“Dean has his issues, but he would never be inappropriate with a student.” Mrs. Voss met Morgan’s gaze, then Lance’s. She might be frightened of her husband, but she was equally sure he hadn’t made advances toward his student. “Under all his delusions, Dean is a good man. A moral man.”

“But you’re afraid of him now?”

“You don’t understand. The Dean that’s running around town in a state of paranoia isn’t really him.” Mrs. Voss leaned back, crumpled her tissue in her hand, and hugged her waist. “Dean came back from Iraq a changed man. Whatever happened over there destroyed him. But he went to therapy. He talked to other vets. He worked damned hard to pull himself together for the whole first year. When he felt steady enough, he applied for his teaching certificate. He’d gotten his master’s degree in history while he was in the service.”

More tears formed, and she dabbed at her eyes and nose. “He loved teaching. It gave him purpose. He loved the kids, and the kids seemed to love him back. I thought he’d made it. The nightmares had stopped. He was actually sleeping through the night. The longer he worked at the school, the more like his old self he became.”

She paused again. A small shudder shook her body, then a sigh. “Then that girl went to the principal and said she’d seen him kissing another girl. Dean denied the accusation, and so did Ally Somers, the girl he was accused of kissing. There was no proof. None. Except that one statement from Kimmie Blake. But his reputation was tarnished, and his career over. He quit. After that, depression hit him hard. He became volatile. He refused to go back into therapy. It was too much. He’d already remade himself once. He couldn’t do it again. He sank from depression into paranoia.”

Mrs. Voss went silent.

“Does your husband ever mention Tessa Palmer or Jamie Lewis?” Morgan asked.

“I don’t think so,” Mrs. Voss said. “Of course, I know Tessa’s name from the news.”

“Has your husband ever mentioned a man named Zachary Menendez?” Lance asked.

Mrs. Voss shook her head. “No. Why?”

“We thought they might have served together in the military,” Lance explained, disappointed. An established connection between Voss and Menendez would have simplified matters, but Mrs. Voss’s denial didn’t totally rule it out.

“The name isn’t familiar,” Mrs. Voss said.

“What happened in May?” Morgan asked gently. “Why did he move out?”

“He hit me.” Mrs. Voss pressed the tissue to her face. A small sob sounded behind it before she sniffed and lowered her hands. “I don’t know which one of us was more horrified, but I knew something had to change. I couldn’t live with him unless he was willing to get help. Frankly, I was afraid of him. So I gave him an ultimatum. If he wanted to stay in our marriage, he had to get treatment.”

Tears poured down her cheeks, and this time, she didn’t bother to wipe them away. “I meant well. I thought he loved me enough that he’d work to keep our marriage together, but Dean was too far gone by then. He left. Got his own apartment. He refused to answer my calls. I didn’t know what to do. In my heart, I still love him. But how do you live with a man who scares the hell out of you? Even after Dean moved out, I’m still afraid to close my eyes at night. He’s become unpredictable and irrational. He’s come over a couple of times to apologize and beg for me to take him back. But when I say no, he flips out. I finally filed for divorce. I can’t help a man who won’t let me.”

A dog barked outside, and Mrs. Voss jumped from her chair. She went to the window over the sink. With one forefinger, she separated the mini blinds and peeked between the slats.

Lance crossed the kitchen and peered over her shoulder. “Do you think he’d come here in the middle of the day?”

“Dean wouldn’t let a little thing like daylight stop him.” Mrs. Voss eased back from the blind. When the house remained quiet, she paced. “Getting the divorce papers seemed to be the last straw. He came here the day he received them. He begged me to take him back. He said he loved me. But he couldn’t go through therapy again. It was too much. I asked him to leave. He started shouting. I locked the door, but he didn’t leave until the police came.” She stopped in the corner and turned. Her hands gripped the counter on either side of her. “He’s at some kind of breaking point. I could feel it.”

A floorboard overhead creaked. Mrs. Voss’s gaze shot to the doorway. A few seconds later, a man stepped into the opening. He pointed a rifle into the kitchen.

How the hell did he get inside?

Lance’s pulse jump-started, and he automatically shifted sideways to try and put himself between the armed man and the women in the room.

“Stop.” Dean Voss’s tone was soft but commanding. He was dressed in desert camouflage BDUs that would have blended with the dead leaves of autumn. His face was smeared with dirt, and he carried a rifle like a man who was comfortable with his weapon.

Lance considered his options. He didn’t have many. He had no time to draw his gun. So how would he keep Voss from hurting his wife or Morgan?

“Don’t move,” Voss said.

“Don’t worry.” Lance raised his hands. The rifle was aimed in the dead center of his chest.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Morgan’s heart stuttered as she recognized Dean Voss. His face was thin, his eyes feral. She kept both of her hands on the table in front of her.

Voss jerked the gun at Lance. “Put your hands on your head. Interlace your fingers.” He shifted his gaze to Morgan for a second. “You too.”

“Dean, they were just talking to me,” his wife said.

“No.” Voss shook his head. “They want to take you away. They want to hurt you. The only way you’ll be safe is if you come with me.”

“I won’t go,” she said. “You need me. You need help.”

“The only kind of help I need is the kind that’ll make me disappear. They want me to pay for what I did.” Voss’s voice softened. “I have to pay.” He lifted his chin. There was too much white around his eyes. They blazed with a crazy light.

“Dean. No one wants to hurt you. They want to help.”

“No,” he shouted. His grip on the rifle tightened until his knuckles were as white as his eyes. “That’s just what they told you to make you cooperate.”

Dean Voss was clearly paranoid and likely delusional. Morgan could not draw her gun before Voss shot Lance. Talking Voss down from his paranoid ledge was their only option. Plus, she’d never shot another human being and didn’t want to start now if it could be avoided. Though she would do it to protect Lance.

A fist banged on the front door. “Hey, Mrs. Voss. Is everything OK in there?”

The rookie.

That was not going to help.

Voss’s eyes widened. He grabbed Morgan by the hair and dragged her from her chair. Pain burst in her scalp. She cried out. Both of her hands went to the top of her head, an instinctive attempt to alleviate the pulling.

Lance lunged forward, but the rifle in his face stopped him.

“I’m OK, Lance.” Morgan got her feet under her body. Standing eased the pressure.

Lance put his hand up in front of his chest and inched back a half step. “You don’t want to hurt a woman, do you, Dean?”

Dean laughed. “What does it matter? The world is backward. I get accused of a crime I didn’t commit but never caught for the one bad thing I did do.”

“What did you do, Dean?” Lance asked.

“Can’t tell. Promised. But I gotta pay.” Dean’s head bobbed in rhythm with his words. “She’s dead. It’s my fault.”

“Who is dead?” Morgan asked. Was he confessing to Tessa’s murder?

The rookie banged again. “Mrs. Voss?”

“Tell him you’re fine.” Dean pulled Morgan closer. The rifle remained pointed at Lance. Voss’s unwashed body smelled ripe with fear. Morgan breathed through the pounding of her heart and trembling of her hands. She needed him to put down the rifle. If Voss fired at Lance at a distance of five feet, the bullet would rip right through him.