Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6)(36)

“That would make sense,” Lance said. “Sharp left a message for his contact at the ATF.”

Morgan picked up her coat and bag. “Now I’m going home, but I won’t be long.”

“Thank you.” Sharp exited her office.

Lance’s gaze followed him. “He looks dead on his feet.”

“He needs sleep.” Morgan’s phone buzzed. She read the screen. She needed to schedule Lance’s wedding present for delivery. The wedding—and all the last-minute details that needed to be addressed—hadn’t entered her mind since Olivia had disappeared.

“Everything all right?”

She turned the phone away from him. “Yes.”

His brows lifted.

“Maybe you’re not the only one keeping a secret. Are you going to tell me where we’re going on our honeymoon?”

“Nope.”

Morgan shoved the phone into her pocket. “Then I’ll see you soon. Take care of Sharp. Text me if you need anything from home.”

Morgan needed energy. On the way home, she detoured to the bakery for fresh donuts. Fifteen minutes later, she was in her foyer, being happily bombarded by three kids and two dogs. Kisses and hugs with all five of them improved her mood. Since it was Saturday, Ava and Mia were still dressed in their pajamas. Ava took the box of donuts and ran. Sophie, clad in her Halloween costume, leaped into Morgan’s arms.

Settling her youngest on her hip, Morgan walked into the kitchen. “No donuts until after breakfast.”

“Yay. The pancakes are done.” Sophie pushed away from her mother, and Morgan set her on the floor.

Grandpa stood at the stove, using a spatula to remove pancakes from the new griddle. Bacon sizzled in another pan. The girls scrambled onto stools at the island, and Grandpa set plates of pancakes in front of them. “Easy on the syrup, girls.”

Hoping the kids would be sloppy, Snoozer and Rocket took up strategic positions beneath the kids’ stools.

Grandpa met Morgan’s gaze, his eyes asking the question he wouldn’t voice with the children in the room. Morgan shook her head, and he frowned.

Gianna sat at the island. Her face was pale.

“How do you feel?” Morgan poured a mug of coffee.

“OK. I can cook.” She shot Grandpa a look.

“Just sit there and take it easy.” Grandpa ate a piece of bacon and passed the platter to Morgan. “I enjoy cooking now and then.” Grandpa sat down to his own breakfast.

Having given up nagging him about his diet, Morgan took a slice of bacon. Her phone chimed with an email. It was from the caterer. Morgan had forgotten to call her the day before. She couldn’t even think about the wedding today.

“What’s wrong?” Gianna asked.

Morgan set down her phone. “Nothing. Just a few calls I was supposed to make about the final wedding details.”

“I can make the calls for you.” Gianna buttered a slice of toast. “It’ll give me something to do, since Art won’t let me cook.”

“Are you sure?” Morgan asked.

“Positive.” Gianna bit into her toast.

“Well, you did plan half of the reception anyway. You have a real flair for party planning.”

“I loved every minute of it.” Gianna sighed wistfully.

“All right, then,” Morgan said. “The caterer needs a final head count. I’ll make a list of everything else.”

Morgan was relieved to delegate the reception details to Gianna. And Gianna seemed equally as happy to accept the responsibility.

Would they even want to go through with the wedding if they didn’t find Olivia in the next two weeks?

Morgan ate, spending a precious thirty minutes with her family—and downing two more cups of coffee—before heading for the shower. The meal and a fresh suit revived her. When she returned to the kitchen, Grandpa was scanning the leftover donuts.

“The kids and Gianna are watching cartoons.” He selected a chocolate cruller and dunked it in his coffee.

“Great, because I could really use your help today.” Morgan summarized their investigation. “Would you read the trial transcript and case files for an old murder?”

Morgan would concentrate on Erik Olander and let her grandfather pick through Cliff Franklin’s case.

“I’d be happy to. Email me everything you have.”

Morgan removed her laptop from her tote and opened her email.

What would she do without Grandpa?

Morgan’s father had been killed in the line of duty as an NYPD detective. Morgan’s older brother had been in college at the time, but her mother had moved her three daughters out of the city. She’d claimed the move was to get away from the violence, but everyone knew she’d been running away from memories. Grandpa had moved to Scarlet Falls with them. Mom had died shortly after, and Grandpa had stepped in to finish raising them.

Years later, when Morgan’s husband had died in Iraq, she had quit her job as a DA and moved back in with Grandpa. He’d been her rock.

His hand trembled as he opened his iPad and confirmed receipt of her email. His hair was pure white, and he needed a cane to walk. The thought of him aging twisted her insides into knots.

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Morgan stood, rested a hand on his shoulder, and kissed him on the cheek.