The attacker rolled onto his hands and knees, then got to his feet. Lance levered a foot under his body. He stayed low, bending his knees, readying himself for his opponent’s next attack. The man adjusted the NVGs on his face and circled to the left. Lance moved as well, toward the saddles. He spotted his penlight on the floor under the saddle rack.
Is this the man who killed Paul?
Is he now after Evan?
The man reached into his pocket and withdrew something. Lance squinted in the darkness. A knife? A soft click confirmed a switchblade, and an extra jolt of adrenaline shot into Lance’s veins.
The attacker lunged, sweeping the blade toward Lance’s belly. Lance jumped back, twisting his body just in time to avoid the flick of the knife. The man lunged again, the switchblade stabbing at Lance’s face. Lance blocked, forearm to forearm. Pain zinged through his arm as their bones connected. His attacker fell back, then rallied.
Lance dove for the ground, and his fingers closed on the penlight. He rolled back to his feet just as the knife came at his belly. But Lance clicked the penlight on and shone it directly into his attacker’s NVGs. The amplified light would be blinding. The man’s lunge faltered, and he raised one hand to block the light.
Lance went for the knife hand with an outward sweep of his forearm. He continued to circle his hand, hooking it around and over the attacker’s arm and trapping it against his own shoulder. Then he shoved the man’s upper body backward and kicked his feet in the opposite direction. The assailant went down on his ass and lost his grip on the knife. It fell to the floor.
Lance moved toward him. The son of a bitch was his.
The man reached behind him and pulled a handgun from the small of his back. He pointed it at Lance’s head. Lance froze, his hands rising in front of his body, palms facing his opponent. His attacker backed toward the exit, glancing behind him, then disappeared through the doorway. Lance stumbled into the aisle. But the man was gone. He heard the retreating slap of shoes in mud as the man ran away.
Lance’s vision had begun to clear, but he was in no shape to give chase, especially not unarmed. He returned to the tack room. Kneeling on the floor, he swept a hand under the chest and retrieved his handgun. Sliding it into its holster, he contemplated his next move. If he called the sheriff, would he get arrested?
Possibly.
Would the sheriff even believe him?
Not likely.
The sheriff might be able to talk Steve Duncan into filing trespassing charges or Colgate would stick Lance in a holding cell for interfering with his case. Morgan could get Lance out, but all that would take time away from finding Evan.
Lance couldn’t take the chance. He wouldn’t be able to find Evan from a jail cell.
The sheriff had his own agenda, and he’d made it clear that it was the opposite of Lance’s. Colgate wasn’t a dirty cop, but his mind was made up. This time, Lance couldn’t trust the sheriff to have his back.
Also, Lance did not want Jake to know he’d searched the farm. If the boy were helping Evan, Lance wanted him to feel safe doing so. Lance could follow him another day. Plus, he didn’t want Jake to abandon helping Evan.
Lance made sure the tack room showed no sign of their struggle. Then he slipped out into the darkness. The trip back through the woods to his car seemed much longer than his initial approach. The rain had increased to a downpour. He slogged through the mud back to his Jeep.
It was four thirty when he climbed into his vehicle. Morgan would be up within the hour. He turned the Jeep toward home. Originally, he’d intended to slip back into the house so she wouldn’t know he’d left. He doubted that could happen now. He touched the throbbing knot at the back of his head and felt a lump rising.
She was going to be pissed and rightfully so. He’d gone alone, nearly been stabbed, and possibly let the man who had killed Paul escape.
Chapter Sixteen
Morgan chugged her first cup of coffee standing in front of the pot and immediately poured another. At four forty-five in the morning, anger and worry had already cleared the sleep from her head.
Where was Lance?
When she’d woken in an empty bed a half hour before, she’d checked the house, then thought maybe he’d gone for a run. But his running shoes were in the bedroom closet. She’d texted him. When he didn’t answer, she’d tried calling, but the call had immediately been sent to voice mail.
She turned and lowered herself into a dining room chair.
Where could he have gone in the middle of the night?
