Morgan took off her coat and handed it over. The cold air swept through her, and she shivered as she turned around.
“Turn out your jeans pockets,” he said. “Use two fingers.”
She turned her jeans pockets inside out and handed him the keys to the Jeep. The rest of her belongings were in her tote bag, which she’d left in the Jeep. The sheriff handcuffed her and gave her a cursory pat-down, skipping the more intimate areas of her body, something she was positive he would not do when arresting a female stranger. He was being a gentleman while he arrested her, a fact that was ridiculous all on its own.
“What are the charges?” Morgan asked.
“I’m starting with loitering, harassment, stalking, and impeding an investigation,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll think of some more during the drive.”
With a solid hand on her arm, he guided her to the back door of the vehicle. Then he put a gentle hand on the top of her head as she slid into the vehicle.
Scooting across the bench seat in handcuffs was harder than Morgan anticipated. The door closed. The physical restraint of the handcuffs and the cage separating the back and front seats felt claustrophobic. She glanced over her shoulder and watched the sheriff going through their coat pockets. Lance’s jacket held his cell phone, a miniature screwdriver, and a small flashlight. From Morgan’s coat, the sheriff pulled her phone, a wad of tissues, a lip balm, and two lollipops. The second lollipop was sticky and covered in lint, having been licked and rewrapped when Sophie had discovered she didn’t like green apple. With a disgusted sneer, the sheriff wiped his hand on the thigh of his uniform, then bagged their personal possessions.
“I can’t believe he’s arresting us.” Lance glared out the side window.
“We’ll call Sharp from the station,” Morgan said. “He’ll get us out.”
Lance shook his head. “Knowing the sheriff, he’ll stick us in a holding cell overnight just to prove he can.”
“I messaged Sharp earlier. He knows where we are. He’ll look for us.”
“He won’t think to call the sheriff.”
“Probably not,” Morgan agreed. “We’ll survive a night in a holding cell.”
“You know what cells are like.” Lance frowned at her. “You don’t belong in one.”
In her former life as a prosecutor, Morgan had interviewed plenty of criminals. Holding cells, like other jail and prison facilities, were disgusting, filthy places with open toilets and the lingering scent of vomit. From the outside, the sights and smells could gag someone with a strong stomach. The thought of being locked in one wasn’t pleasant.
“I’m aware of that, but there’s nothing we can do about it now.” Morgan was less surprised at their arrest than Lance. He and the sheriff had butted heads one too many times. They were equally hardheaded, but the sheriff had the law on his side. Sheriff King had warned them, and Lance was right: King was just arrogant enough to want to prove he had the upper hand.
The sheriff collected their belongings and put them in his trunk.
Morgan turned to Lance. “You need to remain silent. I mean it. Don’t say a single word to the sheriff or anyone else at the station.”
Male and female prisoners were not held together. She suspected Lance would be put in the holding cell, and the sheriff would handcuff her to a bench somewhere. She sensed they had finally pushed King over the line.
“Cooperate, but exercise your right to be silent. Anything you say will be used against you. Anything.”
“I know.” Lance’s shoulders fell. “I’m sorry. I should have listened to you tonight. You were right. We should have called the sheriff and told him about Stan. Now we’ve lost a whole night.”
“It’ll be all right.” Morgan shivered.
Lance shifted closer, pressing his shoulder against hers. “I can’t help protect my mother from a jail cell, and now that we’re getting locked up, Stan is free to do what he wants.”
“Stella and Brody are with your mother tonight,” Morgan said.
The sheriff climbed into the driver’s seat, ending their conversation. As the vehicle pulled away from the curb, Morgan turned and glanced back at Stan’s bright-as-day neighborhood. Stan had seen them following his car, and he’d gone on the offensive, smartly turning the tables on them.
No one was watching him now.
Chapter Forty-Two
Through the window of the sheriff’s vehicle, Lance watched the dark landscape roll by. Flurries whizzed past. They stopped at an intersection, and the sheriff turned left when he should have made a right. Where was he taking them?
“Hey,” Lance called through the wire mesh that divided the front and rear seats. “The sheriff’s station is the other direction.”
“We’re not going to the station,” the sheriff said. “You need to be taught a lesson.”
Lance glanced at Morgan.
The sheriff was angry enough to inflict some payback on Lance, but surely King wouldn’t hurt her. Would he?
“Whatever you have in mind for me, drop Morgan somewhere,” Lance said to King’s reflection in the rearview mirror.
King ignored him.
Morgan nudged Lance with her elbow, her eyes wide and worried. But what could Lance do? They were handcuffed in the back of a police car, a place designed specifically to keep people contained.
The landscape became more and more rural. The sheriff turned onto a long country road. Lance snapped to attention. He knew where they were going.
Grey Lake.
A few minutes later, the trees opened. The lake shimmered in the darkness. But the car continued past the area where his father’s Buick had been dragged from the water. Two miles later, the sheriff turned onto a dirt lane in a thick patch of forest. Discomfort shifted to paranoia as the trees closed around the car. The car rolled to a stop. A small clearing opened to their left.
The sheriff stepped out of the vehicle and opened the rear door. “Get out.”
Was he going to leave them out here? He’d taken their coats, and the temperature was hovering around freezing. As far as Lance knew, the closest houses were on the other side of the lake. The hike was at least five miles.
“No.” Lance shook his head. Next to him, Morgan shivered.
The sheriff reached into the car, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her out of the vehicle.
“Hey,” Lance yelled, anger and terror churning inside him. “Don’t hurt her!”
“Then get your ass out here,” King called, dragging Morgan into the beam of the headlights. Still holding her bicep, King crooked a finger at Lance. Morgan’s face was as pale as the snowflakes swirling around her dark hair.
Lance scrambled out of the car. Whatever the sheriff had planned, Lance couldn’t let Morgan face it alone. He walked across the clearing and stopped in front of the sheriff. King released Morgan’s arm and stepped away from her, toward the car.
“You can’t leave us out here.” Facing the sheriff, Lance put his body between King and Morgan. They were in the middle of nowhere. With the falling temperatures, Morgan wouldn’t make it. Surely, the sheriff knew that.
But King didn’t respond.
“Dispatch will have a record of Stan’s call,” Lance argued. “They’ll know we were with you.”
“Stan didn’t call. Do you really think that dumbass spotted you?” The sheriff snorted. “I was looking for you. You weren’t that hard to find. You’re predictable, and I’m a very good hunter. It’s all about knowing your prey and being able to predict its movements.”
“Sharp will figure it out.” Lance tried to think of an argument, even though it would be futile. The sheriff had already gone beyond the law.
Beyond reason.
“I’m not worried about Sharp,” King said.
Morgan seemed to shake off her shock. “What do you mean, leave us out here? You can’t do that.” The chatter of her teeth punctuated her words.
“I can do whatever I want,” King said in a voice as cold as the falling snow. “But I have no intention of leaving you out here to freeze.”
Lance took a deep breath. What a prick! The frigid air felt like needles in his lungs. Was this all an attempt to intimidate them? To scare them out of ever crossing him again?