“There’s no time.” Morgan opened her bag, combed her hair, and fixed her lipstick. “This should be quick. I’ll give a simple statement about the family being joyful over Chelsea’s return and appeal to the public to respect the family’s privacy. The sheriff will have to field questions about the actual investigation.”
Lance drove to the municipal building, where the sheriff had arranged for a room for the press conference. By the time they arrived, the press was already gathering and setting up. At least a dozen stations were represented. Chelsea’s disappearance hadn’t garnered this much attention, but then how many kidnapping victims escaped their abductors. Having been missing for a week, no doubt most people had written Chelsea off as dead.
Morgan walked toward the front of the room. Lance took a place near the wall, out of the line of media fire but close enough to be supportive.
Sheriff King stepped up behind a podium. Morgan took her place next to him. They tested microphones, and then the sheriff took the lead, introducing himself and Morgan, then reading a prepared statement. “Chelsea Clark was found on the side of Breakneck Road this morning by a passing motorist. The sheriff’s department is grateful that she is alive and reunited with her family. We are still investigating her disappearance, and we’re determined to bring her kidnapper to justice.”
The press jumped in with questions immediately. “What is her condition?”
The sheriff answered. “Mrs. Clark is stable.”
A reporter in the front row stood. “Where has she been all week?”
“It appears that she was kidnapped and held captive by an unknown person,” the sheriff said.
“Was she released? Did she escape?” another reporter asked.
The sheriff leaned closer to the mic. “It appears that she escaped.”
“What does that mean?” the reporter sounded almost hostile.
The sheriff tensed. “It means I can’t give any further information about an ongoing investigation.”
A tall thin man pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Is this case related to the woman’s remains that were found in Black Run State Park?”
“No.” The sheriff looked taken aback. He wasn’t openly challenged often. “At this time, we have no evidence to link the cases.”
Thin Man continued. “Do you have a description of who took Chelsea Clark?”
Clearly irritated with the reporter’s relentlessness, the sheriff stiffened his shoulders. He inhaled, inflating his chest and sitting taller. He tried to stare down Thin Man, but the reporter’s expression remained smug.
When the sheriff spoke, his words were careful, measured, and full of authority. “Chelsea Clark was abducted last Friday night and held for six days by a man wearing a mask. She never saw his face.”
Thin Man changed the target of his inquiry. “Ms. Dane, as the family’s legal representative, can you divulge any details? The public has a right to know if they’re in danger.”
“Chelsea’s family is grateful to have her back and are focused on her well-being. They ask for the understanding and prayers of the community,” Morgan said. “If you want details about the case, ask the sheriff.”
Thin Man wasn’t deterred. “Is there a serial killer in Randolph County?”
The sheriff leaned close to the mic. “We don’t have evidence to suggest the cases are connected or the inclination to leap to such a conclusion at this time.”
Except that two women, approximately the same age and physical description, had been kidnapped and beaten.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A child’s scream startled Morgan from a dead sleep. Her heart stuttered in her chest. The bed was cold. After being woken too many nights, Snoozer had abandoned Morgan to sleep with her grandfather. A second small cry floated through the open doorway.
Sophie.
Morgan listened intently for another sound. Her eyes drifted to the clock on the nightstand. Just after midnight. She’d slept barely thirty minutes after staring at the ceiling and worrying about the case for an hour.
Maybe the night terror will pass.
The previous two episodes lasted at least ten minutes each, but the doctor had said their duration could be a short as a minute or so. It was possible that they’d get lucky and Sophie would settle on her own. A thumping noise verified that this would not be the case tonight.
Bleary-eyed, Morgan tossed the comforter aside and stumbled out of bed. A chill swept over her. Grandpa liked to turn the thermostat down at night, and the old house could use new insulation.
