“We saw the bloodstains, the overturned chair, and the severed fingers. We called the Warren County sheriff and you.” Morgan lowered her cup. “Frankly, you should be grateful. If we hadn’t entered the cabin, no one would know someone had been tortured there.”

Colgate scowled, then his expression shifted into resignation. “The fingers belong to Brian. We were able to match his prints.”

Lance sat back. “Shit.”

So Brian had been the victim. Could both Paul and Brian have known about another corrupt deputy? Was there another person involved they hadn’t even identified yet? On the bright side, the discovery of Brian Springer’s fingers made Evan look less like Paul’s killer.

“Have you found criminals Paul arrested who might want revenge?” Morgan asked.

“No.” The sheriff shook his head.

“What about Sam Jones?” Morgan asked.

The sheriff stared at her. “How did you find out about him?”

She didn’t answer. “Did Brian beat Mr. Jones? Did Mr. Jones hold a grudge?”

“The case was minor.” The sheriff exhaled loudly. “Jones disappeared as soon as he was released. I doubt very much he came back to take his revenge.”

But Morgan didn’t let it go. “How badly was he injured?”

The sheriff waved off her question. “It was minor. Mr. Jones was just a drunk.”

A few heartbeats of silence passed.

The sheriff dropped the pen and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Warren County is putting divers in the water, using sonar, and dragging parts of the lake, but that water is damned deep. If a body was properly weighted, it might not turn up for a very long time.”

“Have they found the boat?” Lance asked.

The sheriff nodded. “Yes. Sonar picked it up. It’s sunk about two hundred feet offshore. It’ll take a while to salvage it. They sent a diver down. There was no body on board.”

Lance said, “This killer is CSI-savvy. He didn’t leave prints or DNA behind at Paul’s murder scene. This one will be no different.”

“Why didn’t he make any effort to cover up his activities?” Morgan asked. “He didn’t scrub the floor. He didn’t bother to look for the fingers.”

“It wasn’t his DNA,” Lance speculated. “He wasn’t concerned about it.”

“Maybe he didn’t have time,” the sheriff added. “I have one more piece of news for you.”

Morgan held back a smart comment. Had the sheriff decided to share with them again? She didn’t fully trust him now.

“The teenage boy in the morgue has been identified as Dylan James. He’s nineteen and lived with his parents near Deer Lake. His parents reported him missing Tuesday. He was supposed to be staying over at his girlfriend’s house, which is about a mile from home. But they got into a fight, and he decided to walk home. His girlfriend had picked him up, so he didn’t have his car. The girlfriend isn’t sure what time he left her house, but he never made it home.”

“Superficially, he looked like Evan,” Lance said, his voice quiet.

The sheriff nodded, grim. “They were both dressed in jeans, sneakers, and black T-shirts.”

“That’s the standard teenage uniform.” Morgan blinked hard, trying to clear her tired eyes.

Colgate shuffled a few file folders on his desk and removed two photographs. One was of Evan. The second was another older teen with the same coloring and similar features.

Lance glanced at the photos and sighed, his chest heaving once.

Morgan scanned the images. “They would be easily confused in the rain and dark.”

“Or it was a coincidental accident,” the sheriff said.

“You can’t still believe Evan killed Paul?” Morgan asked. “Not after we found Brian’s severed fingers?”

The sheriff’s face flushed deep pink. “We have no evidence that Brian’s situation is related to Paul’s murder. Coincidences happen.” The sheriff folded his arms.

“Two of them?” Lance’s voice rose.

Morgan was too damned tired to argue with the bullheaded sheriff. She sat straighter and dropped her empty coffee cup in the trash can next to his desk. “If you don’t have any more questions tonight, we’d like to go home and get some sleep.”

“Go.” The sheriff waved them off. “But if you find any more information, I want a call immediately.”

Morgan nodded once, but she was careful not to make any verbal promises. They left the sheriff’s office and went out into the sticky evening air. Morgan lifted the neck of her blouse away from her body. “Could it get more humid?”

“Not without the air being liquid.” Lance glanced at the sky. “There’s another thunderstorm coming.”

“Maybe it will break the heat.” Morgan hopped into the Jeep.

Lance slid behind the wheel. “Home?”

“Yes. We both need sleep. We can’t function if we keep going at this pace.” Morgan glanced at Lance. Would he be able to sleep? “I know you’re worried.”

