What I've Done (Morgan Dane Book 4) Read online

  ALSO BY MELINDA LEIGH

  MORGAN DANE NOVELS

  Say You’re Sorry

  Her Last Goodbye

  Bones Don’t Lie

  SCARLET FALLS NOVELS

  Hour of Need

  Minutes to Kill

  Seconds to Live

  SHE CAN SERIES

  She Can Run

  She Can Tell

  She Can Scream

  She Can Hide

  “He Can Fall” (A Short Story)

  She Can Kill

  MIDNIGHT NOVELS

  Midnight Exposure

  Midnight Sacrifice

  Midnight Betrayal

  Midnight Obsession

  THE ROGUE SERIES NOVELLAS

  Gone to Her Grave (Rogue River)

  Walking on Her Grave (Rogue River)

  Tracks of Her Tears (Rogue Winter)

  Burned by Her Devotion (Rogue Vows)

  Twisted Truth (Rogue Justice)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2018 by Melinda Leigh

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503903050

  ISBN-10: 1503903052

  Cover design by Eileen Carey

  To Charlie

  After twenty-four years together,

  our life keeps getting better.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Haley gasped, sucking air into her lungs like a person who had just surfaced after being underwater too long. Oxygen flooded her, and consciousness returned with a rush of sensation that swept over her skin and left it tingling. Pain throbbed through her head as she opened her eyes. Her vision blurred. The blur spun, and she quickly shut her eyes again.

  What happened?

  Shimmering lights and loud music flashed in her mind. It had been Piper’s birthday, and she’d talked Haley into going dancing to celebrate, even though Haley would have preferred to hang out in her pajamas, eat pizza, and play video games. Haley had run into Noah and his friends. She and Noah had ordered drinks and nachos. They’d danced.

  Then what?

  She blinked. A dim and unfamiliar ceiling fan took shape. She was not in her own bed. Heart racing, she glanced at the pillow next to hers. Vacant. Whose bed was she in? Regret followed close on the heels of the agony splitting her head.

  She slammed her eyelids down, rolled to her side, and curled into a fetal position.

  This was why she wasn’t a drinker.

  This was why she preferred gaming to clubbing.

  Had she gone home with Noah? The last thing she remembered was him chatting her up, bringing her a second cosmo. Though she didn’t have much tolerance for alcohol, two drinks certainly weren’t enough to make her black out. She hadn’t had a hangover since college. She’d learned her lesson about overindulging in alcohol during The Great Tequila Incident of freshman year.

  But that was before she’d gotten sick. Now she rarely drank, and she never overindulged.

  Dizziness swam through her head. Duh. She wasn’t hungover. She needed her medication, and for that, she needed to find her purse. Her stupid Addison’s disease was a pain in the butt. She’d take her meds, then call an Uber and go home. She’d figure the rest out later. Though she hadn’t planned to hook up with anyone, she always carried extra medication with her in case of an emergency.

  But last night hadn’t been an emergency. She’d gone home with someone. Shame washed over her, leaving her cold and hollow.

  Please let it have been Noah.

  It had to have been him. Piper wouldn’t have let her leave with a stranger, even if Haley hadn’t been a best friend last night. She winced as she remembered how much time she’d spent with Noah during a girls’ night out. She and her girlfriend always watched each other’s backs. Always. Piper wouldn’t let something as stupid as a little jealousy bypass their safety pact.

  Right?

  In the back of her mind, something didn’t feel normal, but she shushed the nagging voice. She’d take her meds, her brain would clear, and things would start making sense.

  She opened her eyes and blinked a few times. Her vision was still blurry. The light filtering in through the blinds told her it was daytime. Dehydration was a frequent issue with her disease. Her purse sat on the nightstand next to a half-empty bottle of water. She pulled the purse to her and searched for her phone. She didn’t find it, but she did spot her prescription bottle. She swallowed a tablet and drained the water bottle.

  An envelope on the nightstand caught her attention. She reached for it. Through the clear window, the label read Noah Carter above a Grey’s Hollow address.

  Relief swept over her. Though they’d met only a few times, the chemistry between her and Noah had been palpable. He was a very cute web designer who had consulted for the bank where she was a social media coordinator.

  Haley had a weakness for nerds.

  Her focus shifted to a crusty substance on her hand. Haley spread her hand in front of her face. Something dark and dry and rust-colored was smeared on her fingers. It took a moment before confusion shifted to clarity.

  Blood?

  Disbelief sliced through her haze. She sat upright, the quick motion turning her stomach over. Her gaze cut across the bed. The same rusty marks streaked the bedding, though the dark red was barely visible on the charcoal-gray comforter. Definitely blood. Fear rushed through her. Her heartbeat doubled its rhythm. She turned her hand over but saw no cuts on her skin, nor could she feel any sharp pain anywhere on her body.

