Secrets Never Die (Morgan Dane #5)(34)

But the flow of information hadn’t been even, and Sharp was in Olivia’s debt.

Since he’d been given the go-ahead to jog, he’d jogged down her street every day. Before that, he’d driven past at every opportunity . . . like a teenager with a crush. He was a former cop. She was a reporter. The word rumbled through his head with the same distaste as demon.

There was something seriously wrong with him.

He put his perverse attraction aside and turned his feet in the opposite direction. Not because he didn’t want to see Olivia—because he was an idiot and totally did—but because he didn’t want her to see him in his current state of physical inadequacy.

By the time he’d slowed to a walk a block away from his place, sweat soaked his T-shirt and the humidity clogged his lungs. Two miles had seemed like seven. He climbed the steps to his second-story apartment and went inside, grateful for the air-conditioning. He filled a glass with water. A quick rush of fatigue hit him. Even alone, he was embarrassed that he had to sit down, drink the water, and wait for the weakness to pass.

Needing energy, he whipped up a high-calorie, nutrient-dense protein shake. He took the drink with him to the bathroom. Stripping off his wet clothes, he stepped under the spray. The ropey pink scar that wrapped around his belly itched when the water ran over it.

The calories in the shake gave him some pep, but he still wanted to take a nap more than go back to work. However, he dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, then filled a travel mug with green tea before heading out the door. He’d promised Lance he’d check on Jenny tonight. He’d be damned if he’d let Lance down. He’d been enough of a deadweight for the last three months. Lance had completely carried the business for the first two months, and even then, Sharp had returned part time for the next four weeks. The injury had kicked his ass much harder than he’d anticipated.

It was nine o’clock before Sharp knocked on Jenny Kruger’s door, much later than he’d intended. He waited, the evening heat wrapping around him like a wet wool blanket.

Mental illness had kept Jenny in the same one-story house outside of town for more than twenty-five years, even though moving to town would have made life much easier for her son after her husband had disappeared when Lance was ten. Jenny’s symptoms had worsened over the years. Now she left her home only for group therapy sessions and appointments with her psychiatrist.

Sharp waved at the security camera. A moment later, Jenny opened the door. She nervously glanced up and down the country road before stepping back and admitting Sharp to the house. She was thin and fragile looking, with shoulder-length white hair and a stooped posture that reflected her insecurities. Mental illness had worn on her, adding years to her physical age, and she looked much older than sixty.

He gave her a quick hug, noticing how her shoulder blades seemed more prominent. Then he handed her the strawberry shortcake he’d bought at the farm stand on the way to her house. Normally, he didn’t approve of added sugar. But her illness and medications affected her appetite. She was a picky eater and needed calories any way she could get them.

When Lance’s father had gone missing, Sharp had been the SFPD detective investigating the case. It hadn’t taken long before he’d learned that Jenny wasn’t capable of caring for her son without help. Sharp had looked after the boy, making sure he got to hockey practice and giving him a place to stay when Lance needed a break from his mother’s illness or when Jenny was incapacitated. The timing had been fortuitous. Sharp had been at a bad place in his own personal life. They’d all needed each other. Now Jenny and Lance were the closest thing to family in Sharp’s life.

“You look a little pale.” Jenny studied him. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” Sharp lied.

“I could make you some tea.” She stocked his favorite organic green.

“I just had some, but thanks.”

They walked down the hall into the kitchen. She stopped to reset the alarm system on the panel in the pantry. A short hallway led to the three bedrooms, one of which had been converted to an office. An L-shaped desk held a bank of monitors.

“I’m glad you stopped by.” Jenny sat behind her desk.

Sharp settled into one of the two chairs facing her desk. “How’s Kevin?”

“Very well, thank you.” She clicked on her keyboard. She was currently engaged in a relationship with a man she’d met in group therapy. They saw each other once a week in person but video-conferenced every day. The relationship might seem odd to an outsider, but it made her happy.

Sharp had nothing but respect for Jenny. She’d been handed a raw deal, but she lived her life as best she could. In recent years, she’d worked hard to lessen her dependence on Lance.

“I was just about to call you,” she said. “I verified Tina Knox’s story and uncovered some additional information.”

“I knew you would.”

She smiled. “Before Tina’s father was arrested for the murder, a young member of his organization confessed to the killing. At the trial, Tina stated that the boy had been instructed to take the hit for her father. The boy was thirteen. He would be tried as a juvenile. His penalty would be less. The murder weapon had been placed in his hand, so his fingerprints were on it. The boy was present at the execution, so he could describe the scene in detail. The organization promised to look after the boy’s mother and younger siblings until he got out. Plus, if he refused, they would have killed him. They planned the false confession right after the murder. But Tina was a witness. She heard it all, and her testimony put her father in prison.”