What I've Done (Morgan Dane #4)(86)

Tears streamed down his face. Gesturing for them to follow him inside, he took a half step backward.

The crack of a rifle shot split the quiet air. Justin dropped like a sack of meat.

“Get down.” Lance pulled Morgan to the ground and covered her with his body. His heart took off like a racehorse. Justin groaned, but Lance couldn’t spare him a glance.

Where is the shooter?

A second shot rang out.

“Get inside.” Lance rose to his hands and knees, trying to keep his body between Morgan and the woods.

Drawing his weapon, he spun around just in time to see a muzzle flash in the trees. A bullet hit the door, bits of wood exploding from the impact. He returned fire, then glanced over his shoulder. Morgan scrambled over the threshold. She grabbed Justin’s hand and tried to drag him inside but couldn’t move him.

“He’s too heavy for me.” She drew her own handgun. Standing behind the doorframe, she peered around the edge and aimed her gun at the woods. “I’ll cover. You get Justin inside.”

Lance didn’t like her plan, but he couldn’t argue with its practicality. “The shooter is behind that stand of fir trees at six o’clock.”

Morgan popped off two shots in the general direction of the shooter. Lance ducked into the house, taking Justin by the arm and dragging him through the doorway. Blood poured down the man’s face. Morgan backed away from the opening. Lance shut the door and flipped the dead bolt.

He hauled Justin through the living room and into the attached kitchen. The cabinet footprint formed a U. Lance pulled Justin behind the metal oven, which provided better protection than drywall and wood. Bullets could penetrate the exterior walls of frame buildings.

Morgan grabbed her bag from where she’d dropped it by the door and followed Lance into the kitchen.

She took her phone from her purse and called 911. Then she turned her attention to Justin. “The bullet hit him in the temple.”

“Are you hurt?” Lance asked Morgan.

“No,” she said. “You?”

“I’m fine.” Adrenaline was mainlining through his body. His heart thudded in his chest, and his pulse echoed in his ears as he swept through the first floor, making sure all the rooms were clear. He checked the rear door lock. Then he went to the front window and peered around the window frame, using one finger to separate the blind slats. “I don’t see him.”

“I suspect he ran as soon as you returned fire.”

Lance hoped so, but he didn’t like not knowing where their attacker had gone. He wanted to chase the shooter, but he wouldn’t leave Morgan and Justin unprotected.

Morgan took a pair of vinyl gloves out of her bag and put them on. She grabbed a dish towel from the counter, folded it, and pressed it to Justin’s wound. “The best I can do is try to stop the bleeding.”

“I’ll secure the upstairs.” He headed up the steps. Three doors opened off the hallway. Two rooms faced the rear of the property. Lance cleared the first two rooms. Through the second-story window, he scanned the rear yard but saw no one. He crossed the hall to the master bedroom. After checking under the bed and in the closet, he looked through the window that overlooked the front yard. There was no sign of the shooter.

Morgan was probably right. Whoever had shot Justin was not likely to stick around now that he’d been fired on. He also had to know that the police had been called.

Justin was just as sloppy in his bedroom as in the rest of the house. Dust and dirty dishes covered the nightstand and dresser. Clothes littered the carpet, and the room smelled like sweaty feet. Lance stared at the bed. Photos covered the blue comforter. The photos on the left side of the bed showed four friends at college graduation, smiling for the camera in their blue caps and gowns, their arms looped around each other’s shoulders. More snapshots depicted them skiing and partying. A few appeared to be a spring break beach vacation. The right side of the bed was all Noah. Justin had been staring at these images, grieving.

Lance’s gaze swept over the nightstand. Three prescription vials stood next to a full glass of water and a box of tissues. Used, crumpled tissues littered the floor.

Lance move closer to read the prescription labels. Justin’s name was printed on each of the bottles. They were all the same medication—zolpidem, the same drug that had been found in Shannon’s body. The first prescription was dated the previous summer. Roughly two-thirds of the original thirty tablets were missing. Had Justin stockpiled the pills to use on young women? Is that why he’d refilled the sleeping pills even though he wasn’t using them?

Pulling out his phone, Lance snapped photos. He pictured Justin crying over the photos of his friend Noah and thinking about taking all the sleeping pills. The scene appeared to be an impending suicide. But was Justin motivated by guilt or grief or both?

He found nothing else out of the ordinary in the bedroom and moved on to the bathroom. He opened the medicine cabinet and found another prescription bottle. He recognized the medication as an antidepressant.

He jogged downstairs and checked his watch. Ten minutes had passed. The police would be here in another five or so.

“Is he still alive?” Lance asked Morgan.

“Yes.” She knelt on the floor next to Justin. Blood was seeping through the towel she held to his head.

Justin’s eyes opened halfway. “Let me die.”