  She swallowed, her stomach sour. This couldn’t be happening. It
must be a nightmare.

  With panic gearing up inside her, Haley scooted back against the headboard, getting as far away from the stains as possible. But there was no escaping them. In horror, she stared at her body. She was naked, and her hands, arms, and legs were streaked with dried blood. Panic surged as she searched her skin for injuries. She found a scratch on her arm, but there was no way that scratch had produced the volume of blood on the bedding.

  If it wasn’t her blood, whose was it?

  Noah’s?

  Coldness spread through her limbs, and she trembled as she scrambled to the edge of the bed.

  The double bed faced a dresser and chair. On the wall to her left, two doors stood open. One led into a hall. Through the other she could see into the closet, where men’s shirts hung in a row, some still in clear plastic dry-cleaning bags.

  Shivering, she climbed out of the bed, her legs shaky and weak, her mouth dry from nerves and dehydration. Frigid air wafted from the doorway. Goose bumps rose on her arms. Where was her phone? Dropping to her knees on the carpet, she looked under the bed. Dust. A sock.

  And more blood.

  Rusty drops of it led across the pale-gray carpet toward the open door. Even without any clear memory, she knew that the blood had dripped from her hands.

  Standing, she took two steps to the window and peered through the blinds. A long lawn and driveway sloped toward the street a hundred feet away. A small red house sat on the other side of the road.

  Turning, she crept barefoot to the doorway and eased from the room into the even colder hall. Her heart hammered hard enough to rattle her breastbone and vibrate in her throat. The bathroom was just outside the bedroom door. It was white-tiled, empty, and clean. She glanced through another doorway into a second bedroom furnished as a home office. There was no one inside.

  Her gaze snapped back to the trail of blood that meandered down the hallway.

  She hesitated, listening. Was anyone else here? Seconds ticked by, punctuated by the echo of her pulse in her ears. All she could hear was the distant whine of a leaf blower coming from outside. No sounds emanated from the living areas of the house.

  Whatever she was going to find at the end of the trail wasn’t going to be good. But she couldn’t stop herself. Her feet tracked a line parallel to the blood. The air grew colder, and the dots became more numerous. Clumping together.

  As if the blood had dripped less as she’d walked toward the bedroom.

  The hallway opened into a living room. Her gaze panned over the furniture and carpet. Her black dress lay crumpled on the floor. Her high heels were under the coffee table. She crossed the room, snatched her dress from the floor, and tugged it over her head. The snug fit, lauded as hot by Piper the night before, felt binding and uncomfortable. It was better than being naked, but the skimpy garment did little to ward off the cold, damp air of early March in upstate New York.

  Or the sense that she was acutely vulnerable.

  The blood trail beckoned her to follow it through a doorway that led to the back of the house, toward the source of the wind. She walked to the threshold of the kitchen, the sight stopping her forward motion as if she’d stepped in deep, wet cement.

  The blood.

  The rusty trail led to a sickeningly large smear on the gray floor tiles. In the center of the blood lay a knife.

  An image flashed in her mind, and she knew the knife had once been in her hand.

  A second line of blood led from the smear out the open door. This trail was not composed of dots but one long streak. Through the doorway, Haley could see the large backyard and the woods in the distance.

  The blood crossed the threshold and continued onto the porch.

  Her legs threatened to give out as she stumbled out the back door. At the bottom of the porch steps, she saw him.

  No.

  Her breath froze in her throat. Her knees buckled. The sky spun. She put a hand on the nearby railing to steady herself.

  Clearly crawling or dragging himself, Noah had turned right, toward the nearest neighbor’s house, but he hadn’t gotten far. He was sprawled on his side, his arms flung forward. His eyes, once a warm brown, were empty and opaque. He was wearing the same dorky Doctor Who T-shirt she’d thought was so adorable the night before. Saturated, the spinning TARDIS was barely recognizable.

  Numb, she sank to her knees beside the body. The cold didn’t register on the bare skin of her legs. One hand reached for Noah. She brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. A bug crawled across his face. She snatched her hand away as if burned.

  She sank back onto her heels. Gasping, she stared down at her open palms and the blood on her hands. A scream ripped from her throat.

  What have I done?

  Chapter Two

  “Lincoln Sharp, private investigator.” Closing the door on the March wind, Sharp assessed the woman in the foyer of Sharp Investigations. “How can I help you?”

  “My name is Olivia Cruz. You can call me Olivia.” She unbuttoned her khaki trench coat. Black slacks and a pale-blue blouse draped a fit-looking body. She was short, even in her pointy high heels. Her dark eyes, deep-brown hair, and olive skin suggested some Hispanic ancestry. “I’m looking for Morgan Dane.”

