Lance patted his pockets. “Do you have gloves?” he asked Morgan.
She pulled a set from her tote and handed them to him.
He put them on before picking up the envelope. He went to the kitchen and took a knife from a top drawer. He used the blade to slit the flap. He pulled out a single piece of paper.
Blocky print spelled out I KNOW WHERE YOU ARE in all capital letters.
Tina flinched as if she’d been struck. “How? How did someone find me?”
“There are only a few hotels reasonably close to your house. It probably wasn’t that hard.” Lance snapped a picture of the note and the front of the envelope, then slid the paper back inside. “Let’s go down to the lobby and see how that envelope got in here.”
He led the way out of the room and down the hall. The registration clerk waved as they walked into the lobby. “Mrs. Smith. Your husband called for you.”
Tina froze. Her eyes widened as she turned toward the desk. By the time she reached it, her face was the same color as the pale-gray tiles. Without any communication, Morgan and Lance separated to put Tina between them.
“He said he would be in later this evening,” the clerk said in a chipper voice. “Would you like to leave a key for him here at the desk?”
“No!” Tina leaned both palms flat on the counter, as if she needed it to support herself. She took one long breath in and released it, visibly composing herself. “My husband is dead.”
The clerk paled. “I’m s-sorry. Then how?” He looked from Tina to Morgan and Lance. “Maybe it was a mistake.”
“Do you have more than one Mrs. Smith staying at the hotel?” Morgan asked.
The clerk typed on his computer and leaned closer to his screen. “No.”
Morgan pointed out, “Then it wasn’t a mistake.”
With gloved hands, Lance raised the envelope. “How did this get in Mrs. Smith’s room?”
“It came for her here at the hotel.” The clerk adjusted his glasses. “I had housekeeping deliver it to her room.”
“No one is supposed to know Mrs. Smith is at the hotel,” Lance said.
“Hey, no one told me.” The clerk focused on Tina. “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know.” Tina’s words trembled.
“Did you give him any information?” Lance’s voice was clipped.
“No, sir.” A bead of sweat broke out on the clerk’s upper lip. “That would be against company policy.”
Morgan put an arm around Tina’s shoulders and steered her away from the counter. “Let’s go sit down. Lance will call Sheriff Colgate. He’ll have to move you.”
Lance walked a few feet away, his cell phone pressed to his ear.
“I need to get my things.” Tina’s body shook under Morgan’s arm.
“Later.” Morgan led her across the lobby, away from the door and windows to the tables where the hotel served a free breakfast buffet every morning and offered coffee and tea round the clock. Morgan picked a table in the corner. She steered Tina into a chair, then made her a cup of hot tea. She pressed it into Tina’s shaking hands.
Tina wrapped her fingers around the cardboard cup. Morgan went back to the alcove and poured herself a cup of coffee.
Lance appeared next to their table. “He’s sending a couple of deputies. They’re going to take you to a new hotel, and you’ll have a deputy with you 24/7.”
Tears leaked from Tina’s eyes. “But I want to be out looking for Evan.”
“We’ll take care of that,” Lance assured her. “You stay safe. When we find him, he’s going to need you. He’s been through a lot.”
She didn’t look convinced.
Morgan pointed out the one thing that would get through to Tina. “If something happens to you, Kirk will get custody of Evan.”
Tina’s shoulders caved forward. “OK.”
They stayed with her until the deputies arrived and took charge. They put the note in a plastic evidence bag.
Despite the coffee, Morgan was bone-weary as she climbed back into the Jeep. “Do you want to go back to the office?” she asked.
“No.” Lance glanced at his watch. “It’s past nine o’clock. Let’s take a run by Scarlet Lake. Damn it. We already missed bedtime.”
Morgan’s house sat on the Scarlet River, which ran into Scarlet Lake, so the lake was close to home.
“It’s all right. I checked in with the girls while you talked to the sheriff. Mia and Ava seem to be fully recovered from the virus. Gianna gave them their baths. Grandpa read them their bedtime story. They’re not neglected by any means.”
