Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane Book 2) Page 2

  Chapter Eighteen “What’s going on, Tim?” Morgan zipped her skirt. Still flushed and hot from Lance’s touch, she bottled up her irritation. But really, why couldn’t the sheriff just work and play well with others? Dressed, she picked up the phone and turned off the speaker. “I don’t know what to do.” Desperation raised the pitch of Tim’s voice. “Slow down, Tim,” Morgan said in a firm voice. Her client wasn’t thinking straight. He needed direction. “What’s going on?” “The sheriff wants me at the station. He refuses to say why.” Tim’s words were nearly drowned out by crying, too much crying to be made by one baby. “Who’s crying?” Morgan asked. “Both the kids,” Tim answered. “The deputy scared Bella. She thinks he wants to take me away.” Temper heated the back of Morgan’s neck. “Where is he now?” “In the foyer. I’m in the living room, trying to calm down the kids. My in-laws went out to have more flyers printed. They’re not answering their cell phones. I told him I needed to wait until the

  Chapter Nineteen Morgan bristled as they passed four news vans parked in front of Tim’s house. Damn it! This is not how Chelsea’s parents should have heard about the body being found. The sheriff should have driven out to the house to tell Tim and Chelsea’s parents instead of dragging Tim down to the station. Rand and Patricia deserved more respect than finding out via the news. “Looks like the press found out about the body,” Lance said. “The days of carefully controlled press conferences are over. There’s more pressure to be first than there is to be accurate.” “I should have called them,” Tim said. “You did what you thought was best,” Morgan said. “You know what they say about good intentions,” Tim replied. Lance parked, and the three of them got out of the Jeep and walked up the driveway. A dozen reporters smoothed their hair and touched up their makeup. Cameramen and sound techs set up equipment. “There he is!” someone yelled. “Tim!” A reporter lunged at him. A microphone was thru

  Chapter Twenty The door opened, and he came in, his black-masked face like a doll with no features. Chelsea’s heart jolted as she scampered off the cot, eyes cast down at her bare toes. Her body was sore, but she’d eaten the protein bar from that morning, sipped water, and moved around enough to prevent further stiffness from settling into her bruised limbs. The calories and hydration had helped, though she was careful to move as if she was weak and timid. He seemed to like that. He held a canvas bag in his hand. When he set it down on the floor, it jangled. Not food. Apprehension stirred in her belly. Something was different in his posture, his attitude. “I have something special planned for you tonight.” Excitement vibrated through his tone. Chelsea’s pulse quickened. Sweat broke out between her shoulder blades and breasts as anxiety blossomed into real fear. “Say the rules,” he commanded, as he had every time he’d come into the container. She repeated them. “Repeat number one.” “I b

  Chapter Twenty-One “Enough.” He tossed the chained hound a scrap of beef. The dog snapped his reward out of the air and swallowed it whole. The beast knew its job. It had learned. He scanned the silent yard. Everything looked the same as when he’d gone inside. The container stood in silence under the thick spread of branches. It had been on the property when he’d purchased it. From the amount of rust on the steel exterior, the metal box had been there for many years. He’d painted the spots of cancer to keep them from spreading. He crossed the mossy ground and checked the door. Reaching out, he touched the padlock that secured the door. Locked. But something didn’t feel right. Turning his head, he listened. The snap of a twig reverberated from the darkness of the trees. A deer? He pulled the key from his pocket, unlocked the padlock, and opened the door. The dim light of the camp lantern shone on an empty box. His gaze took in the chain, the upturned cot, the enlarged hole in the ceilin

  Chapter Twenty-Two At nine thirty Friday morning, Lance followed Morgan into her office and watched her get settled. “Good morning.” She set her bag and stainless steel travel mug on her desk, removed her coat, and hung it in the closet. Her pants and suit jacket were black, and so were the circles under her eyes. Worry pulled at him. She’d spent hours the previous day hashing out the details of the reward offered by Rand with the sheriff’s department. As predicted, the sheriff was pissed off, but he’d taken on the responsibility. The hotline was supposed to be up and running, and a press conference was scheduled for that evening. Morgan would have spent the night drafting rough statements for Tim and Rand. No doubt she’d been up late reviewing notes on the case as well. And they’d split the job of writing up the reports on yesterday’s interviews. With her grandfather not able to drive, taxiing Sophie to preschool and Gianna to dialysis also fell on her shoulders. She raised her coffee

