Bones Don't Lie (Morgan Dane 3)

“Stan Adams called me to say you have been harassing and stalking him,” the sheriff said.

Morgan squeezed Lance’s hand. “Don’t say anything.”

The sheriff propped his hands on his hips. “Didn’t I tell you both to stay away from this case?”

Lance said, “My mother is lying in a hospital bed—”

“Stop. Talking,” Morgan said in a louder voice.

The sheriff pointed at Lance. “You should listen to the lawyer.”

But Lance’s temper had obviously kicked his sense out of the way. “I have every right to protect my family.”

“You don’t have squat.” The sheriff paused after each word for effect.

Morgan nudged an elbow in between the men and tried to defuse the situation. “We just found out that Stan Adams called Jenny Kruger yesterday, but you knew that, right? You have access to her phone records.”

The sheriff’s lips mashed flat. She couldn’t tell if he knew or not.

Lance leaned forward, as if he was going to speak. Morgan tugged him back.

“Jenny was poisoned with opioids,” she said. “Tonight at the hospital, someone tried to do it again.”

“Do you have proof of that?” Sheriff King asked.

“It just happened,” Morgan said. “Her saline solution was spiked. The Scarlet Falls PD has just begun their investigation.”

“So you just thought you’d take matters into your own hands?” King asked.

Lance shook his head. “And this is why we didn’t want to call you.”

“I’ve had it with you.” The sheriff’s finger stabbed in the air toward Lance. “The only way I’m going to keep you both out of my way is to put you in a cell. You’re both under arrest.”

“You can’t be serious.” Lance took a step forward.

So did the sheriff. “I don’t make jokes.”

It was true. The sheriff had no sense of humor.

“Just do what he says.” Morgan gripped Lance’s bicep. The muscles were hard and tense under her fingers.

“Both of you, hand over your weapons.” King held out an empty hand.

They slid their guns from their holsters and offered them butts first.

The sheriff took both. “Put your hands on top of your heads. Lace your fingers.”

Lance tensed, but he followed instructions.

“Now you first, Kruger.” The sheriff crooked a forefinger at Lance. “Give me your coat.”

Lance slid out of his leather jacket and handed it over. “You can’t arrest us.”

“I most certainly can. Remember the last time you went off half-cocked?” The sheriff tossed Lance’s jacket over the hood of his car. “You almost got yourself and Ms. Dane killed. Now turn around.”

Lance complied.

Pulling Lance’s hands down one at a time, Sheriff King snapped handcuffs onto his wrists. He gave Lance a thorough pat-down, emptying the many pockets of Lance’s cargos and piling the contents on top of Lance’s jacket. Pocketknife, a fully loaded magazine for his Glock, and a handful of plastic zip-ties. The sheriff guided him into the back of the police vehicle.

“Now you, counselor.” The sheriff pointed to her. “Let’s have your coat.”

Morgan took off her coat and handed it over. The cold air swept through her, and she shivered as she turned around.

“Turn out your jeans pockets,” he said. “Use two fingers.”

She turned her jeans pockets inside out and handed him the keys to the Jeep. The rest of her belongings were in her tote bag, which she’d left in the Jeep. The sheriff handcuffed her and gave her a cursory pat-down, skipping the more intimate areas of her body, something she was positive he would not do when arresting a female stranger. He was being a gentleman while he arrested her, a fact that was ridiculous all on its own.

“What are the charges?” Morgan asked.

“I’m starting with loitering, harassment, stalking, and impeding an investigation,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll think of some more during the drive.”

With a solid hand on her arm, he guided her to the back door of the vehicle. Then he put a gentle hand on the top of her head as she slid into the vehicle.

Scooting across the bench seat in handcuffs was harder than Morgan anticipated. The door closed. The physical restraint of the handcuffs and the cage separating the back and front seats felt claustrophobic. She glanced over her shoulder and watched the sheriff going through their coat pockets. Lance’s jacket held his cell phone, a miniature screwdriver, and a small flashlight. From Morgan’s coat, the sheriff pulled her phone, a wad of tissues, a lip balm, and two lollipops. The second lollipop was sticky and covered in lint, having been licked and rewrapped when Sophie had discovered she didn’t like green apple. With a disgusted sneer, the sheriff wiped his hand on the thigh of his uniform, then bagged their personal possessions.

“I can’t believe he’s arresting us.” Lance glared out the side window.

“We’ll call Sharp from the station,” Morgan said. “He’ll get us out.”

Lance shook his head. “Knowing the sheriff, he’ll stick us in a holding cell overnight just to prove he can.”

“I messaged Sharp earlier. He knows where we are. He’ll look for us.”

“He won’t think to call the sheriff.”

“Probably not,” Morgan agreed. “We’ll survive a night in a holding cell.”

“You know what cells are like.” Lance frowned at her. “You don’t belong in one.”

In her former life as a prosecutor, Morgan had interviewed plenty of criminals. Holding cells, like other jail and prison facilities, were disgusting, filthy places with open toilets and the lingering scent of vomit. From the outside, the sights and smells could gag someone with a strong stomach. The thought of being locked in one wasn’t pleasant.

“I’m aware of that, but there’s nothing we can do about it now.” Morgan was less surprised at their arrest than Lance. He and the sheriff had butted heads one too many times. They were equally hardheaded, but the sheriff had the law on his side. Sheriff King had warned them, and Lance was right: King was just arrogant enough to want to prove he had the upper hand.

The sheriff collected their belongings and put them in his trunk.

Morgan turned to Lance. “You need to remain silent. I mean it. Don’t say a single word to the sheriff or anyone else at the station.”

Male and female prisoners were not held together. She suspected Lance would be put in the holding cell, and the sheriff would handcuff her to a bench somewhere. She sensed they had finally pushed King over the line.

“Cooperate, but exercise your right to be silent. Anything you say will be used against you. Anything.”

“I know.” Lance’s shoulders fell. “I’m sorry. I should have listened to you tonight. You were right. We should have called the sheriff and told him about Stan. Now we’ve lost a whole night.”

“It’ll be all right.” Morgan shivered.

Lance shifted closer, pressing his shoulder against hers. “I can’t help protect my mother from a jail cell, and now that we’re getting locked up, Stan is free to do what he wants.”

“Stella and Brody are with your mother tonight,” Morgan said.

The sheriff climbed into the driver’s seat, ending their conversation. As the vehicle pulled away from the curb, Morgan turned and glanced back at Stan’s bright-as-day neighborhood. Stan had seen them following his car, and he’d gone on the offensive, smartly turning the tables on them.