Lately, Lance was their choice to read bedtime stories, though they were happy enough when their great-grandfather took over.
“I’m the one who minds missing bedtime.” Lance reached across the console and took her hand. “Before we started dating, I had no idea how attached I would get to the kids.”
Three months ago, Lance had moved in with Morgan, and she’d accepted his marriage proposal. He’d become a part of their lives. He drove the girls to playdates and walked them to the bus stop in the morning.
Morgan smiled. “They do grow on you.”
“I can’t imagine going back to living alone.”
“Good thing you don’t have to.”
Morgan thought of Tina and her absolute despair when she’d thought her son had died. At this moment, she was all alone in a hotel room, worrying about Evan, maybe afraid to hope that he was still alive. If he wasn’t, she’d have to live through his death all over again.
“I’d really like to set a date for the wedding,” Lance said.
Morgan sighed. She should be excited about getting married, but every time she started thinking about plans, memories of her first wedding intruded. John had died in Iraq more than three years ago, but she still saw him smiling at the altar in his uniform and holding each of the babies when they’d been born. Then she saw his flag-draped casket being unloaded from the plane. She loved Lance with all her heart. But she’d never stopped loving John either. His death had devastated her. Damn it.
How could she resolve feelings she didn’t truly understand? “We have so much going on right now. Can we get through the renovations and then plan the wedding?”
“Grant says the kitchen reno will take three months. The addition at least another three.”
“So nine months.” That was a long time to put off setting a date.
“Three plus three equals six.”
“Not in contractor time.” Morgan shook her head. “Haven’t you ever watched HGTV?”
“Do you want to wait that long?”
“You don’t?”
“Not really.” Lance frowned. “I was hoping we’d be married this year.”
“It’s already June.” A tiny sliver of panic raced through Morgan’s stomach. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to plan a wedding?”
“Apparently, I do not.”
When they were halfway to the lake, rain began to fall on the windshield. A minute later, lightning flashed and thunder boomed. By the time they arrived, the rain had turned into a downpour, and the parking lot was empty.
Wedding details swirled in Morgan’s head. “Let me call my sister and think about it. We don’t need anything too fancy.”
“If you want fancy, we’ll do fancy.” Lance released her hand to shift into park. “I can wait.”
“Do you want fancy?” she asked. “You’ve never actually said where or how you’d like to get married.”
He turned to face her. “I want you to have whatever you want for our wedding.”
“That’s not an answer.” She sighed. Their wedding was their day, not her day.
Silence ticked by for a few seconds. She listened to the sound of rain beating on the roof of the car. After John had been killed, Morgan had sunk into a dark place for two years. She’d quit her job at the prosecutor’s office in Albany. She’d moved back into her grandfather’s house with her girls. She’d hidden from life for a v
ery long time. But Lance had changed all that. She was living—and loving—again.
She was thrilled to be engaged to Lance, but she hadn’t realized how many sad memories their engagement would bring back. Maybe she hadn’t fully let go of John. How did one do that? She’d better figure it out or she’d ruin her second chance of happiness. Lance deserved better. He asked for so little from her and gave so much.
This was her issue, and she would have to deal with it.
“Let’s get back to finding Evan,” she said.
They climbed out of the car. Morgan opened an umbrella and held it over her head as they walked past the playground and picnic tables to the beach.
Lance ignored the rain. The downpour quickly plastered his hair to his head.
The sandy area spanned about a hundred feet of lakeshore. In the middle, smoke plumed from a pile of charred wood, the remnants of a very recent bonfire.
“We just missed whoever was partying out here.” Lance kicked a branch. They could not catch a break.
Morgan stared out over the lake.
Evan, where are you?
Chapter Fifteen
Unable to sleep, Lance rolled onto his back and studied the dark ceiling. No matter how hard he tried to put Evan’s face out of his mind, it didn’t work. He checked the time on the nightstand clock. One a.m.
Evan had been missing for just over twenty-four hours.
