Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

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  ALSO BY MELINDA LEIGH MORGAN DANE NOVELS Say You’re Sorry 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)

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  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 © 2017 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: 9781542047968 ISBN-10: 154204796X Cover design by Jae Song

  To Mom, for wallpapering the entire state of NJ in bookmarks

  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 Acknowledgments About the Author

  Chapter One Digging a grave was hard work. Moonlight gleamed on the shovel as he lifted a clump of dirt and dumped it outside the knee-deep hole. Despite the coolness of the October night, sweat dripped into his eyes. Pausing, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve. With a roll of his shoulders, he plunged the shovel into the earth like a spear and let it stand upright long enough to remove his flannel shirt. He tossed the shirt outside the shallow rectangle. The breeze that blew across his bare chest cooled his skin. The scent of wood smoke lingered in the air. A carpet of dead leaves covered the trail, leaving the trees half-bare. He leaned on the handle of the shovel and turned his face to the sky. Above the tops of the trees, the moon glowed, so low in the sky it felt like he could reach up and touch it. He lifted a hand, the position giving him the illusion of holding the moon in his palm. The illusion of power. Despite the failure he was literally burying, energy surged through hi

  Chapter Two There wasn’t anything ominous about 77 Oak Street. White with blue shutters, the compact two-story Colonial sat in the middle of a perfectly ordinary cookie-cutter development. Basketball hoops and hockey nets lined the street. Colorful chalk drawings decorated the sidewalks. At nine in the morning, the neighborhood was quiet. Kids had gone off to school. Parents had left for work. But a sense of foreboding trickled down Morgan Dane’s back, along with a drop of sweat, as she compared the address with the paperwork in her lap. The numbers matched. She squinted at the house. The October sun peered over the roof from a cloudless blue sky. Its rays cut through the chilly autumn breeze and shone on a maple tree in the center of the front lawn. It was a beautiful autumn morning, not that anyone inside would know. Every blind in every window was closed tight. He was in there all right. “This is the house,” she said. Lance Kruger tapped a finger on the steering wheel of his Jeep. “

  Chapter Three Morgan! Lance dug his feet into the grass and sprinted toward the man who held Morgan by the neck. She twitched like a rag doll, rising onto her toes. His vision tunneled down to the two bodies on the stoop. Fury added fuel to his legs. If Tyler Green hurt her . . . He watched as Morgan raised one arm over her head and spun in a quarter turn. She windmilled her arm forward and used the inside of her shoulder to break Tyler’s grip on her neck. Then she drove the back of her elbow into his face. His head snapped back. Blood spurted. His hands went to cup his mouth and nose just as Lance hit him with a midbody tackle. Lance and Tyler rolled in a tangle of limbs on the front lawn, coming to a stop with Lance on top. Flat on his back on the ground, Tyler swung out with a wild and weak punch. Lance swatted the fist out of the way like he would a gnat. In the end, there wasn’t much of a struggle. Tyler acted tough when he was attacking women but didn’t know what to do with an op

  Chapter Four Morgan led the way into Sharp Investigations. The PI firm occupied the lower half of a duplex on a quiet street a few blocks off the main drag of Scarlet Falls. Lance’s boss lived in the upstairs unit. Downstairs, the two-bedroom apartment had been converted into professional space. Morgan had taken over the spare office. Though they were separate entities, private attorneys often required the services of PI firms. Being under the same roof was convenient, and the rent was cheap. With a brand-new practice, Morgan’s cash flow was tight. A few sharp barks greeted them. Rocket, the white-and-tan stray dog Sharp had recently adopted, rushed them, wagging and snuffling at Morgan. A bulldog mix of some sort, her sturdy body was filling out nicely with regular meals. Sharp met them in the foyer. “The client’s name is Tim Clark.” In his midfifties, retired Scarlet Falls police detective Lincoln Sharp was fit and wiry. He wore his more-salt-than-pepper hair buzzed short. After twen

