by Elle Kennedy
“No,” he answered coolly. “You won’t. Because if you do, I’m going to unleash a media storm on you. I’ll contact the press, tell them all about how you fabricated Morgan’s mental illness in order to keep her in line. I won’t stop there, either. If it strikes my fancy, maybe I’ll spin a few tales of my own, lob a few accusations your way, like, shoot, I don’t know, illegal campaign funds? Bribery? That’ll get them salivating.”
Senator Kerr sounded absolutely livid. “I have done nothing of the sort.”
“Yeah, but the media doesn’t know that, do they? Either way there’ll be a few black spots on your name, no matter what the truth is.”
The line went quiet for a moment. “Why are you doing this?” Kerr finally asked, sounding wary.
“Because someone tried to kill your daughter last week,” Quinn retorted stiffly. “And unlike you, that actually concerns me.”
“Nobody tried to kill her,” Kerr said in frustration. “She was hallucinating—”
“Save the lies for someone else. I don’t give a damn if you believe her or not. I’m just letting you know the reason I’ve agreed to help her. And I’m also giving you a friendly re minder that if you attempt to have me arrested, the results won’t be pretty.”
“You’re a ruthless bastard, Adam.”
“Takes one to know one, doesn’t it, Edward?” he said glibly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Morgan and I have somewhere we need to be.”
The senator hung up.
A rush of exhilaration swept up Quinn’s spine. Oh, yeah. A long time coming, that’s what this confrontation was. And he knew his threat wouldn’t go unheeded. The senator would not call the police. He’d stew about this latest development in private, of course, but risk a possible scandal? Never
Closing the phone, Quinn headed back to the car, only to pause midstep. A wave of uneasiness washed over him as he spotted Morgan leaning against the back of the SUV, her expression a combination of anger and respect.
“You heard all that?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Well, let’s have it then.” Disgust rose up his throat. “I antagonized your poor, innocent father, right? Overstepped my boundaries?” When she didn’t take the bait, he lifted a sardonic brow. “Huh. Where’s that famous Kerr temper?”
Morgan ran a hand through her silky hair. “I’m not going to tear into you. You did good.”
Though it was rare, Quinn was stunned speechless.
“I can only imagine what he was saying to you,” she added, shaking her head in irritation. “He wants me back in the psych ward, right? Well, I won’t go back. And if keeping me out of there meant you had to launch a few threats in his direction, I can’t fault you for that.”
Again with the bitterness. A part of him wanted to lash out at her, too, demand to know why she was only now opening her eyes to her father’s true colors. Why not two years ago, when it had actually mattered? But he held his tongue. Somewhat. Still, he had to ask, “Where is this coming from?”
Morgan met his inquisitive gaze head-on. “He didn’t believe me,” she said simply, then turned on her heel and headed back to the passenger side.
Quinn had stood up for her. Although it hardly meant he’d forgiven her, and it definitely didn’t mean he’d welcome her back into his life with open arms, Morgan couldn’t fight the small thrill that shot through her body. Her father had the annoying ability to bulldoze any man who came into her life, but not Quinn. He’d threatened a senator. Her father. For her.
Morgan buckled up her seat belt and watched from the corner of her eye as Quinn started the engine. God, she wanted to throw her arms around him. She wanted to thank him again for what he’d done just now, for that unshakable belief he still seemed to have in her, despite the messy way they’d ended things.
The memory of their breakup struck a chord of regret. No, she didn’t want to think about that heartbreaking goodbye. Right now, as she sat next to the man who’d just defended her to her father, she couldn’t stop thinking about the hello.
“Do you remember the day we met?” she burst out, unable to stop the words from leaving her mouth.
Quinn’s head jerked in her direction, surprise etched in his rugged features. Surprise that soon dissolved into wariness. “Of course I remember,” he said gruffly.
But along with the wariness, there was tenderness in his voice. Tender. When they’d first met she would never have expected a man like Adam Quinn to possess even an ounce of tenderness. He’d been all business that day, clad in camo pants and an olive-green T-shirt that clung to his sweat-soaked chest. He’d marched around that refugee camp, barking orders at his men—and at her.