  Chapter Twenty-Three Holding her breath, Morgan pressed the phone to her ear. “Morgan Dane.” “King here,” the sheriff said in a deep grumble. “Have you heard from the ME?” Morgan asked. “No. That’s not what this is about.” The sheriff actually huffed. “I got a call from Harold Burns’s lawyer. You and your investigators will stay away from him. Consider this your official warning.” “You know he’s a level-three violent offender and the woman’s body was found less than two miles from Burns Auto Shop?” Morgan’s voice was as cold as the icy shiver that slipped through her insides. Burns had gone on the offensive after their visit to the auto shop. She’d expected him to lay low. “Harassment is illegal, Ms. Dane,” the sheriff said in an irritated, frosty voice. “Stay away from Burns, and stay away from his brother’s auto shop.” The connection went dead. Burns had played them. Shock filled Morgan, then a hefty dose of anger kicked it aside. She lowered the phone. “Did you hear that?” The grim

  Chapter Twenty-Four Lance paced the sidewalk. Where is she? The thought of Burns intimidating Morgan and her little girl stirred a giant pot of rage in Lance’s chest. He’d like nothing better than to find Burns and give him back a big dose of his own medicine. When he’d been a cop, Lance had hated the revolving-door nature of the system. There were people who could be rehabilitated, but there were those who were just bad. Born bad. Made bad. Whatever. It hardly mattered after the fact. Violent men like Burns were dangerous. Occasionally, like now, Lance was appalled at the violence of his own response to them. But this was personal. This was Morgan. And Sophie! Damn it. Men like Burns shouldn’t be allowed to share air with an innocent child. The heat of fury had climbed into Lance’s throat by the time Morgan parked at the curb in front of the office. Her face was as white as a fresh sheet of copy paper. She got out of the driver’s seat and opened the sliding side door. Sophie was still

  Chapter Twenty-Five Morgan settled Sophie inside the house with Gianna. Then she stopped in her room and removed her gun from its safe. She changed into a pair of slacks with a belt to accommodate a holster at the back of her hip. Her jacket covered the weapon nicely. She went outside. Lance stood by the Jeep talking to Stella and Brody. Leaning on his cane in the driveway, Grandpa was wearing his sidearm. An icy shiver slid though Morgan’s belly. All this activity was because of one man, a violent sexual offender who Morgan had made contact with. It was her fault Burns had taken an interest in her. The former prosecutor in Morgan wanted nothing more than to put Harold Burns under police surveillance until he did something illegal. There was nothing in the man’s manner that indicated he was at all interested in being redeemed. In her opinion, it was only a matter of time until Burns gave in to his proclivities. “Thanks for hanging out here,” Morgan said to her sister. “Are you sure it’

  Chapter Twenty-Six He paced the plywood floor of the storage container. The door was open, and daylight flooded the space. No point in closing it now. She was gone. No. Not gone. She’d left him. This was his first chance to examine the evidence. He’d tried to find her all night. And this morning he’d had other things to do. The distinction hit him squarely in the chest with an ache of betrayal. How could he have been so wrong about her? Why didn’t he foresee her deception? The mistake was his, not hers. He’d challenged a superior female, and she’d risen to the test. Overconfidence
had been his error. It wouldn’t happen again. When he took her the next time, it would be final. She’d know there would be no getting away. And he would eliminate any reasons for her to escape, which meant he’d need to eliminate her family. But first he needed to know how she’d defeated him. He scanned the evidence in front of him. Squatting, he picked up the chain. The lock was opened, not broken, so she’d p

  Chapter Twenty-Seven Chelsea rested her head on the pillow. Nerves hummed through her like electrical currents. Her body refused to accept that she was safe. They’d put her across from the nurses’ station to keep her under close observation. But it was the hub of the floor, crowded and noisy. Every bang of a metal tray or slam of a drawer startled her. The doctor, a tiny Asian woman with a calm demeanor, had said she was stable. But she didn’t feel very stable. According to the doctor, her body was still in flight mode. They’d offered her a sedative, but she’d said no. Why would she want to be drugged and helpless again? She shivered, tugging the heated blanket up to her chin. Would she ever be warm again? Her entire body ached, from her torn-up feet to her beaten face. Her eyeballs hurt if she moved them too quickly. There wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t cut, bruised, abraded, or exhausted. But she was here. Alive. She’d won. A sound in the doorway made her jump. Tim. Her heart stut

