Lucy glanced at Kate, who had her mouth firmly shut. It was obvious Kate wanted to say something but felt she couldn’t.
Apprehension grew along with Lucy’s confusion. “I don’t see how I can help in your investigation, Agent Armstrong. I can assure you I never visited that man in prison. Is it customary to interview a convict’s victims?”
“In these circumstances, it is.”
“I must be missing something, because I haven’t been in Oregon in years—in fact, the only time I was ever there was on a family trip when I was about nine.”
“Mr. Morton was killed at the Washington Sailing Marina.”
She knew she hadn’t misheard him. Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, as if the wind had been knocked out of her. “In Alexandria?”
Agent Armstrong nodded. “He’s been on probation since July first.”
Lucy stared at the agent, who was observing her closely. Too closely. Her skin heated as the truth hit her.
“Probation?” Her voice cracked.
Roger Morton had been cut loose? That couldn’t be right. And he’d come to D.C? Had he been looking for her? To hurt her again? Rape her?
No! You wouldn’t let him get that close to you. You’re smarter now. You can defend yourself. He cannot hurt you. He’s dead.
“You didn’t know?”
“Know?” Her mind was running full speed in multiple directions: Morton on probation, Morton in D.C., Morton dead. Her body quivered, but she didn’t feel it, almost as if she were detached and watching the conversation from the sidelines. She saw the tremble in her hand but barely comprehended it was hers.
She looked at Kate. Her sister-in-law couldn’t keep the pain and the guilt from her eyes. She realized Kate had already known about Morton’s early release.
“You didn’t tell me?” she asked, letting the anger in because anger conquered pain. The pain would come—of betrayal and fear and regrets—but she wanted to be alone for that. Needed to be alone to protect herself.
“I’m so sorry,” Kate said. “I wanted to, Lucy, but at the time, six years ago when he made his deal, you were—” She let the sentence drop.
Lucy knew exactly what she was six years ago. Disconnected from everything and everyone as she ever so slowly came to terms with what had happened during the unspeakably heinous twenty-four hours when she’d been held captive by Adam Scott and Roger Morton. She’d told her brother Patrick everything, because then Patrick was in a coma and he didn’t look at her with pity and fear and worry. He didn’t tell her she had to eat, that she should sleep, that she needed to talk to a professional. It was the only way she could cope. Some days she hadn’t left his room, preferring his even breathing to the concerned whispers filling every corner of her home, friends and family all worried about Lucy. That Lucy had been raped. That Lucy had been humiliated online. That Lucy had killed a man and showed no remorse.
“And later? When he was released?” She paused. “Six years ago—how did you know he’d be paroled six years ago?”
“Probation,” Agent Armstrong corrected. “The terms of Morton’s plea agreement were that after six years in prison he’d be released on lifelong probation with severe restrictions, including no contact with his victims and, in fact, he wasn’t allowed to leave Colorado without permission from—”
Lucy slapped her palm hard on the table, startling both the agents and herself. She didn’t care one iota about the restrictions placed on Morton; he’d been freed. The truth turned her stomach into a bubbling vat of acid. In the back of her mind, a small voice tried to tell her this couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t true, but she quashed the weak emotions of denial. It had happened and she’d face it head-on.
Her comments were for Kate alone. “Six years? For what he did to me? To the others? To your partner? Six years? And you agreed to that? Without even telling me—then or even later, when he was let out?”
“I didn’t want to take the agreement, but it wasn’t just my call. And lives were at stake! Yours. Dillon’s. Adam Scott had made it clear that he wasn’t going to go away without taking you with him. Morton gave up Scott and Trask Enterprises—bank accounts, records—we had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice. But six years—why not seven? Ten? Or one? Why put him in prison at all if he was so fucking cooperative?”
We had no choice.
“Dillon knew,” Lucy whispered. The air rushed from her lungs and she could scarcely breathe. Everyone knew—everyone except her.
She rose shakily from the chair, hands on the table to steady herself. She would not faint. She would not have a panic attack. She would not cry.
She needed to get out of there.
“I’m going to Patrick’s,” she said without looking at anyone. She didn’t want to see the pity in their eyes, pity that she hadn’t known, that she’d been treated like an unpredictable child. She understood deep down that her family had only wanted to protect her, but ignorance was not protection.
“I’ll drive you,” Kate said.
“No. I’m walking.” She went to her coat and put it on.
“It’s snowing.”
“I need the air.” She turned and asked Agent Armstrong, “Why was Morton in Washington?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Armstrong said. “Ms. Kincaid, I understand you need a few moments, but we do need to talk.”
She nodded stiffly. “Tomorrow.”
“We’ll come by in the morning—”
“No. I’ll come to your office.”
Kate began, “Lucy, I don’t—”
Lucy whipped her head toward her sister-in-law. “I don’t care what you think, Kate. Not now.” She sounded so cruel, her voice sharp and unfamiliar. But it was the only way she could maintain her composure. She turned back to Agent Armstrong. “D.C. Regional?”
“Yes.” He handed her his card. Lucy pocketed it while eyeing the FBI agent.
He showed no pity. His entire body was hard and rigid, but that told her he was military. He stood like her brother Jack, with that ready-to-act stance that was deceptively casual. Everything about him was no-nonsense, which made his baby-blue eyes stand out even more.
“Tomorrow morning,” she repeated, then turned and left the room.
FIVE
Patrick’s townhouse, which coupled as the newly opened Rogan-Caruso-Kincaid East office and his residence, was just six blocks from Lucy’s place, on a narrow tree-lined street off M Street. It was sandwiched between an embassy for a country smaller than the state of Rhode Island and a private residence. It wasn’t far, but between the snow and the icy wind, the walk seemed longer than her daily mile trek to the Metro.
She rang the bell and waited, so cold and wet on the outside that the heat of betrayal had cooled, replaced by sorrow and uncertainty. Eventually, she’d have to sit down with Kate and Dillon to discuss their keeping her in the dark about Morton, as well as his murder. But not tonight, not when the pain of the secrets they’d harbored was so raw she could scarcely keep her past firmly locked down.
Morton had been here, in D.C. Her home. Even with the District’s violence and crime rate, she had felt safe here because she’d unfailingly taken proactive steps. She had family and friends. She had a job and a future. But he’d been here. What if she’d seen him? What if he’d come to Washington because of her? Because he wanted to hurt her again? What if he intended to harm Dillon or Kate or the rest of her family?
Her stomach twisted and her skin flushed. She swayed on her feet and put her hand on the doorjamb to steady herself. Her hands were red from the cold. She’d left her gloves back on the dining-room table. That oversight made her pause as she stared at her shaking hands.