“I’m not really with someone.”

  Morgan shot her a glare. “Are you in a relationship with someone? That’s what I keep asking. You keep saying yes.”

  “Morgan, listen to me.”

  “Are you with someone?”

  “Kind of.”

  Morgan stared with wide eyes. “Get out.”

  “Morgan.”

  “Get out, Fiona. I won’t do this. I won’t be the other woman. I won’t put myself in that position ever again. I can’t, and I won’t.”

  “Why? I’m not saying it’s right or wrong, but why? Why are you so opposed when I’m telling you it’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay!” Morgan’s voice rose. “I will not be the other woman. I won’t.”

  “Okay.” Fiona stood up slowly from the couch, her voice lowering as she stepped closer and grabbed Morgan’s hands, holding them firmly. “Okay, I won’t push. But you started this.”

  “I did. And it was wrong. Thank you for stopping me.” She refused to look into Fiona’s eyes.

  “Tell me what’s going on inside that head of yours.” Fiona’s voice was soft.

  Morgan wanted to move away and hide. Fiona was being far too nice to her, especially with what she had just pulled. She shook her head and broke away from Fiona’s grasp. Refilling her drink, she downed it. Hangover be damned. She was going to regret the morning no matter what.

  “I think you should leave.”

  “Not until you talk. All night I’ve seen you bottle things in, you need to talk to someone, Morgan. It doesn’t have to be me, but you need to talk to someone.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. Pax? One of your sisters maybe?”

  Snorting, Morgan walked over to her sink and set the empty glass in it. She went back to the living area and started to angrily clean up their dinner. “I can’t talk to them about this.”

  “About what?”

  She clenched her jaw, her head hurting from how tight she felt. “About any of this.”

  “About any of what? Stop skirting around the issue.”

  “About how it almost ruined everything!” Morgan shouted. Her breaths came in short rasps. “I won’t do that to them.”

  Fiona’s lips parted in surprise, her dark eyes widened. She stepped closer, her hand on Morgan’s elbow, and she gave a gentle squeeze. “How what almost ruined everything?”

  “I’m the oldest, Fiona, you have to realize that I am privy to certain information in our family that my siblings are not, and you must realize that I’m not stupid and I can do math.”

  “I’m not following.”

  Morgan’s hands were back in her hair, and she collapsed onto the couch. “Serena was barely two, and it got bad. I mean, how could it not with five of us running around and Dad always at work.”

  Fiona slipped onto the couch next to her and pressed a hand to Morgan’s thigh, giving her silent support.

  Morgan reached for Fiona’s hand and covered it for a brief moment before she rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I remember there were weeks when Dad wouldn’t come home at all, and any time he did, they would just yell at each other. Then we’d go to church Sunday morning and wear our stupid frilly dresses Mom made us wear and pretend like life was fine, but it wasn’t.”

  “What happened, Morgan?”

  “She was cheating. Two years of it. It didn’t even stop after the twins were born, at least, not right away. Dad told her she had to choose, the kids or not. After that, everything was different.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Morgan leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. “I always tried to give Amya extra attention because Mom didn’t really care too much. She coddled the twins, but they were often forgotten. But I was the oldest, and I left the house before they were grown, and well, we can see where that landed Clyde. He’s got problems out the wazoo.”

  The smile slid onto Fiona’s lips as she leaned in closer to Morgan. “You did everything you could do, but you can’t put keeping a family and marriage together on the kids.”

  “You don’t get it.”

  “You can’t. It’s not your responsibility, Morgan.”

  Shifting to stare directly into Fiona’s eyes, Morgan shook her head. “You don’t get it. The way we grew up? You didn’t get divorced. It would have been the biggest mark on us all if they had. Sometimes I wish they had.”

  “You can’t make decisions for them.”

  “No, I can’t. But I won’t make the same mistakes as them.”

  Fiona nodded. “I get it.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yeah.” Fiona squeezed Morgan’s leg again before she shifted away and broke the contact. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”

  “I was married once, you know.” Morgan changed the topic, hoping to get off the subject of her family’s secrets that no one knew she knew.

  Fiona’s eyes widened. “You were?”

  Morgan nodded. “For about a year, technically.”

  “I never would have guessed that.”

  Morgan smirked. “We were drunk in Vegas, figured why the hell not. We were best friends for years. Talk about a mistake.”

  Chuckling, Fiona leaned in closer to Morgan’s side. “Have you ever been close to getting married to someone you actually want to marry?”

  “No.” Her voice was near a whisper. “You?”

  “I was engaged once. Right out of college, but he couldn’t handle the fact I was a cop.”

  “Not unheard of.” Morgan moved her hand down to Fiona’s and folded their fingers together, rubbing her thumb over the topside of Fiona’s hand. “Give up on love?”

  “For a bit. More just having fun while I can.”

  “Smart woman.” A smile tugged at Morgan’s lips. “I do the same, so whenever we do end up together, because I have no doubt that will happen eventually, it will be for the fun.”

  Fiona’s voice was low, her lips right next to Morgan’s ear when she spoke. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Good.”

