Chapter 22

Morgan was already working when McCoy arrived at his office the next morning. The first thing he noticed when she looked up to say "good morning" was how dark the bruise on her head had turned. Even with make-up it was impossible to hide. He also noticed that she looked tired.

Carmichael joined them a few minutes later and they all settled into the by now familiar routine of file searches and computer checks. With a short break for lunch, by 2:00 all the files had been researched and a fairly long list of investors had accumulated.

Morgan placed the last stack of files back in a box while McCoy collected their lists to take to Carmichael.

"I hope all of this work yields some results," he said as he walked down the hallway beside Morgan.

"So do I." She had hardly spoken all day and had seemed preoccupied, not even joining in conversation about the work they were doing.

Carmichael had the financial records of several investors copied when they joined her in her office. Morgan began looking them over carefully while the D.A.'s divided the remaining names between them. McCoy took his list and left for his office.

After about an hour Morgan stacked the financial records and stood up.

"Abbie, I'm not feeling well. Since there's not much else I can do to help today, I think I'll go to the hotel and try to get some sleep."

"Are you all right? Do you want me to go with you?" Carmichael asked.

"Oh no, I'm fine. I think I just overdid it yesterday. I have a headache today."

"All right. I'll call you if we find anything interesting."

Morgan nodded as she reached the door. "Thanks."

***McCoy looked up from his computer as Carmichael walked in.

"Do you have Lance Garrett on your list?" she asked.

He scanned it and nodded. "Yes."

"He was listed twice. I already checked him."

McCoy marked through the name. "How is Calea holding up? She seems tired today."

"She went back to the hotel about an hour ago. She said she had a headache."

He looked up sharply. "Is she okay?"

"She said she was. After working so late last night, I think she just needs some rest."

McCoy fished a small piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Carmichael. "Why don't you give her a call and see if she needs anything. This is the phone number of the hotel and the room she's in." He pushed his phone across his desk toward her. Although he turned back to his computer, he listened carefully as Carmichael placed the call. After asking the hotel operator for the room number, she waited in silence for several seconds before saying, "Yes, I would. The message is to call Abbie at the office. Thanks."

She looked worried as she hung up the phone and McCoy turned to her. "She doesn't answer. Maybe she's in the shower."

Trying to sound more reassuring than he felt, he agreed, "Maybe so. If she doesn't return your call try her again in a few minutes. If she still doesn't answer, I'll have one of the assigned officers check on her."

Carmichael nodded and returned to her office.

McCoy went back to work but his mind wasn't on the information appearing on his computer screen. He was about to get up to remind Carmichael to try calling Morgan again when his phone rang.

"McCoy."

"It's Briscoe. I'm over at the hotel we put Calea Morgan in. I hate to tell you this, but she's gone."

"WHAT?"

"No one got to her," Briscoe quickly assured him. "She left on her own. Dearman, the officer on her door, said she had two bags when she came in yesterday. There's only one here now and she left some clothes in the closet."

"Where the hell were the officers when she left?" McCoy asked with growing alarm.

"She sent Dearman for some aspirin. As near as we can gather, she took the stairs while he was gone and went out through the kitchen. A busboy remembers seeing a woman matching her description getting into a cab at the back of the hotel. Green is on the phone with the cab company trying to track down where she was going."

Carmichael walked into McCoy's office as he swore into the phone. Seeing her questioning expression, he cupped his hand over the receiver. "Calea took off. Briscoe and Green are trying to find her."

"Counselor," Briscoe said, "the cab company says a driver dropped a woman he picked up here at the airport about thirty minutes ago. He picked her up at the back door and his description matches."

"Hold on," McCoy told him sharply. Addressing Carmichael, he said, "She's at the airport. Get on the phone and find out where she's going so we can have security stop her." As Carmichael turned for the door he added, "Abbie, check the flights to Chicago first."

He turned his attention back to the phone. "I want you and Green to get out to the airport. Abbie's calling to see where Calea's headed. We'll have security hold her until you get there and pick her up."

"Hold her for what? Are we supposed to arrest her?" Briscoe asked.

"If she refuses to come back willingly then yes, arrest her."