  Chapter Five Lance’s hands went clammy as he listened to Tim’s story. The similarity between Chelsea’s disappearance and Lance’s own past echoed like shouts in a deep, dark cave. Twenty-three years ago, Lance’s father had gone to the store and never returned. When Lance’s father had disappeared, his mother had suffered the exact same scrutiny—and frustration—that plagued Tim now. But Sharp, who’d been the lead investigator, had quickly eliminated her as a suspect and moved on. Lance remembered being ten years old, sitting in the hallway just outside the kitchen, and listening in on the conversations between his mom and Sharp. His mother crying. Sharp trying to give her hope without making promises. As the weeks, months, and then years passed, those conversations hadn’t included any hope at all, and his mother had stopped crying and started fading away. Twenty-three years had gone by, but the memories still brought a sick feeling of helplessness to Lance’s gut. Morgan leaned forward. “T

  Chapter Six Chelsea woke to the smell of rust and steel in her nostrils and a thumping pain in her temples. Her vision blurred, and she squeezed her eyelids closed for a few seconds to try to clear it. Confusion fogged her mind. Something was wrong. She should be hearing William cry. Her overfull breasts ached. Where was the baby? It was past time to nurse. He never went more than a few hours between feedings. He was practically attached to her. Was he sick? She rolled to the side, coming up against a metal bar. The bed was not familiar. Neither was the silence. Where am I? She opened her eyes. For a few seconds, she blinked in the dim light. As she took in her hazy surroundings, bewilderment gave way to fear. It wrapped icy tendrils around her heart, forcing it to beat faster. Not a nightmare. The room came into focus in an instant, the truth clicking into place like a key turning in a lock until all the pins lined up. Reality flooded her consciousness—along with horror as cold and cl

  Chapter Seven He could make her love him. He knew it with complete certainty. Smoke rose in a cloud from the barrel of burning leaves. He waved it away and tossed her jeans onto the fire. At first, the bulk of the material
smothered some of the flames, but in seconds, the denim began to burn slowly, starting at the edges and creeping inward. Smoke rose, smelling like burned paper. Patience. He added more dead leaves and waited for the flames to rise again. After the fire was reestablished, he set her sweater on top of the pile. Flames curled around the fabric, embracing, and then destroying it. Unlike Chelsea, who needed to be broken down but left intact. She’d tried to escape. Fury rose inside him. He breathed through it. Letting the air slowly out of his lungs, he tried to force his muscles to relax. But the tension wouldn’t leave him. It built, feeding on his memories like the fire fed on her clothes. His rage couldn’t get the best of him. It needed to be shut down. Chelsea wasn’t t

  Chapter Eight Lance skimmed through the remaining documents in Chelsea’s file. Nothing jumped out at him. He closed the file on the card table in his office and sat back, letting the information sink into his head. Sharp walked into the room. “I made you a shake.” He handed Lance a nasty-looking green concoction. “I will never get used to the way these look.” Lance held up the glass and stared at the thick green liquid. After he’d been shot in the thigh and almost died last year, his recovery had been long, painful, and frustrating. He’d gone back to the police force only to quit when his leg didn’t hold up. He’d wallowed in pity at home, seeing little progress with his rehabilitation, until Sharp had convinced him to join his PI firm—and to try his organic-crunchy lifestyle. Several months after Lance had embraced his boss’s way of life, his leg was mostly healed. He doubted it would ever be 100 percent, but he could do most of the things he enjoyed. He’d even returned to coaching the

