They walked to the door and knocked. He didn’t see a peephole or a surveillance camera, but the big picture window provided a view of the front door. Justin would know who was standing on his stoop. The door rolled open. Justin slumped in the opening. Surprise lifted his chin. He obviously hadn’t looked through his window. Had he been expecting someone else?
Lance expected him to shut the door in their faces. That’s what he would have done if he’d been in Justin’s shoes.
“What do you want?” Justin asked. His eyes were red, and ruddy patches covered his face. He’d been crying.
“We have a few follow-up questions,” Morgan said. “It’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”
“I don’t know.” His eyes darting to the woods behind Lance and Morgan, Justin raised a hand to his mouth and bit off a chunk of fingernail. His twitchiness reminded Lance of a drug addict who needed his fix.
Had Lance read him wrong?
He scanned the dim room behind Justin. The inside of the house was as messy as the outside. Clothes, trash, and junk mail had been tossed at random. It appeared as if it had been ransacked, but Lance got the feeling that’s the way it looked all the time. Was Justin normally a slob, or was the neglectful state of his living conditions a sign of depression, drug addiction, or something else?
Justin’s face screwed up with resentment, and he folded his arms over his thin chest. He glared at Lance. “I don’t have to talk to you.”
And yet he’d opened the door when neither of his friends had.
“We know,” Morgan coaxed. “And we appreciate your cooperation.”
Lance waved a hand. “If you don’t want to meet with us, we can leave and take our concerns to the sheriff. Would you be more comfortable talking to Sheriff Colgate?”
Justin gave him an insolent stink eye. “Just ask your questions and go.”
Morgan lifted her tote strap higher onto her shoulder. “We learned that you were once accused of date rape.”
He froze, his mouth gaping. “The . . . the charges were dropped,” he stammered.
“But you were arrested.” Lance unzipped his jacket for quicker access to his weapon.
Justin’s gaze shifted to Lance. “How can you even know that? There was no trial or anything.”
“Arrest records for nonconvictions are supposed to be sealed in New York State, but that doesn’t always happen,” Lance explained. “Your lawyer should have followed up.”
Justin obviously hadn’t known. His eyes filled with moisture. “That’s not right.”
“Right or wrong, that’s the way it’s done.” Lance lifted a palm. “If they dropped the charges, then it couldn’t have been too bad, right?”
Justin’s face reddened. “She lied. She fucking lied. We were both drinking and having a good time. She came back to my apartment with me. We drank some more. We ended up in bed.” He gripped his head with both hands. “I didn’t wake up until noon the next day. She was gone. I was too hungover to think about it much. I assumed she did her walk of shame early. I went back to bed. When the police knocked on my door . . .”
Lance nodded. “You must have been shocked.”
“Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover it.” Justin tugged at his hair. “I’d had a lot to drink too, so the details of the night are hazy. But she never said stop. She was totally on board with the sex.”
“But a drunk girl can’t really consent, can she?” Morgan’s voice was uncharacteristically judgmental. She was baiting him, hoping his anger would override his common sense. He was under no obligation to answer any of their questions. If Justin was thinking clearly, he’d shut the hell up.
But he wasn’t thinking at all. He was reacting.
Justin’s eyes snapped back to her. The animosity in them drew Lance a step closer.
“I was drunk too,” Justin said, resentment shining over the moisture in his eyes. “Maybe she took advantage of me? If both parties have been drinking, why is it always the guy who takes the rap?”
“That’s a good question.” Lance countered Morgan’s hard-ass lawyer routine. “Why is all the responsibility on the man’s shoulders?”
“The cops questioned me for hours.” Justin’s voice rose with his emotion. “I didn’t have the money for a fancy lawyer. If it wasn’t for Isaac’s dad and his attorney, that bitch might have put me in prison. For nothing. Just because she woke up in the morning and regretted sleeping with me.”
“Isaac’s dad fixed it for you?” Lance asked.
Justin nodded, but he continued to stare at Morgan, his chest heaving, his nostrils flaring.
“This is why bros have to stick together.” Lance took a step closer to Morgan. Justin was fixated on her like Kieran’s dog had been focused on Lance.
Morgan’s eyes narrowed, just a millimeter. It was her interrogation, slam-dunk face. If Lance hadn’t been looking for it, he would have missed it.
She stepped forward. “Where were you on Saturday, February 24? Were you at Beats?”
Justin’s head snapped back as if she’d slapped him. His mouth opened, then closed.
“Do you know Shannon Yates?” Morgan pressed.
“No.” His eyes shifted away.
Liar. Liar.
“Are you sure?” Morgan raised her voice. “Because we know you designed the new logo for the inn where she worked.”
His gaze flicked back and forth between them. Lance could see the panic building. At his sides, his fingers curled and uncurled into fists. Sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip. So much guilt, so little time.
“Haley is starting to remember what happened,” Morgan lied smoothly. Lance was impressed.
Then Justin broke. His breath hitched, and his face screwed up. Then his eyes turned pink and filled with tears. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?” Morgan asked.
“Lie. I’ve been lying.” Justin squeezed his head between his palms, as if he could hold himself together with the pressure of his hands. “So many lies. I can’t keep them all straight.”
Had he killed Noah?
“Why not just tell the truth?” Lance scanned Justin’s pockets. His skinny jeans were too tight to conceal weapons.
“It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t mean to do it.” Justin dropped his hands to his sides.
“What did you do?” Morgan asked.
Justin shook his head. “Bad. It was bad. I just want the nightmares to end. I want it all to go away.” He stopped moving. He’d made a decision. Resignation shut down the emotions in his eyes. “There are some decisions you can’t take back. Things you do that can’t be undone.”
“Why don’t you just come clean?” Morgan’s voice was smooth now, coaxing. “You’ll feel better if you get this off your chest.”
Tears streamed down his face. Gesturing for them to follow him inside, he took a half step backward.
The crack of a rifle shot split the quiet air. Justin dropped like a sack of meat.
“Get down.” Lance pulled Morgan to the ground and covered her with his body. His heart took off like a racehorse. Justin groaned, but Lance couldn’t spare him a glance.
Where is the shooter?
A second shot rang out.
“Get inside.” Lance rose to his hands and knees, trying to keep his body between Morgan and the woods.
Drawing his weapon, he spun around just in time to see a muzzle flash in the trees. A bullet hit the door, bits of wood exploding from the impact. He returned fire, then glanced over his shoulder. Morgan scrambled over the threshold. She grabbed Justin’s hand and tried to drag him inside but couldn’t move him.
“He’s too heavy for me.” She drew her own handgun. Standing behind the doorframe, she peered around the edge and aimed her gun at the woods. “I’ll cover. You get Justin inside.”
Lance didn’t like her plan, but he couldn’t argue with its practicality. “The shooter is behind that stand of fir trees at six o’clock.”
Morgan popped off two shots in the general direction of the shooter. Lance ducked into the house, taking Justin by the arm and dragging him through the doorway. Blood poured down the man’s face. Morgan backed away from the opening. Lance shut the door and flipped the dead bolt.
He hauled Justin through the living room and into the attached kitchen. The cabinet footprint formed a U. Lance pulled Justin behind the metal oven, which provided better protection than drywall and wood. Bullets could penetrate the exterior walls of frame buildings.