Dark Room (Pete 'Monty' Montgomery 2)

“Me, too. This is starting to sound more exciting than my heli-skiing trip with the congressman later in the week.”

“Speaking of which, what happened the other night at the Shores’?”

“The evening was short, and pretty benign. Some vegetable drinks, some casual family photos, and a discussion of next week’s itinerary. Oh, and an invitation to Winshore’s holiday party. Apparently, Jill Shore thinks I need a life partner.”

Monty’s lips twitched. “Doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Although I’m sure you turned down the invitation.”

“Actually, I accepted. Not to find a life partner, just to have a few kicks. Or, to be more honest, because I was provoked into it.”

“By who—Jill?”

“Nope. Morgan.” Lane chuckled, remembering. “She might be emotionally raw, but she’s also quite a ball-breaker.”

“Now that’s a side of her I’ve never seen.” Monty reached for his coffee and took a belt. “What made her choose your balls to break?”

“She read my facial expression, or my body language, or both. I’m sure I looked less than enthused about attending a Christmas party of beautiful people talking about insipid crap.”

“And she pushed you into changing your mind?”

“More like challenged me into changing my mind. Let’s see.” Lane drummed his fingers on his knee. “I think her exact words were: ‘Why not go for it? It’s a weeknight. Too late for cocktails and a quickie, too early for nightcaps and bed.’”

Laughter rumbled in Monty’s chest. “Sounds like she sized you up pretty well.”

“Uh-huh. And she dared me to prove her wrong. She didn’t use that phrase, but it was out there. So I took the dare.”

“Interesting.” Monty eyed his son. “She’s a very pretty woman. Some might call her beautiful.”

“No arguments there.” Lane paused, brows drawn in concentration. “But ‘beautiful’ is too generic. ‘Haunting.’ ‘Riveting.’ ‘Complex and fascinating.’ Those seem to better apply. Something about her draws you in.”

“It obviously drew you in.”

“You’re right. It did. Not only is she a knockout, she’s sharp and direct. I see the same vulnerability you do, and I understand why you’re worried about her. But I also see another side—a confident, self-assured woman. Don’t underestimate Morgan Winter. She’s got a quiet inner strength. It’ll see her through this crisis—and anything else life throws her way.” A corner of Lane’s mouth lifted. “Plus she’s quick. One hell of a sparring partner.”

“She made quite an impression on you.”

“Enough to make me go to Winshore’s holiday party.” Lane shot his father a look. “And now that we’ve agreed that Morgan is smart, assertive, and sexy, we’re dropping this conversation.”

“Sexy? I don’t remember that adjective coming up.”

“Monty.” That was Lane’s warning voice. “We’re done here. You have nothing more to ask and I have nothing more to say.”

“You’re wrong. I have something more to say.” Monty finished off his coffee and set down the cup with a thud. “Normally, I stay out of your personal life. Not this time. That girl’s been through hell. I saw it firsthand. Now she’s being forced to relive it. Don’t do anything to mess with her emotionally.”

“Monty…”

“I mean it, Lane. Don’t.”

TEN

Morgan took the C train to Euclid Avenue in Brooklyn’s East New York section. From there, she walked to the Cypress Hills housing project where the Healthy Healing Center was located. Today was colder than yesterday, and the wind cut through her camel-hair overcoat as she hurried by construction sites and old, run-down buildings toward her destination. The apartments were sprinkled with Christmas decorations, and from somewhere on Fountain Avenue a Salvation Army Santa rang his bell. The sights and sounds of the holiday season carried a bittersweet quality, registering a certain incongruity in this area of the city still plagued by poverty and crime.

Morgan paused for a moment, looking back over her shoulder in the direction of Williams Avenue, where her mother’s shelter had been. She knew the building was still standing, although it was now a thrift store. Swamped by nostalgia, she was half tempted to turn around and…

No. She couldn’t. No matter how strong the pull was. She’d never be able to handle it. The effect of walking in there, confronting the scene of the nightmare, the effect would be devastating. Maybe someday. But not now. And not alone.

She forced herself to continue on her way, not pausing until she reached the Cypress Hills housing project. Sucking in a breath of frosty air, she walked into the low-rise brick building adjacent to it.

The receptionist at the desk finished her phone conversation and rose, flashing Morgan a warm, cordial smile. “Ms. Winter?” At Morgan’s nod, she continued. “I’m Jeanine. We spoke earlier. Barbara’s expecti