  Chapter Twenty-Eight Lance and Morgan sat in the hospital waiting room. Morgan silently contemplated the dark-gray carpet. She hadn’t said a word since a nurse had come for Chelsea’s parents ten minutes before. Morgan’s eyes were dark and far away, and Lance wondered what difficult memory was playing in her mind. Several hours had passed since they’d seen the video in Tim’s kitchen. A few phone calls had verified that Chelsea had been taken to the hospital. A neighbor had been called to watch the children so that Tim, Patricia, and Rand could go to the hospital. Lance reached for Morgan’s hand, interlacing their fingers. Hers were cold. “Are you all right?” “When the chaplain came to the house to tell me that John was dead, I was alone. The girls were there, but I was the only adult. Sophie was still a baby. I don’t even remember the next couple of hours. I don’t know who took care of the children. Maybe the chaplain. Maybe the army officer who came with him. Maybe me.” She paused for

  Chapter Twenty-Nine A child’s scream startled Morgan from a dead sleep. Her heart stuttered in her chest. The bed was cold. After being woken too many nights, Snoozer had abandoned Morgan to sleep with her grandfather. A second small cry floated through the open doorway. Sophie. Morgan listened intently for another sound. Her eyes drifted to the clock on the nightstand. Just after midnight. She’d slept barely thirty minutes after staring at the ceiling and worrying about the case for an hour. Maybe the night terror will pass. The previous two episodes lasted at least ten minutes each, but the doctor had said their duration could be a short as a minute or so. It was possible that they’d get lucky and Sophie would settle on her own. A thumping noise verified that this would not be the case tonight. Bleary-eyed, Morgan tossed the comforter aside and stumbled out of bed. A chill swept over her. Grandpa liked to turn the thermostat down at night, and the old house could use new insulation.

  Chapter Thirty “Don’t move, Grandpa.” Morgan used her cell to call for an ambulance. Then she brushed her daughter’s hair from her face. “Sophie, I need you to go inside with Gianna.” Sophie hugged her harder. For a second, Morgan thought she’d have to peel the frightened child from her body, but Sophie seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. She released Morgan and allowed Gianna to take her from her mother. Gianna carried the child back in the house. Morgan ran inside and grabbed a blanket from the back of the living room sofa. Back outside, she dropped to her knees beside her grandfather, tucked the blanket around his trembling body, and took his hand. “Twenty years ago, I would have chased that son of a bitch. Ten years ago, I would have shot him,” Grandpa wheezed, pain creasing his face. “But my hands are so shaky now, I was afraid I’d miss and hit you by accident.” Morgan held beck her tears. “You still saved us all tonight.” As always. “I wish I wasn’t so damned old.”

  Chapter Thirty-One It was after one in the morning when Lance lugged three backpacks into his house. Then he went back to the Jeep and carried Ava and Mia inside, one by one, and tucked them into his guest bed. Gianna and Sophie walked in under their own steam. Unbelievably, Morgan’s littlest was still awake. Snoozer shuffled into the house, jumped up on the sofa, and curled into a ball. “The girls can sleep in the guest room. I can give you mine,” Lance said to Gianna. He’d sleep on the couch. After he moved the dog. Gianna shook her head. “I’ll share with the girls. That way, if they wake up and don’t know where they are, I’ll be there.” “Will all four of you fit?” Lance’s guest bed was a queen size but still . . . “They’re small.” Gianna hadn’t bothered to dress. In her flannel pajamas and oversize sweatshirt, the eighteen-year-old looked much younger. Even with the pounds she’d gained since moving in with Morgan, Gianna was still slender, though less frail and much healthier than w

  Chapter Thirty-Two He paced the yard between the storage container and the shed. The morning chill hung in the damp air, but rage warmed his blood to boiling. Chelsea. Chelsea. Chelsea. Grabbing his head between his hands, he pressed on his skull, but his brain continued to whisper her name. What had he done? He’d gone to the hospital, intent on seeing Chelsea, to figure out how he was going to get her back. Instead, he’d found a sheriff’s deputy at her door. The image of the lady lawyer at the press conference had popped into his head, and all of his rage had landed on her with the force of a speeding truck. As the family’s lawyer, she would be able to get to Chelsea. If he could force her to help him. Women were weak, he’d reasoned. It was too easy to use their children as leverage against them. That had been his plan. The lawyer lived with three small children, a sickly girl, and an elderly man. How hard could it be? But he’d failed. He hadn’t expected the old man to be armed. He ha

