She swatted his shoulder. “Be serious. You could have been badly hurt.”
“But I’m not. See?” In one fluid movement, Lance surged to his feet and scooped her off the ground.
“Oh!” Surprised, she grabbed at his shirt. My, he was strong. She was no tiny waif, but he carried her as if she were. “It looked as if there was a small explosion before the stairs collapsed. I think Voss must have set up a trap. Which would be insane because he obviously gets packages delivered.”
“Keyword: insane. Let’s get away from the building in case Voss has left any other surprises for visitors.” Lance carried her across the grass.
“Put me down. This is backward. You’re the one who’s injured.” Despite her protests, and against her entire modern, professional woman image, she enjoyed the way he made her feel small and feminine. All those muscles weren’t just for show.
“Nothing a couple Band-Aids won’t fix.”
“Oh my God!” A door slammed, and Shannon raced down the porch steps. “I called 911. Are you both all right?”
“We’re fine.” Without putting her down, he sat on the back steps.
It took her a few seconds to think she should probably get off his lap. She scrambled to her feet and looked him over. Blood dripped from a few small cuts on his arm, and his pants were torn at the hem.
“Do you have a first aid kit in your Jeep?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Before she could retrieve it, sirens approached. A minute or two later, strobe lights flashed on the side of the house. An officer in uniform jogged down the driveway toward them. Carl. He had one hand on the weapon on his hip. “Is everyone all right?”
“We’re fine.” Lance said. “Just a couple of scrapes.”
“What happened?” Carl scanned the mess.
“I don’t know,” Lance said. “Morgan and I came to talk to Dean Voss’s neighbors. I went to his door and knocked in case he had a roommate. I heard a boom and crack and the stairs gave out.”
Not exactly the truth, but close enough.
Lance twisted his arm to inspect a cut. “I didn’t see any signs of rot or neglect.” He paused. “But there was smoke, and I thought maybe I saw a flash of light. I suspect some sort of rigged explosion. Maybe there was a tripwire or pressure trigger I didn’t see.”
“I saw flames under your feet,” Morgan added.
Carl inspected some pieces of rubble. “Look at this neat hole.”
Lance walked closer, his eyes narrowing. “You know what that looks like?”
Carl nodded. “A small, controlled explosion.”
“Looks like the damage left after an explosive door breach.” Lance surveyed the debris. “With Voss in the psych ward, we have to assume he booby-trapped the staircase and I triggered it. I wonder what he did in the military.”
“I’d better call forensics,” Carl said as he stepped away and spoke into the radio mic on his shoulder.
Morgan rubbed her arms. Despite the heat of the sun, a cool wind swept across the yard, stirring dead leaves and small bits of debris. Her suit jacket didn’t seem warm enough. “You could have been blown up.”
Voss was crazy, but he was locked up. She’d like to believe he couldn’t hurt anyone ever again, but he just had.
Carl returned. “Horner is on his way. He wants you to wait here.”
Lance sighed. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”
The police chief arrived fifteen minutes later. Horner talked to Carl and inspected the scene. Then he approached Lance and Morgan. “What were you doing here?”
“We came to talk to Voss’s neighbors.” Lance repeated his story to the police chief. “The stairs collapsed.”
“Voss knew Tessa Palmer,” Morgan added. “He taught at the high school and ran the yearbook committee that Tessa was on.”
Suspicion narrowed Horner’s eyes. “How did you learn that?”
“The yearbook.” Morgan didn’t mention where they’d seen the yearbook. “Tessa and Voss were both in the photo for the yearbook committee. The photos were probably taken in the beginning of the year, and no one bothered to take Voss out after he quit.”
“Voss hasn’t been with the school since late winter,” Horner said. “There’s no evidence he and the Palmer girl were in contact since.”
“He left because of accusations of misconduct with a student,” Lance pointed out.
Horner’s voice and gaze sharpened. “There was no evidence. Charges were never filed.”
“That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” Morgan said.
Lance gestured to the debris-strewn yard. “Clearly, Voss could be violent or unstable enough to commit murder.”
Horner leaned closer. His gaze flickered to Morgan, then back to Lance. Anger gleamed in his eyes. His mouth opened and closed. Morgan could read his desire to warn them off the case, but legally, he didn’t have an argument. Nick’s defense team had every right to investigate. But Horner resented the fact that they’d uncovered evidence he’d missed.
Finally, he blew air from his nose like an irritated pony. “I can’t stop you from sticking your noses into the case, but I’m giving you a warning. Don’t break the law in doing so.”
“I assure you, I know the law very well,” Morgan said.
Horner snorted. “Just watch your step, counselor. Because if you don’t, we will.”
And now he’d crossed Morgan’s line. “Are you threatening me, Chief?”
“Of course not.” Horner took a step back. “But your client is guilty as sin. He killed Tessa Palmer. Voss had nothing to do with it.”
“I’d like to remind you that I’m required to conduct a full investigation into the case.” Morgan enunciated each word carefully. It took quite a bit of control not to say because you didn’t conduct a proper investigation before you arrested my client, but it was implied. “I’m going to file a subpoena for Voss’s DNA to be compared to that of Tessa’s child.”
Horner’s jaw clamped tight. “You do what you have to do, counselor, and so will I. Don’t forget to come down to the station to sign an official statement.” He walked away.
“What did he mean by so will I?” Morgan asked.
“I don’t know, but he’s up to something. I don’t trust him.” Lance turned toward the Jeep. “Let’s get out of here.”
Morgan watched the police chief’s stiff posture for a few seconds before turning to follow Lance.
She brushed some dust from her suit. She’d torn the hem of her slacks, and the leather was scraped off the heel of her shoe. Back in the Jeep, Lance took out his first aid kit and cleaned the cuts on his arm and covered them with a few Band-Aids.
“Are you OK?” he asked.
She felt his gaze on her face but kept her focus out the window. “I’m fine. But I’m sure you’ll have some bruises tomorrow.”
The incident had left its mark on Morgan. She cared about him more than she wanted to, felt more than she was ready for. Her head began to throb. She propped an elbow on the passenger door and rubbed her temple.
Lance stopped at the diner at the edge of town.