The man stopped protesting, his discomfort no doubt overpowering whatever emotion had caused his attack.
Lance peeled off his jacket and T-shirt. Dropping them on the floor, he put his head under the faucet and let the cool water flow over his face. After a thorough rinse, he washed with soap multiple times and then moved on to his chest. When he was finished, he grabbed towels from the narrow closet behind the door and dried off. His skin was pink and slightly irritated, but there didn’t seem to be any damage.
He used his cell phone to call the Scarlet Falls PD and report the incident. Morgan was helping the creep. She held him by the back of the collar and kept his face under the spray. A few minutes later, she turned off the water.
Lance handed him a towel.
The young man’s eyes were bloodshot. He blinked over and over. Holding his eyes open clearly took effort. Tears still ran down his face.
“What was in the bottle?” Lance enunciated each word for emphasis.
The man’s lips mashed flat.
“What’s your name?” Lance asked.
He stared at the wall.
“Fine. Talk to the cops.” Lance gave up. “They’re on the way.”
He dropped a towel to the floor to mop up the water. He used a fresh towel to dry his hair and clean up the sink area.
Five minutes later, someone banged on the front door. Tossing the towel around his neck, Lance walked down the hall to Sharp’s office and peered out the window. A black-and-white Scarlet Falls police car sat at the curb, lights swirling. An unmarked sedan pulled up behind it. Morgan’s sister Stella and her partner, Detective Brody McNamara, climbed out. Stella hurried up the sidewalk, parting the sea of reporters with her badge and pissy attitude.
Lance opened the door and let them in. “Morgan’s OK.”
“What happened?” Stella asked.
Lance gave her a quick rundown of the incident.
“Who is he?” Stella asked.
“I don’t know yet. He didn’t have any ID on him.” Lance turned around and led her back to the bathroom. “We cleaned him up.”
The man took a dry towel from Morgan. Then, blinking at her, he recoiled, as if he’d just realized who was helping him. “Get off me.”
Bristling, Lance moved forward.
Stella stopped him with a hand on his arm. “We’ve got this.”
Morgan retreated to the hall with Lance, letting Brody and Stella deal with the young man. Lance went into his office and grabbed a dry shirt from the closet. Morgan followed him.
“You were his target.” Lance tugged the shirt over his head.
“I know. Thank you for stepping in.” She walked closer, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing the uninjured side of her face into his chest.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her for a couple of seconds.
“You jumped right in front of me. What if he’d had a gun?” She shivered.
“He didn’t.” But the thought sent a wave of cold right through Lance’s belly. He didn’t want to let Morgan out of his sight. He couldn’t imagine how a spray of Mace would have felt on her already sore face.
And if the man had had a gun . . .
Morgan usually carried a sidearm, but not on days she went to court.
Brody appeared in the doorway. “His name is Adam Carter, Noah Carter’s brother. He is twenty-one years old and a local university student. What he sprayed on you was homemade pepper spray. He cooked it up in his garage. When he saw reporters doing sound bites outside Morgan’s office, he knew she was here. He brought his pepper spray, intending to incapacitate her so she wouldn’t be able to represent Haley at the bail hearing tomorrow. Apparently, Adam’s parents are planning to attend.”
“He’s running on all emotion, not logic,” Morgan said. “He just lost his brother.”
“He was thinking straight enough to play amateur chemist and commit a planned assault.” Lance pitied the man but not enough to justify his attempted attack on Morgan. “I wonder if he was also behind the nasty videos on social media.”
“What videos?” Brody asked.
Lance went behind his desk and pulled up the video and GIF on his computer.
Brody frowned. “We’ll look into it. Technically, this isn’t a threat, but based on Adam’s attack today, I’m going to get a search warrant for their house and computers. Who knows what other DIY projects he’s been researching or planning? Morgan Dane gets what she deserves is not the same as what I will do to Morgan Dane, but if he made the video, I think we might be able to show it as an additional threat.”
Brody, Lance, and Morgan went into the hallway. Stella had put the young man in handcuffs. Soaking wet, Adam shivered. His jeans and sweatshirt dripped on the hardwood. His face was still hardened with anger and insolence.
“Do you want to file a complaint?” Stella asked Lance. “Several cameramen filmed the attack.”
“Yes.” Lance studied Adam.
The face full of pepper should have been an immediate lesson. But despite the obvious pain he was still in, his chin was up, his back straight, and his jaw set. He’d dialed back his rage from boil to simmer, but it was still there.
He wasn’t sorry. Not one bit.
But then, grief and self-righteousness were long-burning sources of fuel. Adam wasn’t going to abandon his cause anytime soon. Hopefully, the police and his parents would be able to keep him out of trouble.
“In that case, we’ll take him in.” Stella guided Adam toward the door. “You should think about how your behavior will affect your parents. They’re already going through hell. They don’t need this.”
“You want to help Haley Powell.” He glared at Morgan, then at Lance through bloodshot eyes. “She should pay for what she did. She killed Noah.” The insolent mask melted off his face. His shoulders shook. Grief twisted his features.
Lance empathized, but if Adam didn’t learn to control his anger, he’d end up like McFarland. On the other hand, Stella was right. Mr. and Mrs. Carter did not need to bail their younger son out of jail so soon after losing their oldest.
“Let’s go.” Brody took Adam’s other arm. With the boy sandwiched between them, he and Stella marched him out the front door.
Lance closed and locked the door. “Let’s give the reporters a little time to leave.” He followed Morgan back toward her office.
She picked up her coat and big bag from the floor.
His phone rang. “It’s my mom.”
Guilt turned inside Lance. Had she seen the news? He should have called her.
He answered the call. “Hey, Mom.”
“Are you and Morgan all right?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“Yes,” he assured her.
“Because I saw a video of Morgan’s client hitting her,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken.
“Mom.” Lance raised his voice. “Morgan is OK.”
But she didn’t seem to hear him. “And then just now, there was a breaking news report. I saw a man attack you right outside your office. The reporters said it was some sort of caustic—”
Lance needed to change the subject before her anxiety snowballed.
“Mom,” he interrupted her. “I’ll stop by on my way home. I have to ask you for a favor anyway.”
“You do?” She sounded cheered.
“We need help with an investigation. Are you up to it?”
“Yes. Definitely.” Her voice was almost perky.
“I’ll see you later.” Lance disconnected. They hadn’t given his mom any work since her attack the previous fall. He’d been afraid the added stress would slow her recovery. But now he wondered if he’d made the wrong call. Maybe she missed the work.
He grabbed his T-shirt and leather jacket from the floor. Pepper fumes wafted from them. He held them at arm’s length and went to the kitchen for a garbage bag.
The shirt wasn’t worth the effort of saving it. His jacket had taken a direct hit. There was no way to clean leather without ruining it. He shoved both items in the plastic bag and tied it closed. Grabbing a zip-up sweatshirt from his office, he tossed the bag in the garbage can on the way out of the building.
He hoped this was the worst thing that happened in this case, but experience told him it was just the beginning.