Sophie gave her a gentle hug and a kiss on the cheek before spinning around and rushing back to the door. “Grandpa is taking me to school.” She hefted her Hello Kitty backpack onto her shoulders. Taking Grandpa’s hand, she tugged. “Come on. I’ll be late.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Grandpa’s eyes were worried.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Morgan said. “I’m going to get another cup of coffee.”

“I’ll be back in an hour,” Grandpa said.

Gianna took Sophie’s hand and the three of them went out the front door. Morgan heard the deadbolt sliding home.

As soon as the house was empty, she went back to her bedroom. But now that the coffee was buzzing through her system, she couldn’t sleep. Giving up, she went to the kitchen, refilled her mug, and took it back to her bed.

The previous night, when Phillip Emerson had put a knife to her throat, she’d realized that life was short.

Despite all the people she’d lost, it had taken a threat to her own life to bring her to her senses.

For the last two years, she’d been squandering her life. Her children were the only things that gave her any joy, and that wasn’t right.

She opened the nightstand and took out the letter that she’d been avoiding for two years. Tears burned the corners of her eyes as she read her husband’s handwriting on the outside of the envelope. Morgan.

“I’m sorry,” she said to John’s photo as she slid a finger under then flap. “I couldn’t read this before.”

Tears blurred the page as she read the words her husband had written to her before he’d left for Iraq. The letter he’d left with his commander in case he didn’t make it home. The fact that she’d never been able to read it before now suddenly felt selfish. The note was short. John had never wasted words. He hadn’t been a poet, just a good man. He’d always gotten to the point and said what was on his mind. His final letter was no different.

Morgan,

If you’re reading this letter, then I didn’t come home. I’m sorry for that. It was a lot to ask of you to be my wife. Just know this: I loved you and our girls with all my heart. Even from six thousand miles away, I have no doubt the four of you will be the very last images in my mind. However short our time was together, your love is the precious thing that I will take with me.

I didn’t give my life for a lofty idea of patriotism. I gave it so people like you, Ava, Mia, and Sophie would be safe and free. I did my duty. Now I want you to do yours. Honor my life by living yours. Don’t waste a second on the idea that you being happy would somehow be disloyal to me. Live. Laugh. Love. Don’t hold back. Make me proud.

Love you always, John.

She wiped the tears from her face, folded the letter, and put it back in her drawer. She’d transfer it to the safe deposit box so the girls would always have it. But she would never read it again.

She lifted his photo from her nightstand. “You’re right. I’ve been walking around half living. It isn’t fair to the girls, and it isn’t fair to me. Thank you for making me see that.”

Carrying his picture, she walked to the girls’ bedroom and placed it on their dresser. She would never forget him or the love they had, but it was time to let him go.

It was time to live.

Chapter Forty-Three

Lance walked into the ice arena. The kids were already warming up. Coach Zack leaned on the half wall and watched as they circled the rink.

Zack turned. “Hey, Lance. Are those your skates?”

“They are.” Lance sat on the bench and exchanged his athletic shoes for the black hockey skates.

“Does your therapist know about this?”

“I’ve been approved for some light skating.” Lance tightened the laces. “So don’t expect anything exciting.”

But it felt damned good to step out onto the ice.

The kids raced over. He had a brief moment of panic that he’d get body slammed, but they gave him room, zooming around him and shouting encouragement.

“Coach Lance!”

“Awesome.”

Lance grinned. A year and a half ago, these same kids distrusted cops so much they’d barely speak to him. Their trust had come slowly. But when he’d been shot, every single one of them had visited him in the hospital.

He followed instructions and kept his ice time short, hanging up his skates to help Zack coach from the sidelines.

It was dark when he parked in his driveway and opened his garage door. He should have been in a good mood, but he wasn’t. He hadn’t heard from Morgan since he’d driven her home from the hospital the night before. But then, the case was over. They wouldn’t be spending much time together. Would their friendship go back to where it was before Tessa’s murder? Did he even want that?

Shit.

Lance was in the garage when Sharp’s Dodge Charger cruised to the curb. Sharp hurried up the driveway, a file tucked under one arm. “Wait until you see what I have.”

“You look excited.” Lance led the way into the house.

Sharp waved the folder. “Your instincts and Morgan’s were dead on about Vanessa Lewis’s fiancé.”

“I thought Kevin Murdoch was clean.” Lance turned on the lights and they walked into the kitchen.

Sharp opened the file on the counter. “Kevin Murdoch is clean.”

Lance peered over his shoulder at a photo of a fat bald guy. “Who is that?”

“Kevin Murdoch.” Sharp’s smile was all teeth.

“Then who is dating Vanessa Lewis?”

Sharp flipped to the next page. “Byron Dixon. Registered sex offender who moved from Florida three years ago and stole Kevin Murdoch’s identity. Dixon raped a thirteen-year-old girl and served eleven years in prison. A month after his parole, he moved here and used the new identity to evade the sex offender registry. Then he befriended and began to date Vanessa. He actually is an accountant and has been working out of his apartment doing income taxes and small business accounting.”

“Poor Jamie.” Lance was angry but not surprised. At last count, there were nearly seven hundred fifty thousand registered sex offenders in the U.S. It was too easy for them to slip over state lines and through the reporting cracks.

“Yeah. He must have done something, and when she heard her mother was marrying him, she couldn’t take it.” Sharp closed the file. “I called the Feds. They picked him up fifteen minutes ago. Jamie doesn’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“So if we can find her, she’ll be safe.”

“We’ll keep trying, but that kid is a ghost.”

“I’ll call her friend, Tony,” Lance said. “Maybe he can get word to her that she’s safe.”

“Just thought you’d want to know.” Sharp picked up the file. “Have you talked to Morgan?”

“No.”

“Then that explains your miserable mug.” Sharp shook his head. “Just call the woman. You know you like her. You just can’t get out of your own way.”

“Sharp, we’ve been over this. Relationships and my mom don’t mix.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Sharp got in his face. “You’re afraid. Morgan’s different. I see the way you look at her. She’s the one that might count.”

Lance turned away from Sharp—and the truth.

“Goodnight, Sharp.”

Sharp huffed as he headed toward the door. “Don’t be a dumbass.”

After the door had closed behind him, Lance settled at his piano and indulged himself with broody music. He’d moved on to Coldplay when his doorbell rang. No one except Sharp ever stopped by. Lance went to the door.

Through the peephole he saw a tall figure with a Mohawk. Lance opened the door. Tony Allessi stood on the doorstep, and next to him was a tall, lanky girl.

Jamie Lewis.

“Come in.” Lance stepped aside.

Jamie stumbled. Tony grabbed her arm and tugged it over his shoulders. As he helped Jamie into the brightly lit kitchen, Lance could see that something was very wrong with the girl. Her skin was simultaneously deathly pale and flushed.