“The name isn’t familiar,” Mrs. Voss said.
“What happened in May?” Morgan asked gently. “Why did he move out?”
“He hit me.” Mrs. Voss pressed the tissue to her face. A small sob sounded behind it before she sniffed and lowered her hands. “I don’t know which one of us was more horrified, but I knew something had to change. I couldn’t live with him unless he was willing to get help. Frankly, I was afraid of him. So I gave him an ultimatum. If he wanted to stay in our marriage, he had to get treatment.”
Tears poured down her cheeks, and this time, she didn’t bother to wipe them away. “I meant well. I thought he loved me enough that he’d work to keep our marriage together, but Dean was too far gone by then. He left. Got his own apartment. He refused to answer my calls. I didn’t know what to do. In my heart, I still love him. But how do you live with a man who scares the hell out of you? Even after Dean moved out, I’m still afraid to close my eyes at night. He’s become unpredictable and irrational. He’s come over a couple of times to apologize and beg for me to take him back. But when I say no, he flips out. I finally filed for divorce. I can’t help a man who won’t let me.”
A dog barked outside, and Mrs. Voss jumped from her chair. She went to the window over the sink. With one forefinger, she separated the mini blinds and peeked between the slats.
Lance crossed the kitchen and peered over her shoulder. “Do you think he’d come here in the middle of the day?”
“Dean wouldn’t let a little thing like daylight stop him.” Mrs. Voss eased back from the blind. When the house remained quiet, she paced. “Getting the divorce papers seemed to be the last straw. He came here the day he received them. He begged me to take him back. He said he loved me. But he couldn’t go through therapy again. It was too much. I asked him to leave. He started shouting. I locked the door, but he didn’t leave until the police came.” She stopped in the corner and turned. Her hands gripped the counter on either side of her. “He’s at some kind of breaking point. I could feel it.”
A floorboard overhead creaked. Mrs. Voss’s gaze shot to the doorway. A few seconds later, a man stepped into the opening. He pointed a rifle into the kitchen.
How the hell did he get inside?
Lance’s pulse jump-started, and he automatically shifted sideways to try and put himself between the armed man and the women in the room.
“Stop.” Dean Voss’s tone was soft but commanding. He was dressed in desert camouflage BDUs that would have blended with the dead leaves of autumn. His face was smeared with dirt, and he carried a rifle like a man who was comfortable with his weapon.
Lance considered his options. He didn’t have many. He had no time to draw his gun. So how would he keep Voss from hurting his wife or Morgan?
“Don’t move,” Voss said.
“Don’t worry.” Lance raised his hands. The rifle was aimed in the dead center of his chest.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Morgan’s heart stuttered as she recognized Dean Voss. His face was thin, his eyes feral. She kept both of her hands on the table in front of her.
Voss jerked the gun at Lance. “Put your hands on your head. Interlace your fingers.” He shifted his gaze to Morgan for a second. “You too.”
“Dean, they were just talking to me,” his wife said.
“No.” Voss shook his head. “They want to take you away. They want to hurt you. The only way you’ll be safe is if you come with me.”
“I won’t go,” she said. “You need me. You need help.”
“The only kind of help I need is the kind that’ll make me disappear. They want me to pay for what I did.” Voss’s voice softened. “I have to pay.” He lifted his chin. There was too much white around his eyes. They blazed with a crazy light.
“Dean. No one wants to hurt you. They want to help.”
“No,” he shouted. His grip on the rifle tightened until his knuckles were as white as his eyes. “That’s just what they told you to make you cooperate.”
Dean Voss was clearly paranoid and likely delusional. Morgan could not draw her gun before Voss shot Lance. Talking Voss down from his paranoid ledge was their only option. Plus, she’d never shot another human being and didn’t want to start now if it could be avoided. Though she would do it to protect Lance.
A fist banged on the front door. “Hey, Mrs. Voss. Is everything OK in there?”
The rookie.
That was not going to help.
Voss’s eyes widened. He grabbed Morgan by the hair and dragged her from her chair. Pain burst in her scalp. She cried out. Both of her hands went to the top of her head, an instinctive attempt to alleviate the pulling.
Lance lunged forward, but the rifle in his face stopped him.
“I’m OK, Lance.” Morgan got her feet under her body. Standing eased the pressure.
Lance put his hand up in front of his chest and inched back a half step. “You don’t want to hurt a woman, do you, Dean?”
Dean laughed. “What does it matter? The world is backward. I get accused of a crime I didn’t commit but never caught for the one bad thing I did do.”
“What did you do, Dean?” Lance asked.
“Can’t tell. Promised. But I gotta pay.” Dean’s head bobbed in rhythm with his words. “She’s dead. It’s my fault.”
“Who is dead?” Morgan asked. Was he confessing to Tessa’s murder?
The rookie banged again. “Mrs. Voss?”
“Tell him you’re fine.” Dean pulled Morgan closer. The rifle remained pointed at Lance. Voss’s unwashed body smelled ripe with fear. Morgan breathed through the pounding of her heart and trembling of her hands. She needed him to put down the rifle. If Voss fired at Lance at a distance of five feet, the bullet would rip right through him.
“Dean,” his wife begged. “Don’t hurt them. I’ll go with you. We can be together forever.”
“We’ll never get away.” Voss shook Morgan by the hair. Her scalp screamed.
“I’ll tie them up, and we’ll go,” his wife pleaded. “Just you and me. I know you’ll be able to make us disappear. You were right all along. We’re not safe here.”
Voss nodded. “If you mean it, get rid of the cop at the door.”
“Mrs. Voss?” the rookie shouted through the door. “If you don’t open this door, I’m going to break it down.”
“Coming!” his wife called out toward the door as she wiped her palms on her jeans. She lowered her voice. “I’ll get some rope.”
She ran out of the room. Morgan didn’t know whether to expect her to return or not. Mrs. Voss could run right out of the house if she wanted to escape. But she didn’t. She hurried back into the kitchen, a coil of nylon rope in her hand. “Put your hands behind your back,” she said to Lance.
He complied, and she tied his wrists. Morgan’s racing pulse echoed in her ears. She couldn’t allow her own wrists to be tied. They’d all be at Voss’s mercy.
“Zip ties would have worked better,” Voss said. “And take her weapon.”
Damn. He’d spotted her gun under her jacket.
“I couldn’t find zip ties.” His wife tied a knot. She moved a chair behind Lance, and he sat while she bound his ankles to the chair legs. “This will hold them long enough.” She took Lance’s gun from his holster, then moved on to Morgan’s. “What should I do with the guns?”