“This doesn’t guarantee one.”

  “I know that.” Morgan worried her lip and nodded at Pax as he sat next to her. “But we have to do something.”

  “Not at the point of risking a kid, or anyone for that matter.”

  Morgan sighed. “I know. And I wouldn’t let it go that far ever, Dana. I think for now we just need more information. I’m going to see when I can head out to interview him. If not, he’ll need to be interviewed as soon as possible in order to get the right information from him.”

  “They’re planning on talking to him tomorrow, I think.”

  “Where’s he at?”

  “It’s in the report. You’ll see.”

  Narrowing her gaze at her computer, Morgan turned fully to Pax. “Okay, thanks for calling.”

  “Any time, Morgan.”

  Hanging up, she dropped her phone onto the desktop and leaned over it, rubbing her cheeks wildly. When she finally leaned back, Pax had one thick eyebrow raised at her and a curious look on his face.

  “Dimitri got moved.”

  “Why?”

  “Mr. Jimmy showed up. At least three times that we know of.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.” Morgan swiveled her chair a bit. “You reckon he’s got a thing for this particular kid?”

  “Maybe.” Pax ran a pen through his fingers, deep in thought. “Where was he moved?”

  Tilting her chair, Morgan moved the mouse on her computer and pulled up the report Dana had filed. She skimmed it and focused back on Pax. “Texas.”

  “I’ve got a friend down there.”

  Morgan snorted. “Pax, I think we’ve both got friends in Texas.”

  At his blank look, she shook her head slowly.

  “We both used to live there.”

  “Right. We could have Jameson go interview the kid.”

  Pursing her lips as she thought, Morgan nixed that idea. “He’s not exactly gentle when it comes to interviews, and think this kid needs a gentle touch. It takes him a while to warm up and open up.”

  Pax lifted and dropped on shoulder. “Taylor’s not going to let you go.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “He’s not.”

  “Pax, why would you say that? You don’t know that.”

  “I know.”

  “Fuck this.” Pushing herself a little too forcefully from her chair, Morgan stalked into her supervisor’s office. “Got a minute, boss?”

  “Yeah.”

  She swallowed as she pressed her hands to her hips. “On the trafficking case, our witness had to be moved because the suspect found him. Apparently he’s been seen three times that we know of, but we all thought it was PTSD, but now the kid is claiming he really saw him.”

  Taylor’s eyes moved up to her. “And?”

  “And I want to go interview him.”

  “Where was he moved?”

  “Texas.”

  “No.”

  Morgan clenched her jaw. Her hands fisted, nails digging into her palms as she tried to center herself. “Am I off restrictions or not?”

  Taylor huffed out a breath. “You are.”

  “So why can’t I go?” She resisted the urge to curse, knowing it would only get her in hotter water.

  “I need you here on this case.”

  “What case?” Morgan wanted to punch something. The trafficking case had been hers from the start. If she had been removed from it, then he better damn well have a good reason why.

  “This hate crime one, with the bombing.”

  “I have a case. I don’t need another one.”

  Taylor nodded toward the door. “Shut it.”

  Morgan twisted sharply and shut the door a little too hard. Her voice was in her throat. She wanted to scream and rant. She was tired of being held back, of being treated like her mistake months ago was still an issue while they all said it wasn’t.

  “You were so eager to jump at a new case last December, remember?”

  She gave him a sharp nod.

  “Why not this one?”

  “Because this one isn’t my case. I want to focus on the other one.”

  “Stone, the trafficking case has agents on it from all around the country. It is not your case.”

  “It is. I made the profile. I’ve been working it since we started it.”

  Taylor huffed. Morgan was at a loss. Without anything to tell her what to do or why this was all happening, she wanted to just walk away. Surely she could get hired elsewhere, right? Fiona had to have some recommendation of where she could get a job working in law enforcement.

  “This isn’t a punishment.” Taylor’s voice was soft and gentle.

  “Like hell it’s not. Send Pax. He can work the hate crime. Leave me to trafficking.”

