“Okay,” Morgan said. “While you’re doing that, I say we move forward. I’ve been thinking.”
“Go on.”
“We have nothing on them. Even if you can tie Yartsev to Rykov, prove that he hired the shooter, and even if you can prove it was Yartsev on the boat with the Kingsleys—which I don’t think you can because his craftwork will be too good—we still have no proof that the Kingsleys did anything wrong or that they knew about the hit being put out on me.”
After a pause Axel said, “True. I’m listening.”
“But we can bait them into coming after me again, which is essentially what you’d planned to do anyway. You expected them to spring the trap when they were looking for my location, but they’re too smart for that because they expect a trap from you.”
“I’m too good at my job,” Axel said sourly.
Bo rolled her eyes but suppressed a snort.
“So I need to go to them,” Morgan said.
There was a short pause, then Axel said interestedly, “What’s on your mind?”
“Just thinking out loud here, but maybe give me a medical discharge, or just put in my files that I’ll need to be reevaluated due to physical problems. Whatever. I initiate the contact with the Kingsleys, let them know I remember, say I need money.”
“Blackmail.”
“Without actually saying it.”
“That’s entrapment.”
“I’m not a law officer.”
“Yeah, but now you’re breaking the law and they still haven’t.”
“They will when they come after me and try to kill me again. Do you honestly think they’d be willing to quietly make blackmail payments for the foreseeable future?”
“No. A politician like Kingsley couldn’t let that kind of threat hang over her head.”
The three of them were silent as the possibilities and probabilities ran through their heads. Bo stood quietly beside Morgan, half of her wanting to shriek at him for putting himself in danger again and the other half knowing he had to do whatever he could to resolve the situation. She put that aside and tried to think strategically. If the Kingsleys—or, more likely, another hired killer—came after Morgan, they’d be coming here because Morgan was right, and here at her isolated home would logically be the best place for any attempt on him to happen. Any halfway competent killer would figure that out in short order.
But . . . what if the killer used a rifle? That would be almost impossible to defend against. There were a lot of hills surrounding her house on which a patient assassin could silently wait for a good shot. Her blood ran cold as the truth of that thought sank deep into her bones.
There was no way to know whether or not Morgan would ever have noticed the significance of the blue shirt if she hadn’t questioned him, but her actions had definitely set events into motion. If anything happened to him, it would be her fault, and she didn’t know if she could live with that.
Therefore, she had to do whatever she could to keep that from happening.
Morgan said, “Let me know when you’ve doctored my file and rechecked your computer geek.” He disconnected the call, turned around, and pulled her down on his lap. “Stop,” he commanded.
“Stop what?”
“Fretting. Blaming yourself.”
She leaned against him, let herself enjoy how big he was so that their faces were on a level rather than her sitting above him; enjoying, also, how attuned to her he was. That in itself was a revelation because she’d always worked so hard at keeping herself hidden. But Morgan saw her, and apparently liked what he saw. “Fretting is a natural part of the situation,” she said. “And, yes, I have part of the responsibility for whatever the outcome is. If it works, yay me. If it doesn’t . . .” To her dismay, her voice wobbled, and she had to blink fast to vanquish the tears that threatened. She firmed her mouth and lifted her chin, refusing to give in. What they had to face was best done with logic and preparation, not tears and emotion. She’d save those for afterward.
A small scowl pulled his dark brows together. “Listen. Part of my job is anticipating all the possibles. If I fail at that, it’s on me. But there are things we can do. For instance, whatever phone I use to contact the Kingsleys, Axel can transfer the trigger to that number so when they trace the phone’s location, we’ll know to start looking for movement. Likewise, now he knows to start tracing all their calls, to put eyes on them, so if they have a personal meet with anyone we’ll know it.”
It was reassuring to know they wouldn’t simply be sitting there waiting for someone to take a shot at him.
“What if the Kingsleys are innocent?” she asked. “What if it is the Russian—Yartsev—and he’s betraying Russia to us, via the Kingsleys?”
“That’s the best possible scenario. If that’s the case, as soon as I contact the Kingsleys, they’ll have Homeland Security on me so fast my ass will be in jail before I can blink twice. That’s when Axel will have to come to my rescue before I get locked in some hole.”
Her horror must have shown on her face because she didn’t trust Axel to do anything. Morgan chuckled and said, “It won’t come to that. I’ll be held while my story is checked, sure, and there’ll have to be some high-level powwows, but then the various agencies will get things settled. I have a top-secret security clearance and was reinvestigated just last year; that’ll settle down most of the dust.”
“But even if that’s the best possible situation, Yartsev still tried to kill you. Wouldn’t the Kingsleys have told him what you do, who you are?”