“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?”

“Yes. Where’s Mommy?”

Sophie nodded. “She’s in the kitchen with Grandpa. Gianna is making pancakes. If you want some, you hafta hurry before Grandpa eats them all.”

Lance sat up. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His legs were hot in his sweatpants. If he was going to stay with Morgan and her girls, he was going to have to buy pajamas, along with everything else.

Sophie handed him his T-shirt, and he tugged it over his head.

“You hurt your foot.” She frowned. “You hurt yourself a lot.”

Truer words . . .

“It’s just a scratch.” Lance didn’t feel as badly as he’d expected. His throat was sore, his lungs felt a little wheezy, and his foot hurt, but all his injuries were minor, nothing that would keep him from working. He was a lucky man.

Sophie grabbed his hand and pulled him from the bedroom. “Come on.”

“I’m coming.” Lance let her drag him down the hallway.

Morgan was at the table, drinking coffee. Her eyes brightened as he walked in. She’d clearly already showered. Sophie steered him toward a chair and pushed him into it.

Art gave him a critical once-over then nodded. “Glad to see you up and around. Someone was worried.”

Morgan got up and poured him a cup of coffee. As she set it in front of him, she leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” Warmth crept over him that had nothing to do with the coffee.

Gianna brought him a plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. “I thought you’d be hungry.”

“Thanks. I am.” Lance dug into the food.

Ava and Mia appeared in the doorway, still in their pajamas. “Lance!”

They rushed him for hugs. He dropped his fork and hugged them back.

He checked the clock on the microwave. “Why aren’t you ready for school?”

“No school today!” Ava bounced. “Grandpa and Gianna are taking us to the library.”

“School is closed for a teacher in-service day.” Morgan set her own coffee on the table. “Girls, why don’t you get dressed?”

The girls skipped out of the kitchen.

Morgan picked up her coffee again and drained the cup. “How do you feel?” she asked Lance.

“Pretty good, considering.” He finished his breakfast. “Thank you, Gianna. That was great.”

Smiling, Gianna collected his plate. “You’re welcome. We were worried about you.” The girl’s eyes were misty.

Lance wasn’t accustomed to having so many people take care of him, but it wasn’t a bad feeling.

Morgan refilled her coffee and warmed up his. “Are you sure you feel up to working today?” asked the woman who’d been working for days with a concussion.

“Yes.” He drank more coffee, waiting for the caffeine to kick in.

Sophie bounced over to stand in front of him. “If you’re sick, you can stay home wif me. Today is Friday. I don’t hafta go to preschool. If you stay home ’cause you’re sick, you get to watch extra TV.”

Lance scooped her into his arms. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned on his chest.

“But I’m not sick, and your mom needs my help today.”

Sophie pouted. “OK. But it woulda been fun.” She leaned close to his ear and whispered, “I like it when you sleep over.”

Lance’s heart squeezed. He whispered back, “Me too.”

Sophie squirmed. The child had the energy of a squirrel on Red Bull.

Lance set her on the floor and stood, turning to Morgan. “I’m going to call my mom. She’ll be up by now. I don’t want her to read about the fire on the internet. Then can I use the shower?”

“The bathroom is all yours,” Morgan confirmed.

Lance called his mother, told her about the fire, and promised to stop at her house that morning so she could see for herself that he was alive. He had a second cup of coffee. By the time he’d showered, he was feeling mostly human.

He and Morgan said their goodbyes, left the house, and climbed into Art’s huge sedan. Lance drove to an electronics store on the interstate to buy a new phone before heading out to his mother’s place.

Jenny Kruger still lived in the house he’d grown up in. After his father’s disappearance, she’d refused to sell. She’d retreated from life in every way. They’d been isolated in the countryside until he’d turned sixteen and gotten his driver’s license. If it hadn’t been for Sharp, Lance would have been stranded. Those lonely years came back to him as he drove down the rural highway that led out to his old home. As the miles rolled by, fields and forests replaced houses.

He parked in the driveway, and he and Morgan climbed the steps to the front porch and waved at the surveillance camera. The motion detector would let his mother know they were there. She’d always been plagued by anxiety, but her paranoia had increased sharply since being attacked. Lance had upgraded her security system over the winter. Now the president would be safe in her little three-bedroom ranch.

Lance used his key to let them in. Morgan shed her coat in the foyer, and they walked through the living room and into the kitchen of the one-story home. “Mom?”

Though his foot throbbed, he did not let himself limp. His mother would be worried enough.

“Oh my goodness. Your poor face.” His mother stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her gaze on Morgan. She hadn’t seen Morgan since the incident at the courthouse on Monday.

“I have quite a bruise, don’t I?” Morgan grimaced, then lied without missing a beat. “It’s more ugly than painful.”

Jenny didn’t look convinced, but she nodded and turned to Lance. “Your eyes are red. Is that from the smoke?”

“Yes.” Lance gave her a heavy sigh. “If only the house fared as well as I did.”

“You’re lucky to be alive.” Her crow’s feet deepened with worry. His mom’s anxiety burned off as many calories as she managed to eat. Frailty and stress had aged her far beyond her sixty years. “Do the police think that same man who sprayed you with pepper spray set your house on fire?”

“They don’t know, but it’s a reasonable theory.” Lance didn’t mention the rock that had been thrown through this windshield. “He’s young and grieving. He isn’t thinking straight.”

“You never did anything criminal when you were young and grieving,” his mother said.

“I was perfect.” Lance grinned. “But look at all the situations the kids on my team get into.” He coached a hockey team of at-risk youths. Most of them had less than ideal home lives and were frequently in trouble. “Young people react to emotion. Controlling their impulses takes practice and maturity.”

His mother sighed, and he wondered how much of his teen years she really remembered. Mentally, she’d been absent more than she’d been present. He needed to distract her. “Do you have any other information for us?”

“Actually, yes.” Jenny turned and walked toward her office at the back of the house. Her two cats followed her like dogs. When she sat down, her eyes were more focused, and her expression less strained.