Same Place, Same Time

“You know darn well I wouldn’t go to these lengths for a simple break and enter.” Morgan’s eyes flashed dangerously.

Trista was silent for a moment before asking, “You really think someone was after the Walkers’ file? That there’s a connection with the murder?”

“I do.”

His blunt answer shook her as much as anything else had that night. She didn’t need these problems in her life.

“Well, I don’t.”

“Really? You don’t find it suspicious that someone has been nosing around in your files just one day after your client was murdered?”

“Ever heard of coincidences?”

“Heard of them, but I don’t believe in them. And if you thought about it, I think you’d agree with me. You’re just so anxious to get me out of your office you can’t think straight.”

Trista looked away. Yes, he was right. She did want to get him out of her office. Their past was an emotional minefield capable of blowing them both to bits. “This is doing neither of us any good.”

“I agree. But unfortunately, I have a job to do. Now, would you please check your office and make sure the Walker file is still there.”

Biting back a sarcastic comment on the virtual immobility of a manila folder, Trista left the reception area and went back to her office, scooping the slender file with the Walker label from the out basket on her desk. While she was at it, she slipped the cassettes from the Walkers’ two most recent sessions into the file. When she returned, she saw Morgan’s attention focus on the file and realized that he was interested in more than making sure the file was here. He held out his hand expectantly, but she ignored it.

“This is confidential information, Morgan. You know that.”

“Goddammit, Trista! This isn’t some stupid university-ethics course.”

Trista’s memory provided her with an instant flashback. It was early spring, just about this time of year. They were in university and Morgan was sitting against the trunk of a large maple tree, quizzing her on professional-ethics scenarios from one of her psychology courses. The air had smelt rich and sweet with the spring’s new growth and Morgan’s smile had made it very hard to concentrate on finals, even though they’d only been days away.

As quickly as the memory came, it was gone, leaving her with a dull aching sensation of sadness and loss. They’d been such kids back then, with no idea of the trials ahead of them.

“This is a murderer we’re dealing with, Trista. And that murderer could have been the person who was in your office tonight. Doesn’t that worry you?”

Trista swallowed. She hadn’t thought of it quite that way. “That doesn’t excuse me from releasing confidential information. Especially when you have no evidence that the information in these files could be useful.”

“Who says I don’t? You know as well as I do that’s an issue for the courts to decide. Anyway, Jerry Walker is dead. What does his confidentiality mean to him now?”

“He may be dead, but his wife isn’t.” Trista spoke defiantly, but she recognized the determined look in Morgan’s eyes. If he wanted to be stubborn about this, she knew he could apply to the courts for access to her files. Whether it would be permitted or not was another question. If possible, the whole situation was one she’d rather avoid.

“Look, I’ll go over the file tonight. If I see anything that might be pertinent, and if it’s something that can be revealed without compromising my clients, I’ll tell you.” She offered the concession, hoping Morgan would be satisfied.

But he just shook his head. “I don’t mean to question your intelligence, but what makes you think you’re in a position to judge what might or might not be pertinent to this case? Come on, Trista. If you won’t let me take the file, at least let me look through it here. You can watch, if you like.”

“You know I can’t do that! Why are you being so stubborn? I’m trying to cooperate. If you insist, I’ll review the file right now.”

Morgan looked at her bleakly. He knew she was acting in accordance with her legal responsibilities. Which put him in a pretty weak bargaining position. “Oh, damn it to hell, Trista. I guess if that’s the way you want to play it…”

“It is.”

“Okay then. But we’ll do it tomorrow, after you’ve had some rest.”

The understanding in his words was not reflected in his expression, which was full of the anger and bitterness she’d seen when he first walked in the door. As for leaving this for tomorrow—Trista knew it was wise, but the idea of unfinished business, of having to face him again…

“I’d rather get it over with tonight.”

“No. It’s too late.” Morgan turned from her. She could see the stiff set of his shoulders, feel the anger radiating from him.

She bit down on her lower lip. This was as hard on him as it was on her. She shouldn’t forget that part of it. After gathering her briefcase and jacket, she walked over to the master control and began switching off the lights.

Morgan met her in the hall, watching as she locked the main door behind her. “Tomorrow you should have your secretary check more thoroughly to make sure nothing’s missing. And have the locks changed.”

She nodded. They rode the elevator together, and paused at the outside door.

“See you tomorrow then,” she said, waiting for him to walk away from her.

But he didn’t budge from her side. “I’d like to drive you home.”

“Really, Morgan. This is getting to be a little much. You know how safe the Toronto subway system is.”

Stubbornly he stood beside her. “I’d feel better if I saw you safely to your door.”

What about her? She definitely wouldn’t feel better with him beside her. “Do you really think it’s necessary to be so cautious?”

He turned to face her, his eyes bleak. “When you’re dealing with a murderer, it never hurts to be cautious.”

“THIS IS IT.” Trista pointed out a low-rise brick apartment building with bay windows and small, square balconies with white wooden railings. Across the street, the newly budding trees that bordered the northern boundary of High Park stretched long, twisting branches into the blue-black sky. The park, which covered several hundred acres, represented sanctuary to Trista. The man sitting beside her represented quite the opposite.

“I know,” Morgan said as they pulled into a rare parking spot in front of the building.

The moment he stopped, Trista had her hand on the door handle. Quickly she turned to say goodbye, only to be faced with the back of his leather jacket as he stepped out of the car.

He was at her door and helping her out of the passenger seat before she was able to say, “I’m fine, really. There’s no need to fuss.”

His hand on her arm was familiar, and oddly enticing. Trista’s reaction frightened her and she pulled away, earning a look of pure scorn. He made no attempt to touch her again, however, as she led the way up the sidewalk and unlocked the security door to her building. When he held the door open for her, she once again prepared to say goodbye, only to find him following behind her.

“Really, Morgan. I should be just fine from here.”

The ground beneath them trembled as a train passed through the underground subway that ran along Bloor Street. In the pale light of the apartment lobby, Trista could see Morgan’s mouth form a determined line.

“I’m not doing this for the fun of it. You obviously prefer to risk facing a murderer in your apartment than five more minutes of my company. Or perhaps it hadn’t occurred to you that if someone was desperate enough to search your office, they might also be desperate enough to search your home? That they might actually be in there right now?”

Trista drew a quick breath. He was just trying to frighten her. Wasn’t he? Still, she didn’t protest as he followed her up the stairs to her apartment. Nor did she question that he knew exactly which door was hers. She handed over her key to his waiting hand and watched as he first listened at the door, then turned the key in the lock.

“Wait here for a minute while I look things over.”

It was as dramatic as the movies, but she complied, staying in the hallway while he conducted a search of her apartment. It was a full five minutes before he reappeared at the door.

“It looks okay.”

She could hear the relief in his voice. “Of course it’s okay,” she said matter-of-factly, trying to keep her own fear out of her voice. They traded positions. Now he stood in the hall, and she in the apartment, her hand on the door, eager to close it and to wipe the image of him from both her eyes and her mind.