Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane 2)

He made her feel safe.

Morgan grabbed her tote bag from the van, and Lance herded her up the walk and into the office. Holding Sophie in one arm, he locked the door and engaged the alarm. “Are you all right?”

Morgan nodded. But her hands were still trembling and her face had gone from pale to gray.

Sharp emerged from his office, his face grim.

At the clatter of dog nails, Sophie lifted her head from Lance’s shoulder. “Puppy.”

Morgan smoothed her hair and worked to collect herself. “Sophie, this is Mr. Sharp and his dog, Rocket.”

Rocket leaned on Morgan’s leg and whined.

Ignoring Sharp completely, Sophie leaned over and reached for the dog. Her tears shut off like a closed tap. “Put me down.”

Even Lance couldn’t compete with a dog.

Lance cautiously set her on the floor, watching the dog for a reaction. But the stub of Rocket’s docked tail wagged. She sniffed then licked the child’s hand. Sophie giggled.

“Sit,” Morgan said.

The dog planted her butt on the floor and offered Sophie a paw.

Morgan crouched next to Sophie. The dog showed no sign of the timidity she exhibited with strange adults.

“Looks like Rocket likes kids.” Sharp nodded.

Sophie turned her huge, teary blue eyes on Sharp. “Can I play with her?”

“You certainly can. Let’s go get her ball.” Sharp extended a hand toward Sophie.

“I’m hungwy.” Sophie was usually distrustful of strangers, or at least she’d always been distrustful of Lance, but she took Sharp’s hand without hesitation.

Lance made a note to talk to her about strangers with puppies.

“Let’s see if we can find you something to eat,” Sharp said.

“We left my banana at the store.” The sniff in Sophie’s breath tugged at Lance’s heart all over again.

“You know what?” Sharp led the little girl down the hall. “Rocket loves bananas too. I have some in the kitchen.”

As soon as Sophie and Sharp disappeared into the kitchen, Morgan lost it. Tears began to flow down her cheeks. Covering her mouth, she raced for the bathroom. Lance waited outside, feeling useless. At least he’d been able to hold and comfort Sophie.

When she emerged, her face had been scrubbed and she smelled of mouthwash.

“Do you want some water?”

Morgan shook her head. “Not yet.” She was still shaking. “I’m sorry. Tossing our cookies after a stressful situation is a family thing.”

With a glance at the kitchen door, Lance led her into her office. He’d finally made progress with Sophie. He didn’t want the sight of him hugging her mother to set the kid off again.

Once inside the room, he pulled her to his chest and hugged her hard. She pressed her face to his body.

“He wouldn’t have pulled that stunt if you were with me.” Morgan was not the damsel-in-distress type, but she wasn’t stupid either. “He must have followed me.”

“Well, it won’t happen again,” Lance said. He was sticking closer to her than paint on a wall.

“I need to go home for my gun.” Morgan had a concealed carry permit. Feeling that small children and guns didn’t mix, she rarely carried it. “For a completely nonviolent incident, that was utterly terrifying. What if he’d done something, and I wasn’t able to protect Sophie?”

Lance rubbed her shoulder. “He didn’t and Sophie is fine. It serves no purpose to torture yourself with every possible outcome that didn’t happen.”

Morgan nodded, but she didn’t look convinced. “I need to call home and warn Grandpa. What if Burns knows where I live?”

“Your house address is unlisted, right?” Lance asked.

Morgan sniffed. “Yes. But we both know how easy it is to get names and addresses.”

Tax records, deeds, and other public records weren’t hard to find. Visibility was the downside to all the publicity her last case had garnered.

Someone knocked on the front door.

“I’ll get it.” Lance went out into the hall and opened the door. Stella pushed past him. “Where’s Morgan?”

“In her office.” Lance gestured toward the open door. “She’s fine. So is Sophie.”

Stella and Morgan greeted each other with a tight, sisterly hug.

“Where’s Gianna?” Morgan asked, looking over her sister’s shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

“No. She’s fine. I called her to make sure. Brody went to get her. He’s going to take her home and stay there.” She leaned back, holding Morgan by the arms and assessing her. “I wanted to get right over here and make sure you were all right. Tell me what happened.”

“I’m fine.” Morgan broke her sister’s grip, then closed her office door before describing the incident in the grocery store.

Lance had to work hard to keep his temper in check.

Stella wrote in a small notebook she took out of her pocket. “He didn’t say anything else?”

“No.” Morgan already knew where her sister’s question was leading.

“Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do.” Stella closed her notebook. “He didn’t do or say anything threatening. There are only two grocery stores nearby. He has to shop at one of them. He didn’t do anything illegal.”

“I know,” Morgan said. “But I want my statement on record.”

Too many women told themselves they were imagining danger and ended up as victims. If Burns had any ideas about stalking Morgan or her family, it would be vital to have a record of each and every incident.

“OK.” Stella nodded, pulling out her phone. “I’ll call the store and request a copy of the surveillance tapes.” She went into the hallway to make the call.

Morgan’s tote bag buzzed from her desk. She fished her cell phone out and read the display. “It’s Sheriff King.” She answered the call, holding the phone a few inches from her ear so Lance could hear. “Yes.”

“What part of stay away from Harold Burns didn’t you hear?” King yelled.

Morgan jerked. “Excuse me?”

Apprehension slid an icy fingertip along the back of Lance’s neck. Something was wrong.

“I just got off the phone with Harold Burns’s attorney,” the sheriff said. “Burns says you followed him to the grocery store and harassed him.”

“I did nothing of the sort,” Morgan said.

The sheriff continued. “He has a photo of you in the store and another of you driving out of the parking lot.”

“Did he mention that I was with my three-year-old daughter?” Morgan’s voice rose. She breathed, obviously holding back.

“No. He didn’t,” the sheriff said, his voice turning cautious.

“Do you really think I’d follow a violent sexual predator when I had my child with me?” Morgan was shifting into full mamma-bear mode. On the bright side, her hands had stopped shaking and color flushed her cheeks.

After three heartbeats of silence, the sheriff said, “I’ll look into it.”

“No need.” Morgan’s voice chilled, and her tone shifted into I-don’t-need-your-useless-ass, even if she was too much of a professional and a lady to say it. “The SFPD has already requested the surveillance tapes, and I’m filing a complaint with them as we speak.”