Monty shot a quick look at Lane, and a current of silent communication ran between them.
“Fine,” Monty said, changing gears. “I’ll stay in here and keep looking around.”
“Don’t touch anything,” Stockton cautioned.
“Yeah, Stockton. I went to the Police Academy, too.”
With a blistering glare, Stockton walked out, gesturing for his partner to follow him.
They’d barely rounded the corner into the hall, when Monty planted himself in front of his son, arms folded across his chest.
“Morgan has it—all of it.” Tersely, Lane answered his father’s unspoken question. “In there.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the tote bag. “No need to remove evidence from the crime scene.”
“You’re sure?”
“As sure as I am that I just saved your ass.”
A corner of Monty’s mouth lifted. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
From across the room, Morgan took in the exchange. No one else was paying attention.
“What was that inane crap you just spouted about overreacting?” Arthur asked Monty, pausing from his agitated pacing by the windows. “Was that your attempt to manage us?”
“No,” Monty countered. “It was my way of downplaying a personal crisis you’re trying to keep from becoming front-page news. Besides, there’s no cause for panic. I’ve got men assigned to watch every member of your family.”
“That doesn’t appease me anymore,” Arthur shot back. “These scare tactics are escalating. What if whoever’s responsible takes the next step? What if he goes after—”
“Dad…stop.” Jill waved away his words. Leaning forward, she gave Morgan a fierce hug. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Morgan was trembling, and her lashes were damp with tears as she hugged her friend. “None of this would be happening if it wasn’t for me. I feel like some kind of pariah. The truth is, Arthur’s right. We don’t know if this is an idle threat or a real one. And I refuse to play Russian roulette with your lives.”
“Morgan.” Quietly, Lane commanded her attention, waiting until she met his gaze. “Don’t do this to yourself. More important, don’t give up. See this through. If you don’t, you’re letting this son of a bitch win.”
“Maybe,” she admitted, her tone equally soft. “But I don’t care.” A hard swallow. “As I told you, to me, security trumps all.” She averted her head, emotionally compelled to rescrutinize the violent display on the bed. “When it was just my life I was gambling with, it was one thing. But I’m putting the people I love at risk. How can I live with that?”
“You can’t,” Monty supplied in a hard voice. “And you won’t.”
He didn’t have a chance to elaborate. Approaching footsteps told them the cops were returning.
“The closet in the spare room was ransacked,” Stockton announced as he reentered the bedroom. “That’s about it.” A questioning look at Morgan and Jill. “Anything of significance in that closet?”
“Just guest linens and storage boxes,” Morgan supplied. “I’ll go through it with you and account for everything.”
They were gone and back in five minutes.
“Nothing was taken,” Stockton announced.
“I didn’t think it would be,” Monty returned drily.
“We’ve covered every room now except Jill’s,” Morgan said. “And—” She broke off, weaving on her feet.
“That’s it.” Monty reached over, caught Morgan’s arms. “Lane, get her out of here. Buy her breakfast and tuck her in. She’s had enough for one day.”
“Done.” Lane was already there, looping an arm around Morgan’s waist and leading her out of the room.
“I have more questions for Ms. Winter,” Stockton protested.