Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane Book 2)

by Melinda Leigh

  “Thank you. I have to go inside and get my purse. I’ll get you the keys to my minivan.” She started toward the house, still feeling dazed. “I can take Grandpa’s car to the hospital.”

  “No need. I have my Jeep,” Lance said.

  “I doubt two car seats and a booster will fit in it.” Morgan moved toward the house.

  “I’m going to follow the ambulance. Are you all right to drive yourself to the hospital?” Stella asked.

  “Yes. I’ll be a few minutes getting the girls ready.” Morgan had thought juggling three young children and an aging grandfather was difficult before. Handling an intruder and a probable broken leg for her grandfather seemed overwhelming.

  “You’d better get dressed too.” Stella took her keys from her pocket.

  Morgan looked down at her bare feet, which would be freezing if she weren’t numb with shock. She’d forgotten she was in her pajamas. “Right.”

  The ambulance pulled away, lights flashing red in the darkness. Stella followed in her car.

  Morgan went inside and got dressed, then helped Gianna pack a change of clothes for each of the girls. Lance carried Mia and Ava to the van with a brief explanation about Grandpa being hurt. Gianna grabbed some dog food, snapped Snoozer’s leash to his collar, and carried him to the minivan.

  “Mommy, don’t weave me.” Sophie clutched Morgan’s thigh.

  Morgan crouched. “I have to go with Grandpa to make sure he’s OK. Lance will keep you safe.”

  Sophie’s gaze drifted toward the open doorway to Grandpa’s bedroom. How much did she understand? Between being attacked and seeing her beloved Grandpa lying on the concrete in obvious pain, poor Sophie was traumatized. “Pwomise?”

  “Promise.” Morgan hugged her daughter. She wished she could be two people right now. How could she possibly take care of three children and her grandfather? The answer was, she couldn’t, at least not alone. She needed help.

  She needed someone to lean on, to trust, to share the burden, and she knew without a doubt that Lance was that person. Together, he and Gianna were perfectly capable of caring for the girls. But it still broke her heart to put Sophie in her car seat, shut the minivan door, and watch it drive away.

  Brody and two patrol cars arrived at the house just before Morgan left. She gave Brody an abbreviated statement and left him to his investigation. When she was finally ready to go to the hospital, her hands trembled on the steering wheel of Grandpa’s Lincoln Town Car. She blasted the heat for the entire drive but was still shaking when she parked her car in the emergency lot. Stella was waiting outside a cubicle in the ER hallway.

  “How is he?” Morgan unzipped her coat.

  “His vitals are strong,” Stella began. “But his leg is badly broken. He’s going to need surgery to repair it. Do you have a list of his medications?”

  “I do.” Morgan opened her tote bag and unzipped the side pouch. She withdrew a notecard. She kept several printed copies in her bag and a backup note in her phone. Grandpa usually carried a copy in his wallet, which he hadn’t had on him in the middle of the night. Stella walked the card to the nurses’ station and handed it to the doctor.

  “Is he going to be OK?” Morgan asked when her sister returned.

  “The surgery will be hard on him at his age, but he’s tough.” Stella chewed on a nail. “And we really don’t have any options.”

  A nurse emerged through the sliding glass door. “We’re going to take him upstairs in a few minutes. Do you want to see him first?”

  Morgan and Stella went to his bed. Morgan did not allow herself a reaction. Grandpa lay surrounded by beeping monitors and dripping IVs. He looked as if he’d shrunk. Just a few months ago, before his blood pressure had suddenly spiked, he’d been a robust, active man. The sheer stillness of his body shocked Morgan.

  He opened his eyes and held out a hand. “My girls.”

  They went to his side. Morgan took his hand, taking comfort that his grip was strong despite his obvious frailty.

  “I called Peyton and Ian,” Stella said. “They’re both going to come as soon as they can.”

  “No need for them to travel all this way,” Grandpa rasped. “The surgery will be over before either one of them can get here.”

  “That’s not the point.” Morgan gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “We all love you.”

  Peyton and Ian hadn’t been around much in the past few years, but that didn’t mean they loved him less.

  “I love you too, but don’t look all glum,” he ordered. “I’m not ready to die yet. I have things to do.”

  The nurse tapped on the door frame. “We’re going to take him up now.”

  Morgan and Stella each gave him a kiss on the cheek before retreating to the hallway. They followed posted directions to the surgical waiting room.

  In the small, ugly mauve room, Stella made a cup of coffee on a pod machine in the corner. “He’s tough. Try not to worry too much.”

  “I know.” Morgan would rather talk about anything except the surgery. And silence amplified her worry. “When are Peyton and Ian coming?”

  “I don’t know. Peyton checked for flights, but they were all full. She’s going to get on the standby list.” Stella sank into a plastic chair. “I left a message for Ian.”

  “He must be working. It’s not like he can return a call when he’s busy with a hostage situation or serving a high-risk warrant.”

  “He should visit more.” Stella lifted her Styrofoam cup. “Want one?”

  Morgan shook her head. Her stomach was roiling from the earlier adrenaline dump. “He should be thinking about settling down. As far as I know, he doesn’t even have a steady girlfriend. Or a plant.”