  Chapter Nine The sheriff’s office was located near the county jail and municipal complex. After verifying that the sheriff’s car was parked behind the building, Morgan opened the glass door and stepped into the lobby. Inside, the ugly brown brick building was old, worn, and thoroughly unattractive, from the scraped linoleum floor to the stained dropped ceiling tiles. The sheriff didn’t waste money on decor. She went to the reception counter. At a desk a few feet away, a woman glanced up from a computer. She looked like a grandma, about sixty years old, soft all over, with dark-brown dyed hair. But when she crossed the floor to address Morgan, Grandma’s voice was sugarcoated steel. “Can I help you?” Morgan’s smile didn’t earn her one in return. “I’m Morgan Dane. I’m here to see Sheriff King.” “Is he expecting you?” “No.” Considering their last phone interaction hadn’t been entirely pleasant, Morgan had opted not to warn him. Showing up unannounced seemed like her best option. It was har

  Chapter Ten “Are you sure you want to do this?” Lance rounded the desk in his mother’s home office and kissed her on the cheek. “Of course.” His mom tapped her keyboard, blackening her computer screen, then she swiveled her chair to face him. “I like to feel useful.” What had she been doing that she felt necessary to hide? File in hand, Lance hesitated. Would the case be too much stress for her? The smile on her face didn’t resonate in her eyes. She tucked a lock of shoulder-length gray hair behind one ear. Had she lost weight? Her fragile-thin frame couldn’t spare an ounce. But since Lance saw her every day, he didn’t always notice slight changes, and he couldn’t quite quantify what was wrong today. She wouldn’t meet his gaze. Her blue eyes seemed paler, her skin flushed, and her attempt to smile more transparent. He scanned the tidy room. “No boxes today?” The modern world of online shopping was an agoraphobic hoarder’s dream come true. Lance and his mom had an agreement. She ordered

  Chapter Eleven The lobby of Speed Net reminded Lance of a trendy loft—sleek, industrial, and slightly cold. Building security rivaled that of a bank vault. Instead of glass, the front door was made of steel. Lance and Morgan had been buzzed into the building after speaking to the receptionist via a video intercom. Lance had expected the start-up tech firm to employ a young, hip receptionist, but the woman sitting at the modern desk was middle-aged and dressed in comfortable navy-blue slacks and a white cardigan. She rounded the desk to greet them, and Lance suspected her heavy-soled black shoes were orthopedic. The nameplate on the desk read BARBARA PAGANO. Speed Net was founded by Elliot Pagano. Could this be his mother? Morgan introduced them and handed the receptionist a business card. “Hello. I’m Barbara. Elliot is waiting for you.” Her smile was a thousand times warmer than the metal-and-glass space around her. Lance half expected her to offer him a cookie. Barbara stepped in fron

  Chapter Twelve Pain surrounded Chelsea. Her entire body hurt. Was there any body part he hadn’t battered? Not that she could find. She opened her eyes. They were so swollen that all she could manage were slits. Her vision blurred. She lifted a hand to her face and barely recognized its tender contours. Giving up, she lay still for a while. Her ribs were bruised. Every time she drew in a breath, it felt as if she was wearing a corset of nails. Pain rolled over her in waves but eased as she breathed more deeply and smoothly. You can’t give up! Chelsea forced her eyelids open a bit farther and scanned the room as much as she could without moving her head. She was still in the shipping container. Still chained to the barrel. She lay on her side, curled naked on the plywood, in the corner where she’d crawled in a feeble attempt to get away from him. But there had been no escaping. As punishment for trying to open the drum, he’d ripped the clothes from her body. He’d taken away the cot, the

  Chapter Thirteen He closed the door, peeled off his mask, and welcomed the cool night air. He could hardly believe how fast she was learning. Pleasure rushed through him like an excited child. Everything was working exactly as he’d planned. Turning around, he secured the heavy-duty padlock and set the alarm on the door. He couldn’t be too careful with his prize. He was a winner, and he intended to keep his spoils. She truly was the ideal woman. He would never let her go. Chelsea had made so much progress in such a short time. She’d exceeded his best expectations. Responding to a direct greeting was automatic, yet Chelsea’s brain had shut down her normal reaction. He’d seen it happen before his eyes. Her mouth had opened as a reflex, but her brain had intervened and closed it. A protection mechanism no doubt. Defiance equaled pain. Obedience led to physical comfort. Pavlov could suck it. Teaching a few caged dogs to drool didn’t even compare to his accomplishment. He’d changed more than