Her bare feet hit the freezing hardwood. Where were her slippers? Not beside her bed where they should be. No time to look for them. She grabbed a sweatshirt and headed for her daughters’ room, still half-asleep and hoping she could remove Sophie before the screaming woke Ava and Mia. They were both sound sleepers, but if Sophie really got going, her screams could wake the dead.
Drawing the shirt over her head, she hurried into the dark hall. A night-light, plugged into a wall socket, cast light downward onto the floor, just enough to keep one from tripping over a toy on their way to the bathroom. The hallway led to the foyer, living room, and kitchen at the front of the house. Moonlight streamed through a window, cutting a swath of light through the darkness.
The light also silhouetted two dark figures, one child and one adult, at the other end of the hall. Morgan stopped in her tracks. Did Gianna or Grandpa wake up and see to Sophie?
Her eyes continued to adjust to the dimness.
The adult figure was much larger than Gianna and definitely male. The child’s shadow wiggled.
“Grandpa?” she called softly, but as the word left her lips, she knew the figure didn’t move like an old man.
He spun to face her. Morgan’s blood chilled to ice water. Definitely not her grandfather.
A strange man stood in her hallway.
An intruder.
A hood shadowed his features. The small form next to him struggled, but he held her firmly by the arm, her back pressed against his body, one of his hands covering her mouth.
Sophie’s eyes were opened so wide that the whites showed in the dark corridor.
Morgan’s brain processed the scene in front of her with horror. She looked for a weapon. But both of his hands were visible and occupied. The chill in her body transformed itself into a cold and furious calm.
“Release my daughter.” Morgan didn’t recognize her own voice. It was full of a menace she’d never felt before. She’d secured her gun in its safe when she’d arrived home and set the alarm. Not that she’d risk firing a shot with the intruder using her daughter as a shield. TV shows aside, pistols were not accurate enough to fire over a child’s head, especially in a dark hallway with adrenaline mainlining through Morgan’s bloodstream.
So what could she do?
She took a step closer.
He moved his hand from Sophie’s arm to her chin. “If you take one more step, I’ll snap her neck.” His voice was an unidentifiable whisper.
Morgan assessed his hold on her daughter. With one hand across her face and the other cupping her, could he scissor his hands with enough force to break her neck?
Sophie was tiny and fragile, and Morgan couldn’t take the risk.
Fear and adrenaline flooded her veins, but Morgan’s mind felt strangely detached. Some primitive instinct kept her concentrated on getting her child away from the intruder without giving in to her terror.
“What do you want?” she asked. She didn’t recognize her own voice. The calm inside her was steely and determined and pissed off beyond measure. It waited, biding its time, until it could be unleashed upon this man who dared to touch her baby.
“You’re coming with me.”
“Done.” She would do whatever it took to get him away from her child. Sacrifice herself, kill him with her bare hands, claw his eyes out. There was no price too high, and no act beyond consideration. “Let go of her.”
He chuckled, a low and mocking sound th
at rippled along the goose flesh covering Morgan’s arms under her sweatshirt. He was enjoying himself. “It’s not going to be that easy.”
“Tell me what you want me to do.” She waited for his response.
“She’s coming too.”
Sophie turned her head and bit him. He jerked his hand away from her face. “Ow. You little . . .”
His hand rose, as if he was going to smack the child. But she didn’t give him the chance. Her little body pivoted to face him, her arms flailing wildly to keep him from getting a fresh grip.
The hallway seemed to grow longer as Morgan rushed forward.
Six feet still separated them as Sophie kicked out. Her bare foot connected with his leg. One flailing fist struck his groin. He doubled over, and Sophie broke away, running behind her mother.
The flash of relief was fleeting.
The man got to his feet. They were too close now. Barely five feet separated them. Sophie clutched Morgan’s thigh, inhibiting her movement.
His head turned toward the doorway on his left. The girls’ bedroom.
Morgan wanted to put herself between him and her other two children. Without lowering her gaze, she pushed Sophie backward. “Go in Mommy’s room and lock the door.”
Crying softly, Sophie clung to Morgan.
