Justin obviously hadn’t known. His eyes filled with moisture. “That’s not right.”
“Right or wrong, that’s the way it’s done.” Lance lifted a palm. “If they dropped the charges, then it couldn’t have been too bad, right?”
Justin’s face reddened. “She lied. She fucking lied. We were both drinking and having a good time. She came back to my apartment with me. We drank some more. We ended up in bed.” He gripped his head with both hands. “I didn’t wake up until noon the next day. She was gone. I was too hungover to think about it much. I assumed she did her walk of shame early. I went back to bed. When the police knocked on my door . . .”
Lance nodded. “You must have been shocked.”
“Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover it.” Justin tugged at his hair. “I’d had a lot to drink too, so the details of the night are hazy. But she never said stop. She was totally on board with the sex.”
“But a drunk girl can’t really consent, can she?” Morgan’s voice was uncharacteristically judgmental. She was baiting him, hoping his anger would override his common sense. He was under no obligation to answer any of their questions. If Justin was thinking clearly, he’d shut the hell up.
But he wasn’t thinking at all. He was reacting.
Justin’s eyes snapped back to her. The animosity in them drew Lance a step closer.
“I was drunk too,” Justin said, resentment shining over the moisture in his eyes. “Maybe she took advantage of me? If both parties have been drinking, why is it always the guy who takes the rap?”
“That’s a good question.” Lance countered Morgan’s hard-ass lawyer routine. “Why is all the responsibility on the man’s shoulders?”
“The cops questioned me for hours.” Justin’s voice rose with his emotion. “I didn’t have the money for a fancy lawyer. If it wasn’t for Isaac’s dad and his attorney, that bitch might have put me in prison. For nothing. Just because she woke up in the morning and regretted sleeping with me.”
“Isaac’s dad fixed it for you?” Lance asked.
Justin nodded, but he continued to stare at Morgan, his chest heaving, his nostrils flaring.
“This is why bros have to stick together.” Lance took a step closer to Morgan. Justin was fixated on her like Kieran’s dog had been focused on Lance.
Morgan’s eyes narrowed, just a millimeter. It was her interrogation, slam-dunk face. If Lance hadn’t been looking for it, he would have missed it.
She stepped forward. “Where were you on Saturday, February 24? Were you at Beats?”
Justin’s head snapped back as if she’d slapped him. His mouth opened, then closed.
“Do you know Shannon Yates?” Morgan pressed.
“No.” His eyes shifted away.
Liar. Liar.
“Are you sure?” Morgan raised her voice. “Because we know you designed the new logo for the inn where she worked.”
His gaze flicked back and forth between them. Lance could see the panic building. At his sides, his fingers curled and uncurled into fists. Sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip. So much guilt, so little time.
“Haley is starting to remember what happened,” Morgan lied smoothly. Lance was impressed.
Then Justin broke. His breath hitched, and his face screwed up. Then his eyes turned pink and filled with tears. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?” Morgan asked.
“Lie. I’ve been lying.” Justin squeezed his head between his palms, as if he could hold himself together with the pressure of his hands. “So many lies. I can’t keep them all straight.”
Had he killed Noah?
“Why not just tell the truth?” Lance scanned Justin’s pockets. His skinny jeans were too tight to conceal weapons.
“It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t mean to do it.” Justin dropped his hands to his sides.
“What did you do?” Morgan asked.
Justin shook his head. “Bad. It was bad. I just want the nightmares to end. I want it all to go away.” He stopped moving. He’d made a decision. Resignation shut down the emotions in his eyes. “There are some decisions you can’t take back. Things you do that can’t be undone.”
“Why don’t you just come clean?” Morgan’s voice was smooth now, coaxing. “You’ll feel better if you get this off your chest.”
Tears streamed down his face. Gesturing for them to follow him inside, he took a half step backward.
The crack of a rifle shot split the quiet air. Justin dropped like a sack of meat.
“Get down.” Lance pulled Morgan to the ground and covered her with his body. His heart took off like a racehorse. Justin groaned, but Lance couldn’t spare him a glance.
Where is the shooter?
A second shot rang out.
“Get inside.” Lance rose to his hands and knees, trying to keep his body between Morgan and the woods.
Drawing his weapon, he spun around just in time to see a muzzle flash in the trees. A bullet hit the door, bits of wood exploding from the impact. He returned fire, then glanced over his shoulder. Morgan scrambled over the threshold. She grabbed Justin’s hand and tried to drag him inside but couldn’t move him.
“He’s too heavy for me.” She drew her own handgun. Standing behind the doorframe, she peered around the edge and aimed her gun at the woods. “I’ll cover. You get Justin inside.”
Lance didn’t like her plan, but he couldn’t argue with its practicality. “The shooter is behind that stand of fir trees at six o’clock.”
Morgan popped off two shots in the general direction of the shooter. Lance ducked into the house, taking Justin by the arm and dragging him through the doorway. Blood poured down the man’s face. Morgan backed away from the opening. Lance shut the door and flipped the dead bolt.
He hauled Justin through the living room and into the attached kitchen. The cabinet footprint formed a U. Lance pulled Justin behind the metal oven, which provided better protection than drywall and wood. Bullets could penetrate the exterior walls of frame buildings.
Morgan grabbed her bag from where she’d dropped it by the door and followed Lance into the kitchen.
She took her phone from her purse and called 911. Then she turned her attention to Justin. “The bullet hit him in the temple.”
“Are you hurt?” Lance asked Morgan.
“No,” she said. “You?”
“I’m fine.” Adrenaline was mainlining through his body. His heart thudded in his chest, and his pulse echoed in his ears as he swept through the first floor, making sure all the rooms were clear. He checked the rear door lock. Then he went to the front window and peered around the window frame, using one finger to separate the blind slats. “I don’t see him.”
“I suspect he ran as soon as you returned fire.”
Lance hoped so, but he didn’t like not knowing where their attacker had gone. He wanted to chase the shooter, but he wouldn’t leave Morgan and Justin unprotected.
Morgan took a pair of vinyl gloves out of her bag and put them on. She grabbed a dish towel from the counter, folded it, and pressed it to Justin’s wound. “The best I can do is try to stop the bleeding.”
“I’ll secure the upstairs.” He headed up the steps. Three doors opened off the hallway. Two rooms faced the rear of the property. Lance cleared the first two rooms. Through the second-story window, he scanned the rear yard but saw no one. He crossed the hall to the master bedroom. After checking under the bed and in the closet, he looked through the window that overlooked the front yard. There was no sign of the shooter.
Morgan was probably right. Whoever had shot Justin was not likely to stick around now that he’d been fired on. He also had to know that the police had been called.
Justin was just as sloppy in his bedroom as in the rest of the house. Dust and dirty dishes covered the nightstand and dresser. Clothes littered the carpet, and the room smelled like sweaty feet. Lance stared at the bed. Photos covered the blue comforter. The photos on the left side of the bed showed four friends at college graduation, smiling for the camera in their blue caps and gowns, their arms looped around each other’s shoulders. More snapshots depicted them skiing and partying. A few appeared to be a spring break beach vacation. The right side of the bed was all Noah. Justin had been staring at these images, grieving.