Secrets Never Die (Morgan Dane #5)(3)

“Don’t think anyone can hide you,” the man called out the door. “I will find you. I will hunt you down.”

Evan sprinted across the backyard, grabbing the top of the tall fence and swinging his legs up and over. He landed hard on the other side.

Was the killer chasing him?

Evan didn’t stop to find out. He bolted away from the house, crashing through the underbrush like a panicked deer. He couldn’t see the ground in front of him in the dark. Sticker bushes pulled at his feet and legs. His foot snagged, and he went down on his knees. He felt no pain as he shoved himself back onto his feet and kept moving.

After a short sprint, he hit the game trail he and Paul had used to hike to the lake. It was the same path that the deer and other wild animals used to access the water. The open trail let him turn on some speed, though the ground was uneven. He tripped twice but regained his footing without falling. He didn’t know how long he ran, but he didn’t slow until he thought his lungs would explode.

The physical movement was a relief. Like every coward, he was more comfortable with flight than fight.

He stopped in the center of the trail. Darkness closed around him. Something rustled the branches. The wind? He scanned the woods, but the sky was overcast, emitting little natural light. He strained for additional sound but heard nothing.

His hands patted his jeans pockets. His phone, which had been in his back pocket, was gone.

Did it matter? Who would he call?

The cops?

Paul had been a former cop. He’d been trained and armed. And this man had killed him. Evan remembered the flash of a badge at the man’s belt. Evan couldn’t trust the police to keep him safe.

The killer was a cop.

And Evan could identify him. He couldn’t call his mom. She’d try to protect him, and she’d become a target too. There was no way he would endanger her. He had to stay far away.

The trail spilled onto the road. Evan came to a stop and stood still, lungs heaving, trying to listen for footsteps over the sound of his ragged breathing.

He didn’t hear anyone behind him.

Evan debated. If he crossed the road and continued on the trail, he would end up at an abandoned campground. He and Paul had hiked through it a few weeks back. There had been a few canoes and kayaks. One of them might float. Evan could get away faster on the water. But where would he go?

On the other hand, if he followed the road, he would eventually see a car. He could get help. His arm throbbed in rhythm with his pulse, the pain strong enough to nauseate him. His wound needed treatment. But who could he trust at this point?

The sound of an engine approached. But as the engine came closer, he backed into the shadow of the trees.

Headlights appeared. The vehicle approached too slowly, as if the driver were looking for something.

Or someone.

He was afraid to move. He didn’t want to draw attention. The vehicle crawled by. It was a dark sedan. Was it the same one that had been parked across the street from his house? Evan’s pulse kick-started. The sedan stopped. His heartbeat scrambled inside his chest like a fawn trying to gain traction on icy ground.

Behind him, he heard the sound of a car door opening and closing. He’d been seen. As he turned to run, the killer’s words echoed in his head.

I will hunt you down.





Chapter Two

Morgan Dane woke to the buzz of a cell phone. Raising her head, she glanced at the clock. One thirty-nine a.m. As a defense attorney, she occasionally received middle-of-the-night calls. People were arrested twenty-four hours a day. But a stomach virus had been making the rounds at the grammar school, and the two oldest of her three daughters had suffered through the bug. This was the first night in four that all her children were sleeping, and her head was as heavy as a bowling ball from lack of sleep.

Her hand was halfway to the cell phone charging on her nightstand when a second vibration, clearly from the other side of the bed, told her the call was for her fiancé, private investigator Lance Kruger.

Nudging Lance, she let her head drop back to the pillow. He was already reaching for his own phone. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress.

“Lance Kruger.” His body stiffened. “Did you call 911? Do that now. I’ll be right there.”

The alarm in his tone roused Morgan. She levered up on one elbow.

Lance set the phone back on the nightstand, switched on the bedside lamp, and stood. Cotton pajama bottoms rode low on his hips. Morgan’s French bulldog, Snoozer, burrowed under the covers. Dog number two, a bulldog mix named Rocket, raised her head and pricked her ears at the activity.

Morgan sat up. “Who was that?”

“Evan Meade’s mother, Tina.” Lance rushed for the adjoining bathroom, grabbing a pair of pants from a chair on the way. “Do you have anything important on your calendar this morning?”

“Nothing I can’t reschedule.” Morgan tossed back the covers.

Lance coached a hockey team of at-risk youths, a role that had started when he’d been an officer with the Scarlet Falls PD. Even after a bullet had ended his career on the police force, Lance continued as coach. More importantly, he was a mentor to the troubled kids. Since she and Lance had started dating last fall, Morgan had handled most of the boys’ legal issues. “Is Evan in trouble?”

Zipping his black cargo pants, Lance hustled out of the bathroom. His blond hair was short enough that brushing one hand across the top was enough to settle it into place.