Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane Book 2)(104)

Shock stopped him in his tracks.





Chapter Forty-Three

“Put your hands on top of your head.” Lance stepped out of the closet in the nursery, both his gun and the beam of his flashlight pointed at Derek Pagano. Lance hadn’t liked Morgan’s plan one bit, but her instincts had been dead-on.

Standing in front of the crib, wearing a blonde wig and Chelsea’s robe, Morgan pointed her own weapon at the intruder.

Derek stopped, slack-jawed for a few second. “You!”

Morgan pulled the wig off her head and tossed it into the crib. It landed next to the cell phone playing a recorded sound of a baby crying. Lance hadn’t liked her idea to trap Derek by pretending to be Chelsea, but he had to admit the plan had worked brilliantly. Chelsea had been upstairs when Morgan and Lance had arrived at the house. Lance’s knock on the door had scared Chelsea, and she’d been easy to convince that getting her family out of the house and letting Morgan take her place was their best chance to catch her kidnapper.

Derek’s eyes darted to the door, to Lance’s weapon, then to Morgan.

“Drop the knife, Derek,” Lance warned.

Derek turned toward Morgan, the shift in his posture drawing Lance a step forward. He didn’t want to shoot the nutcase—OK, maybe he did, just a little—but he wouldn’t pull the trigger unless it was absolutely necessary.

But Derek turned and ran out the door.

Damn it!

Lance couldn’t shoot a man in the back. He shoved his gun into his holster and sprinted after him. He heard Morgan behind him talking to the police.

At the bottom of the stairs, Derek hooked one hand on the bannister, skidded through a one-eighty in the foyer, and ran for the back of the house. Lance followed him down the hall and through the family room into the kitchen.

Derek slid to a stop at the sliding glass door. He flung it open and bolted through the opening into the back yard. Lance ran straight through. The pause to open the slider had allowed him to catch up. He was only a few feet behind him.

What he wouldn’t give to still be on the force. He’d fry this bastard with a stun gun in a heartbeat. But it was illegal for a private citizen to own a Taser in New York State.

Lance threw everything he had into a tackle. He pushed off one foot and dove for his running target. His arms wrapped around Derek’s legs. They crashed to the ground. Derek grunted as his body bounced on the grass. He kicked to free his legs. A heel struck Lance in the head. Stars blinked in his vision, and he lost his grip on Derek for a second.

A second was all Derek needed.

He scrambled away, kicking at Lance. Another foot connected with Lance’s face. Pain speared through his forehead and blood trickled into his eye. He grabbed for Derek again but missed.

Derek got a leg under his body and stood. His steps were unsteady as he broke into a jog and headed across the yard. Lance lurched to his feet, the old wound in his thigh screaming and reminding him why he’d left the force.

Hoping his leg held out, Lance ignored the pain and sprinted after him.

Derek ran for the corner of the house. Lance kicked his stride into full gear. But his thigh burned with every step, and Derek drew a few feet farther ahead.

He was going to lose him.

Shit!

Lungs on fire, leg on fire, Lance gave the chase one last burst of energy. It was now or never.

No doubt Derek had left a car on the street somewhere. If he reached it . . .

Derek glanced over his shoulder as he ran through the shadows of the side yard. Just as he cleared the house and leaped onto the driveway, a tree branch swung from out of nowhere.

The branch clotheslined Derek. His head snapped back. His legs continued forward, and he landed on his back in the dark.

Panting, Lance stopped next to the prone body. He grabbed Derek’s arm and rolled him onto his face. A quick pat down of his pockets turned up duct tape and rope. Lance planted a knee into Derek’s lower back to pin him in place. He pulled a set of zip ties from his own pocket and used them to secure Derek’s wrists behind his back.

When Derek was restrained, Lance looked up at the shadow.

Morgan stood in the moonlight, her black hair gleaming, her face set in a determined mask.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I was hoping he would head for the street.” Morgan crossed her arms and rubbed her biceps. “The police are on the way. Are you all right?” She pointed to her own eyebrow.

Lance touched his forehead. His hand came away sticky and wet. “He kicked me in the head. It’s nothing.”

“Let me go!” Derek squirmed. “You’re not cops. You can’t keep me here.”

“I’m making a citizen’s arrest.” Lance leaned a little more weight on his knee. His thigh throbbed. “You broke in to a home armed with a weapon. And I’ll bet the police are going to find some interesting things when they search your house. You’re in big trouble, Derek.”