“Do it now.” Morgan kept her gaze firmly on the intruder, watching his head, hands, and hips for signs of his intended movements.
Sophie let go. Morgan heard her whimpering and her bare feet slapping the hardwood as she ran down the short hallway. Her heart bled for the child, but she had to protect her first. Comfort would have to come later, when they were all safe. A door slammed shut. A lock clicked.
But Morgan knew that flimsy interior door wouldn’t keep her daughter safe for long. And now her older two children were also in danger.
“Don’t move.” Grandpa’s voice came from the shadows behind the intruder. Light glinted off the pistol in his hand. “I promise that I will shoot you without hesitation.”
Morgan breathed.
Thank God.
Grandpa was in the dark and smart enough to stay there. Moving any closer to the intruder would show how old and frail he was, plus closer quarters would give the intruder the opportunity to disarm him.
The intruder froze for a few long seconds, then turned and bolted for the front of the house. He unlocked the door, opened it, and disappeared outside. The security lights illuminated as his footsteps thudded on the concrete stoop. Gun in hand, Grandpa shuffled after him, stopping on the front stoop and scanning the brightly lit front yard.
Morgan hesitated. Part of her wanted to follow Grandpa. He wouldn’t be able to catch the intruder, and she hated the thought of him getting away. She didn’t even know his identity. But Grandpa would make sure the man was gone. She needed to check on each member of her family.
She turned around. Sophie was locked in Morgan’s bedroom, alone and no doubt terrified.
“What happened?” Gianna stood in the doorway across the hall from the girls’ room.
“We had a break-in.” Morgan rushed for her room. “Could you call the police, and then make sure Ava and Mia are OK?”
Her older daughters were quiet. Hopefully, they hadn’t woken.
Morgan knocked softly on her bedroom door. “Sophie? It’s Mommy. Open the door, sweetie. Everything is all right now. The man is gone.”
Nothing.
Morgan tried the door. Locked. She reached for the top of the door frame and swept her hand along the molding. Her fingers found the thin key she kept there in case one of the kids locked themselves in a room.
As Sophie had done multiple times.
Morgan unlocked the door and opened it slowly. “Sophie? Where are you?”
She crouched to check under the bed and found only her slippers. There was only one other place to hide. She crossed the room to open the closet door. At first, she didn’t see anything. She moved her hanging clothes aside and almost burst into tears.
Sophie was huddled on the floor of the closet.
Morgan squatted down to her level. “It’s OK, sweetie. You can come out.”
She held out her arms, and Sophie leaped into them, sobbing. The child’s pajamas were wet, and she smelled like urine. Morgan stood, lifting her baby in her arms. She grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand and called Lance as she walked back out into the hallway.
He answered, sounding wide-awake and anxious. “What’s wrong?”
“We had an intruder in the house.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
She ended the call, shoving the phone into the pocket of her pajamas.
Gianna was coming out of the girls’ bedroom. She held a finger to her lips. “Unbelievably, they are both still asleep,” she whispered. “I called 911 and Stella.”
“Thank you.” Morgan walked toward her. “Sophie needs dry pajamas.”
Gianna slipped back into the bedroom, emerging a minute later with a clean nightgown and panties. She handed them to Morgan, then headed for the kitchen. “I’ll put on some coffee.”
It was going to be a long night.
Morgan set the shivering little girl down, stripping the wet clothes off her body. She set them aside in case the police wanted them as evidence.
“I’m sorry, Mommy.” Sophie’s voice was thin and small and helpless. “I was going to the baffroom, and I saw him. He grabbed me. I was sca-wed.”
“Of course you were, honey.” Morgan’s heart cracked, visions of her baby confronting an intruder breaking her in pieces. Sophie shivered, and Morgan wanted to rip the intruder to shreds.
And maybe set the shredded bits on fire.
Drawing in a calming breath, she tugged the flannel nightgown over Sophie’s head. “You were very brave. Grandpa chased him away.”
