"We don't anything, really. Just meet, get together, talk about politics."

  "That's a pretty heavy subject for just a fun gathering of guy-friends."

  He shrugged but didn't give her any indication he was going to say something else.

  Morgan set her pen down and stared right at him. "So why did you get piss-faced and come down here in the middle of the night to talk to a detective? Tell me your story, Ray. I want to hear it."

  He still was barely looking at her, his gaze glued to something on the table top in front of him, something Morgan had no idea was there because she didn't see what was so interesting about an old wooden table.

  "Ray?"

  He cleared his throat. "Oh right...nothing. Just drunk ramblings."

  "Hmmm." Morgan glanced again through the window. Ray was no doubt sobering up, which was going to make her side of the conversation much more difficult if he was suddenly holding back on what he wanted to share. "What would those drunk ramblings be?"

  Ray finally looked her dead in the eye. "Nothing you would understand."

  "Try me. I'm a pretty understanding person, even my partner says so."

  "Your partner?"

  "Yeah, Agent Jones. I told you about him earlier." She knew what Ray had meant by his question. It had been exactly what she'd told Pax would happen, but she sidestepped it as best as she could.

  Ray pursed his lips together and drew in a long slow breath. "Nothing much to say."

  Trying to take a different tact, Morgan switched gears. She'd noticed the simple gold band on his left ring finger and opted to go in that direction. "You married, Ray?"

  "Yes."

  "How long you been married?"

  "Thirty-three years, I think. 1989. June."

  Morgan raised her eyebrows at him, writing the information down. "That's a long time to be married."

  He shrugged. "We're a good match."

  "What's her name?"

  “Carla.”

  "Such a pretty name," Morgan complimented even though she didn't mean it. "You have any kids?"

  "Two. What's this got to do with anything?"

  "Just trying to get to know you a bit better, see if you'll be more comfortable talking to me then." And more sober, but Morgan didn't add those words out loud. "Are your kids still at home or are they out on their own?"

  "They've got families of their own now."

  "Oh! So are you a grandparent?"

  "I really don't see what the point of this is." His tone had a bite to it.

  Morgan wished she had a whole pot of coffee in her system before she had tackled this conversation, not that she hadn't done it before with less sleep and less coffee, but as she got older herself, she found those two things were always on her want list. "The point is, Ray, I want to get to know you. I want to figure out what keeps you interested in this group of friends you've got going on, and what they might be up to, since you came in here saying they were up to something. We take these types of conversations very seriously. I don't want to dismiss them since you were so brave in bringing them forth."

  "I told you, there is nothing going on."

  "Was there talk about something that might happen?" Morgan made eye contact with him, trying to assess how much he knew and how much he didn't, if there really was a threat or not.

  "No." When he hesitated in his answer, she knew she had hers.

  "Who are your friends in the group? The ones you see most often?"

  Ray clenched his jaw and shook his head. "I'm not telling you that. I'm not getting anyone in trouble."

  "Is there something they'd get in trouble for?" Morgan stared down at her notebook, watching him out of the corner of her eye and hoping the less intimidating she made herself the more open he would be.

  Her theory didn't work. Morgan spent the next two hours with Ray and got nothing out of him. He went silent. Finally Pax pulled her out of the room. He stood over her with a cross look on his face.

  "What? I tried."

  "I know you did. I'm still mad about being here at three in the morning."

  "To be fair, it was closer to four by the time we got here."

  "Don't remind me," he muttered. "They're going to release him, since there's nothing to hold him on."

  "I hope following up."

  "Yeah, and I'm betting Taylor will want us to do that, too."

  "Someone else can, one of the newbs." Morgan's eyes widened. "I'm tired. Why were we on call again? Should we not have to do that at this point, Pax? I mean, we are twenty-year veterans in the FBI, shouldn’t they put this kind of hardship on the younger ones, the ones who don't know their ass from their elbow?"

  He snorted, which was exactly what she had been going for. Pax nodded his head toward the exit. "Shall we?"

  "Don't we have to talk to Detective whatever-his-name-is?"

  "I got it covered already."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, while he were winding up for the sixtieth round of questions on Mr. Arnold in there."

  Morgan shook her head. "You get their report."

  "They'll send it tomorrow."

  "Great. Just something pretty to add to mine."

  "You know it. Wanna grab some breakfast?"

  "Yes! And coffee."

  "Addict."

  "Of course," she teased as they walked out of the building. Morgan stopped short when she saw Fiona coming in. She'd almost forgotten that she worked there, that they might see each other if they got stuck there long enough. Morgan had been there before, to see Fiona too, but it had been so long ago, and a memory she wasn't quite sure she wanted to keep around.

  Morgan stumbled her step, but Pax caught her arm and held her steady. "You okay?"

  "Yeah, just tripped. Clumsy me."

  Straightening her back, Morgan bolstered herself for seeing Fiona again. She always had to try and prep herself for it. With a deep breath, she squeezed Pax's arm to let him know she was fine and then stepped away from him as Fiona came closer, finally figuring out who was standing there.

  "Agent Stone, Agent Jones, what are you doing here?"

