Henry Morgan was nothing if not mysterious, he weighed every word he spoke as if it could be used against him-unless he was on a case. The thrill of the chase almost seemed to relax the good doctor, if he thought it would help find more answers he'd dig up history that was long since gone, yet he'd still be intimately familiar with it.
Jo couldn't help it, Henry was a fascinating man. The bullet wound she'd seen in his chest? He hadn't quite explained it (but he'd wanted to, it had been written all over his face-maybe he would have if they hadn't have been interrupted) because there was no way that scar had been made by a modern pistol. The projectile had been huge, spherical, and much, much slower than a modern bullet-had one of the weapons from his antique shop been used against him?
And then there had been the whole torture thing. Jo had seen it in his eyes, in his resigned posture-oh, he had gone through the motions of begging for mercy, but it hadn't been for the chance to live. Someone had tortured the Doc before, electrocuted him and God knew what else until he broke-and whoever it was had been damn close to him, because people didn't actively avoid making friends…unless they'd been completely and utterly betrayed.
His sense of self-preservation was none-existent unless, for some strange reason, he thought people would bear witness to his death. Even so, the embers of compassion had not yet been smothered in the poor sod, in fact, Jo was tempted to say that the Doc was the kindest man she'd ever met. He'd hide behind cold logic when faced with an inquisition, but the man had been more than willing to trade his reputation in order to give an unfortunate kid some peace of mind.
The Doc was a Ghost in the system, he had no paper trail, no history, Jo could only count on the clues he gave her himself-but she would piece those clues together if it took her half a century.