Chapter Twenty-Seven
Morgan paced the living room. Picturing the nasty photos and message, she didn’t know whether to be terrified or furious. Both worked, she decided.
“Stella took the photographs to the fingerprint examiner,” Grandpa said. “She’ll call when she has some information.”
“There won’t be fingerprints.” Morgan’s stalker was far too clever. Her blood iced over when she thought of him parked on her street, using a telephoto lens to take pictures of her hugging her kids.
“We’re safe here.” Grandpa tapped the blanket on his lap. He’d stashed his own handgun under it. “We’re both armed. We have an excellent security system, and Rocket will let us know if anyone’s outside.”
She took a deep breath. Grandpa was right. Her sister had also arranged for patrol units to drive past the house during the night.
“On another note, I finished reviewing Sharp’s file on Vic Kruger’s disappearance,” Grandpa said. “He crossed every t and dotted every i.” Grandpa frowned. “I can’t think of any other leads he could have chased at the time.”
“Thanks for trying.”
“I’m happy to be useful. I wish I could have helped more.” Grandpa rolled himself away from the table. “I’ll be in my room.”
“I’m going to bed too. Goodnight.” Morgan set her gun on top of her armoire, out of reach of the children. Then she put on her pajama bottoms and an old T-shirt and got into bed. She was still staring at the ceiling when her phone buzzed. She grabbed it from the table, hoping it was an update from Lance. Snoozer and Rocket stirred, then went back to sleep.
But Sharp’s number displayed on the screen.
She answered. “Yes?”
“Did he call you?” Sharp asked.
“No.” Morgan sat up, her heart tight. “What did Abigail say?”
“We didn’t make it to the motel.” Sharp’s voice lifted goose bumps on Morgan’s skin.
“What happened?”
“Jenny tried to kill herself.” Sharp’s voice broke. “She took a whole bunch of pills.”
“No.” Disbelief rolled through her for a few seconds. Then Morgan jumped out of bed, stripped off her pajamas, and stepped into a pair of jeans. “Is Lance at the hospital?” She shoved her feet into the old sneakers she kept by the bed for middle-of-the-night dog walks.
“No. He went home to get some sleep. Jenny’s on a ventilator and it’ll likely take several days for the drugs to clear her system. The nurses told him to save his strength for when she wakes up. They don’t know about permanent organ or brain damage yet.”
Oh, no.
“Is he all right?” Morgan asked.
“He said he wanted to be alone, but I think he’s in shock.” Sharp sighed hard. “He needs you.”
Under her concern, disappointment raced through her.
He didn’t call me.
“I’m on my way.” Morgan ended the call, then phoned her sister. Stella agreed to come right over. She was at the door in ten minutes. Mac waited in the car and followed her to Lance’s house.
It was just past midnight when Morgan arrived.
She heard the piano from the front stoop, the despondent melody wrenching her heart. Lance’s version of “Hurt” was more Johnny Cash than Nine Inch Nails. Tonight, emotion lent gravel to his voice that sent a chill up Morgan’s arms.
She let herself in with her key. Sadness filled the house as fully as the music. Morgan went to the dining room, where his grand piano stood in place of a table. He played, a glass of whiskey perched above the keyboard.
“Sharp called me.” She slid onto the piano bench next to him. “I wish you had.”
He stopped playing. His hands hovered over the keys, his fingers quivering as if he couldn’t find the right notes. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight.”
She wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders, her heart breaking for him. “That’s OK.”
With his gaze fixed on the keyboard, Lance shook his head. “I can’t even process what happened tonight.” Grief emanated from him, as poignant as the song he’d just played. A sigh rolled through his frame. He breathed again, his chest expanding with painful effort. “I’m used to handling my disasters alone. You have so much on your plate already.”
“Is our relationship that one-sided? If that’s true, then I’m the one who should be apologizing to you.”
He glanced at her, his brows dropping in confusion. “I don’t understand. You and your girls deserve someone who can make you a priority in his life.”
