Together we dressed her in sweatpants and a t-shirt, then covered her with the sheet.

“We have to take her to the hospital.” I looked at Ian. He was standing over Morgan, folding his arms, staring at her, not meeting my eye. “Right?” I said. “We have to take her to the hospital.”

Morgan lay almost totally still now. Other than her swollen eyebrow, she appeared to be sleeping more or less restfully. Ian placed his hand on her hot forehead, yet again. It was like he was trying to solve a puzzle, but missing some essential piece.

“The hospital isn’t a good idea,” he said. It was almost as though he was talking to himself. “Not now. I don’t know how safe it is there.”

I remembered what Ian had said about the armed guards surrounding the room of the girl who had been attacked at the fair. He’d told me they wouldn’t even let the parents in to see their daughter. Now that Morgan had been attacked too, would they do the same to her at the hospital? Would they take her away and lock her in some medical facility to run who knew what kind of tests? Or worse?

“Okay,” I said. “I understand.” Or I thought I understood. I tried to trust Ian’s instincts. “We’ll keep her here.”

“No one can know where she is.” Ian gave me a look that told me just how important this was. He was dead serious. “No one,” he repeated. “This is the safest place for her. But you have to tell your family not to tell a soul she’s here. You don’t have to say why. They trust you. Tell them that someone had burgled Morgan’s house, beat her up, then killed Mr. Hershel when he came to try to protect her. That’s the story.”

I nodded again.

Ian rubbed his eyes. He looked totally exhausted. And scared.

“Stay here with Morgan,” he said. “Give me a call from the land line if she wakes up or if anything changes. I have to go take care of Mr. Hershel.”

Only a minute or two after I heard Ian’s SUV pull out of the driveway, someone knocked on the bedroom door. . .

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