"She isn't exactly some junkie off of the street, Jack. She's a lawyer who's going to want to know what we're charging her with."

"I don't care what the hell you charge her with," McCoy retorted angrily. "Make something up if you have to. But I want her back here, one way or another, within the hour." He slammed the phone down and got up to find Carmichael.

He found her at one of the A.D.A.'s desks across from his office. After he had waited impatiently for several minutes, Carmichael hung up the phone. "She's on her way to Chicago. The plane is already in the air. They won't return it unless she poses a danger to the other passengers."

He closed his eyes for a second and swore again. "Did you get the flight number?"

Carmichael nodded and handed him a notepad.

McCoy took the paper and returned to his desk, rifling through his Rolodex. "Call Green on his cell phone and tell him what you found out. He and Briscoe are on their way to the airport." Finding the desired card, he picked up the phone and dialed.

"This is Jack McCoy with the New York County D.A.'s office. I need to speak to Drew Compton."

"Mr. Compton is in a meeting. May I take a message?"

"It's urgent that I speak with him immediately. I would appreciate it if you would let him know I'm on the phone," he said brusquely.

"Hold please," the receptionist requested.

After only a few seconds, a deep voice came over the line.

"Jack? What can I do for you?" Compton asked.

"I don't have a lot of time to explain, but Calea is on a plane headed your way. The Fairchild case has taken some unusual turns. His wife was shot and wounded and Calea has been threatened. I'm not sure what she's going to do in Chicago, but I know it has something to do with the case." McCoy paused for a breath. "I think she may be on her way to see Frank Tyler. He's..."

Compton interrupted him. "When does she arrive?"

McCoy checked the notepad. "6:30, your time."

"What's the flight number?"

"United flight number 675."

"Are you at your office?"

"Yes," McCoy answered.

"I'll call you back," Compton promised curtly and hung up.

McCoy replaced the receiver and looked up as Carmichael came back into the room. "I called the D.A. in Chicago to help. He said he'd call back."

"What's going on, Jack? How did you know where she was going?"

"Just a hunch. I think her ex-husband is involved in this case somehow." He bit his lip and grew thoughtful. "Yesterday, when we were looking through the old files, there was one with three investors that caught her attention. When I asked her if she recognized any of the names, she said she thought she did at first but was mistaken."

He got up and walked to Carmichael's office with her. Scanning the labeling on the side of the boxes, he chose one and unstacked those on top of it. "It was in this box," he said, pulling out a stack of files and handing them to Carmichael before taking a stack for himself. "The name on the file was 'Garrison Building'."

They looked through every file in the box within a few minutes.

"It isn't here," Carmichael noted, restacking her files. "Are you sure it was in this box?"

"Positive. She must have taken it with her. When you ran the names from my list through the computer yesterday, nothing unusual came up?"

"Nothing," Carmichael answered. "But Calea did seem interested in the reports I did yesterday afternoon."

After replacing the box of files with the others, McCoy asked, "Where are they?"

Carmichael took a file from her desk and handed it to him.

As he looked through the computer runs, he said, "I can't remember the names off-hand but if I see them again I will." After looking through the entire stack, he tossed the file onto her desk with annoyance. "They aren't here either."

"Why would she take that information and go to Chicago without telling us? We could've helped her find out what she wanted to know from here," Carmichael stated as they were walking back to McCoy's office.

"I don't know. I think Calea is the only one who can answer that." He sounded worried. "Let's just hope we get the opportunity to ask her."

Carmichael sat on the couch once they reached McCoy's office. "What makes you think her ex-husband is involved?"

He looked at her for a minute, debating how much to tell her about what Morgan had confided in him the night after Leslie Fairchild was shot. Before he could come to a decision, the phone rang. He picked it up before the first ring was finished.

"This is Compton. I sent a detective who knows Calea to the airport to meet her and I'm on my way there as well. Can you explain to me what's going on?"

McCoy sat back in his chair, feeling at least slightly relieved. "It seems Peter Fairchild didn't murder Evan Carpelli after all," he began.

He briefly related the events of the previous weeks, excluding any mention of Tyler's visit. He finished by telling Compton about Morgan taking all of the information on the three investors.

"What were their names?"

