Ouch. That explained the sore jaw. And the headache. Stupid drugs. She felt flushed and freezing at the same time. And thirsty. Very, very thirsty. “Water?”
She squinted across the room. Micah crossed her line of sight as he walked into a kitchen. Between the kitchen and the living room where she sat on a couch covered in roses bigger than a plate was a formal dining room. The table was littered with dirty dishes and soggy, grease-stained pizza boxes and carry-out bags.
Micah reappeared, carrying a bottle of water. He sat beside Morgan, supporting her as she drank eagerly. She choked and sputtered as she gulped it down but couldn’t help herself, it felt so good, she was so damn thirsty. He took the bottle from her until her coughing stopped. He stroked the back of her neck with a damp cloth.
“You’re burning up. Maybe we should take you to a hospital?”
She shook her head and immediately regretted it. “No. I’ll be fine. Clint likes to mix MDMA in with his rohypnol and ketamine. Just a bit dehydrated.”
“MDMA—as in Ecstasy? And Rohypnol, that’s the date rape drug, right?” He sounded aghast, as if being drugged was the worst thing that had happened to either of them today.
Morgan looked around, searching for a clock. Had she passed out again? Felt like she’d missed something Micah said, but she wasn’t sure. “What time is it? How long was I out?”
“Almost six o’clock. And which time?”
She blinked, her question already half-forgotten in the fog that consumed her. She smacked her lips: they felt dry and chapped. Then she noticed the blood on her hands. A rush of memory stampeded over her.
“The barn…you were…I…I…killed—” Regret overwhelmed her as she remembered the look on his face when she’d killed Pete. “You saw. You saw me…”
He nodded, his expression grim. “It’s okay. Just drink. Everything will be okay. The landline’s disconnected, and that man…his phone, he landed on it when he hit the ground. It’s dead.”
That spiked through her confusion. “Are we safe? Did you clear the house? Check to see that there’s no one else here?”
“No. I was taking care of you.” He blinked, glanced past her to a staircase. “I’ll be right back.”
“Wait. I’m coming with you.” She staggered to her feet, drawing the knife she’d taken from Pete. Not like he’d be needing it anytime soon. The room swirled, but she hauled in a breath, and it steadied.
“Keep your hand on my elbow,” she told him. He thought he was supporting her, but in reality, she wanted to keep track of his movement and stay in front in case they did find anyone.
They found no one. Also, no phones or laptops or any other means of communication, short of emptying a few tins of baked beans and tying the cans together. A bunch of dirty laundry, food wrappers leaving a trail from the first floor up to the bedrooms and back again, discarded newspapers, a cache of weapons—Morgan selected a folding knife to replace her Kershaw and felt better once she slid it into her boot. She also took a 9mm semiautomatic pistol after making sure the magazine was full. Debated on grabbing one of the long guns—there was a nice shotgun—but Micah pulled her away. “That’s evidence. We shouldn’t touch it.”
Like they were going to call the police. She’d made sure she hadn’t touched anything that she wasn’t taking with her—other than the broken saw blade she’d left behind in Pete’s neck. Her DNA was all over him as well. Damn. There had to be some kerosene or gas around, she could douse the corpse and burn it. The house as well, since Micah hadn’t been as careful as she’d been…
“Morgan?” Micah was talking, and somehow they’d made it back down to the dining room. She glanced up at him. “Did you hear me? I said we need to go get the cops.”
She rummaged through the papers on the table. Nothing that told her where Clint was or when he’d be coming back. She debated waiting, setting a trap for him, Gibson, and Pete’s brother. But what to do with Micah?
“You need to go,” she told him. “I’ll take care of things here.”
The bought her a frown. “No. I’m not leaving you. We need to tell the police about that kid and his bombs. And the man in the barn. And we need to get you to a doctor.”
She waved his concerns away and tried appealing to his self-interest. “Micah, you’re still on probation. If the cops know you were here, they’ll send you back to jail.”
“They can’t do that. We’re the victims.”
“Until I killed a man.” She blew her breath out. He wouldn’t leave her, she realized. Best to leave together, and she could grab a car, come back on her own. “Okay, let’s go. We’ll figure it out on the way.”
He followed her out to the car. It was fully dark now, clouds scudding thick and low across the sky, the scent of snow in the air.