  “No.”

  “Why the hell not? He’s better for it. It’s in his wheel well. I profile.”

  “Then profile this bomber.”

  Holding in another curse, Morgan rocked up on her toes and then back down. Shoving her hands into the pockets of her pants, she shook her head. “I don’t get it. Am I cleared or not, because you all are treating me like I’m still being punished for not knowing I was sleeping with a suspect. If I had fucking known, I wouldn’t have done it!” Her voice was near a screech.

  Taylor put his hands down flat on the desk. “You need to watch yourself, Agent.”

  Drawing in a slow breath, Morgan took his advice and calmed herself as best as she could. “Why can’t I go.”

  “I need you here. That’s it. End of discussion.”

  “This is bullshit.”

  “Feel free to file a complaint if you really think it is, Stone, but I warn you, I have my reasons and they will be backed up.”

  Grinding her molars, Morgan stormed out of his office. She plopped down at her desk. Pax gave her a sidelong glance but wisely said nothing. Morgan grabbed her phone and opened it up, noting the two missed calls from her mom and a text from Fiona.

  Lunch?

  Morgan huffed out a breath and wrote back. Can’t.

  Please.

  Checking the clock on the wall, Morgan sent Pax another look before she answered. Can’t.

  She had never had Fiona almost beg her to share a meal together. Every nerve in her body was on high alert. She wanted to check in with Dimitri, make sure he was okay and that he knew what was going on. Instead, she was sidelined in Chicago, slammed with absolutely nothing. Months of work she had done, hours of it tossed aside and thrown into someone else’s waiting hands. She better get credit for it, some type of recognition when they brought the asshole in.

  Her phone buzzing startled her. Fiona had texted again. Reading it, her heart thrummed. I’ll pick you up at seven tonight.

  Not arguing even though she’d try to get out of it later, Morgan tossed her phone onto her desk and closed down the report on her trafficking case. She was nose deep for the next hour in her bombing case, trying to put together some type of profile for Taylor to look at when Pax touched her arm gently.

  “You okay?”

  She glared.

  “Bad question. You want to grab dinner tonight?”

  “Got a date,” she spit out, not caring her tone was still laced with anger.

  “Yeah? Wanna share?”

  “No.”

  She was pouting. She knew it, and she hated it, but for the life of her, Morgan could not get her mood to change. She wanted that case. She didn’t want to be saddled with a hate crime. The squickiness of hate crimes were not something she wanted to deal with when she was still in an uproar about the last supposed hate crime which really wasn’t because their killer had turned out to be a lesbian.

  “Mel said this weekend would be good if you wanted to dinner then.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Morgan grumbled.

  Her day had been far too long, and she was tired of it. By the end of it, Morgan was no closer to figuring out her bombing than she was before. She’d put out requests to other agents to search for people purchasing bomb materials. She’d looked for reports of supposed incidents about to happen, but aside from Ray, who hadn’t given her a lick of information, everything had been semi-quiet on that front for months at least.

  With a sigh, she grabbed her phone when it buzzed. It was just hitting five, and since she was banned from going to Texas and had a shit day, she was leaving at five. Packing up her bag, she answered the call as she slung her bag over her shoulder and walked away from a quiet Pax.

  “Hey, Ma.”

  “Morgan! Thank God you answered this time.”

  The worry in her mother’s tone set her on edge, but she’d only missed the two calls from earlier. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to Dad?”

  “No, no, nothing like that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s your sister.”

  Rolling her eyes as Morgan stepped out of the elevator and into the parking garage, she clenched her jaw. “You have to be more specific. Which sister?”

  “Carrie.”

  “Are the kids okay? The baby?” Worry etched its way into her chest. Morgan hit the button on her key fob to unlock her vehicle and then maneuvered her way into the car, starting the engine.

  “They’re fine. It’s Carrie herself.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “She’s got a new boyfriend.”

  “Is she even divorced yet?”

