Say You're Sorry (Morgan Dane Book 1)

by Melinda Leigh

  “So what the hell was he doing out in the woods?”

  “Maybe his paranoia went into overdrive.”

  “This is more than paranoia.” Lance scanned the drawings and annotations.

  “Psychotic break?”

  “Something like that. I don’t think we can assign rational explanations to Voss’s activity.”

  “There’s a camera trained on the front door,” Lance said. “Stay out of its view.”

  They went through the rest of the apartment, which consisted of a tiny living area and a kitchenette. A card table and four chairs were the only furnishings. The corners were crammed with stacks of books. Lance found a stack of packing slips on the table. He flipped through them. Most of Voss’s purchases were for home-monitoring equipment, nonperishable food items, and camping gear.

  “Found his bills,” Morgan said from the kitchenette. “He’s maxed out his credit cards. Hasn’t paid a utility bill in ages. His rent is overdue. If he wasn’t in jail, he might not have a place to live soon.”

  “Do you see a laptop?” Lance asked. Voss must have used a computer for his online ordering.

  “No. I wonder if it was at the camp site.” Morgan continued to search the kitchen. “There’s a bit of dust in here, but not more than would accumulate in a week or two. The rest of the place seems relatively clean.”

  “So he was tidy before he went over the edge,” Lance said. “You know what I don’t see? Any sign the police have been in here.”

  “Maybe they haven’t gotten around to going through his apartment yet. They need a warrant, and he’s in custody, so I doubt they see any reason to rush.”

  Lance went to the corner and began reading the book titles. Voss had paranoid taste in reading material. Conspiracy and spy thrillers, military memoirs, and how-to books about survival, prepping for doomsday, and staying off the radar. Lance considered the credit card bills. Maybe Voss hadn’t gotten around to reading the off-the-grid books yet.

  Halfway down a high stack, Lance’s eye stopped on an odd-shaped hardcover bound in navy-blue leather. Gold script on the binding read SCARLET FALLS HIGH SCHOOL with last year’s date.

  “What did you find?” Morgan peered over his shoulder. “A yearbook?”

  Lance tugged it from the pile. He flipped through the pages. Voss had been considerate enough to flag his own pictures with Post-it Notes.

  Morgan pointed to a photo of a large group of kids in athletic shorts. Several adults flanked the group. “Voss was an assistant track coach.”

  “Was Tessa on the track team?”

  “No.”

  Lance went to the next bookmarked page. “He ran the video-gaming club. Tessa isn’t there either.” He turned to the next Post-it. “Bingo.”

  The photo was labeled YEARBOOK COMMITTEE. Voss stood on one side of a group of twenty kids.

  Morgan frowned and moisture glistened in her eyes as she pointed to a slim girl in the middle of the group. “There’s Tessa.”

  “So Voss knew her.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you see the girl who accused him of inappropriate behavior?” Morgan checked her notes. “Kimmie Blake. Or Ally Somers, the girl Kimmie claimed Voss kissed.”

  “Neither are on the yearbook committee.” Lance went to the individual headshots section of the yearbook. “Here’s Kimmie Blake.” He turned pages. “And this is Ally Somers.”

  Lance snapped a photo of the important pages, then returned the book to its original location. “We’ll get our own copy and look through it more thoroughly to see if we can find any connections between Kimmie, Ally, Jamie, and Tessa.”

  “Do you need to see anything else?” Morgan asked, her eyes sweeping the room.

  “What’s in the cabinets?”

  “Normal kitchen stuff. I even checked the undersides of the drawers.”

  “No secret compartments?”

  “None that I could find,” she said.

  Lance ducked into the only bathroom, a four-by-eight space with a pedestal sink, a narrow shower stall, and toilet. He opened the medicine chest over the sink. Clean spots on the shelves indicated missing pharmaceuticals.

  “Was Voss taking any prescription meds?” Morgan asked from the doorway.

  “If he wasn’t, he should have been.”

  “Now that we’ve established that he knew Tessa, we can subpoena his medical records.”