Her children were all right. If she focused on that fact, she’d get through this.
Once dressed, Sophie wrapped all four limbs around Morgan and clung hard. Her three-year-old was surprisingly strong—inside and out.
“It’s all right now,” Morgan soothed, staggering to her feet with the additional weight.
“Morgan!” Gianna’s shout came from the front door.
Heart clutching, Morgan carried Sophie out onto the stoop. Three concrete steps led to the front walkway. Grandpa was sprawled at the bottom.
“Stay calm,” he said in a breathless whisper. “I’m still alive.” But his words were strained, his face was drawn, and one leg was bent at an impossible angle.
Chapter Thirty
“Don’t move, Grandpa.” Morgan used her cell to call for an ambulance. Then she brushed her daughter’s hair from her face. “Sophie, I need you to go inside with Gianna.”
Sophie hugged her harder. For a second, Morgan thought she’d have to peel the frightened child from her body, but Sophie seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. She released Morgan and allowed Gianna to take her from her mother. Gianna carried the child back in the house.
Morgan ran inside and grabbed a blanket from the back of the living room sofa. Back outside, she dropped to her knees beside her grandfather, tucked the blanket around his trembling body, and took his hand.
“Twenty years ago, I would have chased that son of a bitch. Ten years ago, I would have shot him,” Grandpa wheezed, pain creasing his face. “But my hands are so shaky now, I was afraid I’d miss and hit you by accident.”
Morgan held beck her tears. “You still saved us all tonight.”
As always.
“I wish I wasn’t so damned old.” Grandpa’s breaths shortened. “I can’t believe I fell down a couple of steps.”
The next ten minutes seemed to take ten hours to pass, but the ambulance and paramedic vehicle finally arrived, just a minute apart. Morgan stood aside to give the medics room to work.
Lance’s Jeep sped down the street and parked at the curb. A few seconds later, he jogged across the grass to stand next to her. He took off his leather jacket and
wrapped it around her.
Morgan hadn’t realized she was freezing until the warmth of it enveloped her. It smelled like him, a cedar scent that now comforted her. Her knees, her whole body, felt weak. She leaned into him, grateful for his presence and support.
His arm wrapped around her shoulders, and he pulled her close. “What happened?”
“Grandpa fell chasing the intruder.” She watched the paramedic start an IV and assess her grandfather’s injuries while she briefly recapped the details of the break-in for Lance.
A minute later, Stella drove up to the house and parked behind Lance’s vehicle. She ran up to one of the paramedics and peered over his shoulder. “I’m here, Grandpa.”
Stella turned and joined Morgan and Lance on the lawn. She hugged Morgan. “How did he get inside?”
“I don’t know,” Morgan said. “I’m absolutely positive I set the alarm as soon as I got home and again after I took the dog out.”
Stella rubbed her arm. “Brody is on his way. He’ll review the surveillance feed. He’ll find out what happened.”
The paramedics loaded Grandpa onto a gurney. His face was as white as the pillow under his head, and worry roiled in Morgan’s belly.
“I need to go to the hospital, but I don’t want to leave Gianna and the girls here, not after the break-in.” Morgan brushed her hair out of her face. Would she ever feel safe in her own home again? She didn’t know who had broken into her house or why.
“Mac is on his way home,” Stella said. “But he won’t be here for a few more hours.”
Morgan turned to Lance.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“Can you take the girls and Gianna to your place?” She had complete faith that he’d protect them.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I hate to leave you alone right now.”
Morgan hated to give up his support too, but . . . “My kids come first. They were in danger tonight. I can’t function if they aren’t safe. Gianna will help you get their stuff together.” She looked into his eyes. “Please, I need to know they’re safe.” Her gaze drifted to the ambulance pulling out of the driveway.
“Or course I’ll take care of them. I’ll do anything you need.” Lance rubbed her arms.
Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane Book 2) Page 22