  Chapter Thirty-Three “The girls seemed happy with Mac’s brother.” Standing in the doorway of Lance’s office, Morgan lifted a gigantic cup of coffee to her lips and drank. It was her third, but there just wasn’t enough caffeine to jump-start her brain today. They’d dropped off Grandpa’s car and Morgan’s minivan at her house and picked up Lance’s Jeep. “They were excited to go to the house with the creek and the big, sloppy dog,” Lance clarified. “It’s a relief to know they’re safe.” Mac’s brother was a former army officer. “You look exhausted,” Lance said. She gave him a wry smile. “You don’t look so chipper yourself.” “I slept more than you did.” Lance stood. “And Sophie might actually like me now.” Sometimes the little lifts in life helped get you over the big hurdles. “Here.” Sharp walked down the hall. He handed her a protein shake and gave one to Lance. “Thank you.” Morgan sipped the shake. “If neither of you will sleep, this is the best I can do.” He frowned at her coffee cup. “Ho

  Chapter Thirty-Four “So, what have you been up to, Kirk?” Lance asked. Inside the fish-bowl conference room at Speed Net, Morgan sat at Lance’s left. Kirk Armani and Elliot Pagano, who insisted on being present, had taken seats across from them. Lance leaned back in his chair and tried to act casual. But apparently, he wasn’t a very good actor. Kirk Armani held his upturned skateboard in his lap and spun the wheels with trembling fingers. The kid looked like hell. His clothes were wrinkled. He refused to make any eye contact at all. He and Morgan had knocked on Kirk’s apartment door. When no one answered, they’d driven over to Speed Net to talk to him. Lance scanned the main room through the glass. Despite it being a Saturday afternoon, Speed Net was humming with activity. Elliot crossed his arms over his chest. “What is this all about? I thought Chelsea had been found.” “We are not law enforcement officers. Kirk is under no obligation to talk to us,” Lance said. “But another woman wen

  Chapter Thirty-Five “We’d like to ask you a few questions.” Morgan studied the Clarks over the coffee table in their living room. Dressed in a cozy sweater and yoga pants, Chelsea
held her baby in her arms. Tim and Bella flanked her on the sofa. Bella curled up into her mother; Tim’s shoulder pressed into his wife’s. Their connection went beyond physical touch. Morgan could feel their bond, their unity, from across the six feet of space that separated her and Lance from the family. “Bella, it’s time for your bath,” Chelsea’s mother called from the doorway and held out her hand toward the little girl. Chelsea’s father stood behind his wife, looking lost, as if he didn’t know what to do. Bella hesitated, looking up at her mother, and Morgan’s heart bumped in her chest. The poor child was confused and vulnerable. Chelsea gave her daughter a one-armed hug. “Go with Grandma. I’ll read you a story after your bath.” The little girl obeyed, casting a reluctant glance back at Chelsea as she lef

  Chapter Thirty-Six A few minutes before midnight, Lance drove past Harold Burns’s one-story house. A quarter mile down the road, he steered the Jeep off the side of the road and parked behind a few evergreens. If Burns had slipped out of his house while the SFPD was watching him, he would have gone through the woods to the auto shop. What was good for the goose, in this case, could also be used for the goose hunters. “You ready?” In the passenger seat, Morgan checked the weapon in her holster and zipped her black jacket closed over it. “Yes.” Lance slid some extra ammunition into the thick pocket of his dark cargos. Though he wasn’t cold, he tugged a black knit cap over his bright-blond hair. Morgan’s hat was for warmth. She tucked a flashlight into her pocket. He did the same, then loaded the rest of his equipment, including a pair of night vision binoculars, into a small backpack. They got out of the Jeep and walked along the edge of the woods so they could duck into the trees if a c

  Chapter Thirty-Seven A scream sounded from the trailer. Morgan dialed 911 and gave the salvage yard address. She shoved the phone into her pocket and searched the clearing for Lance. A man swung a board at Lance. He spun and ducked to evade it. The board struck him across the back of the shoulders. He fell to the ground, stunned, and lay still. His attacker dropped the board and jumped on top of him. No! Morgan pulled her gun from its holster and ran forward. The attacker straddled Lance’s chest and threw a punch at his face. Lance wrapped his arm around his head to block the incoming fist. Morgan stopped ten feet away and aimed the gun at the fighting men. “Freeze!” The attacker ignored her and punched Lance in the ribs; Lance recoiled from the blow. The man reached for the gun in Lance’s holster. Lance clamped both hands over his opponent’s, keeping the gun secure. They struggled for control of the weapon. Lance bucked and rolled. And Morgan had no clear shot. She changed her angle b