Dark Room (Pete 'Monty' Montgomery 2)

“Oh, it’s going to be fixed all right,” Morgan agreed. “Because I’m going to make sure of it. I’m not ten years old anymore. I plan to take steps to resolve this—on my own and by choosing the right pros to do what I can’t.”

Jill absorbed that thoughtfully. “Do those pros include Detective Montgomery?”

“They start with him. He’s key. I hired him on the spot.” As Morgan spoke, her shock and upset began rapidly transforming to proactive determination. “Is Charlie Denton here yet?”

“He just arrived. Do you want me to take the appointment for you?”

“No. I want to talk to him. He works at the Manhattan D.A.’s office. He came on board several years before my father was killed. He knew and respected him. I’m guessing that by now word’s gotten around the office. Maybe Charlie will have an update on what’s being done to reopen the investigation into my parents’ murders. I want to know how riled up his office is, and how much pressure they’re going to exert to get at the truth.” Morgan rose.

“What can I do to help?” Jill asked, spreading her hands in a helpless gesture.

“Just give your mom a call. Ask if you can postpone your dinner. I’d like us all to sit down and discuss this situation as soon as Arthur’s plane lands. Is that okay?”

“Absolutely.” Jill looked relieved at being given a concrete task she could wrap her hands around. “I’ll call Dad first. Maybe he can catch an earlier flight. The sooner he hears about this, the better. If anyone can light a fire under the right asses, it’s him. But, Morgan, in the meantime maybe you should wait before jumping in with both feet.”

“I can’t.” Morgan squeezed her arm, already heading for the door. “Your heart’s in the right place, and I love you for it. But if I don’t do something, I’ll fall apart.”

Jill nodded mutely, watching her friend hurry from the room, shoulders rigid with purpose. She wasn’t fooled by Morgan’s burst of adrenaline or show of bravado. The blow she’d just been dealt was crushing. Her emotional state had been fragile enough befo

re Detective Montgomery arrived. And now? Now her one source of comfort had been obliterated.

Reaching over, Jill scooped up the telephone and punched in her father’s number.

SEATED IN WINSHORE’S cozy waiting room, Charlie Denton shifted in his chair. The espresso Beth had brought him offered little appeal. For the conversation he was about to have, a few shots of whiskey wouldn’t be strong enough.

He’d been a prosecutor for almost twenty years. He was tough and thick-skinned, with no problem about going for the jugular. It took a hell of a lot to rattle him, and rarely did confrontation throw him off balance.

This time was different.

It hit way too close to home.

Setting down his cup, he reached around to massage the back of his neck. The sooner he got this over with, the better.

From across the hall, he heard the intercom on Beth’s desk sound.

“Yes?” she asked, having picked up the phone. “Of course. Right away.”

A minute later she appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Denton? Morgan’s ready for your meeting. I’ll show you up.”

“Thanks, but that’s not necessary. Second-floor sitting room, right?” He waited for Beth’s nod. “I had my original interview there. I know the way.”

With that, he hustled up the staircase, stopping only when he’d reached the second door on the right.

It was ajar, and Morgan was seated on the taupe microsuede sectional, her forehead creased in thought, an open file on her lap.

She was a beautiful woman. Fine-boned, delicate, with a rare combination of gentleness and intensity that was both reassuring and sexy. Ironic that she could be so oblivious to it—oblivious to so many things—she, who was highly intelligent and intuitive when it came to reading others.

He stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Hi.”

“Hello, Charlie.” She looked tired. And pale. The anniversary of her parents’ murders was coming up. She had to be hurting.

He was about to shove that pain in her face.

“Sorry about changing our meeting time,” he began. “It’s been a day from hell.”

“I hear you.” She gestured toward the overstuffed club chair situated diagonally across from the sectional. “Have a seat.”

He perched at the edge of the cushion, gripping his knees and leaning toward her. There was nothing to be gained by delaying the inevitable. So he plunged right in.