  Before Morgan knew what was happening, Fiona’s lips were on her ear, sucking her lobe and scraping her teeth over the sensitive skin. She moaned and closed her eyes, digging her fingers into Fiona’s hand as she tightened her grasp.

  “Fiona, what are you doing?”

  “I promise we won’t go further tonight. Just give me this.”

  “Fiona.” Morgan opened her eyes, staring directly into Fiona’s dark ones. She wasn’t sure she could stop again. She hadn’t wanted to stop the first time but had been so thankful Fiona had put up the boundary, the one she was now tearing down.

  “Just…I promise. Not while you’re drunk, but please.”

  Fiona’s fingers against her cheek, turning her head so their lips brushed was her undoing. Morgan reached up, covering Fiona’s other hand as their mouths connected, moving together in a gentle embrace, so unlike their first kiss that night.

  “No, stop,” Morgan whispered. “Stop. I can’t do this. I told you that.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you did. I’m sorry. I overstepped.”

  Morgan whimpered. She wanted it so bad, wanted so much for Fiona to be unencumbered so they could be together, but until then, it wasn’t right. It wouldn’t work. With her heart in her throat, she didn’t dare look up at Fiona. Morgan closed her eyes. “It’s late.”

  “It is.” Fiona let out a sigh as silence permeated the room.

  Not daring to say anything else, Morgan kept as much distance as she could without moving. Fiona took her time standing up, and Morgan didn’t follow. She watched every move Fiona made as she grabbed her jacket and slipped it over her shoulders, as she checked her pockets for her keys before she gave Morgan a soft and heated look.

  “I will tell you sometime.”

  “Tell me what?” Morgan asked.

  “Tell you about my relationship. I think you’ll understand. I hope you will, anyway.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” Fiona gave her a small smile as she reached for the doorknob. With one last look over her shoulder, she left almost without another word. The buzz Morgan had earlier was gone, and she was left with the wobbly feeling of leftover drunk she really didn’t want to face. Grabbing water and aspirin, she stripped and willed herself into sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Morgan’s head pounded, more than she had anticipated. Between the alcohol she had consumed before Fiona had shown up and while she was there, she should have guessed she was going to feel like shit that morning. She drank only half the amount of coffee she normally did and the rest of the time stuck to water.

  Pax had given her a few wary looks, but she’d sneered and turned back to her computer with her glasses propped on her nose. No way to get out of those that morning. She needed them to keep her eyes from blurring over. Eventually, Pax twisted in his seat and tilted his chin down at her.

  “Late night?”

  “You could say that,” she muttered.

  “What’s going on, Morgan? Talk to me. It’s not like you to shut me out. We’ve been friends for twenty years.”

  Sighing, Morgan shifted in her seat and stared directly at him. He was right. Normally she would have shared everything with him by then, her fear about her own abilities, her fear that every decision Taylor was making was just a confirmation about her fear over her own abilities. But she didn’t. Something held her back, and she hadn’t quite been able to figure it out.

  She’d even called Barbie over talking to Pax, trying to explain everything to her through a simple twenty minute phone call had been a disaster, but she had tried. And Fiona had been right, she did need to talk to someone—anyone. “I’m just stressed.”

  “Okay….what about?”

  She shook her head sharply. “Not having my case.”

  “He didn’t take it away from you.”

  “He’s not letting me work it either. Did you know they’re making a task force?”

  “Who is?”

  “CPD.”

  “For this bombing?”

  Morgan gave a sharp nod.

  “How’d you know that?”

  “Wexford told me.” She focused on her computer and pushed her glasses farther up her nose. She was reviewing Adena’s report but wasn’t finding anything useful. There was no intel about hate groups rousing to action in the recent months, but she had no doubt in her mind the bombing at the factory had been a hate crime.

  “Morgan.”

  “Huh?” She glanced at him again. “What?”

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  “Answer you what?”

  “Was Wexford your date?”

  “No. I didn’t have a date last night. Went home and got shit-faced. Regretting that decision.” Her stomach roiled at the thought of alcohol, and she tried to forget it. “Do you think it’s a group we don’t have on our radar?”

  “It could be.” His voice was firm. “It could be individuals, too. Hard to tell. Aren’t you the one working up the profile.”

  Morgan’s jaw clenched. She sent him a death stare and went back to her computer. “I am.”

  “So what does your profile say?”

  “Not a whole lot.” Morgan grabbed her glasses off her nose and dropped them onto her desk. “Because I have zero information about who these people are because no one is giving me information. You want the basic profile of a racist bomber? Here you go. They usually want to experience power, achievement, importance, purpose, and they have a knack for dehumanizing whoever they want. Something along those lines.”

  “Is that what this one wants?” Pax took a pen between his fingers and wrote down what she was saying.

  Morgan snorted. “Who knows because no one has given me any kind of information yet.”

  “What do you need?”

  “I need answers. What kind of device was it? Was it singular? Was it small? Was it well-made? I need to know how many people might be involved, which if I could get the report back on the bomb itself, I might know. If CPD would share the video footage from all the cameras in the area they have gathered, I might be able to answer that. If it is one person, that’s different. If it is a small group? That’s a whole other profile.” Anger laced every word she said, frustration ebbing through her voice and out into the open office.