"I can't remember. But the file was on a renovation Fairchild did in Chicago. She must have recognized the names from when she was there."

"And you think she's coming here to talk to Tyler about it?"

After a pause, McCoy informed him, "I think he's involved."

Compton's voice was sharp. "Why?"

McCoy told him of the visit Tyler had paid, stating simply that Tyler had encouraged Morgan to take a plea and hinted she might receive threats. "If he isn't involved, he knows who is."

"That S.O.B.," Compton swore angrily. "I'm not surprised."

"Do you have something on him?"

"I wish. I have my suspicions and I've been watching him for a long time, but he's careful. I haven't been able to catch him at anything." Compton sighed in frustration. "I still don't understand why you think Calea is coming to talk with him, especially if she suspects he's involved."

"I believe she's going to confront him."

Compton was silent a moment. "I don't think she’d do that."

"I've experienced first-hand how she reacts to someone whom she even perceives is threatening her client. If she thinks Tyler is in any way responsible for setting Fairchild up, it isn't difficult to imagine her challenging him on it. And if he is involved, he may have had something to do with the threats she received. She could be walking right into his hands."

"Well, one way or another, I'll find out. The detective I sent is going to keep her at the airport until I get there. I'll give you a call after I talk with her. How much longer will you be at your office?"

"I'll stay here until I hear from you," McCoy answered. "Maybe you can talk some sense into her and convince her to return to New York tonight."

Compton huffed out a breath. "You don't know what you're asking but I'll see what I can do."

After he had replaced the receiver, McCoy stared at the phone. It was going to be a long evening.

***As soon as Morgan walked out of the terminal she spotted the familiar face waiting close to the entrance. She stopped in front of the detective, studying him with a slight frown as she adjusted the shoulder strap of her briefcase.

"I don't suppose you're here by coincidence."

The man shook his head solemnly.

"Then my guess is Drew Compton sent you."

He nodded his head.

"And that means a certain D.A. in New York is responsible for making some unnecessary phone calls."

"I don't know about that, Ma'am. I'm only following orders."

Morgan looked at him questioningly. "So what are you going to do now?"

"Right now," he said, taking a step toward her, "I'm going to give you a hug, if you have no objections."

She broke into a bright smile. "No objections, Detective."

The man threw his arms around her, nearly pulling her off of her feet in his enthusiasm.

"It's good to see you, Peaches."

Morgan put her free arm around his neck, standing on tiptoe. "If he had to send someone, Angelo, I'm glad it was you." She stood back and looked at him. "You look exactly the same as you did when I left."

He beamed as he took her bag from her hand. "And you look even better. Except for that big lump on your head. What happened?"

With a shrug Morgan replied, "Car accident."

He started walking away from the terminal and she followed. "Do you have any other luggage?"

"No. I'm not staying long."

"So what kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?"

"No trouble," she answered a bit defensively. "The D.A.'s in New York are just not quite as understanding as the ones in Chicago."

The detective rolled his eyes. "Right."

Morgan smiled. "Really, it's nothing. Only a misunderstanding between an overzealous D.A. and myself."

When they took a turn down a quiet hallway lined with offices, Morgan asked, "Exactly what are your orders, Detective Zamora?"

He didn't answer immediately but walked a few more feet and opened an office door. Standing aside to allow her to enter, he replied, "I'm supposed to keep you here until Compton arrives. I believe his exact words were, 'Don't let her out of your sight for a minute, not even to go to the ladies' room'."

Morgan's eyebrows arched. "Really? I guess he's worried I still remember all those evasive tactics you taught me when I worked at the station."

Zamora closed the door and set down her bag. "And do you?"

"Let me go to the ladies' room and you'll find out," she assured him.

With a broad grin he said, "I think I'll just follow my orders, Counselor."

They talked for a short while, Morgan asking about various people they both knew and Zamora filling her in on the latest gossip. They were both startled by the door suddenly opening without warning.

A man in a business suit, with brown hair graying at the temples, stepped into the room. His eyes met Morgan's and held them even as he addressed the man. "Detective. I see you found her. Did you have any trouble?"

"Not at all. We’ve been catching up on old times."