Dog tags jingled as Rocket and Snoozer lifted their heads from the carpet near her feet. Both dogs stood and trotted toward the front door. She heard the quiet chirp of the alarm as it was deactivated. She followed the dogs to the foyer. She exhaled as Lance came through the front door, tension rolling off her skin. He carried muddy boots in one hand. He was covered in mud and bits of organic debris.
But he was all right.
He set his boots in the rubber tray by the front door.
She wanted to kiss him, but she also wanted to shake him. Did he have any idea how worried she’d been for the last thirty minutes? She took two deep breaths, then walked closer and chose the kiss, because in the end, all that really mattered was that he was back, safe and sound. He looked surprised when her mouth left his.
“Where were you?” she asked.
“Jake O’Reilly’s farm. Let me shower and change. Then I’ll tell you everything.”
“You can tell me while you shower and change.” Morgan hooked a hand around the back of his neck to hold him in place.
Lance winced. She released him. Blood streaked her fingers. She took him by the hand and led him back to the bedroom. Steering him to take a seat on the closed toilet lid, she pushed his head down and examined the back of his skull. He didn’t object. Parting his hair, she revealed a goose egg and a cut.
“You’re lucky. I don’t think this needs stitches.” She reached into the shower and turned on the spray. “Get cleaned up, then I’ll disinfect it. You’ll need ice too.”
He didn’t argue but gave her a play-by-play of his night as he stripped down and stepped into the shower. Emotions swirled in Morgan’s chest as she listened. She was simultaneously angry, frustrated, and grateful. As he finished washing, she took several deep breaths.
She had the first aid kit ready when he emerged. He wrapped the towel around his waist, bent his head, and let her clean the cut.
“It’s almost stopped bleeding.” She tossed the antiseptic-soaked cotton ball in the trash can. Her fingers brushed a large darkening splotch along the top of his shoulder. “You have bruises everywhere.”
He shrugged. “They don’t hurt.”
She sat sideways on his lap and stared into his piercing blue eyes. Love for him expanded in her chest until it was almost painful. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going?”
“I couldn’t sleep, but there was no reason for both of us to be up all night. I wanted you to get some rest. You were awake most of last week.”
“You need to sleep too.”
“I’ll sleep after I find Evan.” Lance stood, forcing her to slide to her feet.
But Morgan wasn’t done with him yet. She blocked his exit from the bathroom. “I thought we were a team, both on and off the job.”
He broke eye contact. “We are. But we don’t always work together. I stake out locations all the time by myself.”
“In those cases, Sharp knows where you are.” Conflicting emotions weighed heavily within Morgan’s chest, love and fear of loss swirling inside her. “No one knew where you were tonight. What if you’d been shot? Or knocked unconscious? We wouldn’t have known where to start looking for you.” She cupped his jaw and turned his face toward her. “You can’t leave in the middle of the night and not tell me.”
“OK.” He closed his fingers around her wrist. “I’m sorry.”
She brushed her thumb along his jaw. She rose onto her toes and kissed him. Lowering b
ack down to her bare feet, she rested her head on his chest for a few seconds. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
“I don’t want to be clingy, but I also couldn’t bear to lose you.” She leaned back. “I love you.”
“I love you too, and I’d like to promise I’ll never be stupid again, but we both know sometimes I let my emotions get the best of me. I’m worried about Evan and frustrated with the direction of the sheriff’s investigation.”
“I know. Go get an ice pack for your head. I need to shower.” Morgan shooed him out of the bathroom, dumped her pajamas in the hamper, and showered. When she came out, he was still wearing his towel, and he hadn’t bothered to get an ice pack. The look in his eyes told her he didn’t want to rest.
“Don’t think sex will make up for what you did.” But recognizing the need in him, she let him tug her toward him and wrap his arms around her. For a little while, they were both able to block out the world and all its harsh realities.
Afterward, she dressed and brought him an ice pack from the freezer. “Now, lie down and put this on your head for fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He stretched out on the bed and settled the ice behind his head.
