Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane #2)(39)

King grunted. “Would have been nice if he’d mentioned it to me.”

“I’m sure he just forgot. That night was very stressful.” Morgan continued. “The hairs have roots attached and would therefore contain DNA. Are you going to have DNA tests run or would you prefer I send the hairs to a private lab?”

Hair shafts were composed of dead cells and did not contain DNA. Only the portion of a hair that was located below the skin was connected to the blood stream.

“I’ll do it.” The sheriff bit each word off like a piece of beef jerky.

“Do you have a sample of Chelsea’s DNA?” Morgan asked.

“Yes.” The sheriff nodded. “Her husband submitted it when he filled out the missing persons report.”

“Is there anything else we can do to help?” she offered.

“No.” The sheriff sighed. “You’ve done more than enough.”

Morgan rose and offered the sheriff her hand over his desk. King shook it gently and thanked her for her help. But all Lance got was a gruff nod that all but said Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.

Lance and Morgan exited the station. The storm had followed them and pounded the parking lot with heavy rain. The Jeep was parked just twenty-five feet away. Yet Lance’s hair and clothes got a fresh soaking as they raced for the vehicle.

Inside the vehicle, Morgan’s teeth chattered. “Where to next?”

He started the engine and then turned the heater on high.

Lance checked the time on the dashboard block. “Dry clothes are next. Then we regroup. Want to make a quick stop at your house?”

“No.” She held her hands out to the heat vents. “I have a change of clothes at the office.”

“We can update Sharp while we’re there. He’s going to want to know about the necklace. We’ve found the first real evidence that Chelsea was forcibly taken.”

“I almost wish we hadn’t.” Morgan’s voice was quiet.

“I know.” Because now they knew that Chelsea was either being held captive or dead.

The rain stopped as Lance drove to the office. He parked at the curb, and sun burst from the sky in biblical fashion. “Sharp’s not here.”

“I’ll grab my bag.” Morgan ran inside and emerged a minute later, garment bag in hand.

Lance had a two-bedroom house in town just six blocks from Sharp Investigations. They went in through the garage, passing piles of hockey equipment.

“How’s your team?” Morgan asked.

Lance had coached a team of at-risk youths when he was a patrol officer with the Scarlet Falls PD. He’d bonded with the teens and stayed on after he’d left the police force. “Their skills are improving, their self-control not so much. They could start winning if I could keep them out of the penalty box.”

They placed their shoes on the heating vent in the laundry room to dry. Hooking the top of her garment bag over the doorknob, Morgan hung her coat on a peg and then stripped off her socks.

Lance stripped off his flannel shirt and tee. He tossed both into the washer.

“Oh.” Morgan was staring at his chest.

“Do you want a hanger for your clothes?”

And would you like me to help you take them off?

She turned to face him.

“You have man candy abs?” She grinned.

Heat rushed to Lance’s face. And elsewhere.

She stepped forward, her gaze roaming over his chest, her eyes hungry. With slow, deliberate motions, she unsnapped her pants and slipped out of them. Her sweater hung past her hips, but he could see the lace edges of her dark-gray panties. She held out her pants by a belt loop. “You offered to hang these up.”

Holy . . .

Lance’s breath caught in his throat. Her legs were slender and long enough to wrap—

You’re getting ahead of yourself. Be cool.

Right. He’d been waiting to put his hands, and other body parts, on her skin for months. There was nothing cool about his desire. He shifted his gaze to her face. There was nothing cool about the playful heat in her eyes either.

He took the pants. Without taking his eyes off hers, he grabbed a hanger from the bar over the washer, draped them over it, and hung them from the bar.

“You should get out of those wet pants.” She moved closer, her hand reaching for the snap of his cargo pants. He flinched at the brush of her fingers against his belly.

“Are you sure?” He grabbed her hand.

Her face turned serious. “Very. We’ve been clearheaded and logical about whatever this is between us for weeks. Where has that gotten us?”

“There’s nothing wrong with waiting for the right moment.”

She smiled. “The right moment is the one that’s happening right now. Life isn’t perfect. If we wait for all our ducks to be lined up, we’ll be waiting for a very long time. My little ducks are tough to herd.”

“We do have complicated lives,” he admitted.

“I don’t want to wait for anything. I want to seize the moment.” She smiled. “Or something.”

He loved the powerful look in her eyes, and the confident tone of her voice was a huge turn on.

“I could really use a hot shower.” She lifted the hem of her sweater, exposing another inch of gray lace. His heart skipped second gear and shifted into third. He ripped his eyes from her tantalizing striptease and focused on her eyes. As much as he wanted her body, he craved the rest of her just as much.