Next to him, Morgan hogged three-quarters of the bed and blankets. She was not a nighttime cuddler but slept with her long limbs sprawled out on the queen-size bed.
Distant thunder cracked softly, but Morgan didn’t stir. She had the unique ability to sleep through loud noises, but she woke up instantly at a single peep from one of the girls. It was as if she was tuned only to their frequency. He wouldn’t wake her. She’d been exhausted from dealing with a week of sickness.
He turned over onto his side, but sleep wouldn’t come. There was no point lying there. Useless. When he’d lived alone, he would have gotten up, poured a glass of whiskey, and played his piano to relax. But his piano had burned to ashes with his house when it had been set on fire three months before.
Needing to move, he eased out of bed. The dogs slept around Morgan’s feet. Snoozer didn’t budge. Rocket lifted one irritated eyelid, sighed, and closed it again. Lance grabbed dark pants, a T-shirt, and socks from a basket of clean laundry in the corner, then crept from the bedroom. As he passed the dining room, he snagged an energy bar and a bottle of water from the makeshift kitchen. His boots stood in the rubber tray by the front door. Carrying them, he let himself out of the house, being careful to lock up and reset the alarm system.
The downpour had slowed to a steady drizzle. The only remaining sign of the storm was the occasional flash of lightning and the quiet crack of thunder as the storm moved away. Water puddled on the ground and dripped from trees. He put on his boots and climbed into his Jeep. He needed a plan. He could cruise by the lake again, but there were no buildings at the beach. Evan was a smart kid. He would find somewhere to get out of the rain.
Where would Evan take shelter in the storm? If Evan were able, he’d contact one of his friends for help.
Jake? Or Rylee?
Lance thought of Steve Duncan’s farm, with its big barn and numerous outbuildings. Lots of potential places for a teenage boy to hide there. Jake could come and go as he pleased. If Evan were hiding on the farm or somewhere else, Jake would visit him at nighttime. Lance couldn’t see Jake going to Steve for help in hiding or feeding Evan. Hiding a runaway minor would be breaking the law, and Steve was a rule-following kind of guy. In fact, Jake would likely be afraid that Steve would kick him off the farm for such an infraction.
Lance decided to drive toward the farm. At the end of his and Morgan’s road, the river had spilled over its banks and across the pavement. He had to backtrack and leave the neighborhood through the other exit. He made a note to check the crawl space for water. Morgan’s house sat high above the riverbank, but the rain had been relentless for the past few weeks.
As he approached the farm, his headlights shone on a car parked alongside the road in the shadow of the overhanging branches of a large tree. Lance noted the vehicle’s details in the brief second his headlights illuminated it. Dark four-door sedan. He couldn’t tell what make or model. Shadow of a driver behind the wheel. But the car was angled to provide the driver a better view of the farm’s driveway through its windshield, and Lance did not get a read on the license plate.
Cops drove unmarked four-door sedans. Could a county detective be watching Jake? The sheriff could have easily come to the same conclusion as Lance.
He drove past the vehicle without slowing. He continued driving for a half mile until the road curved enough that the sedan driver would not see him stop. Then he pulled the Jeep off the road, ironically tucking it into a shadow for concealment, just like the driver of the sedan had.
He killed the engine and turned off the dome light. The rain would help conceal him, but light would be too visible in the country. Lance reached behind the seat for the black watch cap he used to cover his bright-blond hair. He located his penlight in the center console, then got out of the vehicle. A large flashlight was useless when one wanted to remain invisible at night. He didn’t bother with rain gear. Nylon was noisy and cumbersome.
He estimated the cleared land of the farm to be about fifty acres. Woods surrounded the fenced area. If Lance ran within the tree line, the sedan driver would not see him. He crossed the road and jogged through the trees in a huge arc. The humid air made the eighty-degree night feel much hotter. Rain and sweat soaked his T-shirt. When he emerged from the trees, he made sure the barn was between him and the sedan.
