Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane Book 2)(84)

Morgan went to his side, leaned over to kiss his cheek, then found his hand under the blanket and gave it a gentle squeeze. A tear rolled down her cheek. She sniffed and brushed it away.

A nurse came in and checked his vital signs. “Try not to panic.”

“But he hasn’t woken up,” Morgan said, her face pale enough to break Lance’s heart.

“His body needs rest.” The nurse wrote on his chart. “We haven’t seen a repeat of the blood pressure issue or heart arrhythmia that occurred during the surgery. He’s been stable all day. Give him some time. At his age, his body won’t bounce back from the injury or the anesthesia quickly.”

“Thank you,” Morgan said.

“I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.” The nurse left. Grandpa’s room was across from the nurses’ station.

Morgan settled in a chair by the bed. Lance pulled a chair up next to hers. She opened her giant bag and pulled out a stack of files.

“You’re not going to read to him?”

“I’ll read him our case notes. That’ll interest him more than anything else.” She handed Lance a stack of reports. “Maybe he’ll wake up and point out a clue we missed.”

The sheer volume of information was staggering. But four hours later, they’d reviewed most of their case notes and found nothing.

Her phone vibrated. “It’s Stella.” She answered the call. The conversation was brief. She ended the call with an angry stab to her phone screen. “The SFPD has been ordered to stay away from Harold Burns. His lawyer filed a harassment suit against the township.”

“Now he can do whatever he wants without anyone knowing about it.”

“Yes.” Morgan lowered the phone and paced the hospital room. “The DA had no choice but to rein Horner in, especially after the disaster last month.”

Morgan’s neighbor had almost died in jail after being falsely arrested and imprisoned.

“The press was relentless on the DA and Horner,” Lance said.

“They don’t have any options.” Morgan stopped pacing and pressed her palms to her eyes. “There’s no evidence against Burns. None.”

“Morgan?” A low voice came from the doorway.

Though he’d never met Peyton, Lance had no doubt the young woman who entered the room was Morgan’s younger sister. Peyton had the same black hair and blue eyes as Morgan and Stella, though she was a head shorter. Age-wise, at thirty-two, Peyton was sandwiched between her sisters. She wore dark jeans, knee-high boots, and a black sweater.

The sisters hugged, teary-eyed.

Morgan introduced them, and Lance felt Peyton’s scrutiny. The third Dane sister might not be a cop, but as a forensic psychiatrist she was no less assessing.

Peyton went to her grandfather’s side. She kissed his cheek, then stood back and scanned the monitors before picking up his chart and flipping through the pages.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Morgan stood next to her sister. “The doctor should be in soon. You’ll understand the medical terms better than me.”

“I checked at the desk,” Peyton said. “He’ll be here in about twenty minutes.”

Morgan peered over her sister’s shoulder. “How does he look?”

“The fact that he’s been stable is a good sign.” Peyton took her grandfather’s hand. “I miss him.”

“He understands.” Morgan rubbed her sister’s shoulder.

“I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t seen him in ages.” Peyton shook her head and turned to Morgan. “You look terrible. Go home. Have some dinner. Get some sleep. I’ll stay with him tonight. I promise I will text you immediately if there’s any change in his condition.”

“All right.” Morgan stepped back and gathered her files, stuffing them into her big bag.

They said their goodbyes, then Lance escorted her down the hall and through the secure doors to the main hallway. They didn’t speak until they were in his Jeep.

Darkness had fallen. At seven in the evening, the parking lot was bathed in the white glow of overhead lights.

“You need to eat.” Lance had eaten a couple of protein bars in the hospital, but Morgan had refused.

Morgan’s phone buzzed. “It’s Tim.”

She answered the call. “How’s Chelsea?”

Lance could hear Tim’s response over the connection. “She just woke up. I’m sorry. I missed your earlier message. I had to give Chelsea a sedative. She freaked out as soon as we pulled into the driveway.”

Where she’d been abducted . . .

“How is she now?” Morgan asked. “We’d like to stop by and ask her a few questions.”