Secrets Never Die (Page 23)

Wedding details swirled in Morgan’s head. “Let me call my sister and think about it. We don’t need anything too fancy.”

“If you want fancy, we’ll do fancy.” Lance released her hand to shift into park. “I can wait.”

“Do you want fancy?” she asked. “You’ve never actually said where or how you’d like to get married.”

He turned to face her. “I want you to have whatever you want for our wedding.”

“That’s not an answer.” She sighed. Their wedding was their day, not her day.

Silence ticked by for a few seconds. She listened to the sound of rain beating on the roof of the car. After John had been killed, Morgan had sunk into a dark place for two years. She’d quit her job at the prosecutor’s office in Albany. She’d moved back into her grandfather’s house with her girls. She’d hidden from life for a very long time. But Lance had changed all that. She was living—and loving—again.

She was thrilled to be engaged to Lance, but she hadn’t realized how many sad memories their engagement would bring back. Maybe she hadn’t fully let go of John. How did one do that? She’d better figure it out or she’d ruin her second chance of happiness. Lance deserved better. He asked for so little from her and gave so much.

This was her issue, and she would have to deal with it.

“Let’s get back to finding Evan,” she said.

They climbed out of the car. Morgan opened an umbrella and held it over her head as they walked past the playground and picnic tables to the beach.

Lance ignored the rain. The downpour quickly plastered his hair to his head.

The sandy area spanned about a hundred feet of lakeshore. In the middle, smoke plumed from a pile of charred wood, the remnants of a very recent bonfire.

“We just missed whoever was partying out here.” Lance kicked a branch. They could not catch a break.

Morgan stared out over the lake.

Evan, where are you?

Chapter Fifteen

Unable to sleep, Lance rolled onto his back and studied the dark ceiling. No matter how hard he tried to put Evan’s face out of his mind, it didn’t work. He checked the time on the nightstand clock. One a.m.

Evan had been missing for just over twenty-four hours.

Next to him, Morgan hogged three-quarters of the bed and blankets. She was not a nighttime cuddler but slept with her long limbs sprawled out on the queen-size bed.

Distant thunder cracked softly, but Morgan didn’t stir. She had the unique ability to sleep through loud noises, but she woke up instantly at a single peep from one of the girls. It was as if she was tuned only to their frequency. He wouldn’t wake her. She’d been exhausted from dealing with a week of sickness.

He turned over onto his side, but sleep wouldn’t come. There was no point lying there. Useless. When he’d lived alone, he would have gotten up, poured a glass of whiskey, and played his piano to relax. But his piano had burned to ashes with his house when it had been set on fire three months before.

Needing to move, he eased out of bed. The dogs slept around Morgan’s feet. Snoozer didn’t budge. Rocket lifted one irritated eyelid, sighed, and closed it again. Lance grabbed dark pants, a T-shirt, and socks from a basket of clean laundry in the corner, then crept from the bedroom. As he passed the dining room, he snagged an energy bar and a bottle of water from the makeshift kitchen. His boots stood in the rubber tray by the front door. Carrying them, he let himself out of the house, being careful to lock up and reset the alarm system.

The downpour had slowed to a steady drizzle. The only remaining sign of the storm was the occasional flash of lightning and the quiet crack of thunder as the storm moved away. Water puddled on the ground and dripped from trees. He put on his boots and climbed into his Jeep. He needed a plan. He could cruise by the lake again, but there were no buildings at the beach. Evan was a smart kid. He would find somewhere to get out of the rain.

Where would Evan take shelter in the storm? If Evan were able, he’d contact one of his friends for help.

Jake? Or Rylee?

Lance thought of Steve Duncan’s farm, with its big barn and numerous outbuildings. Lots of potential places for a teenage boy to hide there. Jake could come and go as he pleased. If Evan were hiding on the farm or somewhere else, Jake would visit him at nighttime. Lance couldn’t see Jake going to Steve for help in hiding or feeding Evan. Hiding a runaway minor would be breaking the law, and Steve was a rule-following kind of guy. In fact, Jake would likely be afraid that Steve would kick him off the farm for such an infraction.