  Morgan, a former prosecutor turned criminal defense attorney, rented an office in Sharp’s converted duplex.

  “Ms. Dane isn’t in this morning. You should call and make an appointment.”

  “I tried that.” Olivia slid her hand into a sleek black bag and withdrew a business card. “She hasn’t returned my message.”

  Sharp read the card she handed him.

  “You’re a reporter,” he said with disdain.

  If she had told him that when she’d introduced herself, he wouldn’t have let her through the front door. Her small smile said she knew it.

  Damn. He was too old to get fooled by a pretty face.

  “Yes.” She nodded, completely ignoring the obvious contempt in his voice. “But at the moment, I’m working on a true crime book about the Chelsea Clark kidnapping.”

  Several months before, Morgan had been hired by Chelsea Clark’s husband. In turn, Morgan had engaged Sharp Investigations to find the missing woman. The man who had kidnapped Chelsea had committed suicide in prison, so there was no upcoming trial that would prevent Morgan from discussing the case. But Sharp still doubted that Morgan would speak to a reporter. She respected the Clark family’s privacy, and frankly, the case had been horrific. Who would want to dredge it all up again?

  A reporter looking to cash in on the suffering of others, that’s who.

  Sharp reached for the door, anxious to get rid of her. “Look, Ms. Cruz—”

  “Olivia,” she said.

  Sharp ignored the correction. Reporters were best dealt with on a strictly professional level.

  “I don’t interfere with Ms. Dane’s decisions,” he said. “I’ll give her your card and pass along the message.”

  But she didn’t budge. “She’s currently representing Roger McFarland.”

  Morgan had only taken the case a few days before, and it wasn’t very high profile. The fact that Cruz knew about it gave him pause. He remained silent, however. Once again, Morgan had hired Sharp Investigations to do the legwork. As her agent, he was bound by her client confidentiality.

  “You don’t have to respond.” Ms. Cruz waved a hand. “I have some information on Mr. McFarland that Ms. Dane will want.”

  Sharp gritted his teeth. “How did you come by this information?”

  “I have my sources.”

  Irritated, Sharp gave her his interrogation stare, a permanent byproduct of his long police career. But she was clearly not intimidated by his bad attitude.

  Unfazed, she continued, her tone cool. “I am offering this information to Ms. Dane as a show of good faith.”

  Suspicion rattled in Sharp’s gut. He had no love for reporters. They stuck their nose in cases where they weren’t wanted, publicized sensitive information, and generally mucked up
investigations. As a defense attorney, Morgan had had her own share of difficulty with the media. It was no wonder she wasn’t taking any calls from members of the press.

  “No strings attached.” Olivia caught and held his gaze.

  He had a well-developed bullshit meter, and he didn’t sense any duplicity in her. But then she’d played him well enough to get in the door, hadn’t she? That didn’t happen very often.

  And she was a reporter.

  “McFarland lied during his arraignment.” Olivia grew serious.

  Sharp kept his cop face firmly in place.

  But shit.

  Ms. Cruz’s head tilted, as if she were trying to see through his stony expression. “I know you frequently work with Ms. Dane. I also know you and your partner have been talking to Roger McFarland’s associates, so I am assuming you were therefore hired to work the case.”

  “You seem to know a lot about us.”

  Arrogance quirked the corner of her mouth. Then she grew serious again. “A client’s perjury creates a serious ethical dilemma for a defense attorney.”

  Morgan took ethics very seriously.

  Sharp sighed. “If you give me the information, I’ll relay it to her.”

  Olivia pursed her lips, seemingly considering his offer. Then she nodded. “McFarland was convicted of felony battery six years ago in Florida.”

  McFarland had neglected to list a Florida residence under previous addresses. Private investigators did not have access to the FBI’s national criminal databases and had to rely on regional sources. Sharp had run a search for criminal records on McFarland in New York State. He’d also checked for arrest records with the sheriff’s office and conviction records with Randolph County. Sharp would have eventually uncovered the residence gap and the felony conviction, but searches took time.

  “He attacked his girlfriend in a jealous rage when she broke up with him,” Olivia said. “He beat her up pretty badly. Yet during his arraignment here in New York, he denied having any prior felony convictions.”

  Because McFarland knew the prior conviction for a similar violent crime would diminish his chances of being granted bail. A battery charge in Florida was the equivalent of assault in New York. Bail would be revisited after this morning’s preliminary hearing. Prior convictions were one of the court’s main considerations when granting bail. Sharp knew that Morgan would not lie in court, but her job was to do everything in her power to defend McFarland. Telling the court about the previous felony would harm her client. Ethical dilemma indeed.