  "Detective Wexford," Morgan started. "We landed a case, kind of? Actually, I'm not really sure on that. We landed an interview." Morgan glanced at Pax, and he gave a nod of agreement. When she turned back, Fiona stared directly at Pax, her eyes wide with surprise. "We didn't get much from it, so I doubt you'll be seeing us back here any time soon, not to mention it likely wouldn't be our primary case since we already have one."

  "Right," Wexford muttered.

  Morgan cocked her head to the side, curious as to what exactly was in Fiona's tone, something about it didn't ring true for everything she had known about her. "You okay?"

  "Yeah, late night." Wexford's gaze moved from Pax right to Morgan, staring her down with those telling eyes.

  Pax cleared his throat. "We were just going to grab some breakfast before heading to the bureau."

  "Right!" Morgan smiled. She wanted to reach out and grab Fiona's hand, but she resisted, knowing the last time they had held hands in that very office, Fiona had done it subtly so no one else would see. "Do you want to join us? Is your shift starting soon?"

  "Uh..." Fiona's lips parted. "I can't, Morgan. Not today."

  Pax's head swiveled to Morgan, and he gave her an odd look, one Morgan couldn't quite read. "Okay, next time then. I have to get me some coffee before my day begins. Very much necessary."

  "I'll see you around." Wexford stepped around them and headed straight into the building.

  Odd didn't even begin to cover what had just happened. It was like they were back to being complete and awkward strangers again. The only difference had been someone else was around to witness whatever they talked about, someone in their line of work. Filing that away for the future and to figure it out, Morgan stepped forward to head toward Pax's car. When he didn't move, she asked, "You coming?"

  "Yeah." He cleared his throat and then walked with her. "Where are we eating?"

  "Good Egg?"

  "Sure."

  Morgan hopped in the passenger side of the vehicle and waited for Pax to get in and take her right where she wanted. Food and coffee, two things she could in no way live without. It didn't take them long to pick up their food and to head into the office. Morgan was halfway through her meal with Pax excused himself awkwardly. She clenched her teeth when her own phone rang, her mother on the other end of it. With time to spare, she answered.

  “Ma, what’s up?”

  “Just checking in, baby.”

  Morgan cringed. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Clyde. I don’t know what to do with him.”

  “Like I keep telling you and everyone else. You cannot make him sober up. He has to choose to do it. Until that happens, there is nothing to do except support Lauren, especially through this pregnancy.”

  “I know. I just…I’ve never had one of my kids mess up this much.”

  Morgan snorted. If only her mother knew half the stuff her kids had gotten up to. All nine of them had done things she would be appalled with. The only difference was Clyde's were a bit longer lasting than anyone else's, well, that and less acceptable on the awful-scale. Carrie being married three times over was simply another symptom of the problems they all faced.

  "He'll be fine, mom. I promise. I've been checking in on him and Lauren every week. That's all we can do for now, and when she's ready to have that baby, feel free to ask her—ask her first—” Morgan made sure to emphasize that part “—if she wants help and then how she wants help. She might not want you there. Clyde says he'll go to rehab when she's given birth, but again, this isn't anything new for him. He's been a drunk for years."

  "Morgan!"

  "What? Ma, I'm not going to sugar coat it. The kid has had issues for years. This isn't anything new, and every time Lauren gets pregnant, we go through this. So...until he's ready to work his shit out, this is what has to happen, and I swear to God, Ma, if you send them money, send it to Lauren and Lauren alone. Do not give anything to him."

  The silence on the other end of the line told her she was already too late on that one. She'd call Lauren and figure it all out when she had a chance, until then, she needed to get back to work. "I've got a big case that just came in, okay?"

  "Yeah, okay, sweetie. Are you coming home for Easter?"

  "For...what?" Morgan glanced at the calendar on her desk. "That's in two weeks."

  "It is."

  "No. I'm not coming home. If I was, you'd know about it." But that was a lie. If she was going home, two weeks beforehand was right about when she would tell her mom she was heading to the west coast.

  "Okay."

  Morgan nodded toward Pax coming back. "I've got to go. I'll call you soon. Love you."

  "Love you, too." When she hung up, Pax gave her a questioning look.

  "Your mom?"

  "The one and only." Morgan turned back to her desk, ready to dive into research about whatever hate group they had just encountered and to remind herself of all the memos that had been sent out about them. It was going to be a long day of slogging through computer crap, but she could get it done, at least now that she had coffee. With her focus on the task in front of her, Morgan started up her report of their interview that morning and went to typing away.

  Chapter Six

  Morgan spent the better part of the morning at her desk with an endless supply of coffee. She gone over her interview with Ray so many times she knew she had to stop thinking about it. She’d gotten absolutely nowhere with him in two hours. It was rare for her to do so poorly in an interview. Perhaps Pax should have taken lead at some point or gone in first to really irk Ray into talking—that or it would have had the opposite effect and shut him up even more.

  Sighing, she took her glasses off and rubbed two fingers hard against her left temple to try and ease the ache she had forming in the front of her head that shot all the way to the back. She needed more coffee. Lack of sleep always gave her a migraine.

