“Well, I feel like a total bully.” Lance unlocked the Jeep.
“Me too.” Morgan climbed into the passenger seat. After he settled behind the wheel, she said. “This case has me feeling all sorts of terrible. Since when am I willing to harass law-abiding citizens or ignore the law?”
“Since the threat became personal.” Lance started the engine and drove out of the lot. “That kid will be OK. You did what you had to do. Surely, you were hard on witnesses and defendants when you were a prosecutor?”
“When necessary, yes.” She pushed her hair off her face. “But their involvement in the case was always established beforehand. For the most part, I already knew what they were going to tell me.”
“The police sorted through the witnesses for you. This is what it’s like when you’re chasing down leads.”
“Yes. You’re right. As an ADA, I didn’t get involved in cases until arrests were made.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “This is frustrating.”
“You haven’t slept. You haven’t taken a break. You didn’t even finish that protein shake Sharp made you, and now it’s lunchtime.” Lance glanced over, worried. The circles under Morgan’s eyes were dark enough to match the bruises around her throat. Her home had been invaded, her family threatened, and then she’d spent the night in the hospital waiting room.
Lack of sleep was making him punchy, she must feel ten times worse.
“Have you checked in on your grandfather?” he asked.
She pulled her phone out of her enormous bag. “I haven’t heard from Stella for a while. I’ll call her.”
She pressed the phone to her ear and conferred in a low, anxious tone for a few minutes before lowering the cell to her lap. “There’s no change in his condition. He hasn’t woken up yet.”
“Do you want to stop by and see him?”
Morgan nodded. “Yes. We’re at an impasse with this investigation. The SFPD is watching Harold Burns. I haven’t heard from Tim, but there’s a county sheriff’s deputy assigned to protect Chelsea. I don’t know what else to do at this point.” Her voice broke. “And I think I should see him, just in case.”
The break in her voice implied “in case it’s my last chance.”
Lance drove toward the hospital. He dropped Morgan at the door, then parked the Jeep. When he caught up with her in the ICU waiting area, she was talking to her worn-out and wrinkled sister.
Stella’s eyes were red-rimmed, and her nose was red, as if she’d been crying. She handed Morgan a book, a popular crime fiction paperback. “I don’t know if he can hear me, but I’ve been reading to him.”
Morgan took the paperback and smiled sadly. “He loves to criticize police procedurals.”
“I was hoping he’d wake up and rant about all the errors.” Stella hugged her sister. “I’m going to have a shower and a nap. Then I’ll be back.”
“Still nothing from Ian?” Morgan asked.
“No.” Stella took her keys from her pocket. “But Peyton got on a flight a few hours ago. She should be here by dinnertime. So maybe she can take over the night shift.”
Stella left. Morgan and Lance were buzzed through the double doors into the ICU. They went into Art’s glassed-in room. He looked small, and the machines surrounding him were intimidating.
Morgan went to his side, leaned over to kiss his cheek, then found his hand under the blanket and gave it a gentle squeeze. A tear rolled down her cheek. She sniffed and brushed it away.
A nurse came in and checked his vital signs. “Try not to panic.”
“But he hasn’t woken up,” Morgan said, her face pale enough to break Lance’s heart.
“His body needs rest.” The nurse wrote on his chart. “We haven’t seen a repeat of the blood pressure issue or heart arrhythmia that occurred during the surgery. He’s been stable all day. Give him some time. At his age, his body won’t bounce back from the injury or the anesthesia quickly.”
“Thank you,” Morgan said.
“I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.” The nurse left. Grandpa’s room was across from the nurses’ station.
Morgan settled in a chair by the bed. Lance pulled a chair up next to hers. She opened her giant bag and pulled out a stack of files.
“You’re not going to read to him?”
“I’ll read him our case notes. That’ll interest him more than anything else.” She handed Lance a stack of reports. “Maybe he’ll wake up and point out a clue we missed.”
The sheer volume of information was staggering. But four hours later, they’d reviewed most of their case notes and found nothing.
Her phone vibrated. “It’s Stella.” She answered the call. The conversation was brief. She ended the call with an angry stab to her phone screen. “The SFPD has been ordered to stay away from Harold Burns. His lawyer filed a harassment suit against the township.”
“Now he can do whatever he wants without anyone knowing about it.”
“Yes.” Morgan lowered the phone and paced the hospital room. “The DA had no choice but to rein Horner in, especially after the disaster last month.”
Morgan’s neighbor had almost died in jail after being falsely arrested and imprisoned.
“The press was relentless on the DA and Horner,” Lance said.
“They don’t have any options.” Morgan stopped pacing and pressed her palms to her eyes. “There’s no evidence against Burns. None.”
“Morgan?” A low voice came from the doorway.
Though he’d never met Peyton, Lance had no doubt the young woman who entered the room was Morgan’s younger sister. Peyton had the same black hair and blue eyes as Morgan and Stella, though she was a head shorter. Age-wise, at thirty-two, Peyton was sandwiched between her sisters. She wore dark jeans, knee-high boots, and a black sweater.
The sisters hugged, teary-eyed.
Morgan introduced them, and Lance felt Peyton’s scrutiny. The third Dane sister might not be a cop, but as a forensic psychiatrist she was no less assessing.
Peyton went to her grandfather’s side. She kissed his cheek, then stood back and scanned the monitors before picking up his chart and flipping through the pages.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Morgan stood next to her sister. “The doctor should be in soon. You’ll understand the medical terms better than me.”
“I checked at the desk,” Peyton said. “He’ll be here in about twenty minutes.”
Morgan peered over her sister’s shoulder. “How does he look?”
“The fact that he’s been stable is a good sign.” Peyton took her grandfather’s hand. “I miss him.”
“He understands.” Morgan rubbed her sister’s shoulder.
“I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t seen him in ages.” Peyton shook her head and turned to Morgan. “You look terrible. Go home. Have some dinner. Get some sleep. I’ll stay with him tonight. I promise I will text you immediately if there’s any change in his condition.”
“All right.” Morgan stepped back and gathered her files, stuffing them into her big bag.