He stood in the shadows for a few minutes, scanning the area. Nothing moved. The pastures were empty. The barn doors were rolled halfway open, probably for ventilation in the summer heat. He could hear the steady patter of rain and the occasional snort of a horse from inside the barn.
Lance crept to the first building, a large shed. He cracked the door a few inches. The dusty smell of hay and straw hit his nose. He slipped inside, his boots scraping on the concrete slab. A few high windows provided scant light. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. Bales of hay and straw were stacked in neat rows. Wooden pallets kept the stacks off the floor. Something scurried in the darkness. Rats? Cats? Probably both. The bales were well organized, leaving no real spaces to hide. He used his penlight sparingly, taking care that its beam was always pointed toward the ground, and hoping it wasn’t visible to the cop on the road.
He slipped back outside into the rain. A four-bay garage stood to his right. Crouching, Lance jogged across the muddy ground to the side entrance. A heavy-duty padlock secured the door. He tried one of the four overhead rolling doors, but it didn’t budge. High windows were placed eight feet off the ground. They would provide light without compromising security. Lance walked under one, jumped, and caught the sill with his fingertips. Chinning himself, he looked inside. The space was dark, but he could make out the shape of a tractor, some other outdoor equipment, and a lot of empty concrete. What appeared to be large tools were hung on a wall, but this space was also ruthlessly organized. He saw nowhere to hide.
Lowering himself, he dropped to the ground. He picked his way across the mud to a long, rectangular building. The sliding door stood open. Lance glanced inside. Rain echoed on the metal roof. The space was open and the ceiling high. From the circular patterns of hoofprints in the soft soil, he assumed it was a small riding arena for inclement-weather training.
Which left the barn to be searched.
Lance peered around the doorframe. Horses snorted and shuffled in straw. He entered quietly. A cat wound around his ankles, purring. He walked down the aisle, pointing his penlight through the bars of each stall. The last space was an open wash stall, with a concrete floor, hoses with hot and cold taps, and a large drain. Lance went up the ladder and checked the loft, but all he saw were more b
ales of hay and straw. He came down and checked the stalls on the opposite side of the aisle. He saw two more cats and eleven horses but no teenage boy. He ducked into a feed room, using his penlight to look behind the bins. Empty. Then he went into a tack room. Saddles and bridles hung on racks. Two large chests stood against the opposite wall. Lance risked his penlight to check beneath the saddle racks. He turned, nearly bumping into a sink. Dark streaks in the bottom caught his eye. Was that blood?
He clicked on his penlight and was almost disappointed to see the stain was rust, not blood.
Something scuffed on the floor behind him. Lance pivoted. His hand went to his holster, his thumb sliding the safety straps out of the way. A dark shape whipped at his head. He turned and tried to block the blow. It struck him across the back of the head and shoulders. Pain ricocheted through his skull, his vision dimmed, and he pitched face-first toward the floor. The penlight flew from his hand. He landed on the wooden floor with a jaw-rattling impact that shook his gun free of the holster and sent it skittering across the floor. It disappeared under a large chest.
Lance blinked his vision clear. His attacker was standing next to him. He wore black athletic shoes and dark clothes. The darkness—and the NVGs strapped to his head so he could better see in the dark—concealed his face. Lance knew only two things. He needed to get his own night vision goggles, and his attacker wasn’t a cop. Anyone with legal authority would have arrested him. He wasn’t Steve either. The property owner would have called the police, not wrestled with him. Plus, even in the dark, Lance could see that this man wasn’t big enough to be Steve Duncan. Lance looked for a weapon, but it was too dark to see if the man was carrying a gun. He held some sort of tool in one hand. The other hand appeared empty. If he were armed, Lance hoped he wouldn’t want the sound of a gunshot to attract attention.
“Who are you?” the man asked in a low, harsh voice.
“Who are you?” Lance kicked the man’s feet out from under his body. He went down hard and landed on the floor with a grunt. Lance rolled toward him, grabbing a pant leg and pulling the man toward him. The man kicked Lance’s hand. Pain forced his fingers to release their grip.
Secrets Never Die Page 12