Let Me In, Adam Nicholls [ebooks that read to you txt] 📗
- Author: Adam Nicholls
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Morgan stepped through the scanner at Dulles International Airport, collected his belongings from the tray, and fixed his belt, which was much harder with the gunshot wound taking its time to heal on his arm. Stuffing his keys and wallet back into his pocket, he hurried to the back of the large room, squeezing past other fliers who were in more of a rush than he was. Today marked the first of seven days where time wouldn’t be an issue, and he was in no hurry.
He found Rachel at the back, standing beside a tall green potted plant that complemented her red hair. She beamed a wide smile when she saw him, taking him into her arms and squeezing tight. When she finally let go, she took his hand and walked with him in the direction of the departure lounge.
Finally, it was time to fly.
“I’m so glad we did this,” Rachel said, playfully knocking her shoulder against his.
“You deserve the break,” Morgan said, reaching out to hold her close. After all they’d been through, he’d probably never let her out of his sight again. At least, that was how it felt in that moment. “Especially since… you know.”
It’d been days since the traumatic events at Mosaic Church. It turned out Rachel had simply passed out due to the shock of Nick Hansen’s aggression. When he’d first found her in the back room of the church, he thought it was the end. The world had seemed to collapse around him, and the mere thought of going on without her was nothing less than a fresh hell. But now that she was up and running, seemingly unaffected—at least on a physical level—he could work on earning her forgiveness.
Not that he needed it.
Rachel had told him time and time again that none of this was his fault. She’d expressed her pride in him for finding Nick Hansen, announced her gratitude that he’d risked it all to come and rescue her, and then told him on numerous occasions how much she approved of his loyalty to Gary. “There aren’t many good people left in the world,” she’d said to him, “but sometimes it’s quality over quantity.”
They walked in silence as they followed the boards that directed them to the correct waiting area. When they found it, they took a seat by the gate, which were the only two available in the crowded airport.
Morgan took her hand and kissed it. Her skin smelled of strawberries.
“Ever the gentleman,” she said.
“That’s me.”
“Will we bring something back for Gary and Hannah?”
“It’s the least we could do.” Morgan glanced beyond the glass walls, watching a plane take off toward the setting sun. In less than an hour they’d be up there too, soaring in the direction of the Maldives. They had Gary to thank for that—Morgan’s blunt refusal to accept payment for the investigation had been declined repeatedly, but when Gary had seen the open travel magazine with this particular vacation destination circled in red ink, the tickets had magically appeared on their coffee table the next day. Rachel had been over the moon—still was—and even Morgan had trouble declining the generous offer. But what the hell; they needed it now more than ever.
“When we get back,” Rachel said, her smile fading at the thought, “we’ll need to put all this behind us. Nick Hansen, his mother, the whole kidnapping thing… Let’s consider this a fresh start, all right?”
Morgan wanted to agree—of course he did—but when was it ever that simple? He pictured himself as a tire salesman or a bank clerk, but neither of them seemed to offer the same reward that investigating did. That wasn’t to say he wouldn’t do them; if they needed the money he’d apply for twenty jobs in as many minutes, but right now, he felt like he was home. “There’s always going to be trouble. For as long as I’m an investigator or even consulting, life is never going to be simple. One day you’ll want to have children, and so will I, but until then I don’t mind the risk. As long as you’re safe.”
“You’re so selfless that you’ve become selfish.”
“How’s that?”
Rachel adjusted herself in the seat. “I need you around. It’s nice that you put me first, but if something happened to you I’d never forgive myself. Think about what you told me yesterday: that you hate the idea of me getting hurt. That’s how I feel about you every day. I’d rather you work less and we struggle for money. It’s better than being well-off and you risking your butt every single day.”
“Well, it’s a cute butt.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.” Morgan sighed and put his arm around her. “The thing is, I don’t know what’s around the corner for me. All I know is that I want to keep doing this. I mean, what are the chances of two psychotic killers putting us directly in harm’s way? After this I’ll probably be going back to following serial adulterers or finding missing dogs.”
“That’s good. It pays the bills.”
Morgan knew she was right, and he immediately saw it as his duty to ensure that happened. No matter which path they took from here, he would fight until his dying breath to make sure they had a roof over their heads, and if that meant taking on a thousand smaller clients, then he wasn’t going to turn them down. After all, Rachel’s work didn’t exactly bring in any money, and he’d be damned if he’d let her give that up. Too many lives had been changed by her efforts, and even if he had to scrub toilets for the next ten years just so she could save one more kid, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull on the gloves.
“You’re right,” he said, resigned. “No more drama.”
“No more drama.” Rachel snapped her head toward the screen, watching the times change as the overhead speaker announced their boarding. She stood and reached for his hand.
Morgan grabbed it and took the weight, heaving himself up. Together, they headed for the boarding gate with a week of hot sun and sandy beaches ahead of them. Who knew what waited for them when they returned? All Morgan was certain of was that—in spite of their deal—there would always be at least a little drama, no matter how hard they tried.
It was a part of the job.
And it was a part of him.
In days past, the man had acquired the appropriate tools for his first victim: two rolls of duct tape, one neglected old Buick he’d stolen from a piece-of-crap neighborhood nobody cared about, and a big, solid brick for the gas pedal.
The rest was all on him.
While he checked the engine from his safe place—an old warehouse that’d been neglected by everyone for years—he ground his teeth and thought of what’d driven him to this. Until now, he’d thought he’d come far up the long road of recovery, but if time told us anything, it was that some things could never be let go. Some things were necessary.
And boy, was this necessary.
He pulled at the rod and let the hood slam back down with an explosion of dust. The whoosh of air struck the overhead light, making it sway as the darkness danced around the cold, empty room. The man was alone, depending on which way you looked at it, but it still felt as if they were present—as if they were somewhere in the spiritual world telling him it was okay.
But he already knew it was okay, and he would see it through.
For moments he stood there, pondering the past long enough that the light above him rocked slowly to a standstill. Only then did he notice the music had stopped. Cussing under his breath, he marched toward the small metal steps and climbed up into the office at the top. He burst through the rickety door and found the radio still in its place. Had he turned it off and forgotten about it, or had it simply malfunctioned? It was an old hunk of junk, so the latter was more than possible, but the former could still have happened. Regardless, he picked it up and checked the knob. It was still on. He hit it with the heel of his hand, once, twice, until the music crackled back through the speaker—Elvis singing about his shoes.
The man sucked in a large, dusty breath and let it flow out. He needed a drink, but he couldn’t do that yet. Drinkers made mistakes, and there was no room for mistakes when you were about to carry out your revenge. That kill had to be executed perfectly, and all tracks had to be covered, no matter what. Alcohol was a temporary fix, but it would ultimately land him in trouble when the time came.
And when was that time?
He stole a glance of his wristwatch: 4:30 a.m.
The sun would come up soon, which left him a very small window to go about his business. The only option would be to wait another day until night came again, urging him to take control and do what
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