Bones Don't Lie (Morgan Dane 3)

“It’s fine.” Morgan set Sophie down and turned to the girls. “Have you brushed your teeth?”

Three little heads nodded.

“Then you can each pick out a picture book.” Morgan crouched to their level. “I’ll be in to read to you in five minutes.”

They scurried down the hall to the room they shared. At the doorway, Sophie elbowed Ava out of the way.

Morgan went into the den. Her grandfather was in his wheelchair, his casted leg elevated on a pillow. He wore clean pajamas. His thin, white hair combed. Mac sat on the couch, the TV remote in his hand.

“You need help getting into bed, Art?” Mac set down the remote control and stood.

“Hell, no,” Grandpa grumbled. “I feel like one of the children. Can’t even wash and dress myself.”

“You’ll be rid of that cast soon,” Morgan said, then turned to hug her sister’s man. “Thank you, Mac.”

Her sister had found a man the polar opposite of Lance. With his shaggy surfer hair and lean body, Mac always looked a little like the wild creatures he studied as a wildlife biologist.

“Anytime. Are you sure you’re all right here alone?” he asked.

Morgan perched on the arm of the couch, the two dogs at her feet. “We’ll be fine. Snoozer isn’t much of a watchdog, but Rocket doesn’t miss a thing.”

And she would be keeping her gun close.

As if she heard Morgan’s praise, Rocket cocked her head toward the front door.

“All right, but call if you have any concerns.” Mac and Stella lived just a few minutes away. “I canceled classes for the rest of the week. I’ll be back in the morning.” Mac taught biology at the local university and used his wilderness experience to aid the local search and rescue team.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“No worries. I just assigned a boatload of reading and a research paper instead.” He grinned.

Morgan followed him out of the den to the front door.

“I don’t know what I would have done these last four weeks without you, Mac.”

“In two weeks, a simple shower won’t be such a production.” Mac went outside. “I just took the dogs out ten minutes ago. They should be good for the night. Lock up. Set the alarm. Call us if you need anything.”

Morgan turned the dead bolt, set the alarm, and returned to the den. “I’m going to read to the girls.”

“I can’t wait to be useful again,” Grandpa said.

“Speaking of useful.” Morgan opened her tote. She pulled out the file. “Sharp asked if you’d go through his case file on Victor Kruger.”

“Really?” Grandpa sat up straighter.

“Yes. Really.” She handed him the file. “And if you get through this whole file, Sharp might have some illegal crime scene photos for you to look at.”

When she emerged from the girls’ bedroom fifteen minutes later, Grandpa had the file open in his lap, his reading glasses on his nose, and his entire demeanor had changed.

Only a Dane perked up when confronted with murder.

Chapter Eighteen

Lance parked in front of Morgan’s house just as the school bus pulled away from the curb. Ava and Mia waved from the bus windows. Joining Morgan on the sidewalk, he waved back.

The bus rumbled away, and he and Morgan turned toward the house. Her breath puffed in the frosty morning air, and she rubbed her arms.

“You need a coat,” he said.

“We’re always in a rush. The bus comes at the same time every day. You’d think we’d be ready.”

“At least you’re wearing shoes today.”

In her black heels, she was only a couple of inches shorter than him. She wore a red suit and her black hair was twisted in one of the no-nonsense updos she favored for legal business.

“The girls have missed you the last few days,” Morgan said.

“I meant to get here earlier.” Lance glanced back at the retreating bus. He’d waited until his mother was settled in her office, with a website design to occupy her, before he’d left.

Morgan opened the front door. Sophie leaped at Lance. As he caught her, she wrapped her skinny arms around his neck and pouted. “I haven’t seen you all week. You pwomised to take me skating.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Guilt speared him like a fork. “My mom has been . . . sick.”

“Like Grandpa?” she asked.

“Yes. Something like that.” Lance hugged her. When he’d first started dating Morgan, the fact that she had three small children had terrified him. Now, catching one in midair felt natural. He’d never thought he’d look forward to dealing with the sticky chaos, but their smiles and hugs—their acceptance—filled him with gratitude.

But how could he possibly be there for Morgan and her three kids and take care of his mother? No matter how hard Mom tried to be independent, one of life’s curveballs could wipe out her efforts as fast as a rag across a whiteboard.

“Are you driving me to school?” Sophie squirmed away from his chest.

He set her on the floor. “Yep.”

“Yay!” She raced for her bedroom, stopping and giving him a stern look over her shoulder. “But we hafta leave now or I’ll be late. I don’t wike to be late.”

Lance lifted both hands. “Hey, I’m ready. Where’s your backpack?”

She shot into her room.

Gianna came out of the kitchen and took her coat from a peg on the wall. A bag over her arm held her dialysis supplies: a warm blanket, a thermos, and the iPad Morgan had given her for her birthday. The young woman was still sick, still dependent on her treatments, and still waiting for a kidney, but there was energy in her step and hope in her eyes. “Thanks for driving me today, Lance.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Lance said. They went outside. While Morgan locked the door, he loaded Sophie into his Jeep, double-checking the fit of her safety seat and harness.

Gianna slid into the back next to Sophie, and Morgan fastened her seat belt in the passenger seat. He drove Sophie to preschool. She made Lance walk her in and introduced him to her teacher before allowing him to leave. Next, he dropped Gianna at dialysis, and then they headed for the sheriff’s station.

“Sharp is meeting us there?” Morgan asked.

“Yes,” Lance said. “He wanted to check on the dog.”

“He’s such a softie.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Lance drove out to the sheriff’s station, located near the county jail and municipal complex.

Sharp was already parked in front of the ugly-ass brown brick building that housed the sheriff’s station. He climbed out of his car.

“Safety in numbers?” Lance joked as they walked toward the door.

Sharp snorted. “I wasn’t waiting for you. I was waiting for my lawyer.”

“How’s the dog?” Morgan fell into step beside Sharp.

“She has a broken leg that needs surgery, but she should be fine for you to take home in a day or so.”

“Me?” Morgan laughed. “Why do I get the dog?”

“You’re the one who collects strays.” Sharp opened the glass door and stepped aside to let Morgan enter first.

They went inside the lobby. At the counter, they were met by the sheriff’s watchdog, a sixty-something-year-old woman with sensible shoes, a navy-blue cardigan, and a laserlike gaze that could cut a man in two.