Morgan went to the dining room for more coffee.
Her grandfather shuffled into the room with his cane. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” Morgan surveyed the temporary kitchen. The toaster, coffee maker, and microwave were lined up on the sideboard. The table had been moved off center to make room for the refrigerator in the corner of the room. Packages of paper plates and bowls cluttered the table. “Remind me why we ripped out our kitchen?”
“Because we need a bigger, better one, and after the kitchen is finished, the contractor will start on the new addition,” Grandpa said in a voice that was far too cheery for the early hour or the subject matter.
“Don’t remind me.” But Morgan was well aware that the old house on the river needed updating and enlarging to accommodate seven people. They were all on top of each other. A new master suite would give Morgan and Lance some much-needed privacy. They were also adding a bedroom and en suite bath for Gianna. Sophie, who suffered from night terrors, would move into Gianna’s room. Without the youngest’s nocturnal screams waking them, Ava and Mia might stop crawling into bed with Morgan and Lance. Nighttime was a game of musical beds.
“You look tired. Where’s Lance?”
“Getting dressed.” Morgan poured her grandfather a cup of coffee and set it on the table.
“Thanks.” He hung his cane on the back of the chair and eased into the seat.
“You’re not using your walker?”
“I hate that contraption with a ridiculous amount of passion.” Grandpa had finally broken down and bought one of those walkers with the wheels, bike brakes, and a seat. He’d broken his leg protecting Morgan and her girls from an intruder the previous autumn. It was doubtful that he’d ever heal 100 percent.
“It enables you to be mobile.” Morgan sat across from him. “You like to go places, right?”
“Yeah, but it makes me look old.” He lifted a blue-veined hand. “I know. I am old.”
“Old is a state of mind. You’re wise, not old.”
“I’m wise, all right. A wiseass.” He chuckled at his own joke.
Morgan hated to see him aging. She refused to think about a day when he was no longer with her. Grandpa had raised her after her NYPD police officer father had been killed in the line of duty and her mother had died a short time later. After her husband had died in Iraq, Morgan and her three little girls had moved back home to live with Grandpa. She didn’t know how she would have survived all three tragedies without him.
“I’ll make breakfast.” Morgan reached for the oatmeal, intending to nuke him a bowl.
“Don’t make any of that slop for me.” Grandpa drank his coffee. “I’ll wait for Gianna to make waffles for the girls.”
“Oatmeal is better for your blood pressure and cholesterol than toaster waffles and syrup.” Morgan gave up with a single nag. He was going to do what he was going to do.
“Once you pass eighty, you get to eat whatever you want. It’s a rule.” Grandpa grinned. “From now on, I’m eating dessert first.”
And with that, Morgan decided to stop for donuts on the way to the office.
“You worked late last night,” Grandpa said. “Any ideas of where to look for the boy?”
“No.” After getting home the previous night, she and Lance had phone-conferenced with Sharp. Then Morgan and Lance had reviewed Evan’s cell phone records, email accounts, and online activity. “Evan didn’t use much social media. He rarely posted anything except an occasional hockey game selfie. There was no unusual or new friend activity that we could find. His emails were school related, and he hadn’t responded to most of those.”
“Which says something about his general attitude toward school.”
“Definitely. Evan recently changed schools. He wasn’t happy about the move.”
“It’s rough to change schools at that age. What about his text history? Kids these days live on their cell phones.” Grandpa hadn’t forgotten anything about being a detective. His body might be failing, but his mind was still as sharp as his tongue.
“Texts back and forth from a very few friends, all ordinary stuff. There were some phone calls with a girlfriend his mother didn’t know about. We tried to interview her. She wouldn’t talk.”
Grandpa scratched his chin. At six thirty in the morning, he’d already shaved and dressed in navy slacks and a pale-blue polo shirt. “It’s not unusual for a boy to keep a relationship with a girl private for a while. Teenagers like to keep secrets. Makes them feel like they have some control over their lives. Most of the time, it’s just stupid stuff. But you should definitely try to find a way to get the girlfriend to talk. I bet he told her things that he wouldn’t tell his buddies.”
