Morgan grabbed her bag from where she’d dropped it by the door and followed Lance into the kitchen.
She took her phone from her purse and called 911. Then she turned her attention to Justin. “The bullet hit him in the temple.”
“Are you hurt?” Lance asked Morgan.
“No,” she said. “You?”
“I’m fine.” Adrenaline was mainlining through his body. His heart thudded in his chest, and his pulse echoed in his ears as he swept through the first floor, making sure all the rooms were clear. He checked the rear door lock. Then he went to the front window and peered around the window frame, using one finger to separate the blind slats. “I don’t see him.”
“I suspect he ran as soon as you returned fire.”
Lance hoped so, but he didn’t like not knowing where their attacker had gone. He wanted to chase the shooter, but he wouldn’t leave Morgan and Justin unprotected.
Morgan took a pair of vinyl gloves out of her bag and put them on. She grabbed a dish towel from the counter, folded it, and pressed it to Justin’s wound. “The best I can do is try to stop the bleeding.”
“I’ll secure the upstairs.” He headed up the steps. Three doors opened off the hallway. Two rooms faced the rear of the property. Lance cleared the first two rooms. Through the second-story window, he scanned the rear yard but saw no one. He crossed the hall to the master bedroom. After checking under the bed and in the closet, he looked through the window that overlooked the front yard. There was no sign of the shooter.
Morgan was probably right. Whoever had shot Justin was not likely to stick around now that he’d been fired on. He also had to know that the police had been called.
Justin was just as sloppy in his bedroom as in the rest of the house. Dust and dirty dishes covered the nightstand and dresser. Clothes littered the carpet, and the room smelled like sweaty feet. Lance stared at the bed. Photos covered the blue comforter. The photos on the left side of the bed showed four friends at college graduation, smiling for the camera in their blue caps and gowns, their arms looped around each other’s shoulders. More snapshots depicted them skiing and partying. A few appeared to be a spring break beach vacation. The right side of the bed was all Noah. Justin had been staring at these images, grieving.
Lance’s gaze swept over the nightstand. Three prescription vials stood next to a full glass of water and a box of tissues. Used, crumpled tissues littered the floor.
Lance move closer to read the prescription labels. Justin’s name was printed on each of the bottles. They were all the same medication—zolpidem, the same drug that had been found in Shannon’s body. The first prescription was dated the previous summer. Roughly two-thirds of the original thirty tablets were missing. Had Justin stockpiled the pills to use on young women? Is that why he’d refilled the sleeping pills even though he wasn’t using them?
Pulling out his phone, Lance snapped photos. He pictured Justin crying over the photos of his friend Noah and thinking about taking all the sleeping pills. The scene appeared to be an impending suicide. But was Justin motivated by guilt or grief or both?
He found nothing else out of the ordinary in the bedroom and moved on to the bathroom. He opened the medicine cabinet and found another prescription bottle. He recognized the medication as an antidepressant.
He jogged downstairs and checked his watch. Ten minutes had passed. The police would be here in another five or so.
“Is he still alive?” Lance asked Morgan.
“Yes.” She knelt on the floor next to Justin. Blood was seeping through the towel she held to his head.
Justin’s eyes opened halfway. “Let me die.”
Lance wouldn’t have minded. Justin had probably raped and killed Shannon Yates. He’d also likely killed Noah, drugged Haley, and framed her for the crime. But Morgan had a higher moral standard than Lance did. Besides, they wanted explanations, and dead guys couldn’t sign confessions.
But who had shot Justin?
“You’re not going to die.” Morgan stacked a second towel on top of the first. She sounded more confident than Lance suspected she felt. The wound was still bleeding heavily. “At least not today.”
“I’m cold.” Justin’s words trembled.
Lance grabbed a blanket from the couch and spread it over him.
Blood continued to pour from the wound, soaking through the dish towels. Morgan applied more pressure to the towels by overlapping her hands and leaning on them. Her quick glance at Lance betrayed her concern.
Justin’s eyes fluttered and closed. His lips moved. Morgan bent close to his mouth. When she straightened, worry darkened her eyes.
“What did he say?” Lance asked.
“I killed Noah.”
“It’s not a signed confession, but I’ll take it.”
Morgan shook her head. “He also said Haley was the next target.”
“Does that mean Justin intended to kill Haley next? Or is there someone else who was targeting her?”
“I don’t know, but I’m texting Sharp just in case. He can check on Haley. We’re going to be tied up here for a while.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Hal-eeeey,” the whisper calls.
Leave me alone, she cries.
She draws her knees to her chest and pulls the blanket up over her shoulders, hiding from the voice. Why won’t it leave her alone?
“Why did you kill me, Haley?”
She whimpers.
There is no escaping it. The voice echoes inside her own mind.
She shakes her head. No. I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.
“The knife was in your hand,” the voice whispers. “You killed me. The blood. Remember the blood.”
She sees it now, spreading across the floor, coming toward her, a wave of red.
A sea of guilt. Pointing at her. Reaching for her.
“You’d better run, Haley. Run away. I’m coming back for you.”
But this time, she doesn’t wait for it to catch her. She can’t. She can’t stand it anymore. She can’t let it touch her. If it gets on her skin one more time, she’ll never be able to wash it away. It will stain her forever.
Sliding away from her hiding place, she slips from the room. She’ll find another hiding spot, one where the voice can’t find her.
Her bare feet are silent on the carpet as she runs.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The taillights of the ambulance disappeared into the darkness. Morgan turned to the woods in front of Justin’s house, where a handful of deputies searched for evidence with high-powered flashlights.
“I’m worried about Haley.” Morgan leaned back against the Town Car.
“Me too.” Lance paced in front of her. “Justin is out of commission. He can’t hurt her.”
“But we don’t know that he was the one who was targeting her, and he can’t tell us. He might never regain consciousness. And whoever shot Justin is still out there.”
Lance checked his watch. “Sharp should be with her by now. She also has a private bodyguard.”
The sheriff walked out the front door. Even in the darkness, his exhaustion was evident in the hollows of his cheeks and under his eyes.
Next to Morgan, Lance folded his arms in a rigid line over his chest.
The sheriff conferred with the lead deputy before approaching Lance and Morgan. “Did he really confess to killing Noah?”
Morgan nodded. She’d already given a statement to the deputy, but she recited Justin’s exact words again for the sheriff. “We don’t know what he meant by ‘Haley was the next target.’”
“Considering he confessed to murdering his friend, I’d think it means that he was going to kill Haley next.” Sheriff Colgate pressed a fist to his sternum. He didn’t seem resentful that they’d solved the case for him, just relieved. The porch light cast his face in shadows. The skin appeared slack, as if he’d lost weight. “What made you suspect him?”
“We found out that he’d once been arrested for date rape,” Morgan said. “The charges were dropped, but it made us take a harder look at him. Then we found out that he’d also crossed paths with Shannon Yates at the inn where she worked.”