Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6) - Melinda Leigh Page 0,5

escape, she’d strangle herself. She would have to lie still and wait to see where he took her. Maybe she’d be able to escape later. But considering how easily he’d nabbed her, the odds didn’t feel good. He’d planned tonight down to the smallest detail. He’d been prepared.

She clung to the thought that he hadn’t killed her yet. He’d gone to great trouble to take her alive. But why?

Fear cramped her stomach as drowsiness overtook her.

Maybe she didn’t want to know what else he had planned. Not that she would have a choice. Whatever was going to happen to her, she was helpless to prevent it.

But no plan was perfect. She couldn’t give up.

For now, all she could do was hope Lincoln came looking for her.

And that until he found her, she could survive.

Chapter Three

Defense attorney Morgan Dane ushered Lena Olander into her office.

The woman’s watery-blue eyes were red rimmed and swollen. She’d been ugly crying.

Guilt weighed on Morgan. “Would you like some coffee or tea, Mrs. Olander?”

“No. Thank you.” Mrs. Olander clutched a small brown purse in both hands. She wore dark jeans and a light-blue sweater. Limp straight hair brushed her shoulders, and there was a clear line three inches from her roots that indicated she’d suddenly stopped coloring her gray hair blonde. “I have to get back to the farm before lunch. Kennett doesn’t know I’m here. He wouldn’t approve.”

“Kennett is your husband?” Morgan asked.

Mrs. Olander’s head bobbed in a tense nod. “He likes his meals on time.”

“You own a dairy farm, correct?” Morgan had Googled the family. Olander Dairy was a midsize family-owned commercial dairy farm.

“Yes.” Mrs. Olander’s gaze roamed around the office without focus.

Morgan closed the door and gestured to the two guest chairs that faced her desk. “Please, sit down.”

Mrs. Olander eased into the chair as if every bone and muscle in her body ached. Though tall, broad shouldered, and physically fit looking for a woman in her midfifties, she acted frail. Her upper body curled forward, as if protecting her vital organs from a possible attack.

Morgan rounded her desk and sat. “What brings you to my office?”

“I want to hire you.” Mrs. Olander set her purse on her knees, her fingers digging into the brown leather like a raptor’s talons. She opened her purse, removed a tissue, and blotted her eyes, wincing slightly as if they were sore. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Morgan’s job was guiding people through some of the most traumatic times of their lives.

Mrs. Olander sniffed. “Are you familiar with Erik’s case?”

“I know the major details.” Morgan had skimmed through a number of articles.

A few weeks before, Erik Olander had been convicted of murdering his wife, Natalie. The trial had held the media’s attention for a solid week.

“My son is innocent. Erik would never have killed Natalie. He loved her.”

“He was convicted of strangling her with a lamp cord.”

“He didn’t do it. A man broke into their home and killed Natalie. It was like that movie with Harrison Ford.” Mrs. Olander circled a hand in the air. “The one where he played a doctor who was falsely accused of killing his wife.”

“The Fugitive?”

“That’s it.” Mrs. Olander nodded.

“Natalie had been researching domestic violence shelters at the library the day before her death.”

The fact that Natalie had utilized the library’s computer suggested her husband had monitored her internet activity.

“She was mentally ill.” Mrs. Olander’s response sounded rehearsed.

“Natalie had never been diagnosed with a mental illness,” Morgan said.

“No, but she was always as jumpy as a deer. She must have had anxiety.”

“The prosecutor painted Erik and Natalie’s relationship as abusive, and several witnesses testified that she was afraid of your son.”

“I never saw any bruises.” Mrs. Olander looked at the floor and shook her head hard. Was she trying to convince herself? “She was paranoid.”

Morgan had prosecuted domestic abuse cases. Some men were very skilled at not leaving visible marks, but she didn’t argue with the woman.

“He deserved a fair trial.” Red splotches colored Mrs. Olander’s sharp cheekbones. “His lawyer barely tried. He wanted Erik to plead guilty. Now he says he has someone reviewing Erik’s trial, but he seems to have lost interest. He doesn’t return my calls.”

Morgan had seen nothing in the articles she’d read to indicate the case had been controversial in any way. The jury had deliberated for only a few hours before returning a guilty verdict.

“Why do you think Erik’s trial was unfair?” Morgan asked.

She probably would have advised Erik to take a plea deal