  She had checked in on all the extremist hate groups that had popped up in Chicago in the last ten years, the ones who the FBI had deemed worthy enough to watch. Nothing. Well, not nothing, but nothing about Ray being involved in them as best as she could tell. Sighing, she rubbed her temple again and downed the last of her coffee.

  When Morgan looked around for Pax, she couldn’t find him. He was no doubt, somewhere, doing something. Grabbing her mug, Morgan went for a refill. All she’d found in the files she’d been through was hate, hate, and more hate. And a whole lot of anger. It made her head hurt. Frankly, it made it her heart hurt more than anything. She almost couldn’t tell if the sex crime of human trafficking she’d been working the better part of two years was better or worse than the blatant hatred of another individual solely based on—well, in her opinion, nothing other than someone was outwardly different.

  As she cleaned out her mug and poured more hot liquid into it, she gnawed on her lip. With one added teaspoon of sugar to her coffee, she took a chance. With her life-juice in hand, Morgan left her floor and took the elevator two floors down. As she exited, she drew in a deep breath of freshly brewed coffee somewhere in the nearby vicinity. Good, she could get another cup should she run out.

  Morgan walked confidently through the winding halls until she came to the one singular desk she was looking for, and sure enough, her counterpart sat right there. Her hair was drawn back in a tight bun, greying streaks here and there depicting her age and giving her away, although her eyes were young and light. Morgan slipped to lean on the corner of the desk and stared out at the rest of the room, startling her poor friend out of whatever she was working on.

  “Morgan.” Her voice was cold, ice in each syllable as her gaze slowly rose to Morgan’s.

  “Adena.”

  “What brings you down here?”

  Morgan smirked as she took a slow sip from her cup. It was a game they played, like they weren’t overly familiar with each other, like they hadn’t known each other for years, or spent a few drunken nights together between the sheets. “A case.”

  “Hmmm.” Adena squinted at the computer screens she had running in front of her. “What kind of case?”

  “Your kind.”

  Adena gave a little snort. “No doubt.”

  Morgan gave it. “It’s an extremist hate group, kind of. Not one I’ve ever heard of before.”

  “Oh?” That had Adena’s attention, she turned toward Morgan, her neck stiff so she moved awkwardly like she couldn’t bend right. It had always weirded Morgan out a little. “Tell me more.”

  “It’s called National Freedom Party, but they haven’t done anything. At least not from what I’ve found.”

  “Let me see.” Adena pushed up the glasses on her nose then opened new search parameters. She typed quickly, far more quickly than Morgan had ever hoped she could. As she waited for an answer, she sipped her coffee, wishing she had more answers already. “Here we are.”

  Adena turned and looked up at Morgan, crossing her arms.

  “What?”

  “There isn’t much there.”

  “Figures.” Morgan rolled her eyes. “Is there anything on them?”

  “Yes, I just printed it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Adena still stared at Morgan, her brown eyes that matched her brown hair both dull and unnerving at the same time with how much they held in them. Morgan could never tell with her what she was thinking, at least not after their little tryst or two, whatever it was. Rolling her shoulders, Morgan started again to try and get some more information.

  “Are they violent?”

  “No, not historically. They’ve barely hit our radar.”

  “Well, I guess that’s good.”

  Adena nodded and focused on her computer screen. “It’s more a group of men who get around, drink, and complain about how bad they have it because they’re white.”

  Morgan has to hold back her snort. “Except they blame it all on people of a different race?”

  “Specifically immigrants, but yes, people with brown skin, but more typically, those who are Muslim.”

  “Wonderful.” It had been just what Morgan suspected. “Is there any specific group they target or is it a general hatred of all brown-skimmed Muslim immigrants?”

  “Basically that.” Adena jumped up from her desk and headed for the massive printer-copier in the corner of the room. When she returned, she handed over a few papers to Morgan. “This is everything we have on them.”

  “It’s not much.”

  “Like I said, they’re not very active in terms of violence or deemed a threat to escalate to violence.”

  Morgan pursed her lips as she skimmed the information. “I had an interview last night with an individual who is part of this group, who said there was some sort of threat of violence.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. At least that’s what he told CPD. As soon as Pax and I showed up, silence.”

  “What did he say the threat was?”

  “Silence.” Morgan gave her a sideways glance. “I’ll let you know if I find anything else, but if you could keep your ear to the ground on this group, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Pushing off the desk, Morgan headed to her floor and her desk. Pax was back, and when Morgan looked over his shoulder, she saw he was working on the trafficking case and Mr. Jimmy. Morgan slipped into her own chair and handed the file Adena had given her over to Pax.

  “Adena?”

  “Yeah. Not a whole lot, but something to check out.”

  Taking the proffered papers, he read them over while Morgan concentrated on their primary case—Mr. Jimmy. He was a headache in and of itself. Dimitri worried her, too. He was their one solid lead on figuring out who Mr. Jimmy was. He’d been a runner for the crime organization, and Mr. Jimmy—unfortunately—took interest in younger, minor, boys. Dimitri had been subject to him on more than one occasion, and thus far, he was the only witness and victim they had who could identify him.