Page 69 of Wrecked With You

“So he set this house up under a dozen or so shell accounts, moved in, and hired private nursing care,” he guessed.

“Got it in one,” Denny said. “Only not nursing care. A nurse. Singular. Your dad’s not the most trusting guy.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“Right. Sorry. Morgan’s not too trusting. He has one nurse who looks after him. Nine to seven. She’ll do overnights if he’s in a bad way, but right now, I guess he’s chugging along because she left fifteen minutes ago. I had Mario sit on the house while we went and got you two.”

“So what’s the plan?” Quincy asked. “Are you here to arrest him for the conspiracy to murder your mother and uncle? Vartac confessed. He was a bit looped on chemicals, but I’m sure we could arrange a signed, drug-free confession.”

“That’s the plan,” Tony said, even though of course it wasn’t the plan. Which Quince had to know. Liam, too. They’d all worked together at Deliverance. His friends knew that there was no way Tony was letting that subpar excuse for a human live another day.

As for Denny, he seriously doubted her morals would be tweaked by his intentions, and he knew Emma’s wouldn’t.

And yet they all still played the game.

He looked at Emma, now dressed in black denim and a black long-sleeve shirt. She looked sexy as hell, and more like a cat burglar than an intelligence officer.

“Ready?”

“Lead the way,” she said.

The house had an alarm system, but it was a piece of shit that Denny had hacked through in less than ten minutes. Apparently, Morgan didn’t think he was on anyone’s radar.

The fact that they were breaking in, though, was further proof that everyone in that van knew he wasn’t coming to arrest Morgan. People with the intention to put legitimate cuffs on a criminal didn’t break and enter. Plus, they tended to bring someone in law enforcement. Not private security, no matter how prestigious.

At any rate, he was grateful for Denny’s skills, and they were in the house in under three minutes.

“Comms check,” he whispered, and got a soft Roger that, in response.

He checked his weapon as Emma did the same. Not that he expected a firefight with a decrepit old man, but you never knew. If all went as expected, he’d be using exactly one bullet.

Morgan’s bedroom was on the first floor, and they found it more from the stench than the floor plan Denny had worked out. The hall was putrid, stinking of human waste and bodily fluids.

“It’s like somebody dumped a truckload of used diapers,” Emma commented. “Then sprayed them down with liquefied rotting meat.”

“Thanks. If my stomach hadn’t already been flipping, it would surely be now.”

She didn’t answer. Probably so she could go a few more steps without breathing.

The door to Morgan’s room was open. He lay like a wraith in a twin-size hospital bed, his frail body barely making a dent under the dingy gray sheet. His face was turned away, and he was looking out a window at a backyard aviary. Maybe wondering if one day he’d have the chance to fly away.

“Father.”

Morgan’s head turned slowly. As if it took all his strength. His face was lumpy with pustules, his eyes red and runny, his lips cracked and sneering. “You,” he rasped. “Why the fuck would anyone think I’d want to see you?”

“I could ask myself the same question about you.” He put his hand on his gun as Emma stepped up beside him.

But, dammit, he couldn’t bring himself to pull. He knew damn well there’d be no consequences. If anyone could commit a crime and get away with it, he was that man.

But suddenly, he just didn’t want to.

Not that he didn’t have the stomach for it—he’d still happily dance on his father’s grave whenever that celebratory moment came.

No, he was changing his plan because the man was already in hell.

“I just came by to tell you that I’m doing great. Incredible job. Great friends. Smart, beautiful girlfriend. And that’s all in spite of you, not because of you. Just so we’re clear on that point.”

He turned to go, because really, why would he stay? Emma was standing there staring at him, a small grin tugging at her lips.