Morgan rooted through her tote bag for the small bottle of pain relievers she’d purchased earlier. Her hands trembled hard enough to make the pills rattle inside the bottle.
Her own client had hit her.
Inside the courthouse in full view of the prosecutor, a half dozen deputies, and who knew how many surveillance cameras? She’d been threatened numerous times as a prosecutor but always by the opposing side. She hadn’t expected an attack from the very person she’d been trying to defend. Being a private defense attorney should be less dangerous than working for the DA’s office. As the mother of three children who had already lost one parent, Morgan had considered this aspect of her career change a benefit. Had she been wrong?
The event seemed surreal, except for the very real pain rocketing through her face and head. McFarland’s fist had connected with her temple, but she felt its impact in her jaw and the back of her skull. Even her teeth ached.
Lance reached behind her seat and produced a bottle of water. He set it in the console cupholder.
“Thank you.” She twisted the cap off the medicine bottle and tipped it into her hand. The pills spilled out over her lap.
“Damn.” She picked two tablets off the seat of the Jeep, put them in her mouth, and washed them down. Setting the water in the cupholder, she gathered up the spilled medication and returned it to the bottle.
“Let’s get you home.”
Morgan was going to spend the rest of the day snuggling with her girls on her couch in her pajamas. She returned the pill bottle to her tote. Inside the bag, her phone vibrated. She reached for it. She hadn’t checked her messages since they’d left the courthouse.
“You don’t have to answer that.” Lance frowned.
“It’s Sharp.” Morgan took the call. “We’re in the Jeep. You’re on speaker.”
“Are you finished with McFarland for the day?” Sharp asked. “I have an urgent case for you.”
“I’m definitely finished with McFarland,” Morgan said. “What’s going on?”
“A young woman named Haley Powell is being held at the sheriff’s station. They’ve had her since Saturday afternoon, So they’ve been holding her for almost two days.” Sharp detailed Haley’s medical condition and her case in a few sentences, then his voice thickened. “I’d consider this a personal favor. Her mother and I go way back.”
“I’m on my way to the sheriff’s station now,” Morgan said, even though all she really wanted to do was go home.
“We’ll be waiting for you.” Sharp disconnected.
Lance glanced over the console. “You didn’t tell him you just left the ER.”
“He didn’t ask.”
A long exhale from Lance conveyed his frustration. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”
“The X-ray and CAT scan were clear. The doctor said I would make a full recovery.”
“He also said you should rest.” Lance’s frown deepened.
She knew he wanted to protect her, but he also tried hard to respect her ability to handle her job. However, the emotion in Sharp’s voice concerned her. Something was wrong.
“Sharp never asks for anything,” she said. “And he’s helped with two of my cases without being paid. He sounded upset.”
“He did sound rough.” Lance’s brows dipped. “But you look like you’re going to throw up.”
“I look that bad?” Morgan lowered the sun visor and opened the mirror. “Ugh.”
A fist-size goose egg decorated her temple, her hair had been pulled from its neat twist, and by tomorrow, she was definitely going to have a black eye. She removed the remaining hairpins and stuffed them in her tote. She considered the tube of concealer in her makeup bag, but the thought of touching the tender area to apply makeup stopped her from attempting to cover up the damage. She finger-combed her hair and let it fall alongside her face like a curtain. That was the best she could do.
“Unbelievably, you still look gorgeous.” Lance stopped the car at a red light. He reached over and took her hand. “I love that you want to help Sharp, but you have to be honest about how you feel. You won’t be any good to his friend if you make yourself sick.” He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Plus, I love you, and I don’t like to see you hurting.”
“I love you too.” She squeezed his fingers. “I know you’re worried about me, but if Sharp needs me, I have to try to help him.”
“I know.”
The sheriff’s station parking lot was full of news vans, and reporters were broadcasting updates from the sidewalk in front of the station. Lance parked on the street. Skirting the media circus, Morgan and Lance went inside, where the scene was equally chaotic.
“Looks like every deputy in the department has been called in,” Lance said.
Morgan turned toward the corner of the crowded lobby and found Sharp waiting with a woman in her late forties.
At fifty-three, Sharp was fitter than most people half his age thanks to a strict exercise regimen and an organic, crunchy lifestyle. Clad in his usual jeans and T-shirt, he looked more tense than normal.
The woman’s eyes widened with a quick flash of surprise as she blinked at Morgan’s face, but she was too polite to say anything.
But Sharp had no such reservations. He strode across the tile. “What the hell happened to you?” He reached for Morgan’s hair, lifting a piece out of the way and leaning in to get a closer look at her goose egg.
Morgan leaned back and pushed Sharp’s hand away. “My client wasn’t happy with my advice.”
“McFarland hit you?” Sharp nearly snarled.
“I’m OK,” Morgan said.
Sharp didn’t look convinced. “I don’t want to jeopardize your health.”
“Sharp, I’m fully capable of doing my job.”
He nodded. “Then I appreciate that you came right over here.” He glanced behind him at the woman who stood ten feet away and lowered his voice. “Eliza’s husband was my best friend.” He paused, his face tightening as if he were struggling to contain his grief and articulate his feelings.
Morgan put a hand on his arm and nodded toward the woman. “Why don’t you introduce me, and let me get to it?”
“Thank you.” Sharp introduced them in a low voice. “Eliza, this is Morgan Dane. She’s the best lawyer I’ve ever worked with. Morgan, Eliza Powell is a very old friend.”
“Thank you for coming.” Eliza sniffed. “I didn’t know what to do when Haley called me, so I went to see Lincoln.”
Lincoln?
Morgan had never heard him addressed by his first name. Everyone called him Sharp.
“Please.” Eliza’s voice broke. “I’m so worried about my daughter.”
“Let me see what I can find out.” Morgan turned toward the reception counter. Behind it, deputies and administrative staff worked phones and computers.
The sheriff’s watchdog, Marge, approached the counter, lowered her reading glasses from her nose, and hooked them in the neck of her gray cardigan. In her sixties, Marge had worked for the sheriff’s office longer than anyone else in the department.
“You’re here to represent Haley Powell?” Marge asked with a pitying look at Morgan’s face.
When her eye went full black, people were going to be able to see Morgan’s injury from fifty yards away.
“Yes,” Morgan said. “I need to see my client, and I’ll need to speak with the sheriff as soon as he has a moment.”
Marge nodded with what appeared to be approval.
Interesting.
“The sheriff is in right now,” Marge said. “Considering all that’s going on this morning with the search for the missing woman, there’s no guarantee how long he’ll be here. I’ll take you back to see him first, if that’s agreeable to you.” Marge gestured to the corridor that led to the sheriff’s office.
“Yes. Thank you.” Morgan followed her. While she was anxious to see Haley, she didn’t want to miss what might be her only opportunity to see the sheriff. She needed to know what specific charges were pending against Haley and why.