Shit.

Lance was in the garage when Sharp’s Dodge Charger cruised to the curb. Sharp hurried up the driveway, a file tucked under one arm. “Wait until you see what I have.”

“You look excited.” Lance led the way into the house.

Sharp waved the folder. “Your instincts and Morgan’s were dead on about Vanessa Lewis’s fiancé.”

“I thought Kevin Murdoch was clean.” Lance turned on the lights and they walked into the kitchen.

Sharp opened the file on the counter. “Kevin Murdoch is clean.”

Lance peered over his shoulder at a photo of a fat bald guy. “Who is that?”

“Kevin Murdoch.” Sharp’s smile was all teeth.

“Then who is dating Vanessa Lewis?”

Sharp flipped to the next page. “Byron Dixon. Registered sex offender who moved from Florida three years ago and stole Kevin Murdoch’s identity. Dixon raped a thirteen-year-old girl and served eleven years in prison. A month after his parole, he moved here and used the new identity to evade the sex offender registry. Then he befriended and began to date Vanessa. He actually is an accountant and has been working out of his apartment doing income taxes and small business accounting.”

“Poor Jamie.” Lance was angry but not surprised. At last count, there were nearly seven hundred fifty thousand registered sex offenders in the U.S. It was too easy for them to slip over state lines and through the reporting cracks.

“Yeah. He must have done something, and when she heard her mother was marrying him, she couldn’t take it.” Sharp closed the file. “I called the Feds. They picked him up fifteen minutes ago. Jamie doesn’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“So if we can find her, she’ll be safe.”

“We’ll keep trying, but that kid is a ghost.”

“I’ll call her friend, Tony,” Lance said. “Maybe he can get word to her that she’s safe.”

“Just thought you’d want to know.” Sharp picked up the file. “Have you talked to Morgan?”

“No.”

“Then that explains your miserable mug.” Sharp shook his head. “Just call the woman. You know you like her. You just can’t get out of your own way.”

“Sharp, we’ve been over this. Relationships and my mom don’t mix.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Sharp got in his face. “You’re afraid. Morgan’s different. I see the way you look at her. She’s the one that might count.”

Lance turned away from Sharp—and the truth.

“Goodnight, Sharp.”

Sharp huffed as he headed toward the door. “Don’t be a dumbass.”

After the door had closed behind him, Lance settled at his piano and indulged himself with broody music. He’d moved on to Coldplay when his doorbell rang. No one except Sharp ever stopped by. Lance went to the door.

Through the peephole he saw a tall figure with a Mohawk. Lance opened the door. Tony Allessi stood on the doorstep, and next to him was a tall, lanky girl.

Jamie Lewis.

“Come in.” Lance stepped aside.

Jamie stumbled. Tony grabbed her arm and tugged it over his shoulders. As he helped Jamie into the brightly lit kitchen, Lance could see that something was very wrong with the girl. Her skin was simultaneously deathly pale and flushed.

“Sit down.” Lance pulled out a kitchen chair.

Jamie fell into it.

“She’s sick.” Tony’s hand went to his Mohawk. “I didn’t know where else to bring her.”

Lance crouched in front of Jamie. She obviously hadn’t showered in some time. Her hair was greasy, and her eyes dull. He put a hand on her head. “She’s burning up.”

“I can’t go home,” she mumbled.

“Yes, you can. Kevin is history.”

She blinked.

“Kevin isn’t Kevin,” Lance said. “He’s a sex offender from Florida, and you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“He said no one would believe a crazy girl.” She started to cry.

“I know.” Lance grabbed his keys. “Let’s get you to the ER and call your mom. Everything is going to be OK.”

The girl’s knees gave out as she stood. Lance scooped her into his arms and carried her out to the Jeep. He called her mother on the way to the emergency room. A nurse escorted Jamie into the triage bay while Lance and Tony headed for the waiting room.

Vanessa Lewis hurried through the sliding door. Her face was streaked with tears and fear. “Where is she? Is she all right?”

Lance stood. “The nurse took her back. I’m sure they’ll let you in.”

Vanessa gave her name at the counter.

“I can’t believe I let a monster near my child.” She dug in her pocket for a tissue. “He was so nice.”

“He’s an experienced predator,” Lance said. “This was not his first time. He knew what he was doing.”

The electronic door opened and a scrub-clad nurse called, “Mrs. Lewis?”

So did Lance. But it wasn’t going to happen overnight. Both Jamie and her mom would need time and professional help if they were going to get through this together.

Chapter Forty-Four

Two days later

Lance went into the office late Friday morning after stopping to check on his mom. Sharp was on the phone. The dog was curled up in a bed in the corner. Lance waved as he passed the doorway. Then he settled at the card table in his office and stared at the single file in front of him: his father’s case.

He still hadn’t opened it. Yes, he wanted to know what had happened to his dad, but if Sharp hadn’t found any clues in twenty-three years, what were the chances any existed?

What were the chances that Lance would get sucked into a past that he’d thought he’d made peace with? He also considered the effect any digging into the past would have on his mom.

The front door opened and closed. Morgan walked past his doorway. Surprise pulled Lance to his feet. He hadn’t seen her since he’d dropped her at her house Tuesday night.

The dog bolted from Sharp’s office to greet her, and Lance wanted to do the same. He listened to her talk to the dog in a ridiculous high-pitched voice.

“What a pretty girl you are. Did Sharp give you a bath?”

The patter of dog toenails on hardwood followed Morgan’s footsteps down the hall.

Lance went to the war room. She was clearing the board and filing the evidence from Nick’s case. Instead of a suit, she wore jeans, a black sweater, and a pair of brown boots on her feet. A silk scarf in gray and turquoise was artfully knotted around her throat. The bandage on her arm peeked out from the hem of her sleeve. Her face was still pale, but her eyes were clear and blue and beautiful as always.

She was still talking to the dog. “Look at your new collar and tags.”

The dog sat at her feet and listened with a cocked head. The collar around her neck was purple, and a hot-pink dog tag stamped with the name “ROCKET” hung from its metal loop.

What would Morgan do now? With the charges against Nick dropped, she didn’t need to play defense attorney anymore. He was going to miss seeing her every day, but it was probably for the best. If they worked closely together, she would be too hard to resist.

He leaned on the doorjamb. “How’s the arm?”

She turned. “Itchy but otherwise fine.” She pulled the photos of suspects out from under their magnets and put them in the box.