  Chapter Fourteen The Jeep pulled into her driveway. Morgan reached for the door handle. “Morgan,” Lance said. The deep tone of his voice pulled at her. “I’d better get my good-night kiss now. Your watchdog, Sophie, will be on duty.” She turned to face him. He leaned across the console, cradled her jaw with one big hand, and kissed her softly. Her eyes drifted closed as his lips lingered. His mouth was warm, with a hint of demand under the gentle press of his lips. She was sorry when he released her. She caught his hand as it slipped from her face and gave it a tug. His eyes darkened, and he kissed her again. Not as gently. When his lips left hers, she was breathless and hot. He lifted his head, and his hand slipped from hers. “Someday, we’ll manage to spend a few hours alone.” His voice was rough. “Not that I’m complaining. If there’s one thing I understand, it’s taking care of family.” She exhaled hard. Her girl parts were tired of being set aside for her family’s greater good. She’d

  Chapter Fifteen The next morning, Lance opened Morgan’s front door just as two children shot out past him. “Hi, Lance,” Ava called, running toward the driveway. Dragging a book bag on the pavement, Mia stopped to give him a quick hug. “Gotta go.” The door opened wider, and Morgan flew by, a piece of paper fluttering in her hand. “Wait!” She was dressed in gray pants and a matching suit jacket, but she wore no coat and her feet were bare. The hem of her pants was too long and she ran on her toes. The scarf around her neck was more decorative than warm, and he knew it was in place so her kids didn’t see the bruises on her neck. Her hair was down and billowed around her head in the wind. The cold reddened her fair skin almost instantly. In his eyes, Morgan was always beautiful, but usually her appearance was polished and perfect. When he caught her in a casual, carefree moment, be
fore she assumed her professional veneer, it felt intimate, and she took his breath away. She called out, her

  Chapter Sixteen Morgan went inside the small office. A counter faced a waiting area full of plastic chairs. The air smelled of burned coffee, grease, and dust. A tall, spare man in gray, grease-stained coveralls greeted her from the other side of the counter. His name tag read JERRY BURNS. “Can I help you?” “Hi, Jerry.” Morgan smiled. Jerry didn’t smile back. Morgan pulled a photo out of her big purse and handed it across the counter. “Have you ever seen this woman?” Jerry stared at the picture for a couple of seconds. “She looks familiar.” “She had her car repaired here last month.” “Yeah. I remember her.” Jerry nodded. “She stayed here for two hours while we fixed her car. Her kid screamed the whole time.” He grimaced. “I’d like to ask your employees what they remember about her.” “Why? Did she do something wrong?” Jerry asked, suspicious. “She’s missing,” Morgan said. “I’m surprised you didn’t see it on the news. Would she have had direct contact with anyone else here besides you?”

  Chapter Seventeen Lance watched Morgan work the sheriff. She faced Sheriff King over his desk, all big blue eyes and sincerity. She folded her hands in her lap. Her expression was attentive, her posture ladylike, and yet her presence powerful in a way that Lance couldn’t quite quantify. It was confidence, he decided. Every word she spoke rang with truth but was delivered in a quiet way that had King leaning forward to listen. Yes, she had the big, badass sheriff hanging on her every word. She was good. Very good. No doubt when she’d been a prosecutor, she’d commanded the jury’s attention just as naturally. King leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his cleanly shaven chin. His eyes drifted to Lance, narrowed just a hair, then returned to Morgan. Yeah. Lance was not one of his favorite people, which was why he sat back and kept his mouth shut. He would have stayed in the car if he didn’t know he needed to sign a statement about the discovery of evidence. Lance wasn’t as skilled at hidi