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“They’ll wait.” Monty blocked the path between Morgan and Stockton. “Ms. Winter will be reachable by cell. I’ll give you the number.”
Stockton frowned. He glanced uneasily at Jill. “Are you feeling up to going through your room with us for verification purposes?”
With a shaky nod, Jill agreed. “Sure.”
“Ten minutes, Sergeant,” Arthur instructed. “Then we’re calling it a morning. My family’s been traumatized. And Detective Montgomery’s right—you’ve got your work cut out for you. Stay here as long as you like. Bag evidence. Dust for fingerprints. Fill out your report. Then figure out who did this. We’re leaving.” He pulled out a pad, scribbled something down, and ripped off the sheet of paper. “Here’s my home phone and my cell phone. You can reach me any hour of the day or night.”
“Okay.” Stockton nodded, taking the paper. “That’ll work—for now. But, with all due respect, sir, I will need to follow up with your daughter and Ms. Winter. This is their home.”
“Yes. And they’ll be staying at mine.” Arthur’s tone left no room for argument. “Thank you for your sensitivity.”
TWENTY-FOUR
I’m fine,” Morgan told Lane as soon as they were outside the brownstone.
“Right.” His grip around her waist didn’t loosen. “You almost fainted.”
“I didn’t almost faint,” she retorted. “I never faint. But I’m glad I was convincing. If you believed me, hopefully so did Sergeant Stockton.”
“Huh?” Lane shot her a puzzled look.
“The sooner I got out of there with this”—she held up her tote bag—“the better. Stockton hadn’t gotten around to asking me if I had taken anything with me, and I wasn’t waiting around to give him the chance.” A smile curved her lips. “You might have saved your father from being charged with interfering with a police investigation, but I was wide open for obstruction of justice.”
Lane stared at her for a moment, then began to laugh. “Very clever. You certainly had me going. Here I thought I was rescuing you.”
“You were.” Morgan zipped her jacket way up to her chin. She was still shivering from the shock of the past hour. And the frigid temperatures weren’t helping. “I don’t think I could have stayed in there another minute without coming apart. The sense of violation is bad enough. But that horrifying display on my bed…I’ll never get that image out of my mind.”
“Yeah. It was pretty gruesome.” Lane tucked her close to his side, picking up their walking pace. “Let’s give the subject a rest. You may not be about to faint, but you are on major overload. We’ll head back to my place. I cook a mean plate of bacon and eggs.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I know. But you’ve got to eat. Monty’s orders, remember? Food and rest. Besides, I have a feeling he’ll be showing up as soon as he’s finished with Stockton. That’ll give him, you, and me a chance to get on the same page.”
“True.” Morgan considered that concept, and nodded. “Although I’m not sure he’s going to like what I have to say.”
MORGAN WAS RIGHT. Monty didn’t like what she had to say. But he wasn’t surprised by it, either.
He arrived at Lane’s place about forty minutes after they did, stalking through the door and into the kitchen just as they were finishing breakfast.
“I used my key,” he announced. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“If I minded, I would have thrown the dead bolt. We’ve been expecting you.” Lane rose and went over to the fridge. “There’s extra bacon. I’ll crack open a few more eggs. I assume you’re starved.”
“I am.” Monty pulled up a chair and straddled it, giving a terse nod of approval as he glanced at Morgan’s near-empty plate. “You’re eating. Good.”
A weary smile touched her lips. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t dare disobey your orders.”
“Smart girl.” Monty took a gulp of the coffee Lane had poured for him. “Speaking of which, nice touch back at your place, that whole swooning routine. Next time give me a sign. If I didn’t have the reflexes of a cat, you’d have been splat on the floor.”
Morgan stopped chewing, and her head came up, her brows knit with concern. “Did Stockton guess?”
“That you were conspiring to get out of there? Nah. He was way too busy placating Arthur. It went right over his head. Besides, he’s not as sharp as I am.”
“Or as modest,” Lane commented drily as he scrambled eggs on his cooktop.
“You’re just pissed because you didn’t pick up on Morgan’s act, either.” A smug look. “Then again, I didn’t expect you to. You can’t be the White Knight and Columbo at the same time.”
“Cute.” Using the spatula, Lane scooped the batch of eggs onto a plate, placing four strips of bacon beside them. “Here.” He handed it to Monty. “Give the wisecracks a rest and eat.”