“I thought you were such a jerk,” she admitted with a grin. “You kept ordering me to get on the ‘damn chopper.’”
“And you kept refusing,” he replied mildly.
She shrugged and leaned back in her seat. “My story wasn’t finished. And the threat didn’t feel real.”
But it had been real, hadn’t it? Quinn’s team was sent in to extract all the relief workers and journalists at the camp, after intel came in that a rebel group planned to raid it. Morgan held on to the end, though, leaving on the last chopper out of the Congo. Twelve hours later, the rebels had massacred half the camp.
“I wish we could have helped them,” she whispered.
“We could only help ourselves.”
Morgan swallowed, blocking the images of the carnage from her mind. She hadn’t seen it firsthand, but she’d viewed the photos later, horrified by the deaths of all those innocent victims. And yet amidst chaos and disaster, she’d fallen in love with Quinn, the big, tough mercenary who for some reason had fallen for her, too.
“I don’t know what you saw in me,” she confessed, turning to meet his dark green eyes. “I was a total mess. Dirty clothes, rumpled hair. But when we landed in D.C., you called me beautiful.” Her throat tightened at the memory.
His hard gaze softened. “You were beautiful.” He half grinned. “Not to mention stubborn, irritating, demanding…you wouldn’t quit until you got me to agree to an interview.”
“Which you didn’t end up doing,” she reminded him.
No, they never got around to that interview. Drinks at his hotel led to dinner, which led to a nightcap, which led to a night of spontaneous lovemaking that left them both shocked and breathless. A one-night stand, that’s what she thought it would end as, but two years later, they’d been engaged to be married.
“That first night,” she continued, her voice coming out wobbly. “It was the best night of my life, did I ever tell you that?”
Their eyes locked again, and Morgan heard a hiss of at traction in the air. Before she could stop it, the memory of their first time shot to the front of her brain. Quinn’s chest, rippled with hard sinewy muscles, pressed against her bare breasts. The delicious heaviness of his body covering hers, the feel of his arousal slowly sliding inside her body. Completion. That’s what it felt like, the first time he entered her.
From the flash of lust and remembrance in his eyes, she knew he was thinking about it, too, how right it had felt. How perfectly they’d fit together.
God, she wanted him back. So badly that her lips ached with the need to tell him she loved him, she missed him, she couldn’t live without him.
But just before she could open her mouth, the fire in his eyes died, replaced by ice. A muscle twitched in his powerful jaw, and she saw his hands tighten over the steering wheel.
“Don’t go there,” he finally said, the ice in his eyes freezing his tone as well. “We’re not ting a trip down memory lane, Morgan. We’re finding out who tried to kill you.”
She released a shaky breath. “I know. I didn’t mean to—”
“Oh, you meant it, all right.” Quinn’s hard gaze slid over her face. “Reminding me of the day we met isn’t going to make me forget the day we said goodbye.”
“I know. I—”
“Don’t play games with me, Morga
n. I’m not interested in rekindling our affair.”
Hurt seized her insides. “Affair? I think the two years we spent together means we went far past the affair stage.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too,” he said harshly. He cocked his head. “But considering everything, I’ve rethought that. You made it quite clear in the end what your priorities were, and our relationship wasn’t one of them.”
“That’s not true,” she protested. “I never wanted to end it. I just—”
“We’re not going there,” he said again, silencing her with another deadly look. “What’s done is done. We’re not together anymore and I don’t plan on changing that in the near or distant future.”
Each word was like a bullet straight to the heart. Was it possible for words to cause such extreme physical pain? Evidently so. Morgan’s entire body felt bruised, her chest raw, her insides twisted with intense agony that brought a wave of nausea. Cruel. When had he become so cruel? Her heart ached again as she realized she was probably the cause of this new personality defect of his. God, why had she ever chosen her father over Quinn?
