Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane #2)(62)

“She’s traumatized.”

“Yes.” He composed his face back into its usual stony mask. “We sent the blanket and the dress she was wearing to forensics. They’ll try and find trace evidence or DNA, but given how far she ran in the woods, I’m not sure how much help anything the techs find will be. When you talk to her, please take notes. Any small piece of information could help us find this guy.”

“Thanks for the update,” Lance said.

The sheriff tossed his empty cup in the trash on his way out.

“What now?” Morgan stood and stretched.

“I don’t know.” Lance got to his feet. “Sharp and I were hired to find Chelsea, and she’s no longer missing.”

“I’m not sure Tim will be needing a lawyer at this point. I don’t know where I stand either.” Morgan paced the room. “Let’s give Tim a little more time.”

They didn’t have to wait long. Tim walked into the room; his eyes looked as if he’d been traumatized. “I only have a few minutes. I want to get back to Chelsea.”

“Of course you do,” Morgan said. “Don’t feel like you need to give us a report. Go back to your wife.”

“She’s . . .” He glanced away, then turned and eased into a chair. Resting his elbows on his knees, he dropped his head into his hands and shoved both hands into his hair.

Morgan moved to take the chair next to him. Without speaking, she put a hand on his back. Tim’s shoulders shook as he cried silently. He lifted his head a few minutes later, his eyes still shocked.

“She was shaking when I went in to see her. So hard.” Anger glittered in his tear-filled eyes. “But she’s strong. Stronger than I ever realized.” Tim leaned back and wiped his sleeve across his face. His eyes were bleak as he said, “He branded her.”

“What?” Lance asked.

“A brand. It looks like an infinity symbol.” Tim sighed. “The doctor said a plastic surgeon will look at it. What if they can’t remove it? Every time she sees it, she’ll be reliving her captivity all over again. She’ll never be able to put it out of her mind.” Tim jumped to his feet and paced the small room. His gaze landed on random spots in the room and flittered away without seeming to register what he was seeing, as if his mind couldn’t process the last few hours. Tim was a man on the edge of the breaking point. “I have to go back to Chelsea. I don’t know what to say to her.”

Morgan answered, “There’s nothing you can say that will undo what’s been done. Just tell her you love her. She’s going to need you.”

“You’re right. Thank you.” He headed toward the door.

“Is there anything we can do?” Lance was just as worried about any immediate physical threat to Chelsea’s life. “Is the sheriff putting a guard on her?”

Tim nodded. “He’s posting a deputy outside her room tonight.”

Hopefully, the sheriff would be willing to continue to protect her until the man who kidnapped her was caught.

“What do you want to do about the press conference?” Morgan asked. “It’s scheduled for seven o’clock.”

Lance checked the time on his phone. It was after six. His stomach rumbled, as if it had just learned it was time for dinner. Had they eaten lunch? The day was a blur.

Tim looked unsure. “The sheriff said he’d handle updating the press, but he suggested someone be there to represent the family. I don’t really want to leave Chelsea, and her parents aren’t in any condition to be on camera. But what happens to the reward now that she’s been found?”

“The primary purpose of the press conference was to appeal to the public for help in finding her. The details of the reward were never publicized, so we can just pull the offer now that she’s been found,” assured Morgan.

Tim shook his head. “Chelsea’s dad wants the reward to remain in place for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the man who kidnapped Chelsea.”

“All right,” Morgan said. “I’ll rewrite the statement we drafted earlier.”

“So, you’ll handle the press conference for us?” Tim asked.

“Yes,” Morgan said.

“Thank you. Very much. We really appreciate your help. None of us are thinking clearly right now.” Tim left.

“I need to get to the press conference.” Morgan picked up her bag.

“I’ll take you.” He wasn’t happy that she was, once again, volunteering for publicity. But she was going to do her best for her client. And Lance would stick close.

They left the hospital, making their way through the parking lot. Back in the Jeep, Lance started the engine. “Do you need to stop at the office?”

“There’s no time.” Morgan opened her bag, combed her hair, and fixed her lipstick. “This should be quick. I’ll give a simple statement about the family being joyful over Chelsea’s return and appeal to the public to respect the family’s privacy. The sheriff will have to field questions about the actual investigation.”

Lance drove to the municipal building, where the sheriff had arranged for a room for the press conference. By the time they arrived, the press was already gathering and setting up. At least a dozen stations were represented. Chelsea’s disappearance hadn’t garnered this much attention, but then how many kidnapping victims escaped their abductors. Having been missing for a week, no doubt most people had written Chelsea off as dead.