What I've Done (Morgan Dane #4)(68)

The paramedic unfolded a blanket. Lance waved it off. He was still sweating from the fire.

Sharp took the blanket and shoved it at Lance. “You realize you’re only wearing boxers?”

Lance hadn’t. His attention had been focused on not burning to death.

He lifted the oxygen mask off his face. “Good thing I have my gun, or I’d feel naked.” His voice was hoarse and speaking set off another wave of coughing.

“Just breathe.” Sharp snapped the mask back into place, then wrapped the blanket around him. “You’re giving that old lady down the street an eyeful.”

The oxygen helped, as did sips of water.

The paramedic took Lance’s vitals, then gestured toward the open doors of the rig. “Can you climb in?”

“I don’t need to go to the ER,” Lance said. His coughing had subsided, though his lungs still felt irritated.

“Have you seen your foot?” the paramedic asked.

Lance looked down. Blood dripped from multiple cuts. He propped one ankle on the opposite knee and examined the bottom of his foot. “It’s not that bad.”

And just like that, Lance’s foot began to throb.

“But you should probably have the glass picked out,” Sharp said.

Admitting defeat, he handed Sharp his gun, butt first. “Would you lock this up for me?”

“I will.” Sharp slid it into his jacket pocket. “I’ll run back to my place, get my car, and meet you at the ER.”

“What time is it?” Lance asked.

“Two a.m., but yes, you should call Morgan.”

“I hate to wake her.”

Sharp stared at him. “How did she take it the last time you had an emergency and didn’t want to bother her?”

Not well. Not well at all.

“You’re right. She’ll want to know. But my phone is in there.” Lance gestured to his house. The firemen were giving the blaze their best effort, but his house was not salvageable. The best they could hope for at this point was to keep the fire from spreading to his neighbors’ homes.

“I’ll call her.” Sharp nodded. “Be right behind you.”

“Thanks. There should be spare clothes in my office closet.” Lance turned and climbed into the back of the ambulance. The paramedic strapped him in. Through the open door, he watched his roof collapse. Sparks showered into the sky. The firemen retreated, spraying the houses on either side of Lance’s.

It suddenly occurred to him that he had nothing. He didn’t even have any clothes on his back.

His second big realization was that he didn’t care. He hadn’t built a life here. He’d used his house to sleep and store his stuff. Other than some photographs and his piano—he was going to miss that—there was nothing he couldn’t replace.

His life was with Morgan and her kids.

“Wait,” he said as the paramedic started to close the door. “I need to see a cop. Just for a minute.”

The paramedic jumped down and flagged down a cop.

The Scarlet Falls patrol officer climbed into the back of the ambulance.

Between coughing bouts, Lance gave him a three-sentence summary of the firebomb attack.

The officer took notes. “I’ll call the arson investigator and start knocking on doors. Maybe one of your neighbors saw something.”

But the fire wasn’t just arson. It had been attempted murder. Lance had thought someone was after Morgan, but it seemed he was also a target.

Who had he angered recently? Adam Carter came to mind first. Noah’s brother was beside himself with grief and rage. He was also missing.

But Adam wasn’t the only person with a personal grudge against Lance. What if Kieran Hart had discovered his photos were missing?





Chapter Thirty

It was still dark when Morgan rushed down the ER hallway. Sharp had said Lance was OK, but until she saw him for herself, she would not be able to draw a full breath.

“Morgan, over here,” Sharp called from a doorway.

She hurried over. At the sight of Lance, her eyes welled with hot tears. Her first deep breath felt like it cracked her wide open.

Lance was sitting up, bare chested, with a hospital blanket pulled up to his waist and an oxygen mask on his face. An IV dripped into the back of his hand. His face was splotched with soot, and his eyes were red. A doctor wearing magnifying glasses bent over his foot.

Lance pulled the mask off his face. “Hey, come here. Sharp was supposed to tell you I was OK.”

But there was no stopping the tears once they started. She’d lost both her parents and her husband. She’d never thought she’d find another man to love. That had seemed nothing short of a miracle. But now . . . she couldn’t bear to lose him.

“He did.” She swallowed a sob.

Sharp moved into the hallway to give her space. As she passed, he gave her shoulder an awkward pat.

Lance reached a hand toward her. She took it, and he pulled her close. She pressed her face into his bare shoulder.

His hand stroked the back of her head. “This is all minor stuff.”

“I know.” She couldn’t explain her unexpected emotional outburst. Relief? After Sharp had called, she had dressed and driven calmly to the hospital.

She straightened and swiped a tear from under her eye. “I’m sorry.”