"I appreciate your help," the man said dismissively.

Taking his cue, Zamora slid off the desk he had been perched on and gave Morgan another quick hug.

"Call me if you have some free time tomorrow. I'll be at the precinct."

Morgan nodded. "I'll try. It was good to see you, Angelo."

"You too, Peaches. Don't wait so long for your next visit."

Zamora closed the door behind him as he left. Morgan looked hesitantly at the other man, who had not taken his hazel eyes off of her for a second.

"How are you?" he asked quietly.

"I'm fine. And you?"

"I'm doing well." He studied her for another second. "What's going on, Calea?"

Morgan sighed and reached up to rub the back of her neck. "I'm not sure I know, Drew."

"McCoy wants me to send you back to New York tonight."

Shaking her head, Morgan informed him decisively, "That is not going to happen."

He gave her a little smile. "Somehow, I didn't think it was." He motioned to her small suitcase. "Is this everything?"

She nodded, picking up the briefcase beside her. "That's it." She slid off the desk, standing in front of him.

Before picking up the suitcase, Compton took a step forward and put his arms around her. "I've missed you," he said simply.

Morgan returned the embrace, settling against his broad chest. "I've missed you too."

He rested his chin on the top of her head briefly before releasing her. "Come on. Let's see if I can remember where I parked."

***Once they were out of the airport and on their way, Compton asked, "Does that bruise on your forehead have anything to do with your case?"

Morgan was slow in answering. "Yes, it does."

"I assume it happened when you were run off the road."

The annoyance in Morgan's voice was impossible to miss. "It sounds like you and McCoy had quite a conversation. I'm sure you know as much about the case as I do. Did the two of you make any other decisions together, other than to have me picked up as if I were a criminal?"

Compton chose to ignore her question. "He thinks you know more than you're telling him. And knowing you as I do, I'm sure he's probably right."

"Suspicion must be a prerequisite for a D.A.," Morgan noted sarcastically.

"Why are you here, Calea?" Compton questioned sternly.

Morgan looked out of the window for a few seconds. "Where exactly are we going?"

Compton's head whipped around to look at her. "Don't pull that with me, Counselor. I asked you a direct question and I expect a direct answer. And if I don't get one in the next thirty seconds, I'll turn around, put you back on a plane to New York, and let McCoy deal with you."

He saw the amusement in Morgan's eyes as she stared at him.

"Something funny?" he snapped.

Morgan shook her head. "It's just been a long time since anyone has talked to me like that."

"Past time, I'd say," Compton said sharply. His tone softened a bit when he saw her slight smile. "Maybe I need to have another conversation with McCoy and give him some pointers on how to handle you."

He glanced over and saw the amusement fade. "You don't need to do him any favors. I have enough problems with him as it is."

Compton concentrated on the road for a minute. "He said he thinks you're here to confront Frank."

"He said that?" Morgan asked quickly. "What did you tell him?"

He turned to look out of his own window, avoiding her intense eyes. "I didn't tell him anything." His voice was quiet. "Are you going to see him?"

Morgan turned away. "No."

"Look at me, Calea." Compton waited until she did so. "Swear to me you won't go see him."

"I won't. I promise."

He sighed. "Good. You know, if he is involved, you could be in as much danger here as you were in New York."

"You don't have to worry, Drew. No one knows I'm here but the good guys." There was an angry edge in her voice as she added almost under her breath, "And McCoy."

"Don't be too hard on him. He sounded genuinely worried."

"The only thing Jack McCoy is worried about is losing control of a case. He's upset because I didn't ask his permission before leaving."

Compton glanced over at her, slightly surprised by the intensity in her voice. "Losing some of those Southern manners, Counselor?"

Morgan gave a quick sigh as she looked out of the window. "Let's just say he has a way of bringing out the worst in me."

"Oh? Another Robert Abbott?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her head turn toward him. "He isn't like that," she said quickly, then seemed to hesitate for a second. "We just don't always see eye to eye. In fact, he reminds me a lot of you."

Compton shook his head. "If he's like me, I don't see how there could possibly be a problem. I'm a great guy. And you and I have always gotten along perfectly well."

Morgan met his smile with one of her own. "Maybe that's where I see the similarity; you both have the same overly inflated ego."

