Say You're Sorry

“What’s wrong?”

“My babysitter, Tessa, didn’t come home tonight. Her grandparents are worried. I’m going to look for her in the usual teenage hangout locations. Would you be willing to ride along with me?”

“Of course. I’ll be at your house in fifteen minutes.” He ended the call.

You were going to be cool, remember?

“I thought you were going to get some sleep?” Sharp stood in the doorway.

“Morgan needs help.” Lance stopped in his office to remove his Glock from the gun safe in the closet. After the disaster of the Brown case, he wasn’t taking any chances, especially with Morgan’s safety. On that note, he returned to the safe for his backup piece and ankle holster.

“You have it bad for her. Just ask the woman out already,” Sharp called as Lance walked past his office.

Lance reached for the doorknob. “Goodnight, Sharp.”

If only it was that simple. But he had enough responsibility on his plate just managing his mother’s mental illness. After his dad disappeared, his mom developed severe anxiety and agoraphobia. She’d been relatively stable for the past few months, but there were times when taking care of her was a full-time job. And on top of Lance’s issues, Morgan had her own freighter of emotional baggage and three kids.

Three.

Anyone who seriously dated Morgan had to consider that a future with her included being a father to her girls. Lance didn’t see how he could possibly do the job right, and he would not half-ass something as important as parenthood. Kids deserved better.

He lowered the window of his Jeep, hoping the brisk September night was enough to cool his jets. It wasn’t. He turned up the radio and shaved three minutes off his drive to the Danes’ house as Green Day blasted him awake.

Parking his Jeep next to her minivan, he walked up to the front door but didn’t knock. No reason to wake the sleeping members of the family. He peered through the screen door and called softly, “Morgan?”

Her grandfather, Art, came out of the kitchen and waved him into the house, Morgan’s French bulldog, Snoozer, at his feet.

Lance stepped inside just as Morgan hurried down the hall toward him. She was tall and slim, with big blue eyes and legs that went on forever. Her clothes were uncharacteristically tossed on, and her long black hair was down and tumbled in messy waves over her shoulders in much the same way as it had been in his earlier vision.

Sharp was right. Lance had it bad. But he was an adult, and he’d act like one.

“Thanks for helping.” Art shook his hand. Then he turned and gave his granddaughter a kiss on the cheek. “Be safe. I love you.”

She hugged him. “Love you back.”

Lance opened the door for her, and they went outside. She stuffed her cell phone in her gigantic purse, slung the straps over her shoulder, and walked toward her mom mobile.

“We’ll take my Jeep. Teenagers like to go off-road.” Lance would take a bullet for Morgan, but he drew the line at riding in her minivan.

“Good thinking.” Morgan nodded and changed direction.

They got into his vehicle. He started the engine, and music blasted. He turned the volume to low. “Sorry. Where to?”

Her lips pursed. “I don’t know. Her grandmother gave me her best friend’s number. The girl didn’t answer her phone. I left a message. I thought we could check some of the usual hangout spots. I was hoping you would know where the kids go these days.”

“I have some ideas.” Lance had broken up plenty of parties in his time on the police force. “Who’s handling the case?”

“Carl Ripton came to the house, but I’m not sure what he can do. Tessa is eighteen. She walked out willingly. No crime there.”

Lance pulled out his phone and dialed Carl’s number. His former coworker gave him the rundown on what the SFPD was doing to find the girl. Lance thanked him and ended the call. “They put out a BOLO alert for her. No sightings of her car yet, and her cell phone GPS isn’t sending out a signal. Unfortunately, she’s a legal adult. Carl said none of the girl’s friends would give him any information.”

“Teens don’t want to get their friends in trouble,” Morgan said.

“When was the last time you saw Tessa?” he asked.

“About a month ago. Gianna insists on being my live-in nanny now.”

Because one stubborn old man and three children under the age of seven hadn’t been enough responsibility for Morgan, three months ago, she’d taken in Gianna Leone, a very sick young woman with no family. Gianna had been raised by a crack-addicted prostitute. Depressed and following in her mother’s footsteps, she’d overdosed. While on duty, Morgan’s sister Stella had saved the girl with a dose of Narcan, but Gianna had been left with permanent kidney damage. After Stella had befriended her, Gianna had slowly been pulled into the Dane family.

The Dane house existed in a perpetual, glitter-bombed state of chaos. What was one more monkey in Morgan’s circus?

“Gianna looks much healthier since she moved in with you,” he said.

“Yes. She still has to go to dialysis three times a week, but she’s put on some weight and she has more energy. I hope the girls aren’t too much for her to handle when I start work.”

Lance drove toward the grammar school. “So you got the job?”

“Yes.” The painful sigh that slipped from her lips made him ache for her.

“You sound excited.”

She turned to the dark window. “I have to do something. I feel like I’ve been stalled out, doing nothing for two years.”

“Raising your girls and taking care of your grandfather and Gianna is hardly nothing.” How did she juggle it all? Lance could barely handle his mother. “You do more before breakfast than most people do all day.”

“I don’t know about that. Anyone with little kids is crazy busy in the morning.” She laughed.

It was a small sound, but he liked hearing it. “Crazy describes your house perfectly.”

“I happen to like a little insanity in my life. Keeps me on my toes.” Her tone turned serious. “I love raising my girls. I can’t explain why I feel so disconnected.”

“Morgan, your whole life was upended in the worst way.”

Yet she still managed to take care of an entire houseful of people.

She sighed, the breath long and deep and sad.

“You’re going to be all right,” he said. “Sophie wouldn’t put up with anything else.”

Morgan’s two oldest kids seemed to like Lance, but her youngest looked at him with reserve and suspicion, as if the three-year-old had X-ray vision that exposed what was really in his heart.

“No kidding.” She smiled at him. “Thanks. And thanks for coming out in the middle of the night.”

“It’s my pleasure. We’ve known each other a long time, but I finally think I’m seeing the real you.” Lance turned onto the rural road that led out to the lake. “I haven’t seen you dressed that casually since—ever.”

Even back in high school, Morgan had always managed to look perfect. That cheerleading outfit . . .

She reached up to smooth her hair.

He stopped her by taking her hand. “Don’t. It looks good on you, and you don’t have to put up a front for me.”

She froze and her face went blank.

So much for playing it cool.