the others—before he ended up on the news too.

Not a lot to work with, but Sarina had been doing this gig for a few years and made decent money selling her trinkets and passing out contrived information to those seeking answers. Some came looking for fun and a cheap thrill. Others were desperate.

Desperate didn’t begin to describe this guy. If her instincts were correct, he wanted to know more than he asked. His eyes constantly moved over the room, and he shied away from the dragons on the shelves. He seemed to be afraid of the answer he expected to hear.

She didn’t know which answer would satisfy him and make him leave. She had an overwhelming need to get him away. Slight in build, short for a man, nothing particularly threatening about his appearance, but something about him made her apprehensive. His presence, something in his eyes, those always-moving eyes were dark and shadowed with something she couldn’t name. When she looked at him and those eyes, she thought of death. A chill ran up her spine like someone stepped on her grave.

That had nothing to do with being psychic or seeing what others couldn’t. She wasn’t gifted in that way. She read people well, and her innate interest in others created the perfect job for her. With a little help from some books on body language and how to tell if someone was lying, she was pretty good at figuring out what people wanted to hear. When she couldn’t read them, or the question was too specific, she winged it and made up an answer general enough to cover most anything.