Bones Don't Lie by Melinda Leigh

Author:Melinda Leigh [Leigh, Melinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781542049863
Publisher: Montlake Romance
Published: 2018-03-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

Morgan sat in the passenger seat of the Jeep, talking to Sharp on the speakerphone. She kept one eye on Lance in the driver’s seat. He gripped the steering wheel like he was going to rip it out of the dashboard.

Morgan leaned closer to the speaker. “We dropped Jenny’s e-mail and phone account information with the sheriff.”

Which was one of the reasons Lance looked ready to snap off a head.

“We have two possible suspects.” Morgan summed up the information Abigail Wright had given them on Crystal’s husband, Warren Fox, and Mary’s mysterious client, Mr. Joshua. “We plan on visiting Abigail at the Roadside Motel at seven. Until then, there’s Warren Fox to check out.”

“You two go talk to Warren,” Sharp said. “I’m on my way to PJ’s now. Come to the office when you’re done with Warren, and we’ll compare notes.”

Morgan ended the call and Lance drove to the Randolph County recycling center. An eight-foot-tall chain-link fence surrounded the property. Lance turned in at the gate. A sign posted the hours as Monday through Friday, seven a.m. to three p.m. Lance pulled up in front of a small building labeled OFFICE. Behind it was a row of dumpsters. Several other outbuildings were scattered around the property. The only vehicle in sight, a black Chevy pickup truck, sat alongside the office. Morgan made a note of the license plate.

They got out of the car. Morgan’s heel sank into the rutted gravel, and she instantly regretted not taking the time to change from her suit to more durable clothing.

Lance peered in the shed. “He’s not in there. I’m going to look around.”

He turned and walked around the building.

“I’ll be right there. I need to change my shoes before I break an ankle.” She leaned into the vehicle and brought out the pair of black flats she always carried in her tote. With one hand on the open vehicle door, she changed her shoes. Straightening, she was struck with the sense of being watched. Unease spread through her as she slowly turned in a circle.

A man stood in the doorway to one of the nearby buildings. He wore olive-green coveralls and a leer that disgusted Morgan from ten feet away. She closed the Jeep door and faced him. “I’m looking for Warren Fox.”

He stepped into the sunlight and crossed the gravel to stand in front of her. “I’m Warren.”

The sour smell of alcohol emanated from his every pore, as if he’d been pickling in gin for weeks.

“Morgan Dane.” She offered him her card.

He inspected it, his face transforming from leer to rage.

“Another fucking lawyer.” With one motion, he grabbed her by the bicep and dragged her closer. “You can tell my fucking bitch of a wife that she ain’t getting anything from me.”

His finger dug in to her arm. Nerves—and anger—surged through Morgan’s veins.

That answers my question about whether Warren would hurt a woman.

“Take your hand off me. Now.” Morgan slid her hand inside her coat to find the handgun just behind her right hip.

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