Lance decided to drive toward the farm. At the end of his and Morgan’s road, the river had spilled over its banks and across the pavement. He had to backtrack and leave the neighborhood through the other exit. He made a note to check the crawl space for water. Morgan’s house sat high above the riverbank, but the rain had been relentless for the past few weeks.

As he approached the farm, his headlights shone on a car parked alongside the road in the shadow of the overhanging branches of a large tree. Lance noted the vehicle’s details in the brief second his headlights illuminated it. Dark four-door sedan. He couldn’t tell what make or model. Shadow of a driver behind the wheel. But the car was angled to provide the driver a better view of the farm’s driveway through its windshield, and Lance did not get a read on the license plate.

Cops drove unmarked four-door sedans. Could a county detective be watching Jake? The sheriff could have easily come to the same conclusion as Lance.

He drove past the vehicle without slowing. He continued driving for a half mile until the road curved enough that the sedan driver would not see him stop. Then he pulled the Jeep off the road, ironically tucking it into a shadow for concealment, just like the driver of the sedan had.

He killed the engine and turned off the dome light. The rain would help conceal him, but light would be too visible in the country. Lance reached behind the seat for the black watch cap he used to cover his bright-blond hair. He located his penlight in the center console, then got out of the vehicle. A large flashlight was useless when one wanted to remain invisible at night. He didn’t bother with rain gear. Nylon was noisy and cumbersome.

He estimated the cleared land of the farm to be about fifty acres. Woods surrounded the fenced area. If Lance ran within the tree line, the sedan driver would not see him. He crossed the road and jogged through the trees in a huge arc. The humid air made the eighty-degree night feel much hotter. Rain and sweat soaked his T-shirt. When he emerged from the trees, he made sure the barn was between him and the sedan.

He stood in the shadows for a few minutes, scanning the area. Nothing moved. The pastures were empty. The barn doors were rolled halfway open, probably for ventilation in the summer heat. He could hear the steady patter of rain and the occasional snort of a horse from inside the barn.

Lance crept to the first building, a large shed. He cracked the door a few inches. The dusty smell of hay and straw hit his nose. He slipped inside, his boots scraping on the concrete slab. A few high windows provided scant light. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. Bales of hay and straw were stacked in neat rows. Wooden pallets kept the stacks off the floor. Something scurried in the darkness. Rats? Cats? Probably both. The bales were well organized, leaving no real spaces to hide. He used his penlight sparingly, taking care that its beam was always pointed toward the ground, and hoping it wasn’t visible to the cop on the road.

He slipped back outside into the rain. A four-bay garage stood to his right. Crouching, Lance jogged across the muddy ground to the side entrance. A heavy-duty padlock secured the door. He tried one of the four overhead rolling doors, but it didn’t budge. High windows were placed eight feet off the ground. They would provide light without compromising security. Lance walked under one, jumped, and caught the sill with his fingertips. Chinning himself, he looked inside. The space was dark, but he could make out the shape of a tractor, some other outdoor equipment, and a lot of empty concrete. What appeared to be large tools were hung on a wall, but this space was also ruthlessly organized. He saw nowhere to hide.

Lowering himself, he dropped to the ground. He picked his way across the mud to a long, rectangular building. The sliding door stood open. Lance glanced inside. Rain echoed on the metal roof. The space was open and the ceiling high. From the circular patterns of hoofprints in the soft soil, he assumed it was a small riding arena for inclement-weather training.

Which left the barn to be searched.

Lance peered around the doorframe. Horses snorted and shuffled in straw. He entered quietly. A cat wound around his ankles, purring. He walked down the aisle, pointing his penlight through the bars of each stall. The last space was an open wash stall, with a concrete floor, hoses with hot and cold taps, and a large drain. Lance went up the ladder and checked the loft, but all he saw were more bales of hay and straw. He came down and checked the stalls on the opposite side of the aisle. He saw two more cats and eleven horses but no teenage boy. He ducked into a feed room, using his penlight to look behind the bins. Empty. Then he went into a tack room. Saddles and bridles hung on racks. Two large chests stood against the opposite wall. Lance risked his penlight to check beneath the saddle racks. He turned, nearly bumping into a sink. Dark streaks in the bottom caught his eye. Was that blood?