“Thank you,” she said.
Morgan and Lance stepped aside while Carl secured the scene. Morgan took her own pictures. Not that she didn’t trust the police, but . . . they were so sure they’d already caught the killer, she wanted to be sure no new evidence got “lost.”
Brody arrived before the forensics van. He gave the camp a thorough once-over before joining Morgan and Lance. Lance recapped what had happened.
Brody snapped shut his notebook. “I’ll let you know if I have any further questions.”
“Dean Voss is clearly connected to the Palmer murder,” Morgan said.
Brody offered a brief, noncommittal nod. “I’m going to attempt to interview Dean now, but from what you and Carl have said, he’s likely too unstable to give a rational statement. In that case, we’ll have to wait for a psychiatric evaluation, and we’ll see what the forensic team turns up.”
“Can we go?” Lance asked.
“Yes,” Brody said.
“You’ll call us if you find anything relevant to the Palmer case?” Lance asked.
“I’ll pass your request on to Chief Horner.” With a frown, Brody turned and left.
What the hell did that mean?
Carl was marking off the camp with crime scene tape. He directed Lance and Morgan to the outside of the perimeter.
This is what happens when you change sides. Lance was no longer one of them. And now that he’d joined Morgan, he was likely shut out of the loop forever.
But if he’d denied her request, she would have come to the scene alone. She could have been killed.
Morgan and Lance made their way back to the beach. The dropping sun hovered over the tops of the trees and cast golden light on the lake. Lance checked the time on his phone. Six-thirty. “Half hour until sundown. Maybe we should call it a day. You can clean up at the office before you head home.” He eyed the scrapes on her legs.
“Good idea.” She brushed at a streak of dirt on her calf.
“Are you all right?” he asked Morgan.
“Yes. I’m afraid I’m not feeling much in the way of trust in the SFPD right now.”
“Chief Horner is a pain, but Brody is a good cop. You can count on him.”
“I hope so.” She plucked a pine needle from her skirt.
“I’m going to call my mom and add Dean to her list of background checks. I’m sure she can dig up plenty of personal information.”
Morgan said, “From Dean’s ramblings, I’m convinced either he killed Tessa or he saw who did.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Morgan got out of the Jeep as soon as Lance parked behind her minivan in front of Sharp Investigations. Her scraped leg ached as she detoured to her van and removed a gym bag from the cargo area. The sun had set, and dusk settled over the quiet street. They went up the walk and climbed the steps of the dark duplex.
Lance unlocked the front door. “I didn’t know you went to a gym.”
“Two months ago, I bought a two-week trial membership. I went twice. The gym bag has been sitting in there since.” Morgan followed him into the office.
“Sharp must be out.” Lance closed and locked the door behind them.
“You obviously work out regularly.” She scanned his muscles on top of muscles.
He shrugged. “My physical therapy regimen is intensive.”
“It’s helped you recover?”
“Yes. It’s also good for releasing endorphins and purging stress.”
“That was my intention with the trial membership.” She had plenty of excuses about the kids taking up all her time, but in reality, she just hadn’t been motivated to exercise.
Or to do much else.
Lance steered her back to the kitchen. He took a first aid kit from the cabinet. “Sit down.”
“I can clean my cuts myself,” she protested.
“Fine.” He set the kit on the table and went to the fridge. Taking out a bottle of water, he put one in front of her, then retreated to the other side of the small room, leaned back against the cabinets, and watched.
Morgan sat down and bent over her knees. Blood and dirt caked the scratches on her legs. She squirted antiseptic onto a gauze pad and began to blot. There was more dirt than blood. A few superficial scrapes on her shins were already scabbing over, but a deeper abrasion on her ankle was bright red and still bleeding. She dabbed at it, wincing at the sting. The gauze caught on something. Several large splinters were stuck in her skin. She must have picked them up from the log Lance had jammed her behind, not that she was complaining. He’d put his body between her and an active shooter.
She’d held her act together during the moment, but now that she was safe, her hands trembled as she replayed the incident in her head. She flexed her fingers to steady them. Shaking the memory away, she focused on her ankle. Once she was home and alone, she could fall apart. She tried to get a better look, but she couldn’t get her ankle closer without hiking her skirt up to her hips.
And thinking about doing that . . .
Her gaze flickered to Lance, leaning on the counter, his thick arms crossed over his thicker chest. He was not the sort of man who could blend into the background. His body—and personality—took up too much space. So much that her eyes were drawn to him whenever he was in the same room.
He was so different from John. Her husband had been tall, thin, and dark, with an easygoing personality. Lance was blond, heavily muscled, and intense.
Very intense.
She blinked and looked away.
What was wrong with her? It must be the aftereffect of being shot at. Her emotions were all over the place.
“Is there a pair of tweezers in that box?” she asked.
She wanted to be blood-and dirt-free before she went home so she didn’t frighten her girls. They didn’t need to know she’d been in danger.
“Let me look.” Lance set his water bottle down and crossed the kitchen.
But instead of searching the kit, he sat in the chair next to her and lifted her legs onto his lap, turning her sideways in her seat.
“Oh,” she said, surprised. His legs were twice as thick as hers and ten times more solid.
“It’s probably easier for me to get these for you.” Taking tweezers from the kit, he bent over her legs.
“It’s OK. I can get it.” A shiver in her voice belied her confident words.
He lifted his head, his gaze catching hers and holding on for a long second. Emotions darkened the blue of his eyes. Anger. Concern.
Heat.
She shivered.
“Just let me help you, all right?” His fingers wrapped around the sensitive skin of her calf. “I’m a little freaked out about us getting shot at today.”
“All right.” Morgan sat back. She took a drink of cold water and swallowed. “Thank you for what you did.”
The tweezers hovered over her ankle. “You’re welcome.” He plucked a splinter free.
“I’m serious. When I think of what happened.” And what could have happened. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “I’m all my girls have left.”