Bones Don't Lie (Morgan Dane 3)

Something rustled the foliage, farther away this time.

Lance lifted the rifle in his lap, scanning the clearing, looking for the sheriff. But another rustle in the distance told him King was running away.

Next to him, Morgan came awake in an instant. She mouthed, “What is it?”

He whispered, “King is gone.”

A little while later, voices floated through the trees from the direction opposite where King had run.

Ten minutes passed before Mac and Sharp walked into the clearing in backpacks and hiking gear.

Relief swept through Lance, warming him as much as the fire had.

Morgan stumbled to her feet, and Mac caught her in a hug.

Sharp dropped to one knee next to Lance. “Are you alive?”

“Yes.” Lance struggled to sit up. The sky was lighter. Was it close to dawn? “How did you find us?”

“Hold on, let me give the rescue party our coordinates.” Sharp spoke into his radio. After he lowered it, he jerked a thumb toward Mac. “That guy is freaky good in the woods. He tracks like one of the K-9s.”

“We didn’t wait for the official rescue party to get it together,” Mac said. “The two of us could move faster anyway.”

Sharp set his backpack on the ground and opened it. “But they aren’t far behind us. We’ll have you both out of here in no time. Since you’re not dying, we won’t call for a helicopter. Mac is trying to figure out the closest spot we can rendezvous with a four-wheeler.”

Lance straightened. Pain in his side nearly split him in half. “King got away. It must have been just before you arrived. He was handcuffed around that tree. I must have dozed off.” Lance wanted to kick himself.

“Passed out is probably a more accurate description,” Sharp said. “You’re in rough shape.”

Mac was crouching where King’s prone body should have been. Mac stood and scanned the ground. “He went north. We can catch him if we move now.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t kill him.” Sharp handed Lance a bag of trail mix.

Lance ate a handful of raisins and nuts. “I wanted to.”

And if he had, he wouldn’t be worried about the sheriff getting away right now.

“I’ll bet you did.” Sharp handed him a bottle of water and patted his shoulder. “You did good. Everything is going to be all right. We’ll find him.”

“You’ll wait for the police to catch him, right?” On the other side of the fire, Morgan sat on a rock. She smiled at him through the smoke.

“Right,” Sharp grumbled.

Lance leaned back against the tree. He knew who had killed his father, and the sheriff couldn’t possibly get far. He and Morgan were alive and together. Everything would be all right, as long as he had her.

Chapter Fifty

An hour later, Sharp hiked through the forest behind four state troopers. He could see why Mac Barrett was an asset to his search and rescue team. He loped along the trail in an effortless gait, tracking the sheriff like a frigging golden retriever.

The trail led into a clearing. A cabin sat in the center of the open space. Fresh tracks in the snow led to the front door. King was inside. They all knew it. Tension connected the team members like an invisible current.

The troopers fanned out, motioning for Sharp and Mac to fall behind them.

Grudgingly, they did.

But not far.

One trooper scouted ahead. Crouching beneath a window, he took a selfie stick and his cell phone from his pocket. Raising the phone just above the windowsill, he used his camera to spy inside. He lowered the phone and crept back to the group. “He’s standing in the middle of the room. He’s armed and injured.”

“Think we have any chance of talking him into laying down his weapon and coming outside?” the leader asked.

All the men shared a there’s no way in hell that would ever happen look.

“Then let’s go get him.” The leader motioned toward the cabin.

The troopers flanked the entrance. With no warning knock, they breached the door, sweeping through the doorway. Boots thudded on wood as they shouted commands.

“Police!”

“Let me see your hands!”

“Drop the weapon!”

Sharp angled himself so he could see through the doorway.

The sheriff stood in the center of the main room. His face was blotched, his nose was twice its normal size, and his eyes were bloodshot. In one hand, he pointed a handgun toward the floor. He cradled his other, swollen hand against his body.

King had dislocated his thumb to escape the handcuffs.

Crazy bastard.

“Put the weapon down, Sheriff,” the lead trooper ordered.

They all knew King. They’d worked together. But they would still put a bullet in him to stop him if they had to.

King looked beyond the cops, to Sharp. Their eyes met. King’s mouth curled into a snarl.

“Put the weapon down or I will shoot you!” the trooper yelled.

Sharp knew in that moment of eye contact that King would not let the troopers arrest him. Nor would he take the chance of a nonlethal bullet wound. He would never go to jail.

In one swift movement, the sheriff brought the gun to his mouth and pulled the trigger, blowing off the back of his head. Blood and bits of brain splattered across the worn wood behind him.

King went out on his own terms.

Sharp didn’t give a rat’s ass how he went out, as long as he ended up six feet underground.

Chapter Fifty-One

Late the next morning, Morgan sat in Lance’s kitchen and drained her second cup of coffee. Lance was still asleep. He’d refused to stay at the hospital the night before. They’d returned to his house in the gray hours just before dawn, crawled into his bed, and slept like corpses.

The doorbell rang. Not wanting the noise to wake Lance, she hurried to the door and opened it. Mac and Stella stood on the front step, with all three of Morgan’s girls in tow.

“Where’s Wance?” Sophie tried to zoom past Morgan’s legs.

Morgan made a grab for her daughter. “He’s sleeping.”

Sophie folded her arms and sulked. “I want to see him.”

“I know,” Morgan said. “I’ll go in and see if he’s awake yet. Sharp is in the kitchen.”

“We’ll take the kids into the kitchen.” Stella held up a box of donuts. “Who wants a donut?”

“Save me one,” Morgan said over her shoulder.

“Do you really deserve a donut?” Stella asked. “If it were Christmas, I’d fill your stocking with coal for the stunt you pulled last night.”

Morgan and Lance had given their statements at the hospital the previous night.

“I apologized twenty times already.” Guilt poked Morgan. “I should have answered your call. I should have told you where we were going. I’m sorry.”

Stella humphed. “Maybe one donut.” She shook a finger at Morgan. “But you have to drink one of Sharp’s nasty concoctions.”

“I promise.” Morgan held up three fingers like a Girl Scout.

Shaking her head, Stella retreated down the hall. Her sister loved her. No matter what.

Morgan opened Lance’s bedroom door.

“You don’t have to be quiet,” he said. “I’m awake.”

His eyes were open. Shirtless, he pushed the sheet down to his waist. Purple bruises mottled his ribcage. A small bandage on his side and another on his eyebrow covered the shallow knife wounds he’d sustained in his fight with Sheriff King. Just looking at him bare-chested made Morgan shiver. She’d layered her silk long underwear under a wool sweater. After their night in the woods, she might never be warm enough again.