In hindsight, she knew she’d let her father dictate a large part of her life with Quinn. Constantly caved in to his demands, all the while knowing she was doing the wrong thing. Why hadn’t she acted differently?
Stand by your father. Help him when he asks. He doesn’t like to ask for help.
That’s why. Her mother’s words, the plea she’d made before she died, that’s why Morgan made the choices she had.
But that didn’t make it any easier. She knew she’d hurt Quinn, but she hadn’t imagined the extent of the pain she’d caused him.
“Thanks for making that clear,” she finally said, her voice as stiff as her shoulders. “I’ll refrain from bringing up the past, if it makes you so uncomfortable.”
With that, the conversation came to a screeching halt. Morgan glued her gaze to the window, watching the scenery whiz by. Tall pine trees lined both sides of the road, along with the naked skeletons of the oaks that had shed their leaves for the winter. The abundance of trees told her they were nearing Autumn. She’d loved growing up there, at least when her mom had been alive. Their estate rested on the edge of a forest, and during the summers she and Tony enjoyed hiking and exploring the woods.
Layla came along on their hikes, too, though not often. Tony had the annoying habit of teasing Morgan’s best friend mercilessly when they were growing up, so Layla avoided him whenever she could
Layla. Just thinking about her friend brought another jolt of pain to Morgan’s belly. Layla’s bones had been found in that forest. Not near the Kerr estate, closer to the outskirts of town. Whoever killed her buried her in the woods. Left her there to rot.
Morgan’s throat tightened. Her friend hadn’t deserved to die like that.
“We’re here,” Quinn said, breaking the silence.
Yep, they sure were. Morgan glanced at the bright green sign with the words Welcome to Autumn, experiencing a knot of trepidation. It was a familiar feeling, one she suffered each time she came home over the past ten years. And after what happened on her last visit, her anxiety levels were at an all-time high.
Quinn slowed the SUV as they drove into Autumn. It was past one o’clock in the morning, and the town was dark, but even bathed in darkness, it held an unmistakable charm. Quaint shops and little brick buildings lined each side of Main Street, the sidewalks were cobblestone, and old-fashioned lampposts stood proudly along the street. An enormous yellow banner had been strung from two lampposts on opposite ends of the street, advertising the annual winter festival the town held each November.
Quinn glanced at the banner. “What exactly are sapsicles?” he asked warily.
She bit back a laugh. “Maple syrup Popsicles, snow cones, too. Old Mr. McMurty sells them at the festival every year.”
He made a face. “Hope the town has a good dentist. I imagine the rate of sapsicle-related cavities is quite high.”
“Still living sugar-free, I see,” she said drily.
He raised a brow in her direction. “I’m thirty-two years old and cavity-free. Can you say the same?”
Morgan hid another smile, then grew annoyed with herself for even feeling the urge to show mirth after the way he’d spoken to her earlier. So what if Quinn still avoided sweets? So what if she’d teased him mercilessly about it in the past? This wasn’t the past. As he’d so candidly told her, the past was over. And the future held nothing for them.
Tears stung her eyes. She quickly blinked, forcing the traitorous tears to retreat.
“Turn left at this stop sign coming up,” she said, wincing at the hoarseness of her voice.
Fortunately, Quinn didn’t seem to notice how close to breaking down she actually was. He followed her directions, turning left, then right, then following the dark asphalt road she indicated.
She’d never brought him home before. As they pulled onto the winding driveway leading to the Kerr estate, Morgan wondered how he would react to the house. When they were together, she was always careful not to talk too much about her wealth. Quinn had been carted from foster home to foster home growing up, and his less than luxurious upbringing often made her feel guilty.
A pair of enormous wrought-iron gates greeted them at the end of the drive. Since the gates were always locked tight and required a code on the keypad in order to part, Morgan’s body stiffened when she found the gates gaping open.
“What the…” Her jaw harden suddenly focusing on the car parked on the circular driveway in front of the mansion.
