Bones Don't Lie (Morgan Dane #3)(74)

The other men sighed and turned back to their beers.

Lance handed the old man the twenty, then steered Morgan out of the bar. The fresh air was cold but welcome.

“Warren hasn’t been in the bar in two nights.” Morgan reached into her tote and pulled out a small bottle of hand sanitizer. She offered it to him.

He shook his head. “You didn’t touch anything.”

“I still feel dirty.” She rubbed a spot of gel between her hands. He was right, but the sting of Purell in her nose made her feel cleaner. “Nasty place. The bartender is an addict.”

Lance nodded. “Which is why he gave us info on Warren for forty bucks without a hint of guilt.”

They got into the Jeep.

“We should call the sheriff.” Morgan smoothed her coat and fastened her seat belt. “Given the history of this investigation, Warren could be dead inside his apartment.”

“As much as it pains me to admit it, I agree,” Lance said. “You call him.”

Morgan sighed and made the call. She covered the speaker with her fingers. “No answer.” She left a message for him to call her about the case.

“That works perfectly. We did our duty and didn’t have to deal with the sheriff.”

“I still feel guilty.” Morgan lowered her phone to her thigh. “Should we call 911?”

Lance steered the Jeep onto the on-ramp. “I suppose we can’t let ourselves in?”

“No. Definitely not.” Morgan made the call, giving the dispatcher her name and asking for a welfare check at Warren Fox’s address. “They won’t rush a welfare check.”

“If he’s dead, an hour or two won’t make any difference.”

The hospital was a thirty-minute drive from the Black Tavern. It was nearly seven o’clock by the time Lance parked in the lot. “I’m sorry. We should have stopped for food.”

“I’m fine.” Morgan pulled two candy bars from her tote and offered him one.

He shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

She stashed one back in her bag and ate the other as they walked across the parking lot. They went through the automatic doors, collected visitor badges at the front desk, and took the elevator to the third floor. They walked down the hall toward the ICU. A lab tech was exiting, and they slipped in while the doors were still open.

Morgan picked up on a somber energy the minute they walked into the ward. Staff talked in hushed, subdued voices. Lance’s steps quickened. He felt it too. Morgan took his hand in a strong grip.

Someone had died.





Chapter Thirty-Eight

Lance could feel the sorrow, as palpable as a drop in room temperature.

They hadn’t called him.

It can’t be Mom.

He paused just before he reached his mother’s doorway, dread weighing his steps like his boots were filled with concrete. He and his mother had fought her mental illness for decades. Her demons had taken up permanent residence. But every time they’d advanced, she’d rallied and driven them back. Her whole life had been one battle after another. She won some and lost others. But overall, she’d been winning the war. Inch by inch, she’d chipped away at their advantage. She’d finally made real gains, only to fall victim to someone’s sick game.

As he pushed forward for the last two strides, Morgan’s grip on his hand tightened.

But everything in the room looked the same. His mother slept. The ventilator hissed. The heart monitor beeped in a steady rhythm.

It’s not her.

When he exhaled, he was light-headed for a few seconds.

In the chair near the bed, Hannah Barrett looked up from her book. Her face was grim, her eyes sad. Lance glanced into the next room. The sheet had been pulled up over the patient’s head. Two women in scrubs were unplugging equipment and tubes, coiling the untethered ends onto the bed.

The old man was dead.

Equal amounts of relief and guilt flooded Lance. The old man was someone’s father or grandfather. Someone would be brokenhearted at the news.

Hand in hand with Morgan, he went into his mother’s room. The nurse bustled in and hung a new IV bag. Her eyes and nose were red from crying.

“How is she?” Lance asked.

“She’s hanging in there.” She sniffed, then gave him an update on her vital signs. “Her kidney function showed some improvement today.” She flushed the IV port, attached the new bag of fluids, and pressed buttons on the infusion pump.

The bed and medical equipment filled one half of the large room. A supply and computer station was built into the other. The wall that edged the hallway was made of glass, with a curtain that could be drawn across if needed.

The nurse scanned the monitors and then went to the computer and typed. “Let me know if you need anything.” She left the room.

Hannah stood and greeted them.

“I can’t thank you enough for being here,” Lance said.

“I don’t mind.” Hannah brushed a lock of short, spiky blonde hair off her face. “Do you have any idea who might have done this to her?”

“We have a few solid suspects.” But not solid enough, thought Lance. “You’ve been here all day?”

Hannah nodded. “Brody will be here soon to relieve me for the evening, and Stella said she’d take the night shift. One of us will be with her all the time.”