With a quiet chuckle, Compton said, "It goes with the job."

Her voice grew serious. "Where are you taking me, Drew?"

"Home," he replied simply.

She was quiet a minute. "You don't have to do that."

"I haven't seen you in four years, Peaches. I'd like to spend some time with you."

"I had planned on getting a room downtown tonight."

Compton looked over at her. "I won't hear of it. And besides, do you really want me to have to go home and explain why you're in town and I dropped you at a hotel? You know Grace. Surely you can't wish that on me."

Morgan gave him a half-smile. "Can I assume she already knows I'm here?"

"I called her when I was on the way to the airport."

"Then I guess I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"Not if you don't want to be responsible for a homicide."

"Okay," she agreed. "It should only be for one night, two at the most. But I will have to leave early tomorrow morning to take care of some business."

"That's fine. Grace has an appointment downtown tomorrow. She can drop me at the office and you can take my car, then we can meet up later."

"That's okay, I'll take a cab. I'm not really sure how my day is going to go. You may need your car before I'm finished."

"I don't have court tomorrow, I'm flexible. And besides, I insist."

Morgan chewed her lip for a second. "All right," she finally consented.

After a pause, Compton reminded her, "You know, you never did answer my question. Why are you here?"

Her voice was quiet. "I can't tell you that. You just have to trust that I know what I'm doing."

He looked into her serious eyes. "Would I be happy if you did tell me?"

"Please don't ask me any more questions about it. It's just something I have to do."

Compton sighed. "I don't think that answer is going to satisfy McCoy. He's waiting for my call to let him know if you're returning tonight. I'm sure he's going to want to talk to you."

"I have nothing to say to him and I don't particularly care to hear anything he has to say to me. I certainly have no intention of explaining myself to him."

Giving her a sideways glance, Compton shook his head slightly.

***"Grace," Compton called as he held the door for Morgan.

A woman no taller than Morgan came around the corner. She was dressed impeccably, every frosted hair in place.

"Calea!" she exclaimed, coming toward her with outstretched arms.

Morgan hugged the older woman tightly. "How are you, Grace?"

Stepping back, she answered, "Older, but other than that I can't complain. It's so good to see you. I couldn't believe it when Drew told me he was on his way to pick you up. I hope you're going to stay for a while."

"Actually, I'm planning on returning to New York tomorrow evening." Linking arms, the two made their way to a large, bright kitchen.

Compton walked past them with Morgan's suitcase. "At least I talked her out of going to a hotel, Grace. I'll put this in the guest room."

When he had left the room, Grace looked at Morgan intently. "Drew says you're in some sort of trouble. Can you tell me about it?"

Shaking her head, Morgan answered, "It's only a case I'm working on. There's nothing to worry about, really."

"So, who is Jack McCoy?"

Morgan crossed her arms and frowned slightly. "He's a controlling, overbearing, Executive Assistant District Attorney. Need I say more?"

Grace chuckled. "That description does sound vaguely familiar. Sounds like you have pretty strong feelings about him."

"Oh, I have very strong feelings about him. But my mother taught me not to use the kind of language it would take to tell you about it," Morgan assured her.

Compton came back into the room and put his hands on his wife's shoulders. "Don't talk her ear off, Grace," he warned good-naturedly. Giving Morgan a quick look, he added, "I have to go make a phone call."

***By sheer force of will McCoy had spent the evening working on pending files. He had sent Carmichael home around 7:00, even though she had volunteered to keep him company while he waited for Compton's call.

He had checked his watch for at least the twentieth time when the phone rang. He snatched it up.

"Jack, Drew Compton. I'm sorry it took so long to get back to you. Traffic from the airport was heavy today."

"Did you find Calea?"

"Yes, I did. She's here with me now and she's fine."

McCoy sighed and let the relief flood through his body. "I take it you couldn't talk her into coming back here tonight."

"No, I couldn't. But I did talk her into spending the night with my wife and me. She'll be safe here."

"Did she tell you what she's doing there?"

"Not exactly," Compton replied slowly. "But she did assure me she isn't here to see Tyler."

"And you believed her?" McCoy asked incredulously.