  “That’s progress.” Lance turned off the light and exited the bathroom. As they walked back to the bedroom closet, he ensured the apartment was exactly the way it had been before they’d entered.

  They used Voss’s escape hatch. Lance folded the steps and eased the platform to the ceiling. It sprang back into place with a quick snap. Lance opened the exterior door an inch to find that the side yard was empty. They slipped out and walked around to the front of the garage. Looking up, Lance spotted a note taped to the front door.

  “Hold on a second.” Lance went up the steps. “It’s a package delivery notification. I guess the credit card companies haven’t cut him off yet.”

  Lance turned back to the stairs. Boom! Crack.

  The stairway trembled. Light flashed under his feet. He grabbed for the railing. Too late! Wood splintered, and the stairs collapsed.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Morgan’s heart dropped into her stomach as the stairway crumbled in front of her, and Lance plunged to the ground in a cloud of smoke and dust.

  “Lance!” She rushed forward.

  The structure had broken apart. Lance landed in the middle of the rubble. The small cloud of smoke dissipated in a few seconds in the breeze. Had Voss set a small explosion as a booby trap?

  Morgan climbed over a pile of wood. He was on his back with several boards piled on top of him. He wasn’t moving. Her heart stuttered. He had to be all right. He just had to be.

  Fear turned her hands clammy and her belly cold as she crouched next to him. “Can you hear me?”

  He stirred. “Yes.”

  Thank God.

  Morgan exhaled. Her head swam with relief. She put a hand on the ground to steady herself.

  “Don’t move.” She lifted a board off his torso. “Does anything hurt?”

  “I’m all right.” He tried to slide out from under two joined steps pinning him across the thighs.

  “You shouldn’t be moving!” She squatted and picked up the wood. She wobbled under its weight. No doubt adrenaline helped her lift it.

  “Don’t do that,” Lance yelled as he sat up. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  Staggering sideways, she dumped it into the grass.

  “Morgan, I’m OK.”

  “You’re bleeding.” Wary of pointy broken boards and protruding nails, she stooped next to him and ran her hands over his arms and legs.

  Lance froze.

  “What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?” She ran her hands up his sides. Did he break a rib? She stopped at his shoulders. His eyes were grinning at her.

  She sat back. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

  He was working hard not to laugh. “I told you I wasn’t, but maybe you should check every inch of me just to make sure.”

  She swatted his shoulder. “Be serious. You could have been badly hurt.”

  “But I’m not. See?” In one fluid movement, Lance surged to his feet and scooped her off the ground.

  “Oh!” Surprised, she grabbed at his shirt. My, he was strong. She was no tiny waif, but he carried her as if she were. “It looked as if there was a small explosion before the stairs collapsed. I think Voss must have set up a trap. Which would be insane because he obviously gets packages delivered.”

  “Keyword: insane. Let’s get away from the building in case Voss has left any other surprises for visitors.” Lance carried her across the grass.

  “Put me down. This is backward. You’re the one who’s injured.” Despite her protests, and against her entire modern, professional woman image, she enjoyed the way he made her feel small and feminine. A
ll those muscles weren’t just for show.

  “Nothing a couple Band-Aids won’t fix.”

  “Oh my God!” A door slammed, and Shannon raced down the porch steps. “I called 911. Are you both all right?”

  “We’re fine.” Without putting her down, he sat on the back steps.

  It took her a few seconds to think she should probably get off his lap. She scrambled to her feet and looked him over. Blood dripped from a few small cuts on his arm, and his pants were torn at the hem.

  “Do you have a first aid kit in your Jeep?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Before she could retrieve it, sirens approached. A minute or two later, strobe lights flashed on the side of the house. An officer in uniform jogged down the driveway toward them. Carl. He had one hand on the weapon on his hip. “Is everyone all right?”

  “We’re fine.” Lance said. “Just a couple of scrapes.”

  “What happened?” Carl scanned the mess.

  “I don’t know,” Lance said. “Morgan and I came to talk to Dean Voss’s neighbors. I went to his door and knocked in case he had a roommate. I heard a boom and crack and the stairs gave out.”

  Not exactly the truth, but close enough.