Lance walked in, wearing his usual uniform of tactical cargos and a T-shirt.
Morgan kissed him on the mouth. “I was telling Grandpa about Evan’s case.”
He poured coffee and drank it black. He turned to Grandpa. “Any suggestions?”
But their conversation was cut short as Morgan’s three little girls raced into the dining room. Ava, age six, was wide awake and already dressed. Five-year-old Mia hugged her blanket to her face, climbed up on Grandpa’s lap, and leaned her sleepy head on his chest. Sophie bounded into the room in her purple kitten pajamas. As usual, the three-year-old’s hair was an impressive mass of tangles. Morgan combed it thoroughly every night, but every morning, it looked like she’d slept in a tornado.
Sophie catapulted herself into Lance’s arms. Expecting her affectionate attack, he caught her. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and kissed his cheek. “You smell good.”
Morgan agreed.
Gianna, their nanny, was right behind the girls, and everyone settled into the chaotic but familiar morning routine. Fidgety as usual, Sophie picked at her toaster waffles. Morgan’s wiry daughter seemed to exist on a forkful of food per meal.
After the girls were fed and dressed, Lance walked Ava and Mia to the bus stop while Morgan saw Grandpa, Sophie, and Gianna off. Since it was Wednesday, Grandpa would drive Sophie to preschool and drop Gianna at dialysis. Morgan returned to the bedroom to prepare to leave. She wound her hair into a neat bun, turning as Lance walked into the bedroom, his face grim.
Morgan shoved a hairpin into her bun. “What happened?”
“I just called Steve Duncan.”
“You didn’t tell him you searched his farm last night, did you?” Morgan did not want to bail Lance out of jail later.
“I left that part out of my story, but I did tell him I drove by the farm last night and saw someone watching the house. I told him he and Jake should be extra careful. Then I called Jake and told him the same. They needed to know.”
“I hope they heed the warning.” Morgan finished putting her hair up. Leaning close to the m
irror over the dresser, she swiped mascara onto her lashes.
Lance’s phone chimed with a reminder. “Grant will be here this morning to finish the demolition.”
The dogs exploded in a frenzy of barking and raced for the front of the house, cutting off Morgan’s response.
“That’s probably him.” Lance left the room.
Morgan put away her mascara and followed him. Instead of their contractor, her sister, Stella, walked in the front door. Stella and her boyfriend, Mac, lived close by. On her way to work as a Scarlet Falls police detective, Stella wore navy-blue slacks and a matching blazer. Her gun and badge were clipped to her belt, and her long dark hair was coiled into a utilitarian bun. She dropped to one knee to greet the dogs. Scratching behind Rocket’s ear, she looked up at Morgan. “I have some information on the Evan Meade case. It’s not good.”
“Nothing about this case is good.” Lance crossed his arms.
Stella rose to her feet and picked a few dog hairs off the knee of her slacks. “Even though Paul Knox had been retired for some time, the entire sheriff’s department is treating his murder like a cop killing. SFPD might not be working the murder, but we’re hearing plenty of chatter. Colgate’s pride took a hard hit last spring when you solved the case and proved he was completely wrong. He’s determined to prove he’s right this time. He and all his men are gunning for Evan. I wanted to warn you.”
“We’re already getting resistance from Sheriff Colgate,” Morgan admitted.
“Speaking of the sheriff.” Lance checked his watch. “The press conference should be starting any minute.” He went into the family room, turned on the TV, and selected a local channel. Stella and Morgan followed him, and they stood in front of the coffee table, staring at the TV.
Sheriff Colgate stood in front of the station, several of his deputies and ADA Esposito were at his side. To Morgan, the presence of the ADA was alarming.
The sheriff spoke into a cluster of microphones. “We are pursuing several leads in the investigation of Paul Knox’s murder. At this time, an arrest warrant has been issued for the victim’s stepson, Evan Meade.”
Secrets Never Die Page 13