"She wouldn't lie to me. Not about this."

McCoy huffed out a breath. "Why not? She hasn't exactly been truthful with me."

"I've known Calea for a long time. She may not always be forthcoming with information, but when asked a direct question she won't lie. I have to trust that what she's told me is true."

"I guess I don't share you're trust, Counselor," he retorted sharply. After a pause he asked, "If she isn't going to see Tyler, then why is she there?"

"I don't know. She won't tell me. All she would say is that there's something she has to do."

McCoy tried to keep his anger under control. "That's it? That's all she said?"

"Maybe I can get more out of her later. I don't think I have to tell you how stubborn she can be."

"No, you don't, but I can't wait for her to decide whether or not to talk. I need some answers tonight. I'd like to speak with her myself."

There was a pause. "Look, it’s been a long day, Jack, and you're probably as tired as the rest of us. I'm sure you'd like to take off and go home," Compton suggested tactfully.

McCoy understood perfectly. "She doesn't want to talk to me."

"Now that you mention it..."

"Tell her that if she doesn't talk to me now, I'll have a couple of my detectives on your doorstep in a few hours to bring her back here by force, if necessary."

He was sure he could hear a smile in the other man's voice as Compton said, "If you don't mind, I'd rather not tell her that, at least not while I'm in the same house with her. But if you'll hold on for a minute, I'll see if I can persuade her to come to the phone."

Sitting back in his chair, McCoy waited impatiently, tapping his fingers on his desk. After what seemed like an eternity, her voice finally came over the line. And there was no mistaking her anger.

"I'm not a criminal or even a suspect, Jack. You had no right involving the authorities here and having me picked up at the airport."

"As a D.A., concerned for the welfare of someone within my jurisdiction, I had every right," McCoy answered, equally angry.

"Well consider yourself relieved of that burden in my case, Counselor, as I'm no longer within your jurisdiction."

He was used to dealing with uncooperative attorneys. But this was different. His voice grew softer, conveying some of the betrayal he felt. "You promised me you wouldn't ditch the cops again, Calea. How could you leave like that? Why didn't you tell me what you were going to do?"

If she noticed the change, she chose to ignore it. "It should be obvious I left like I did because I didn't want anyone to know what I was doing. I'm here on a personal matter. I'm under no obligation to explain myself to you."

"You took files and information from this office with you. That alone deserves an explanation."

"Those files are the property of my client. As his attorney, I have legal access to them. The fact that they may or may not be in my possession at this time is irrelevant."

"So you're telling me that your being there has nothing to do with this case?"

"I'm not telling you anything," Morgan snapped. "It's none of your business."

"The threats you received have made you part of a criminal investigation, Counselor. That makes it my business. I want to know why you're in Chicago," McCoy demanded.

"My being here doesn't concern you. And I can take care of myself."

"Like hell, you can. What happened Monday should’ve been enough to convince you that you can't. You could be in more danger there than you were here in New York." McCoy paused for a second. "Tell me what you're planning to do, Calea."

"I'm not telling you anything."

His voice became dead calm. "If you don't answer my question, I will send Briscoe and Green to pick you up and bring you back here where I will charge you with hindering prosecution."

Morgan was quiet for a minute. When she finally spoke, she was equally calm. "If that's what you feel you need to do, then do so. But Chicago is a big place and I know my way around a lot better than a couple of New York City detectives. Don't count on them finding me."

He heard the click as she hung up the phone.

***Morgan stalked out of the study and into the kitchen with her hands in the pockets of her slacks, eyes flashing. Noting the discreet looks of her hosts, she said, "I need some air. I'm going for a walk."

As she turned to retrieve her coat, Compton exchanged a meaningful look with his wife, who set down the plates she had taken from the cabinet.

"Is this air something you need to be alone to get, or would you like some company?" she asked.

Giving her a tense smile, Morgan told her, "I'd love some company."

While the other woman disappeared for her coat and walking shoes, Morgan regarded Compton angrily. "Thanks for your support with McCoy, Drew. I appreciate it."

"It was between you and him, Calea, and I felt like I was being put in the middle. You needed to talk with him yourself."

