Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane #2)(4)

He lifted her chin and swept her hair aside to examine her neck. “I’m sure you’re hurting worse than you’ll admit.”

Red patches were already forming on her pale skin.

“Bruises heal,” she said.

“That doesn’t mean I like to see them on your lovely neck.” As long as they worked together, Lance was going to want to protect her. Though she was tall, a slim frame and delicate features made her look almost dainty. Even with her attempt to dress casually, she was perfectly feminine, with little glittery earrings and black hair that shone like a shampoo model’s.

But he’d keep his inner guard dog on a tight leash. She was no helpless female, even if her ability to defend herself always took him by surprise.

As did the ache in his heart every time he laid eyes on her. What he felt for her, even in this fragile, early stage of their relationship, floored him. They’d only shared a few—albeit scorching—kisses. But he couldn’t deny his attraction went far beyond the physical.

Relief got the better of him. He moved suddenly, cupping her face in both hands and kissing her hard on the mouth. When he lifted his head, her blue eyes were dark and wide. “I know you can handle yourself. But I still wanted to rip Tyler’s head off for hurting you. It was all I could do not to strangle him.”

She smiled. “I’m sure he appreciates your restraint.”

“You probably broke his nose.” He grinned.

“I didn’t mean to break anything. I practiced those self-defense drills so many times growing up that my reactions are pure muscle memory.”

Morgan’s father and grandfather had been NYPD detectives. Her dad had been killed in the line of duty fifteen years ago, but clearly the lessons he’d taught his kids had stuck.

She pulled a blue, flowered scarf from her massive purse, in which she seemed to keep everything but a side of beef. She tied the scarf in a fancy knot around her throat to cover the bruises. But he knew they were there.

Her phone buzzed.

“Is that your sister?” he asked, remembering that Morgan’s sister was taking their grandfather to the cardiologist that day. Stella was a detective with the Scarlet Falls PD.

“No. His appointment isn’t until this afternoon.” Morgan read the display. “It’s Sharp. He says to hurry back. We have a client.”

After the danger they’d faced in the last case they’d worked together and this morning’s incident, Lance hoped the new case would be nice and boring.

“He says it’s a hot one,” Morgan said.

“Of course it is.”





Chapter Four


Morgan led the way into Sharp Investigations. The PI firm occupied the lower half of a duplex on a quiet street a few blocks off the main drag of Scarlet Falls. Lance’s boss lived in the upstairs unit. Downstairs, the two-bedroom apartment had been converted into professional space. Morgan had taken over the spare office. Though they were separate entities, private attorneys often required the services of PI firms. Being under the same roof was convenient, and the rent was cheap. With a brand-new practice, Morgan’s cash flow was tight.

A few sharp barks greeted them. Rocket, the white-and-tan stray dog Sharp had recently adopted, rushed them, wagging and snuffling at Morgan. A bulldog mix of some sort, her sturdy body was filling out nicely with regular meals.

Sharp met them in the foyer. “The client’s name is Tim Clark.”

In his midfifties, retired Scarlet Falls police detective Lincoln Sharp was fit and wiry. He wore his more-salt-than-pepper hair buzzed short. After twenty-five years on the force and another five running his own private investigation firm, Sharp sized people up with gray don’t-mess-with-me eyes that didn’t miss a thing. His lean, hawkish features looked tough, but Sharp was a total marshmallow on the inside.

“Clark?” Morgan crouched to greet the dog. “The name sounds familiar.”

“It should,” Sharp said. “His wife disappeared last Friday. It was on the news.”

“Now I remember.” Morgan recalled the news report. Young mother vanishing into thin air, her car found in the middle of nowhere.

The case had made headlines only briefly, until a police shooting over the weekend had garnered more public attention.

Morgan and Lance followed Sharp into his office, and he introduced them.

In his late twenties, Tim Clark had messy brown hair that fell to his shoulders. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and his button-up shirt was as wrinkled as a sheet of aluminum foil that had been crumpled into a ball and smoothed out again.

He stood to shake their hands. “Thanks so much for seeing me. I should have called for an appointment, but honestly, I haven’t been thinking straight.”

Sharp took his seat behind the desk, and Lance leaned on the wall.

Tim eased back into his seat. An infant carrier sat at his feet. From the blue blanket tucked around the baby, Morgan assumed it was a boy.

“How old is he?” she asked.

“Four months.” Tim’s eyes misted. “His name is William. I’m sorry I had to bring him. My daughter is with my neighbor, but Will is colicky. No one wants to watch him.”

“It’s not a problem,” Morgan said. “I have three kids.”

The baby stirred and made a snuffling sound, and Morgan melted a little as she settled in the chair next to Tim.