A scraping sound lifted the hairs on the back of her neck. She spun, but the street was empty. Twenty feet away, a tall hedge separated Sharp’s lot from the property next door. Morgan backed toward the office, senses on alert. The hedge rustled. Backlit by the rising sun, a figure stepped out of the hedges. His shadow fell over the grass.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Lance woke to a dark house. He’d worried about Nick in the ICU, crazy Dean Voss on the loose, and Morgan falling apart in his arms.

Especially that last part.

His hand brushed the empty, cold pillow next to him. It was a freaking miracle he’d resisted taking her to bed. Beyond the physical desire, she was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, a beauty that went soul deep and an irresistible combination of strength and fragility.

He didn’t know how she handled the amount of stress and responsibility on her shoulders. Looking after just his mother overwhelmed him at times.

His joints felt like rusty hinges after a night of very little sleep. All he wanted was a cup of strong coffee and a hot shower. There was no way in hell that Sharp’s green tea would cut through Lance’s brain fog.

But as he got out of bed, he sensed the place was empty. He pulled on a pair of shorts and went to the guest bedroom. The door was ajar. He peered inside.

Morgan was gone.

Damn it.

There was only one place she could have gone. Her van was at the office. Lance tugged a T-shirt over his head, stepped into shoes, and went outside. Voss was still loose and dangerous.

The sun was peering over the horizon as he hurried to his Jeep. In front of the office, Lance parked at the curb and jumped out of his vehicle. As he walked toward the building, his heart skipped at the sight of her purse and a small duffel bag on the walkway halfway to the front door.

Drawing his gun, he went inside. “Morgan?”

“Back here.” The feminine voice from the kitchen made him nearly light-headed with relief. He picked up her purse and duffel and carried them inside.

Morgan sat at the kitchen table. She still wore his clothes. Blood wept from an abrasion on her knee. The stray dog leaned against her legs. Sharp, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, was making a pot of tea.

As Lance stepped into the kitchen, the dog bristled and growled, getting between him and Morgan.

He stopped. “What happened?”

“Someone was outside.” Morgan’s hand settled on the dog’s head. “I tripped and skinned my knee. She chased him away.”

“Did you see who it was?” He set her things on the empty chair next to her.

Morgan shook her head. “He was in the hedges next door. The sun was in my eyes as he stepped out. When the dog came running from around the back of the house, he ran back through the hedge.”

“Did you call the police?” Lance asked.

Sharp shook his head. “He didn’t do anything illegal.”

Lance swore. “Did you check the surveillance footage?”

Sharp reached behind him for an iPad. He swiped through a couple of screens and handed the iPad to Lance. “The sun was behind him. Average size guy, dressed in jeans and a black hooded jacket. It looked like his face was covered with something.”

“That’s not very helpful.” Lance watched the video. The figure was a barely detailed shadow, an outline of a man. He stepped out of the hedges. Before he’d taken two steps, a white blur charged him. The man turned and bolted. “That dog is a rocket.”

“I’m going to send the image to a friend and see if he can get any more details out of it,” Sharp said.

Morgan stroked the dog’s head. “If we assume the man was Tessa’s killer, that would rule out Robby Barone and his father. Robby is too small and his father is too large.”

“What if the man had nothing to do with the case?” Sharp asked. “He could have been a prospective burglar casing the building next door.”

“Or it was Jacob Emerson,” Lance suggested. “I’m sure the DA has already called his father. Maybe he doesn’t appreciate the prospect of being swabbed for DNA.”

“Dean Voss is another possibility,” Sharp said. “Trying to kidnap a woman on a public street is pretty crazy. The SFPD, the sheriff’s department, and the state police are looking for him, but he’s slippery.”

“Don’t forget Kevin Murdoch,” Lance added. “I know we haven’t turned up any dirt on Jamie’s soon-to-be stepfather, but I haven’t counted him out yet.”

“There’s one person who is completely ruled out.” Morgan applied a Band-Aid to her knee. “Nick. And on that front, Bud messaged me that Nick is stable and improving faster than the doctors expected. They think he’s out of the woods.”

“That’s a relief,” Lance said.

Sharp set a cup of tea on the table in front of her.

“Thank you,” she said.

Lance tried to catch her eye, but she was entirely too focused on stirring a spoonful of honey into her tea.

Suddenly, she stood without drinking any tea. “I’d better change and get home if I want to see my girls before they go to school.”

Sharp handed her a Band-Aid, and she left the room with her duffel. The dog followed her. They heard the bathroom door open and close. A few minutes later, Morgan returned dressed in a pair of jeans and a light sweater. The dog remained plastered to her shins. “Thank you for rushing to my rescue, Sharp.”

“Between the Glock in your hand and the dog, you didn’t need much rescuing,” Sharp said.

“I still appreciate it.” Morgan shifted the duffel bag in her hand and grabbed her purse from the kitchen chair. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Then we can look for Voss’s wife.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Lance walked her to the front door.

She stooped to pet the dog’s head. “Thank you. You have to stay here, at least for now.”

Lance followed her outside, making sure the dog didn’t get out the front door.

On the sidewalk next to her van, she turned to him. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Lance said. “You were upset about Nick.”

Their gazes locked for a few seconds.

Her eyes were sad and resigned. “It wasn’t all right, and I am sorry.” She turned away and slid into the driver’s seat, tossing her purse and duffel bag across the console. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

And didn’t that just unleash a flood of regret?

If only things were different. If she wasn’t hung up on her dead husband. If there weren’t three innocent little kids that would be affected by any fallout. If his mother’s mental illness didn’t consume so much of his life.

Too many ifs.

But he’d been completely honest the night before. He wouldn’t be a regret. Not with her.

“Text me when you’re home?” he asked.

She nodded and closed the door.

Lance watched her drive away. The empty hole in the pit of his stomach worried that by taking the high road last night, he’d passed up his only opportunity to make love to her.

He shook off his mood and went back inside. Sharp was in the kitchen when Lance returned.

“I want to know why that man was outside my house this morning,” Sharp said.

“But did he follow her here or lie in wait?” Lance asked.

“Good question. I also wonder if he knew I live upstairs.”