"I'm perfectly willing and able to fight my own battles, as you well know. But I made it clear that I didn't want to speak with him. I didn't ask you to call him, and I certainly wasn't putting you in the middle. You made your own decision to help him."

Compton walked across the room to stand in front of her, looking down into her stormy eyes.

"I agreed to help him because he said he thought you were going to see Frank. And if I thought for one minute that you were going to do so, I'd do anything within my power to stop you."

"I've already told you I'm not here to see him."

"Fine. If it turns out that a crime has been committed within or by someone within my jurisdiction, I will become involved to the extent my office allows. Otherwise, this is between you and McCoy. My only concern here is with your safety."

Morgan turned away from him to put on her coat. "I could do with a lot less concern for my safety from everyone."

He reached out and took her by the arm, gently pulling her around to face him. "You can't be angry because people care, Calea."

She looked up at him sharply as Grace came back into the room.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," Morgan answered, turning to follow her to the door.

***McCoy stomped around his office for some time, angry and frustrated. He was torn between carrying out his threat to put Briscoe and Green on the next flight to Chicago, and being afraid Morgan would carry out hers and disappear.

He stacked the files he had been working on and straightened his desk, allowing himself time to cool down before making an attempt to get Compton's home number. He was sure Morgan wouldn't agree to speak with him again but Compton was the one he really wanted to talk to. If she wasn't coming back right away he had to make sure she would be safe where she was.

He hung up the phone from calling information, learning that the number was unlisted, as he suspected it would be. Flipping through his Rolodex, he pulled Compton's office number out as the phone rang.

"Jack," Compton said, "I wasn't sure you'd still be in your office."

"I had some paperwork to finish. And as a matter of fact, I was trying to get your home number. I was hoping to speak with you about Calea."

"I thought you might want to. She and my wife are out for a walk." Compton paused a second. "I have to hand it to you, in all the years I've known her, I don't think I've ever seen her quite so angry."

McCoy was in no mood for light conversation and he was more than a little worried about Morgan walking without a police escort. He had also finally put his finger on something that had been hovering at the back of his mind all evening.

"Tell me what you know about Frank Tyler," he demanded.

There was a brief pause. "I already told you I have suspicions about him. But the bottom line is he's a very successful attorney and a well-respected member of the community."

"I want to know what kind of man he is."

"What do you mean?"

"When I called this afternoon, the minute I mentioned Calea may be going to talk with him, you reacted. I didn't get the chance to tell you I thought he was involved in anything until later. What do you know about him that would cause you to be so concerned about Calea seeing him?"

After a few seconds of silence, Compton noted, "You don’t have any proof Tyler is involved in anything illegal, yet you seem as concerned about that as I am. Maybe I should ask the same question of you."

McCoy sat back in his chair. If he wanted to get information, maybe he needed to give a little. "The day he showed up after court, my assistant had invited her to have a drink with us and Calea had turned her down. But when Tyler appeared and wanted to speak with her, she told him she was on her way to have a drink with us. It was obvious she didn't want to be alone with him. We all sat together for a while but Tyler eventually took her aside to talk in private. He grabbed her arm in the course of their conversation, hard enough that I could still see the marks when she came back to the table. When I asked her about it later, she wouldn't talk about it. But the one time I saw them together was enough to convince me he's capable of hurting her. I'd like to know if you think that's possible as well."

Compton was quiet so long, McCoy wasn't sure he was going to respond.

"I never saw Tyler physically hurt her when they were married and she never told he had. I don't want her around him either, but my reasons are my own. There's nothing I can tell you."

McCoy sighed in frustration. "Without knowing where she's going or what she's going to do, how can I know she'll be safe?"

"Calea said she's planning on leaving for New York tomorrow evening. Whatever she's here for is going to happen tomorrow. I've talked her into taking my car." Compton paused briefly. "Just before I called you, I arranged to have her followed in the morning. I may trust her but I'm still concerned for her safety."

His eyebrows arched. "Do you know exactly when she's returning here?"

"No, but I'll see that she gets on the plane safely and I'll let you know once she has."

"I would appreciate that. I'll either be at my office, or if it gets really late, at home."

"I'll be in touch tomorrow," Compton assured him.