Secrets Never Die (Morgan Dane #5)(21)

Morgan stepped away from the counter to give real customers space. As she sidestepped toward a window, movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She turned her head and spotted a girl in a red T-shirt and black apron hurrying across the parking lot, away from the pizza parlor.

“I’ll bet that’s her.” Morgan rushed for the door.

Lance was right beside her. He pushed through the exit and passed Morgan, calling, “Rylee! Wait! We just want to talk to you.”

“Don’t scare her,” Morgan shouted after him.

He ignored her, but it was already too late.

The girl glanced over her shoulder. Panic widened her eyes. She broke into a run, tripped over the curb, and went sprawling onto the concrete sidewalk.

Lance and Morgan jogged over to her.

“Are you all right?” Morgan gave Lance a stay put look. He was intimidating, and the girl was clearly afraid.

He stopped, lifting both hands in surrender, and backed away.

Morgan crouched next to the girl. “I assume you’re Rylee. Are you hurt?”

“I’m not saying anything.” The girl crabbed away from Morgan. She was about sixteen, with spindly arms and legs she hadn’t grown into. Her short brown hair was streaked with purple, and a nose ring glinted in the light. “Get away from me.”

Morgan froze. “We just want to ask you a couple of questions.”

Rylee scrambled to her feet and brushed some dirt off the knee of her jeans. The fabric was torn, but Morgan didn’t know if it had been ripped before the girl fell. She didn’t see any blood.

“I don’t talk to cops.” Rylee’s tone was hostile. She pointed at Morgan. The girl’s arm was covered in intricate blue designs. They did not look like tattoos but ink, as if she’d drawn the patterns on her skin with a pen. “And leave my brother alone.”

“We’re not cops, and we’re not here about your brother.” Though he was now on Morgan’s list of people they needed to learn more about.

“We’re looking for Evan,” Lance said. “Did you know he was missing?”

“Everyone knows.” The girl took two steps back. “I don’t know where he is. Now leave me alone.”

She whirled, stomped across the parking lot to an ancient Buick sedan, and jerked the door open. Rusty hinges squealed in protest. The engine started on her third attempt, and she drove out of the lot with a squeal of her nearly bald tires.

“We usually have better luck with teenagers,” Morgan said, discouraged.

“We’re getting nowhere with this investigation.” Lance punched one palm with the opposite fist. “Evan has been missing for nearly eighteen hours. We both know that his chances of being found alive decrease with every hour that passes.”

Morgan checked the time on her watch. Five thirty. She and Lance had had two hours of sleep the previous night and hadn’t had a full night’s rest in a week. She was running out of steam. Lance’s face was lined with exhaustion. Even he would need to recharge at some point. Adrenaline and worry were keeping him going.

She glanced down at her clothes. “Let’s stop in at the office. I’ll change into jeans and sneakers, you can whip us up a couple of shakes, and we’ll head over to the lake. It’s a hot summer evening. I’m sure there will be teenagers there. We’ll show Evan’s picture around.”

“All right.” On the way, Lance called his mother and added Rylee Nelson and her brother to the list of background checks. His phone signaled an incoming call before he could set it down. He pressed it against his ear. “Kruger.”

Tina was sobbing loudly enough that he pulled the phone away from his ear. Morgan could hear Tina clearly.

“The sheriff is here at my hotel,” she wailed. “They found a body. It looks like Evan.”





Chapter Eight

Sharp parked in the lot behind The Pub. Since his accident and surgery, he was barely maintaining his weight, and his energy was still flagging. He’d been adjusting his diet weekly, but nothing seemed to be working. After making steady improvement for the first two months post-op, he’d been stuck at 75 percent recovered for the last few weeks.

He walked across the cracked asphalt. The muggy air wrapped around him. By the time he reached the door, he was sweating. He really needed to get back into shape.

The air-conditioning was a relief. The bar always drew a decent happy-hour crowd. Sharp passed a dozen occupied wooden barstools. His buddies usually clustered at the back of the bar.

“Sharp!” someone yelled. “Get your butt back here.”

He spotted Jimmy and Phil at a round table behind the L of the bar. Phil had worked with Sharp on the SFPD. Phil’s wife had made him retire the day he’d completed his twenty-five years. Jimmy was a retired sheriff’s deputy who’d worked for Randolph County with Paul.

Jimmy used his foot to push out the chair across from him and Phil. “Take a load off.”

Sharp slid onto the well-worn seat.

The waitress, Mindy, looked over the bar and asked, “Beer?”

Sharp shook his head. “Just sparkling water, Mindy. Thanks.”

She disappeared into the walk-in cooler. A minute later, she walked around the bar with a bottle of sparkling water. She popped the top and set down the bottle. “It was all the way in the back. No one drinks this here but you.”