Quinn drove through the open gates and shot her a wry look. “Can you honestly say you’re surprised? Your father’s a smart man—he knew precisely where you wanted to go.”
“I still can’t believe him.” She met Quinn’s gaze with a frown, then glanced back at the police cruiser sitting ominously on the smooth pavement.
Chapter 5
Sheriff Jake Wilkinson looked like a man ready for a fight as he stepped out of the cruiser and approached the SUV. Morgan unbuckled her seat belt, studying the man through the windshield, and, as usual, marveling at the fact that he looked exactly the same as he did in high school. Six feet tall, with a stocky chest and the arms of a bouncer, Jake had been the star linebacker on the high school football team, and his don’t-mess-with-me attitude had followed him to adulthood. Back then, he was always itching for a good fight, often throwing the first punch. According to some acquaintances in town, that hadn’t changed much, only now he had a badge to go along with his fists.
Morgan was not a fan of Jake Wilkinson. Hadn’t liked him back then, didn’t like him now.
“The sheriff, I presume?” Quinn murmured.
“Yep,” she murmured back. “My father must have called him the second you two got off the phone. You’re right, he knew exactly where we would go.”
Quinn paused for a moment. “Sheriff dated her, right?”
“Yep.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed at the man approaching their vehicle. “Isn’t the person closest to the victim usually the likeliest suspect?”
“Yep.” Morgan sighed. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
She and Quinn got out of the car. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Quinn had squared his shoulders, a sure sign he was geared up for a possible altercation. And if it came to one, she suspected Quinn could take the sheriff easily.
Jake’s wide mouth was creased in a frown as she stepped closer to him. His dark-eyed gaze rested on her briefly before shifting to examine Quinn. The way he studied the other man, there might as well have been a neon sign with the words testosterone overload flashing across Jake’s forehead.
She stifled a sigh. “Hello, Jake.”
“Morgan.” He gave a curt nod of greeting before turning to Quinn. “Adam Quinn, right?”
Quinn offered a nod of his own, along with a cheerless smile. “What can we do for you, Sheriff, at, oh—” he made a show of looking down at his watch “—one t
hirty-eight in the morning?”
Jake ran a hand through his jet-black hair before lowering it to the gun holstered at his hip. His fingers rested on the weapon ever so casually, yet the entire move screamed intimidation. “Your fatherformed me you were heading back to town,” he said. “So I decided to come here and see how you’re doing. You know, considering the last time you were here I was pulling your car out of the river.”
Morgan bristled at his words. The night she went over the bridge, she’d told Jake about the other car. Like her father, he hadn’t believed her.
“I’m fully recovered, thank you,” she returned stiffly.
“Uh-huh.” The tone of his voice revealed precisely what he thought of the matter—suicidal chick in denial.
“Let me guess,” she said. “You’ve made no headway in tracking down the car that was behind me that night.”
Jake’s obsidian eyes flashed. “I investigated your claim and found nothing to indicate there had been another car on the bridge.”
“Of course.” Each word dripped with sarcasm.
The sheriff ignored her tone. “How long are you planning on staying?” His gaze shifted from her to Quinn, distrustful.
“Does it matter?” Quinn asked with insincere friendliness. “This is where Morgan grew up.” He gestured to the massive house behind them. “Her family still owns this house. She’s allowed to be here as long as she wants, no?”
“Sure, as long as she doesn’t decide to interfere with my investigation.”
Anger skimmed up Morgan’s spine. “The investigation in to Layla’s death, you mean? The one that poses a serious conflict of interest for you, seeing as you dated Layla?”
Jake’s fingers tightened over the butt of his gun. “Layla and I broke up before she disappeared and you know it, Morgan.”
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t kill her,” she answered sweetly.
She opened her mouth to say more, but Quinn’s hand suddenly dug into her waist. He palmed her hip hard, sending the clear message to cool it. Despite the warning in his touch, she welcomed it. The feel of his long, warm fingers sent a sizzling rush through the material of her sweater and burned her skin.