“I know you don’t get it, and that’s the problem.” Morgan searched for the right words. “I don’t need to be ranked in your life. There’s no need to queue loved ones in order of importance. People all have different needs at different times. I know that you’re used to going it mostly alone, but that’s not the best way.”
He took a small sip of his whiskey.
“You help me all the time,” she said. “You protect me and my family. You welcomed me and my girls and my nanny into your home when we needed a place to stay. You helped my grandfather shower last week!” Her voice rose, frustration undoing her, and she took two breaths to get it under control. “But you resist letting us help you. Why?”
“You’ve already been through so much. You deserve happiness.”
How could she get through to him? “You must not think very much of me.”
He lifted his head. Confusion cut through the grief in his eyes. “What?”
“Do you think I could just walk away from you because you’ve having a personal crisis? That I’m the kind of person who could turn her back on you because, for a change, you need me?”
He looked away. His hands curled into fists and landed on the keyboard with a soft cacophony of notes.
“And if you’re thinking of being all manly and saying you don’t need help, don’t bother,” she said. “The question was rhetorical.”
How could she make him understand? He seemed beyond words, almost in shock. But if there was one thing she understood, it was grief, that dark place that had sucked her in for two years. The numbness, the hollow, empty pressure that had eaten her alive from the inside out. She couldn’t let it drown him the way that it had held her under. There had been times she hadn’t been able to take a deep breath.
But how? He wouldn’t even hold eye contact with her.
Morgan turned on the piano bench to face him. Sliding one leg over his, she straddled his lap. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His hands settled lightly on her hips, and he leaned back, almost warily, putting as much space between them as their positions would allow.
She settled on his thighs, looped her hands around his neck, and looked down at him. The agony that sharpened his face tore at her.
“Morgan . . .” His voice was harsh, as if he had a hard time speaking.
“Shh.” She kissed him lightly on the temple. When she straightened, his eyes were closed, his jaw tight with restraint.
His lids opened, revealing blue eyes filled with pain and doubt. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Absolutely nothing,” she said. “Because it’s my turn.”
“You don’t have to do this.” He shook his head.
“Since you seem to be a little confused about the mechanics of a relationship, I’m going to lay it out for you. Straight. No bullshit.” She caught and held his gaze. “A successful adult relationship requires support and sharing on both sides. It’s not a one-way street where one person does all the giving and the other does all the taking.”
He blinked, his gaze dropping.
She took his face in her hands and lifted his chin, but still he wouldn’t look at her. “I love you.”
Her eyes filled with tears. She’d wanted the first time she’d said the words to be a romantic moment, but he needed to hear them now.
His gaze snapped back to hers.
She slid her thumbs along his square jaw, her hands cupping it, the stubble rough in her palms. The strength in him amazed her. How had he coped all these years with only one close personal relationship? Sharp was the only person Lance had allowed into his pain, probably because Sharp had been a part of it from the beginning, when Lance had been too young to push him away. And knowing Sharp, he would have bulldozed his way past any walls Lance would have put up.
Her words didn’t seem to sink in, so she said them again, her heart warming. She meant it when she’d said she wasn’t letting him go. “I love you. And not to be conceited or anything, I’m fairly sure you feel the same way. A few months ago, I didn’t think I’d ever be happy again. I didn’t think it was possible to find love a second time. But I did. With you.”
His eyes misted. His grip on her waist tightened. But she wasn’t finished. This incredible man had accepted the chaos of her family. He’d banished the darkness from her soul and shown her the light of a brand-new day.
“You listen to me, mister. There is no way in hell I’m letting you go. You’re stuck with me. Whatever problems either of us face, we’ll deal with them together. Have I made myself clear?”
Lance swallowed, the muscles of his neck working hard. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” She pressed her mouth to his, pouring her heart into this kiss. Despite her position, she didn’t intend the kiss to be sexual. She’d just wanted to command his attention, to make contact, to warm what was a soul-deep and bitter cold. She lifted her head, her hands sliding down to rest on his shoulders.
Had she gotten through to him?