  “He will, as soon as he’s done with SWAT.” Stella sipped her coffee and made a face. “You were ready to settle down young. The rest of us took longer to mature.”

  “Does that mean you’re settling down?” Morgan asked. The night seemed surreal. Too many shocks for her brain to absorb. She wanted normal for a little while, even if it was just an ordinary conversation. “My kids could use some cousins.”

  Stella choked on her coffee. “I’m not that settled yet. Please. Mac and I have only been living together for a few months.”

  “But you’ve thought about it?”

  “Of course I’ve thought about having kids in the future. Keyword: future. Could you imagine having a few mini-Mac wild boys running around? Any kids Mac fathers are guaranteed to be a handful.”

  “But adorable.”

  “Yeah.” Stella’s sigh was just a little wistful. “That too.”

  They distracted themselves with more inane small talk until Brody walked in a short while later.

  “Any news?” he asked.

  Stella updated him. “We’re waiting. What did you find out about the break-in?”

  “This guy knew what he was doing.” Brody sat across from Morgan and Stella. “Older security systems were easily beaten by burglars. They simply found the siren wire and the telephone line and cut them. The system couldn’t summon the police and the siren didn’t go off. Newer systems use wireless technology as a workaround.”

  “Our system is wireless,” Morgan said. “With a backup battery in case we lose electricity.”

  “But wireless systems aren’t foolproof either. Every time there’s an advance in security technology, criminals find a way to beat it. It’s a vicious cycle.” Brody scratched his chin. “We believe the intruder used a jammer to interrupt the radio frequency of the wireless system. The alarm never sent a signal to the central monitoring station or the siren. Once he beat the alarm, he took his time picking the lock.”

  “Not an amateur.” Stella huffed.

  “No. Definitely not.” Brody swept a hand through his short hair. “I contacted the unit watching Burns’s house.”

  “You have a unit watching Harold Burns?” Morgan was surprised.

  “We do, but because of Burns’s legal maneuvering, they’ve been told to keep their dis
tance and stay off his property.” Brody’s face tightened with a frown. “We haven’t seen any movement or lights at Burns’s house. His car has not left the garage. But his house is surrounded by forest, and he only lives a half mile from his brother’s auto shop. He could easily walk there through the woods and help himself to a car. In short, we have no way of knowing for certain if he’s actually inside.”

  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 when she’d lived alone.

  “OK. I have a blow-up mattress. I’ll put it in the bedroom in case you need more room.” Lance went into the garage and used his compressor to inflate the twin mattress. Then he wedged it between the wall and the bed. The second bedroom in his compact house wasn’t large. Neither Ava nor Mia stirred. Amazingly, they hadn’t objected to being roused from their beds in the middle of the night, though Morgan had only told them that Grandpa was hurt. She didn’t want to frighten them.

  Sophie was scared enough for all three children.

  “I’m going to use the bathroom.” Gianna carried a small bag toward the hall bath. “Are you OK, Soph?”

  Nodding, Sophie wandered around the living room, inspecting Lance’s few pieces of furniture.

  “I don’t wanna go to bed.” Sophie hugged a toy horse tightly against her face. The sight stabbed Lance in the heart. The child was always a handful but not typically whiny. She’d had a rough, frightening night.

  “How about a glass of milk?” he asked.

  She nodded and followed him toward the kitchen. Passing the piano, she stopped. “Can I touch it?”

  “Sure. But softly, OK? Mia and Ava are sleeping,” Lance said.

  Sophie sat down on the piano bench and raised a hand over the keyboard. She pressed a key, her touch light and hesitating, almost reverent. A soft middle C sounded through the dining room.

  Lance sat down next to her.

  “Can you play a song?” She plunked another soft key.

  “It’s too late.” Lance’s gut wrenched as she turned and blinked her big blue eyes at him. “But I promise I’ll play for you another time. In fact, I can even teach you a song.”

  She nodded hard and sniffed.

  “How about we get you to bed, Soph?” Gianna walked into the room and held out a hand. Sophie scrambled off the bench, took it, and let Gianna lead her into the guest room.

  Lance drank the milk himself. Then he hauled his exhausted body to his bedroom, stripped off his clothes, and took a quick shower. He’d still been up, unable to sleep, when Morgan had called. It was now two a.m.

  He usually slept naked. It was more comfortable, and creating dirty laundry while sleeping never made much sense to him. But with four female guests, it didn’t feel appropriate. He didn’t own pajamas and settled on a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt. Good enough.

  His cell phone buzzed from the nightstand. He read Morgan’s text: THE BREAK IS BAD. GRANDPA GOING INTO SURGERY. RISKY BUT NO OPTIONS. HOW ARE THE GIRLS?

  He responded: GIRLS ARE IN BED AND FINE. SORRY TO HEAR ABOUT ART.

  Lance hesitated. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but was this really the right time? No. Telling a woman you loved her for the first time in a text was lame.

  He typed: THINKING OF YOU. Which felt weak, so he added: I’M UP. CALL ME IF YOU WANT TO TALK.

  Morgan: OK. GOTTA GO. THX.

  Well, damn.