  Her mother hummed. “No, I don’t think officially.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” Morgan muttered. “She never takes a break, does she?”

  “How awful of you to say.”

  “What? It’s true.” Morgan set her phone so she could talk through her car and then pulled out into the road. She had two hours until Fiona was supposed to pick her up, for whatever reason, and she hadn’t made her excuses to get out of it yet. All she wanted was a good cup of whiskey and to wallow in her own self-pity. She knew she was still being punished. There was no other explanation for it.

  “Morgan?”

  “Oh, huh? Yeah? What, Ma?”

  “You need to talk to her.”

  “Oh my God. I am not your errand girl. If you have a problem with the guy she’s seeing, you talk to her. I am not sticking my nose in that mess.”

  “Think of the kids.”

  “I think of them often, when I send them birthday cards, gifts, and Christmas stuff. I’m not going to call her up about this.”

  “You’re her sister.”

  “Yes, and I know enough to stay the hell out of it. Look, Ma, I’m driving and I don’t want to hit anyone. I’ll talk to you later. Okay?”

  “Fine. Call me tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Hanging up, Morgan rolled her shoulders and tried to let the tension from the day ease off her. Going toe-to-toe with Taylor had been stupid. If he had been in a bad mood, he could have written her up for the way she talked to him. But she was so frustrated with it all, and all the hard work she had put into Mr. Jimmy’s case was down the drain. All for what? Because she’d fucked up once in her entire twenty-year career?

  Scoffing, Morgan pulled up outside her high-rise and drove into the parking garage. When she got out, she angrily marched her way up to her apartment and locked the door behind her. Before she even contemplated throwing all of the shit on her floor into a closet before Fiona showed up, she poured herself a triple shot of whiskey and downed it in two gulps. Wiping the back of her hand over her lips, she got to work making her home presentable.

  Chapter Twelve

  Fiona knocking on her door was still quite a shock, and Morgan was already downing her second triple shot of the night. When she peeked out the peep hole, she sighed. Unlocking and opening the door, she let Fiona come in, but this time she was bearing no gifts of coffee.

  “Rough day?” Fiona asked.

  Morgan narrowed her gaze at her. “Yeah, kind of. Why?”

  “You seem tense.”

  “You didn’t exactly give me an option about tonight.”

  Fiona’s lips pressed together tightly. “I could leave.”

  “No, you’re here.”

  “Gee, is this what you were like all day? I can see why it was rough then. I feel so welcome.”

  “Sorry.” Morgan put her hands up. “Sorry, really. I’m not mad at you.”

  “What happened?”

  Morgan grabbed the whiskey bottle. “Drink?”

  “Are we ordering in? Because I haven’t eaten, and seeing as I have to work tomorrow, I don’t want to be hungover.”

  Morgan grunted. “Order what you want.”

  Pouring them both glasses, Morgan grabbed them and settled onto her couch in her small living room. Fiona made a call, ordering something, she wasn’t sure, and she didn’t particularly care. When Fiona sat next to her and took the glass, the touch of their fingers sent a shiver into her chest and her nipples hardened. Morgan cursed her body and wished she could control it better.

  “What’s going on, Morgan?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell it to me with what you can.”

  Morgan sent her a sidelong look, chugged her whiskey and set the glass on the table. “They took my case from me.”

  “What case?”

  She rolled her eyes. “The one I’ve been working on for forever. I can’t say more, you know that.”

  “Why did they take it?”

  “I don’t know, honestly. Taylor said he wanted me to stay in town, then he said he wants me on this hate crime race war case thing which I don’t even know if it is a full case yet, but he’s still not letting me leave town even though he says I’m completely cleared and off restrictions, and he won’t give me any more explanation than that.”

  “The bombing case?”

  Morgan nodded.

  Fiona took a small, deliberate sip from her cup. “I’m working that case.”

  Morgan’s heart jumped while her stomach dropped. “You’re working it? Beyond just the homicide?”