  Lance twisted his arm to inspect a cut. “I didn’t see any signs of rot or neglect.” He paused. “But there was smoke, and I thought maybe I saw a flash of light. I suspect some sort of rigged explosion. Maybe there was a tripwire or pressure trigger I didn’t see.”

  “I saw flames under your feet,” Morgan added.

  Carl inspected some pieces of rubble. “Look at this neat hole.”

  Lance walked closer, his eyes narrowing. “You know what that looks like?”

  Carl nodded. “A small, controlled explosion.”

  “Looks like the damage left after an explosive door breach.” Lance surveyed the debris. “With Voss in the psych ward, we have to assume he booby-trapped the staircase and I triggered it. I wonder what he did in the military.”

  “I’d better call forensics,” Carl said as he stepped away and spoke into the radio mic on his shoulder.

  Morgan rubbed her arms. Despite the heat of the sun, a cool wind swept across the yard, stirring dead leaves and small bits of debris. Her suit jacket didn’t seem warm enough. “You could have been blown up.”

  Voss was crazy, but he was locked up. She’d like to believe he couldn’t hurt anyone ever again, but he just had.

  Carl returned. “Horner is on his way. He wants you to wait here.”

  Lance sighed. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”

  The police chief arrived fifteen minutes later. Horner talked to Carl and inspected the scene. Then he approached Lance and Morgan. “What were you doing here?”

  “We came to talk to Voss’s neighbors.” Lance repeated his story to the police chief. “The stairs collapsed.”

  “Voss knew Tessa Palmer,” Morgan added. “He taught at the high school and ran the yearbook committee that Tessa was on.”

  Suspicion narrowed Horner’s eyes. “How did you learn that?”

  “The yearbook.” Morgan didn’t mention where they’d seen the yearbook. “Tessa and Voss were both in the photo for the yearbook committee. The photos were probably taken in the beginning of the year, and no one bothered to take Voss out after he quit.”

  “Voss hasn’t been with the school since late winter,” Horner said. “There’s no evidence he and the Palmer girl were in contact since.”

  “He left because of accusations of misconduct with a student,” Lance pointed out.

  Horner’s voice and gaze sharpened. “There was no evidence. Charges were never filed.”

  “That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” Morgan said.

  Lance gestured to the debris-strewn yard. “Clearly, Voss could be violent or unstable enough to commit murder.”

  Horner leaned closer. His gaze flickered to Morgan, then back to Lance. Anger gleamed in his eyes. His mouth opened and closed. Morgan could read his desire to warn them off the case, but legally, he didn’t have an argument. Nick’s defense team had every right to investigate. But Horner resented the fact that they’d uncovered evidence he’d missed.

  Finally, he blew air from his nose like an irritated pony. “I can’t stop you from sticking your noses into the case, but I’m giving you a warning. Don’t break the law in doing so.”

  “I assure you, I know the law very well,” Morgan said.

  Horner snorted. “Just watch your step, counselor. Because if you don’t, we will.”

  And now he’d crossed Morgan’s line. “Are you threatening me, Chief?”

  “Of course not.” Horner took a step back. “But your client is guilty as sin. He killed Tessa Palmer. Voss had nothing to do with it.”

  “I’d like to remind you that I’m required to conduct a full investigation into the case.” Morgan enunciated each word carefully. It took quite a bit of control not to say because you didn’t conduct a proper investigation before you arrested my client, but it was implied. “I’m going to file a subpoena for Voss’s DNA to be compared to that of Tessa’s child.”

  Horner’s jaw clamped tight. “You do what you have to do, counselor, and so will I. Don’t forget to come down to the station to sign an official statement.” He walked away.

  “What did he mean by so will I?” Morgan asked.

  “I don’t know, but he’s up to something. I don’t trust him.” Lance turned toward the Jeep. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Morgan watched the police chief’s stiff posture for a few seconds before turning to follow Lance.

  She brushed some dust from her suit. She’d torn the hem of her slacks, and the leather was scraped off the heel of her shoe. Back in the Jeep, Lance took out his first aid kit and cleaned the cuts on his arm and covered them with a few Band-Aids.

