Like from a magazine.
Not a place where people like Brady actually kicked back and lived. Watched a ballgame and got snack crumbs all over the floor. After seeing Morgan’s designer clothing, he should have expected this. Just like Heather, his high school crush who had everything he didn’t. Big house. Fancy car. Nice clothes. All of it contrasted with his double-wide trailer and hand-me-down or thrift store clothes. Back then, he’d been fool enough to think Heather actually liked him, but she’d shut him down faster than a bullet from his rifle. So would Morgan if he was crazy enough to follow this attraction.
Feeling like he could easily break the small sofa and chairs, he went to the window and stared onto the quiet street so in contrast with the shooting from earlier. His adrenaline had subsided and a headache was forming. He massaged his temples and tried to relax, but he felt jittery.
If Morgan’s place wasn’t so unbelievably clean, he’d pull out his knife and the small hunk of wood that he always carried in his jacket pocket to whittle when he was left standing around.
A scream pierced the air. Shattering glass followed.
The kitchen. Morgan.
Adrenaline rekindled in his veins. Hand on his sidearm, he closed the distance to the kitchen in a few strides. He stepped inside, his boots grinding over broken glass. Morgan stood by the sink, physically unharmed, but her face was whiter than the snow of a Minnesota blizzard from his childhood.
“Someone was here. He left—” Her words were barely more than a whisper.
Brady turned off the running water and looked around. He saw nothing odd other than the glass she’d dropped on the floor. “Left what?”
“Those.” She pointed at the countertop. “I didn’t leave them there.”
Brady looked at the counter, then back at her ashen face. His pulse kicked into high gear, and he drew his weapon. It was a good thing he’d walked Morgan home. A very good thing.
Brady needed to check the other rooms for an intruder, but he also wanted to take a better look at the photograph lying under a long-stemmed red rose. He positioned his body so he could keep an eye on the door and still check out the picture.
The downright creepy photo was of an engagement announcement from the Oregonian newspaper. A man sat next to Morgan, but his body had been erased with a picture-editing program, leaving only a silhouette with the words Your One True Love superimposed on it. The caption below read, You are mine. You will marry no one but me.
“This looks like a real announcement that someone modified.” He quickly checked her hand to see if he’d missed a big sparkling ring. Her finger was bare.
“It’s from my engagement to Preston Hunter. I broke it off a few months ago. Apparently some sicko thinks it’s funny.” She stared at the counter.
“Not funny. Stalkerish.”
A flash of horror widened her eyes. “You think I have a stalker?”
“That’s what I aim to find out.” He headed for the door.
“Wait,” she called out, looking like she might be sick. “Where are you going?”
“I need to make sure no one else is in the apartment.”
Grim realization dawned on her face. “You think whoever left this is still here.”
“It’s a good possibility. I didn’t notice any signs of forced entry. Any chance this is a current boyfriend with a key who has a sick sense of humor and wanted to surprise you?” he asked, not liking the fact that she might be in a relationship.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” She wrapped her arms around her slender waist.
“The message doesn’t point to the former fiancé, but I have to ask. Is he mad that you ended things with him?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“And no other boyfriends?” he asked again, to be sure.
“I haven’t even dated since I broke off with Preston, and I haven’t given anyone a key to my place except my parents.”
So, stalker it is.
“Then stay put while I check it out. And don’t move or you could cut your feet.” Brady eyed her for a long moment to be sure she would follow his instructions.
“Be careful.” She clutched her arms tighter and chewed her lip.
After the second shock of the night, he hated to leave her alone, but it would be foolish not to check for an intruder. A few strides across the hall and he was in a bedroom. The space was neat. Organized. The same colors as the family room. He checked the closet and under the bed, then made sure the windows were locked even though the apartment was on the fifth floor. He glanced into a small bathroom with a pedestal sink, claw-foot tub and subway tiles. Also empty.
He stepped to the front door and searched for any signs of forced entry. The wood was smooth and free from pry marks.
Odd. Very odd.
He dug out his phone, called Jake and relayed the incident so they could report it to the Portland Police Bureau. The FRS responded to emergencies across the entire city, but they didn’t have jurisdiction to investigate crimes within city limits.
“I’ve got the detective’s card from the shooting,” Brady continued. “But I don’t get the feeling that this is related to the train incident or another disgruntled plaintiff. Do you think I should call Rossi or should this be handled separately?”
Jake didn’t answer right away. Brady knew he was thinking. Pondering. The usual Jake. He cleared his throat. “With no sign of forced entry, it seems more like you have a relationship gone bad. You really want to bother PPB this late at night with that?”
“Normally I’d agree with you, but Morgan says she doesn’t have a boyfriend and hasn’t dated in months. Plus, I’m getting a stalker vibe here.”
A long hiss of air. “I’ll have to call in favors to get a quick response so you’d better be right.”
“Not sure I am, but then, her life could depend on us taking the right action here.”
“You’re right. Can’t be too careful. I’ll call the watch commander. Rossi is likely the detective on call and if he’s finished at the scene, the commander will send him over. Otherwise you’ll have to hang out there until someone else arrives.”
Not a hardship, Brady thought and it surprised him. “I’m off tomorrow so I can stay as long as needed.”
“I’ll text you when I know something.” Jake disconnected.
Brady kept his phone in hand so he wouldn’t miss the text and returned to the kitchen. A hint of color had returned to Morgan’s face, and she was talking on the phone to someone named Lacy. He suspected this was the woman who’d taken the train with Morgan. It sounded like they were good friends.
Not wanting to interrupt, he leaned against the counter and took the opportunity to study her while she was distracted. He couldn’t put his finger on the word that best described her. Maybe delicate. Or pampered. Her features were fine, hence delicate, and her skin was creamy and flawless. Maybe from expensive beauty treatments. He could be wrong, of course, but he suspected she’d been pampered all her life.
His phone chimed, and he read a message from Darcie. You get Morgan home okay?
He didn’t want to tell Darcie about this incident via text. He typed, In her apartment safe and sound.
He phone chimed another message and he switched to Jake’s profile. Rossi on the