What I've Done (Morgan Dane #4)(46)

“Did Noah have a temper?” Morgan asked.

“No.” Isaac picked up the whiskey and poured two shots. He slid one across the table to Chase. “He was a quiet guy.”

Morgan wrote something in her personal shorthand. “Did he have a recent girlfriend?”

Isaac spun his shot glass on the table. “He broke up with a girl last summer.”

“Do you know her name?” she asked.

“Sorry.” Isaac ran a finger around the rim of the small glass. “I don’t remember. They didn’t go out for long. Noah wasn’t ready to be a one-woman guy.”

“Her name is Callie Fisher.” Chase tossed his shot down. “But Isaac is right. They weren’t together more than a month or two. Noah lost interest in her pretty fast.”

“If Noah didn’t have a steady girl”—Morgan lifted her pen and looked up at the two men—“did he hook up often?”

Chase banged a fist on the table. If he was trying to intimidate Morgan, he was going to have to try much harder. She ignored his display of temper. Lance had seen her up against hardened criminals. These two geeks were hardly menacing.

“Stop it!” Chase leaned away from the table, his body tense as he jabbed a finger toward Morgan. “I know what you’re trying to do here, but I won’t let you say anything bad about Noah. He was a great guy.” Anger glittered in his eyes. “He didn’t deserve to die like that.” He turned away and crossed his arms over his chest.

“We’re just trying to get a sense of who he was.” Lance tried to defuse the men’s anger.

Isaac got to his feet. “I think we’ve answered enough of your questions. We aren’t going to drag Noah’s reputation down. Attacking the victim is not OK just because Noah is a man.”

“Thank you for meeting with us.” Morgan slid her notepad into her tote and stood. She was doing her best to school her expression, but Lance could see the subtle signs of pain on her face. Her mouth was tight and her voice slightly higher than normal. “I know this was difficult for you.” Morgan lifted her coat from the back of the chair, but she didn’t pause to put it on. She headed for the door with it draped over her arm.

“We can see ourselves out.” Lance followed Morgan outside. In the cool air, she exhaled hard, clearly stressed.

“How do you feel?” He took her bag while she donned her coat.

She nodded. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Lines fanned from her eyes, and her color had gone gray.

“Do you need to go home?” Worried, Lance scanned her face. As much as he would respect her decision, he also wanted to sweep her off her feet and tuck her into bed until she was fully healed. He followed her as she walked to the Jeep.

“I can work through tired, and I can work through a headache.” She turned to meet his gaze. “What I need is coffee.”

“Back to the office?” he asked.

“Yes.” Once inside the vehicle, she checked her phone.

Lance gestured out the window. “What did you think of Noah’s friends’ reactions?”

“I think they’re grieving, and it’s natural for them to defend their friend’s reputation.” She glanced back at the house. “But I also felt as if there was something specific they didn’t want to tell us about Noah.”

“I agree. You didn’t ask for any dirt on Noah. You asked if he hooked up with girls. That’s nothing incriminating. That’s a normal activity for twenty-something men.”

“So what are they trying to hide about Noah?”





Chapter Twenty

Forcing her brain to work felt like wading through snowdrifts. Craving sugar, Morgan checked her desk drawer for candy. Nothing. She picked up the cup of coffee at her elbow. As she brought it to her lips, her stomach rolled over. She carried her coffee into the kitchen and poured it in the sink.

Sharp was in the doorway. He held a reusable nylon bag from the local organic grocery store. “If you’re dumping your coffee, you must feel pretty bad.”

“When did you get here?” Morgan took a glass from the cabinet, then opened the refrigerator and reached for a pitcher of filtered water.

“Just now,” he said. “I stopped to see how Haley and Eliza were doing this morning.”

Morgan filled her glass. “How was Haley?”

“Not good.” Sharp gave his head a worried shake. “She looks worse than you, like she didn’t sleep at all. Eliza said she had trouble sleeping, and when she finally fell asleep, she had a terrible nightmare.”

Morgan sipped her water. “Did she make an appointment to see the psychiatrist?”

“Yes. The doctor is squeezing her in tomorrow morning.” Sharp opened the fridge, then looked over his shoulder, his gaze critical, as if he were assessing her. “How do you feel?”

“I’m all right.” Morgan sipped her water.

But Sharp wasn’t buying it. “Don’t bullshit me.”

She sighed. He was just like her grandfather. “I feel hangover-ish. My head hurts, and I’m a little nauseated. But it’s not debilitating.”

“Did you eat this morning?”

“I had eggs.”