  “Are you OK?” he asked.

  She felt his gaze on her face but kept her focus out the window. “I’m fine. But I’m sure you’ll have some bruises tomorrow.”

  The incident had left its mark on Morgan. She cared about him more than she wanted to, felt more than she was ready for. Her head began to throb. She propped an elbow on the passenger door and rubbed her temple.

  Lance stopped at the diner at the edge of town.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I think we both need a break.” He removed his seatbelt and turned toward her. “You look tired. I know Tessa’s murder really rocked you, and you’re trying your best to save Nick. But you can’t neglect yourself.”

  “I’m fine.” She reached for the door handle.

  “Just remember. This case will go on for a long time. You’re no good to Nick if you run yourself ragged.”

  “I know. I just haven’t been hungry.” She opened her car door. “But I could really use some coffee.”

  “Did you eat breakfast?”

  “Yes.”

  “Donuts don’t count.”

  Damn it.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said. “You’ll eat too. Some protein might help with that headache.”

  “You’re as bossy as Sharp,” she said without rancor. Despite her determination to keep her distance, smart-assing him felt good. The promise of a huge cup of coffee cheered her.

  He grinned back at her. “Only when I need to be.”

  She shot him an exaggerated eye roll, and his grin widened. The light in his eyes took him from handsome to irresistible.

  What was she going to do with him?

  Lance followed her inside and found a booth overlooking the parking lot. Lance ordered a turkey sandwich. Ignoring the lunch menu, Morgan splurged on a giant stack of French toast and a latte.

  “French toast is not protein,” Lance protested.

  “Sure it is. The bread is soaked in eggs.”

  The waitress brought their drinks.

  Morgan settled back and sipped her latte. The caffeine hit her system with a pleasant buzz. “I hope the police and forensics team
are careful going into Voss’s apartment.”

  “They will be. But considering we already poked around inside, it’s probably safe.”

  The caffeine eased her headache. Their food came and Morgan plowed through her French toast like a soldier. When she pushed her plate back, nothing remained but a few sprinkles of powdered sugar.

  “Wow,” Lance said. “Not going to lick the plate?”

  “Hey, you wanted me to eat.”

  “I did.”

  Morgan grabbed the check.

  Lance reached for her hand. “Let me get that.”

  She snatched it out of his reach. “It’s an expense.”

  “You’re not getting paid. You have no income to expense.” He tried to tug the handwritten green slip from her hand. She held on, giving him a stubborn look, and he gave up. He was already working on the cheap for her. She wasn’t going to let him incur additional expenses.

  “Eventually, I’ll have to think about what I’m going to do about a job.” She slid out of the booth.

  “I’ll get the tip.” Lance tossed some cash on the table. “Do you need money?”

  She led the way to the register at the front of the diner. “No, but thank you for asking. Living with Grandpa, my expenses are low. We’re not rolling in cash, but we have a roof over our heads, food on the table, and a little left over.” She paid the bill. “But I’m already thinking about saving for college tuition for three.”

  “You could be a defense attorney. I know quite a few prosecutors who’ve switched sides. The private sector pays better than the DA’s office.”

  “I’ve thought about it, but I don’t think I can defend guilty people and sleep at night. I know in my heart that everyone deserves the best defense. The legal system wouldn’t work without the balance of prosecution and defense, but my dad was a cop. My grandfather was a cop. My sister and brother are both cops. I grew up believing that criminals belong behind bars. Defending anyone who walks through my office door just isn’t for me. I’m not saying I could never defend another person, but I’d have to be convinced they were innocent.”

  “Like Nick?” Lance shoved his wallet into his pocket.

  “Yes.”

  They walked through the tiled lobby, out onto the concrete, and right into Tessa’s grandparents. The Palmers had aged twenty years since Tessa had died. Mrs. Palmer’s skin was the pale, translucent color of parchment paper. She wore no makeup. Her hair was uncombed, and she clutched the lapels of her sweater together at the base of her neck as if she were freezing. Mr. Palmer’s eyes were rheumy and red. They looked like they hadn’t eaten or slept in weeks.