  Art’s condition didn’t sound good.

  He set the phone down. Poor Art. And poor Morgan. Art was old for surgery, and Lance hated thinking of Morgan in the hospital, worrying. For years, her grandfather had been mother and father to her. She’d already lost both her parents and her husband. She did not need any more tragedy in her life.

  Lance crawled into bed. He’d rather be with Morgan, but she’d entrusted him with her kids. He’d do his best to take care of them. He lay still, staring at the ceiling, wondering who had broken into Morgan’s house and why and coming up with few answers.

  It felt as if he’d barely closed his eyes when something woke him. Not a noise. A feeling. The hairs on his neck went rigid.

  He was being watched.

  All his senses went on alert. He stared into the darkness at his open doorway, listening, not moving, waiting for his eyes to adjust. His gun was on top of his armoire, out of the children’s reach but also out of his immediate reach.

  Scanning the room, he startled when he made out the small shadow standing at the foot of his bed, staring at him.

  “Sophie?” He reached for the light and switched it on.

  Tears streaked the little girl’s face. “I had a bad dream. He was there.” She sniffed and inhaled three sharp breaths.

  Lance sat up. “It’s OK. You’re safe now.”

  “I’m scaa-wed.” She pronounced the word in two syllables as she crawled up onto the bed and knelt in front of him, still clutching her stuffed horse. “Can I sweep with you?”

  Her tiny voice broke, and his heart did that Grinch thing again. She trusted him to keep her safe.

  How could he say no?

  “Ah. Sure.” He lifted the covers next to him and she scooted under them. But she wasn’t content to occupy the other side of his king bed. She pressed her small body against his from her head to her feet, as if every inch of her needed reassurance that he was there to protect her.

  Oh, what the hell?

  Lance turned on his side and threw an arm over her. A contented sigh escaped her mouth as she drifted off to sleep.

  The room was still dark when Lance woke again. Silence filled the house, and exhaustion blanketed him. Why was he awake? He checked the clock. He’d only been asleep for an hour. No wonder he was still tired.

  A scream split his left eardrum, and he automatically lurched a few inches away from its source.

  A small fist smacked him in the head, and the night came rushing back. Next to him, Sophie thrashed, then settled onto her back. She stared straight up at the ceiling, her big eyes wide-open but unseeing. She let out a scream, the plaintive, panicked pitch disturbing Lance right down to his soul. The hair on his arm rose, and goose bumps rippled along his skin.

  Was this a night terror?

  Must be.

  It was pretty freaking terrifying.

  What should he do?

  She rolled suddenly. Her heel struck his thigh in the exact spot where he’d been shot the previous year. Pain burst in Lance’s leg. He reached down and rubbed the scar tissue.

  Sophie shouted, “No.” Her limbs flailed, and she screamed a few more times over the next ten minutes. Lance’s gut twisted as he watched, helpless, hoping she didn’t wake the other girls. Morgan hadn’t said whether she’d roused Sophie or not. Somewhere in the back of his mind he recalled something about not waking a sleepwalker, but had no idea if the tidbit was fact or fiction. Just when he was considering waking her, the episode seemed to pass, and she relaxed back into the pillow. One little foot stretched across the mattress to touch his leg.

  But Lance would never get back to sleep now. Sophie’s
screams still echoed in his head.

  Would he disturb her if he got up? He eased away, inch by inch, until he slipped off the side of the bed and fell on his ass. After tucking the blankets up to her chin, he slipped his phone into the pocket of his shorts, went into the kitchen, and started a pot of tea, wishing it were coffee. There was no way Sharp’s green tea was going to cut through the haze of one hour of sleep with a screaming three-year-old. The dog didn’t even crack an eyelid as he walked by the sofa. Snoozer was no watchdog.

  Obviously.

  Lance checked his messages. No updates from Morgan. He debated texting her, but he wouldn’t want to wake her if she’d dropped off to sleep.

  A brushing sound caught his attention. A second later, Sophie appeared in the doorway.

  “You weft me.” Her lip quivered, and she clutched her stuffed horse. Her eyes were huge, full of tears, and underscored by deep, dark circles.

  Oh, geez.

  Guilt speared him through the belly.

  This babysitting gig was going to take some practice. Lance felt like someone had dropped him in the middle of the ocean without so much as a compass to tell him which way to swim. He’d have to rely on instinct. Kids didn’t bullshit, right? So the truth was probably best when possible.

  Lance squatted to her level. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  She walked right into him and rested her head against his shoulder. Her body trembled with a huge sigh, and Lance’s heart melted like a stick of butter in a hot pan. He wrapped his arms around her and picked her up as he straightened. Carrying her, he went back into the kitchen and poured a cup of tea one-handed. Then he started to assemble the ingredients for his morning protein shake, only to realize there were still several hours until dawn and that there was no way he could run the blender without disturbing his other three guests. He returned the frozen berries to the freezer.

  Sophie’s body was totally limp. Lance glanced down. She was sound asleep against his chest, her little butt perched on his forearm, her tiny hands clutching her stuffed horse.

  Lance eased into his living room chair. He set his tea on the end table. Sophie curled up against him.