  Nodding, Fiona leaned her shoulder into the back of the couch. “Yeah, I’m working with the FBI and with more departments in the CPD on it. I’m not in charge or anything.”

  “No.” Morgan swallowed, wanting to smack herself in the face. “That would likely be me.”

  “You?” Fiona raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, if we’re forming a task force, that would be me.”

  The smile tugged at Fiona’s lips, one side pulling higher than the other, the small dimple just above the right side of her mouth. Morgan longed to press her mouth there, to run her finger over Fiona’s lips, to taste. Pulling her mind back from its wandering, she focused on Fiona’s dark eyes.

  “They’ll likely tell me tomorrow. I left early today.”

  “You did?”

  “Rough day.” Morgan turned away from Fiona, trying to give herself some space. They fell into a comfortable silence until their food was delivered. Fiona got up and paid for it, bringing it back to the small coffee table and bypassing the kitchen table that was littered with junk Morgan hadn’t put away.

  They finished eating, talking randomly about life and the mysteries of the world. Morgan had refilled her cup twice more and had a pleasant buzz going on. She didn’t bother to clean up their plates. She’d get to it eventually. She was about to ask Fiona if she wanted another drink but opted not to as she herself could probably do without.

  Fiona straightened her back and slid to the edge of the couch. “I should probably get going. It is late.”

  Morgan glanced at her watch. “It’s not too late.”

  “I have to work early.”

  “Your task force.”

  Fiona smirked. “Yes. My first one.”

  Morgan smiled and heat flashed into her cheeks. She had no idea what possessed her, but it was so much like the first time. At least this time they weren’t at a crime scene. Morgan slid her hand behind Fiona’s head and pulled her in close, their lips touching. Fiona’s lips parted on contact.

  Keeping her eyes open, Morgan tangled her fingers in Fiona’s shoulder length hair as she moved her tongue along the line of her lips like she had imagined doing dozens of times. Fiona hummed, and the sweet sound set every nerve in Morgan’s body on edge. Moving up, Morgan pressed one knee into the cushion on the couch and changed the angle of their kiss so she was above Fiona.

  Fiona’s fingers dug into Morgan’s waist, holding tight. Morgan pushed so Fiona lay against the arm of the couch and she could cover her. Their lips never left each other, tongues dancing and testing. She drew in a sharp breath as she slid a hand down to Fiona’s hip, trying desperately to find the edge of her blouse to tug it up. She wanted skin, hot skin, smooth skin, any type of skin she could get hold of.

  As soon as the pads of her fingers touched Fiona, Morgan’s shoulders relaxed. Fiona cupped her cheek, taking more control of their embrace as Morgan shifted so she could lay more firmly on top of Fiona.

  “Morgan.” Fiona was breathless.

  Morgan moved her hand up higher, wrapping her fingers around Fiona’s ribs as she tilted her hips into Fiona’s. She wasn’t going to give this up because she wasn’t going to make this mistake again.

  “Morgan, stop.”

  Sighing, Morgan moved away and pressed her forehead into Fiona’s shoulder. Her heart beat so fast it felt like a stampede. Closing her eyes, she tried to catch her breath, catch herself, but it was damn near impossible.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

  “You’re drunk,” Fiona answered.

  “Not the first time I’ve had sex when drunk. I assure you, I will not regret this.”

  “I will.” Fiona’s hand was in the short hair at the back of Morgan’s head, kneading the muscles at the base of her neck. “And I’m pretty sure you will.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Morgan. We can do this some other time, when we’re both sober.”

  Whimpering, Morgan pushed herself up so she hovered over Fiona. “Are you still with someone?”

  Fiona paled. Cursing, Morgan shoved the rest of the way off and dragged her hands through her hair and down her face. She should not have done that. Standing up, she walked out the sudden burst of energy that shot through her body.

  “I told you, I won’t do this while you’re with someone else.” Morgan’s mind spun because it was all her fault. She’d become the one person she’d sworn to herself she never world again.