What I've Done (Morgan Dane #4)(69)

He squeezed her fingers.

“Two stitches.” The doctor sat up and snipped off a thread. He set down his scissors and removed his gloves. “We’ll get that foot bandaged. As soon as the X-ray and blood test results come back, you can be on your way.”

“What happened?” Morgan asked. “And don’t gloss over the details.”

“Someone tossed Molotov cocktails through my windows.”

Shocked, Morgan eased into a plastic chair next to his bed. “How’s your house?”

Lance shook his head. “Gone, I expect.”

“Oh, no. Your piano.” Morgan loved to sit next to him while he played.

He grimaced. “The piano can be replaced. But I will miss that one. I’ve had it for a long time.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. Then she replaced the oxygen mask on his face. “I’m sorry your house burned down.”

He lifted the mask. “It’s only a house.”

Clearly, neither one of them had fully processed the fact that someone had tried to burn Lance alive.

Sharp returned with a Styrofoam cup in his hand. He offered it to Morgan. “I thought you could use some coffee.”

“Thank you.” She took the cup and sipped it. “I must look like a disaster if you are bringing me coffee.”

“I’m not going to answer that, but addicts can’t go cold turkey,” Sharp said. “I assume you’re taking him home?”

“Yes.” Morgan wasn’t letting Lance out of her sight.

“I’m going to head home.” Sharp nodded toward an athletic bag on the counter. “I put an extra change of clothes in the bag.”

Morgan stood and pressed a kiss to Sharp’s cheek. “Thank you for calling me.”

“Take care of him.” He gave her a quick hug and left the room.

“I will.” Easing back into the chair, she clasped Lance’s hand in both of hers.

“I should go to a hotel,” Lance suggested. “What if whoever set my house on fire follows me?”

“We’ve both been targeted, so the chances that he’ll come after me are just as good.” Morgan had been attacked in her home before. Being the only physically sound adult was frightening. She simply couldn’t protect three children, her grandfather, and her sick nanny all by herself. She’d always feel safer with Lance in the house. “And I talked to Stella. A patrol car will sit outside our house tonight.”

It was nearly four o’clock before he was released. Morgan drove him back to her house in her grandfather’s Lincoln Town Car.

Morgan parked in front of her house. Once inside, Lance greeted the dogs and limped toward the sofa.

“No.” Morgan took his hand and led him back to her bedroom. “I know I didn’t want to share a bed with the kids in the house, but this is silly. We are not having a fling.”

“No?” He turned to face her.

“That’s not how I view our relationship.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Am I wrong?”

“No. This is the real deal for me too.”

“Then you are sleeping with me. I’m keeping an eye on you, and I’m too damned tired to get up and check on you all night.” She rose onto her toes and kissed him. She wanted to be able to reach out during the night and touch him, to feel him warm and alive and breathing at any time. That was the only way she’d be able to close her eyes. “The girls will be up in a few hours. We’d better try and get some sleep.”

“Would you mind if I take a quick shower?” he asked. “I smell like smoke. The only part of me that’s clean is my foot.”

“Go ahead.” Morgan changed from her jeans back into her flannel pajamas. She climbed into bed. Lance pulled off his T-shirt and went into the attached bathroom. She heard the shower spraying on the tile. He emerged a few minutes later, his skin and hair still damp and smelling of her soap. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he put a clean bandage on his foot and climbed into bed in his sweatpants. She curled against him, the solid feel of his body against hers and the heat of his skin reassuring her that he really was alive.

She rested her head on his broad shoulder. “I love you. I don’t know what I’d do if you—” The sob choked off her words.

“Shh.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I love you back, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Morgan usually didn’t have any trouble sleeping. With three young children, she generally fell asleep instantly, like a combat soldier. But tonight, she lay still, listening to Lance’s steady breathing and thinking about how much she couldn’t bear to lose him.





Chapter Thirty-One

Lance cracked his eyelids, a being-watched feeling stealing over him. Seeing a small figure next to the bed, he startled.

Sophie stood less than a foot away, staring at him.

“How long have you been there?” he asked. The words scratched his raw throat.

“A long time,” she said.

Wasn’t that creepy?

She pointed to the hour digit on the bedside clock. At three, her ability to tell time was limited. But she was learning her numbers. “Mommy said I couldn’t wake you until this number was a seven. Is that a seven?”