Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane 2)

“But wireless systems aren’t foolproof either. Every time there’s an advance in security technology, criminals find a way to beat it. It’s a vicious cycle.” Brody scratched his chin. “We believe the intruder used a jammer to interrupt the radio frequency of the wireless system. The alarm never sent a signal to the central monitoring station or the siren. Once he beat the alarm, he took his time picking the lock.”

“Not an amateur.” Stella huffed.

“No. Definitely not.” Brody swept a hand through his short hair. “I contacted the unit watching Burns’s house.”

“You have a unit watching Harold Burns?” Morgan was surprised.

“We do, but because of Burns’s legal maneuvering, they’ve been told to keep their distance and stay off his property.” Brody’s face tightened with a frown. “We haven’t seen any movement or lights at Burns’s house. His car has not left the garage. But his house is surrounded by forest, and he only lives a half mile from his brother’s auto shop. He could easily walk there through the woods and help himself to a car. In short, we have no way of knowing for certain if he’s actually inside.”

Chapter Thirty-One

It was after one in the morning when Lance lugged three backpacks into his house. Then he went back to the Jeep and carried Ava and Mia inside, one by one, and tucked them into his guest bed. Gianna and Sophie walked in under their own steam. Unbelievably, Morgan’s littlest was still awake. Snoozer shuffled into the house, jumped up on the sofa, and curled into a ball.

“The girls can sleep in the guest room. I can give you mine,” Lance said to Gianna. He’d sleep on the couch.

After he moved the dog.

Gianna shook her head. “I’ll share with the girls. That way, if they wake up and don’t know where they are, I’ll be there.”

“Will all four of you fit?” Lance’s guest bed was a queen size but still . . .

“They’re small.” Gianna hadn’t bothered to dress. In her flannel pajamas and oversize sweatshirt, the eighteen-year-old looked much younger. Even with the pounds she’d gained since moving in with Morgan, Gianna was still slender, though less frail and much healthier than when she’d lived alone.

“OK. I have a blow-up mattress. I’ll put it in the bedroom in case you need more room.” Lance went into the garage and used his compressor to inflate the twin mattress. Then he wedged it between the wall and the bed. The second bedroom in his compact house wasn’t large. Neither Ava nor Mia stirred. Amazingly, they hadn’t objected to being roused from their beds in the middle of the night, though Morgan had only told them that Grandpa was hurt. She didn’t want to frighten them.

Sophie was scared enough for all three children.

“I’m going to use the bathroom.” Gianna carried a small bag toward the hall bath. “Are you OK, Soph?”

Nodding, Sophie wandered around the living room, inspecting Lance’s few pieces of furniture.

“I don’t wanna go to bed.” Sophie hugged a toy horse tightly against her face. The sight stabbed Lance in the heart. The child was always a handful but not typically whiny. She’d had a rough, frightening night.

“How about a glass of milk?” he asked.

She nodded and followed him toward the kitchen. Passing the piano, she stopped. “Can I touch it?”

“Sure. But softly, OK? Mia and Ava are sleeping,” Lance said.

Sophie sat down on the piano bench and raised a hand over the keyboard. She pressed a key, her touch light and hesitating, almost reverent. A soft middle C sounded through the dining room.

Lance sat down next to her.

“Can you play a song?” She plunked another soft key.

“It’s too late.” Lance’s gut wrenched as she turned and blinked her big blue eyes at him. “But I promise I’ll play for you another time. In fact, I can even teach you a song.”

She nodded hard and sniffed.

“How about we get you to bed, Soph?” Gianna walked into the room and held out a hand. Sophie scrambled off the bench, took it, and let Gianna lead her into the guest room.

Lance drank the milk himself. Then he hauled his exhausted body to his bedroom, stripped off his clothes, and took a quick shower. He’d still been up, unable to sleep, when Morgan had called. It was now two a.m.

He usually slept naked. It was more comfortable, and creating dirty laundry while sleeping never made much sense to him. But with four female guests, it didn’t feel appropriate. He didn’t own pajamas and settled on a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt. Good enough.

His cell phone buzzed from the nightstand. He read Morgan’s text: THE BREAK IS BAD. GRANDPA GOING INTO SURGERY. RISKY BUT NO OPTIONS. HOW ARE THE GIRLS?

He responded: GIRLS ARE IN BED AND FINE. SORRY TO HEAR ABOUT ART.

Lance hesitated. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but was this really the right time? No. Telling a woman you loved her for the first time in a text was lame.

He typed: THINKING OF YOU. Which felt weak, so he added: I’M UP. CALL ME IF YOU WANT TO TALK.

Morgan: OK. GOTTA GO. THX.

Well, damn.

Art’s condition didn’t sound good.

He set the phone down. Poor Art. And poor Morgan. Art was old for surgery, and Lance hated thinking of Morgan in the hospital, worrying. For years, her grandfather had been mother and father to her. She’d already lost both her parents and her husband. She did not need any more tragedy in her life.

Lance crawled into bed. He’d rather be with Morgan, but she’d entrusted him with her kids. He’d do his best to take care of them. He lay still, staring at the ceiling, wondering who had broken into Morgan’s house and why and coming up with few answers.

It felt as if he’d barely closed his eyes when something woke him. Not a noise. A feeling. The hairs on his neck went rigid.

He was being watched.

All his senses went on alert. He stared into the darkness at his open doorway, listening, not moving, waiting for his eyes to adjust. His gun was on top of his armoire, out of the children’s reach but also out of his immediate reach.

Scanning the room, he startled when he made out the small shadow standing at the foot of his bed, staring at him.

“Sophie?” He reached for the light and switched it on.

Tears streaked the little girl’s face. “I had a bad dream. He was there.” She sniffed and inhaled three sharp breaths.

Lance sat up. “It’s OK. You’re safe now.”

“I’m scaa-wed.” She pronounced the word in two syllables as she crawled up onto the bed and knelt in front of him, still clutching her stuffed horse. “Can I sweep with you?”

Her tiny voice broke, and his heart did that Grinch thing again. She trusted him to keep her safe.

How could he say no?

“Ah. Sure.” He lifted the covers next to him and she scooted under them. But she wasn’t content to occupy the other side of his king bed. She pressed her small body against his from her head to her feet, as if every inch of her needed reassurance that he was there to protect her.

Oh, what the hell?

Lance turned on his side and threw an arm over her. A contented sigh escaped her mouth as she drifted off to sleep.

The room was still dark when Lance woke again. Silence filled the house, and exhaustion blanketed him. Why was he awake? He checked the clock. He’d only been asleep for an hour. No wonder he was still tired.