“We are running out of leads. Maybe some sleep will help.” Lance turned the Jeep toward home.

“One thing I’ve been thinking about,” Morgan said. “If the fingers belonged to Brian, then he’s not our killer. But that doesn’t necessarily mean it isn’t a cop, maybe another deputy, either active or retired.”

“That would explain how the killer gained entry to Paul’s house.”

“Paul let him in.” Morgan rubbed the back of her neck. “Would Paul have let Kirk in?”

“Maybe.” Lance steered the Jeep through an intersection. “Kirk is Evan’s father. Tina said that Paul liked to take care of her. Maybe he thought he could talk Kirk out of being an asshole.”

“I think that’s a permanent affliction.” Morgan smiled.

“Seems like.”

Twenty minutes later, thunder rumbled and rain began to fall as they parked in front of the house. Morgan whipped a travel umbrella out of her bag. Opening the car door a few inches, she stuck it through the gap and pressed the button.

Lance shook his head. “Is there anything you don’t keep in that bag? You’re like Mary Poppins.”

They’d watched the movie four times when the kids had been sick.

“I like to be prepared.” Morgan stepped out of the Jeep. Shoving the door closed with her foot, she jogged to the front porch and unlocked the door. Lance followed her inside.

The house was dark. She’d called home hours before to let everyone know they’d be late. Morgan set her umbrella by the door and removed her shoes. Lance left his wet boots by the front door too. They walked with quiet steps down the hall. She opened the girls’ bedroom door and poked her head into the room. All three kids were asleep. Morgan eased the door closed and continued to the bedroom that she now shared with Lance.

She washed up, put on her pajamas, and crawled into bed. Lance had changed into his pajama bottoms and doubled his pillows. Bare chested, he reclined against the headboard, looking at his phone.

Morgan slid into bed. “Anything important?”

“No.” Lance plugged the charging cord into his phone.

Morgan did the same. “I’m sorry. I know you’re worried.”

He leaned over and kissed her. “Let’s sleep now. We’ll worry tomorrow.”

Morgan knew he was saying that for her benefit. She was the one who slept when she was depressed or stressed. Lance was the opposite. But she was too tired to argue. She rolled closer and closed her eyes. Remembering his vanishing act the previous night, she threw a leg over one of his to make sure he didn’t disappear.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Lance cracked one eyelid. He felt like he’d just closed his eyes. What was that smell?

“I frew up,” a tiny voice said in the darkness. Sophie stood next to the bed, her face teary. The unmistakable odor of vomit wafted from her.

“Poor baby.” Morgan climbed out of bed on the other side. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Where did you get sick?”

“In my bed.” Sophie sniffed.

Morgan took her by the hand and led her to the bathroom.

The mattress shifted as Lance stood. “Got it.”

He left the bedroom and headed down the hall toward the girls’ bedroom. The stench turned his stomach. How were the other two kids sleeping through this? He stripped the bed and carried the dirty sheets and mattress protector to the washing machine. After tossing them in, he returned to the girls’ room, sprayed the mattress with Lysol, and found a pair of clean pajamas. He knocked on the bathroom door. Morgan opened it, and they made the exchange. They’d performed the same ritual a dozen times the previous week.

He’d learned many things in the past three months. Teamwork was essential in parenting. With three kids and two adults, he and Morgan were down a man. If their family were a hockey team, they would be trapped in a never-ending power play in the kids’ favor.

When the washer was running, he returned to the bedroom and donned a T-shirt, intent on giving Sophie his spot in the bed and sleeping on the couch.

Sophie and Morgan emerged from the bathroom, the normally happy, rambunctious child sedate and miserable enough to break his heart.

Instead of climbing in bed with her mother, Sophie leaned on his legs and wrapped her arms around his thigh. “Can I sleep with you and Mommy?”

He lifted her into their bed and put her between them. “Of course.”

Her face was flushed, and she seemed much too small to be that sick.

He touched her forehead. Her skin felt hot. “Fever?” he asked Morgan.

“Yes.” She went to the bathroom for a cool, wet cloth and the thermometer. “I don’t want to give her anything for it just now.”

“Right.” Lance had learned the hard way not to give a vomiting child anything to drink unless you were sure they were done vomiting. Children’s purple liquid medicine was nearly impossible to scrub out of a beige carpet.