  “Morgan,” Pax nearly whispered as he leaned in closer and made eye contact. “I love you, but you need to chill the fuck out.”

  Grunting, she grabbed her mug and stood up to refill her coffee. He might have been right, but that didn’t mean she had to like what he was saying. The queasiness in her stomach was not helping as she stepped into the small kitchenette. She knew what she needed. It wasn’t to talk or to tell anyone. She needed to get laid. She hadn’t had sex since Lollie’s crazy ass in Seattle and that was an utter disaster. That had been why she’d nearly jumped Fiona the night before.

  With her cup in hand, Morgan figured she could kill two birds with one stone. Heading down two floors, she left the elevator in search of someone she knew who could give her some answers and someone who might just want a quickie that night. Rounding the corner, Morgan plastered a bright smile on her lips as she saw Adena sitting quietly at her desk.

  “Adena,” she stated, her voice clipped but still warm.

  “Morgan.”

  “Got anything new for me?”

  “Nope.” Adena barely looked up from her computer.

  Morgan sighed, this might be harder than she had anticipated. She sat on the corner of Adena’s desk. “No chatter about another attack?”

  “Nope.”

  “No groups claiming ownership?”

  “No.”

  Sighing, Morgan took a sip from her steaming coffee. “Any individuals coming forward so far to tell us their friend of a friend was talking about bombing Somalis?”

  Adena looked up at her then, her brown eyes locking on Morgan’s. “Isn’t that your job?”

  “Kind of. Did you ever figure out which group that Ray guy was part of?”

  Adena did nod then, and Morgan could have jumped for joy. Adena reached into her desk and pulled out a very thin file, handing it over to Morgan. Setting her coffee on the desktop, Morgan opened the file and skimmed it. There were no more than four sheets of paper in it, so it didn’t take her long to get through them all.

  “This is it?”

  “They’re not a particularly active group. Pretty low level, hardly a buzz word on them except for one time four years ago when there were talks about an attack.”

  “Oh?” Morgan’s ears perked up at that. “How far did it go?”

  “No more than talk.”

  “What kind of attack?”

  “There were no specifics.”

  “Was there an informant?”

  Once again, Adena turned a glare at her. “That’s your job.”

  Putting her hand up in the air, Morgan backtracked. “I’ll find a report to read. Can I take this?”

  “Make a copy.”

  Morgan headed to the copy machine and slid the papers through, wanting to keep everything in front of her so that she could get to work as fast as she could. The sooner she found out some information about who was behind the factory bombing, the better. She needed and wanted to complete that profile.

  Back at Adena’s desk, she slid the original document in front of Adena’s line of sight. Leaning down so her lips were pressed close to Adena’s ear, Morgan whispered, “Thanks. Dinner?”

  “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  “What are we eating?”

  “Everything.” Morgan said the word with all the hope she could muster.

  “Seven?”

  “My place.”

  “See you then.”

  Not taking another chance someone might overhear them, Morgan grabbed her coffee and slipped from the room. She headed back up two flights of stairs and sat at her desk, fully reading the file Adena had given her. Pax gave her a curious glance as she moved so he could read with her. She needed to build up a basic profile. That much was clear. Even Pax didn’t have the profile for a hate crime memorized. That would be easy enough, but then she would make individual sub-profiles based on whether or not their racist was involved in a group or acting on their own.

  She wanted to avoid it a little longer in case the full report on the bomb came back. When Pax had finished with the paper, he handed it back to her and said, “I think we need to talk to Ray again.”

  “He wasn’t very talkative the first time.”

  “Did CPD have any better luck with him?”

  Morgan shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Didn’t you ask Wexford?”

  “No. Why would I ask her about that?”

  “Because she’s the liaison.”

  “She’s the what?”

  “You didn’t hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  “They’re making a task force.”

  “I know that. I told you that.”

  “Right.” He leaned in closer so only Morgan would hear. “Wexford is their liaison.”

  “To who?”

  “To you.”

  “Fuck.” Morgan’s shoulders tensed. After everything that had happened the night before, being stuck working closely with Fiona was going to be an absolute disaster. “Wait, when did you hear about this?”

  “A few minutes ago while you were with Adena.”

  Guilt settled into the pit of Morgan’s stomach. Good old Catholic guilt her mother had saddled her with. Sighing and rubbing her temple, she downed the rest of her coffee. “Why, was there a threat we somehow missed?”

  “No.” Pax’s dark eyes went wide. “I think they’re just preparing.”

  “It’s not like the CPD to be on top of these things. Usually we’re the ones pushing them to do it.”

  Pax shrugged. “Maybe Wexford really wants to add liaison to the FBI onto her resume.”

  “What? Why would she do that?”

  Shrugging again, he turned to his computer effectively ending the conversation. Morgan sighed and checked her phone. She had no messages, no texts, no missed calls, and no emails from Wexford. She strongly suspected she wouldn’t hear from her for weeks or more after whatever the fuck the night before had been and the disaster it had turned into.