Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6) - Melinda Leigh Page 0,9

boss. Lance’s pulse throbbed in his throat as Sharp slipped out the door. They crept across the back porch and jumped over the railing into the side yard. Moving quickly, they jogged in the shadow of the house to the front corner.

Shoulder to shoulder, they pressed their backs against the siding.

Sharp peered around the corner. “Looks clear.”

“I’ll cross to the tree at the curb.”

Sharp nodded, stepping into position to provide cover.

Lance darted around a low trimmed shrub and then ran in a crouch across the front yard. He stopped at the oak tree, pressing his back into the bark and scanning the street in both directions. He listened intently, but adrenaline—and the echo of his own heartbeat—drowned out most external noise.

His gaze fell on the minivan parked on the opposite side of the street. The sun’s reflection turned the windows into mirrors. Lance looked back at Sharp, then motioned toward the minivan. Sharp tapped his own chest and pointed toward the tree. Lance waited for Sharp to cross the lawn and join him at the tree before jogging across the blacktop. He circled the van, angling off onto the lawn of the accountant’s office.

From his position, the sun no longer bounced off the vehicle windows, and Lance had a clear view inside. A figure was slumped over the steering wheel.

He moved closer, peering into the front and back seats. Rounding the rear of the van, he cupped one hand over his eyes and looked through the tinted glass. The cargo area was empty.

Lance headed for the front of the minivan. His initial inspection had concentrated on looking for threats. Now that he knew the rest of the vehicle was clear, he turned his attention back to the driver.

Even after hearing the gunshot, the sight still shocked him.

The inside of the driver’s window and front corner of the windshield were splattered with blood and gore. Lance moved around to the passenger-side window for an unobstructed view.

It was the woman who had just left Morgan’s office. There was a hole in her temple, just above her right ear. Her right arm lay on the seat next to her thigh. Her open fingers extended just beyond the seat of the van. On the floor was a Glock 43.

“GSW. Call 911.” Using the hem of his T-shirt, Lance tried the vehicle door. Locked. He ran around to the driver’s side. Also locked. The windows were all closed.

Sharp jogged across the street, his phone pressed to his ear. He gave the dispatcher the address, then held the phone away from his face. “Could she still be alive?”

“Doubt it.” But the possibility, even if it was a long shot, trumped preservation of evidence. Lance turned his gun in his hand and used the butt end to break the driver’s side window. Reaching inside the vehicle, he pressed two fingers to the woman’s neck. “She’s dead.”

Sharp relayed the information on the phone, then turned and walked a few feet away.

Lance holstered his gun, took his phone out of his pocket, and began taking pictures. If questions arose regarding the death, he wanted his own records. The police didn’t always want to share, and once law enforcement arrived, the vehicle would be off-limits.

Crouching, he squinted at the spatter of gore on the inside of the windows. Along with blood, bits of bone and brain matter were stuck to the glass. Lance bent lower to get a better view of her face and head. Her eyes were open and empty. He checked the passenger-side windows but saw no sign that a bullet had been fired into the vehicle.

On the passenger seat, a brown purse sat open. The Glock 43 on the floor was a lightweight, compact 9mm—a solid choice for concealed carry. Had the woman taken her handgun from her purse?

Lance went cold from the inside out. Mrs. Olander had likely been carrying that gun during her meeting with Morgan. A shoe scraped on the pavement behind him. He turned to see Morgan standing a few feet away. She rubbed her arms. Her slim gray skirt and silk blouse offered little protection against the morning chill. Her long black hair was coiled at the nape of her neck.

“Who is it?”

He stood and blocked her view of the body. “The woman who just left your office.”

“Is she all right?” She tried to look around him.

He shifted, putting a hand on her arm. “No. There’s nothing anyone can do. She’s dead.”

Morgan’s face froze in horror for a few seconds. Then she