by Elle Kennedy
“Yeah, so?” he grumbled.
Her delighted laughter filled the suddenly hot car. “So, it’s nice. You’ve kinda been acting like a jerk since you stormed back into my life, and it’s good to know a part of you still cares, even just a little.”
A little? God, he wished that were true. But he had the unsettling feeling that his feelings for Morgan ran deeper than “a little.” Two years apart, and he still hadn’t gotten her out of his system. She’d only been back in his life for two measly days, and already she was under his skin again.
“I care, too,” she added, so softly he strained to hear her.
Flicking on his signal, he turned onto the road leading to the Kerr estate, wishing his pulse hadn’t raced when she said those words. I care. Other than the guys he worked with, there weren’t many people who cared about him. Not that he was whining about it. Hell, he’d come to the conclusion a long time ago that sometimes you were better off the fewer people who cared for you.
“I thought about you a lot these last couple of years,” she went on. “I worried about you.”
He glued his eyes to the road. If he met her gaze, he knew he’d see a myriad of emotions in her big blue eyes. Emotions he wasn’t ready to face yet. If ever.
“You shouldn’t have,” he said gruffly. “You know I can take care of myself.”
“Like you took care of yourself in Johannesburg?”
He furrowed his brows. Now how in the hell did she know about—
“Murphy called,” she said, her throaty voice trembling.
Quinn’s fingers tensed around the steering wheel. “That nosy, presumptuous son of a—”
“Don’t be angry with him.”
Her warm hand suddenly reached out and covered one of his. Quinn nearly let go of the wheel, then forced himself to stay calm. He steered through the mansion’s gates and parked in front of the pillared entrance. He could’ve pushed her hand away when the car came to a stop, but he didn’t. God help him, but her touch felt too damn good.
“He called when you were in the hospital,” she said, gently tracing his knuckles with her index finger. “He said you’d been shot while rescuing the ambassador’s daughter and that you lost a of blood. He wanted me to fly out.”
Quinn slowly turned to meet her gaze. The worry he saw in her eyes touched him, the disapproval made him want to smile. “But you didn’t.”
She swallowed. “No. I thought about it, but I knew you wouldn’t appreciate it. You told me to stay out of your life, so I did.”
The stab of regret he experienced from her words bugged him. She’d chosen her father over him, and the way he saw it, he had every right to say those words. So why did the idea that he’d hurt her make his heart ache?
“Murph probably exaggerated the injury,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “It was just a bullet to the thigh.”
“Hitting the femoral artery,” she replied stiffly.
Quinn couldn’t help but grin. “It was nothing. Seriously, Morgan, don’t look so horrified.”
She curled her fingers over his, her blue eyes suddenly searching his with such intensity the grin on his face faded.
He wrinkled his brow. “What is it?”
“I should have come,” she whispered. “I agonized about it for hours. I even had the phone in my hands so I could make a flight reservation. In the end, I chickened out. I couldn’t bear having you look at me that way again.”
“What way?” he asked, then wished he hadn’t.
“As if you hated me.”
A twinge of regret floated around in his gut. “I never hated you. I loved you, even when I ended it, I still loved you.” He shook his head ruefully. “It took me two years to get over you.”
She let out an unsteady breath, her fingers trembling against his. For a moment she just stared at him, then slowly pulled her hand back and pressed it to her knee. “You got over me?”
He met her eyes and said, “Yes.”
It was a lie. The past two days proved that he had definitely, irrevocably, not gotten over her. He still ached for her, still craved her, but telling her the truth would achieve nothing. When he’d said he wasn’t interested in relationships any longer, well, that hadn’t been a lie. He’d lived a solitary life these last couple years, and he liked it. Relationships had always been difficult for him; even with Morgan, he’d never quite felt like he was cut out for it, but she’d dazzled him with her wit and laughter and spontaneity, to the point where he believed he might be able to make a marriage work.
But when she canceled their wedding, he realized the truth. His childhood had screwed him up beyond repair. He would always want too much out of a relationship, expect his partner to meet the unbelievably high standards everyone else in his life had previously failed to meet.
In a way, Morgan had done him a favor. Made him see that he was better off alone.
“I don’t think you’re telling the truth.” Her unhappy voice drew him from his thoughts.
He sighed. “You just don’t want to believe it.
Her perceptive blue eyes studied him again. For a few long moments, their gazes locked, until Morgan finally shook her head and broke the eye contact. “Let’s go inside,” she said.
He didn’t like her complete lack of expression, or the dull note to her voice, but he wasn’t going to push her. Whether she believed him didn’t matter. Whether he was over her didn’t matter, either. They had no future, and that’s all that mattered.
Unbuckling his seat belt, Quinn got out of the car and followed Morgan to the enormous front doors. She rummaged in her purse for her keys, then pulled them out and reached to unlock the door. She froze just before the key made it to the lock.
She pointed to the ground. “Was that there when we left?”
Quinn glanced down warily. Sitting on the porch directly next to the front doors was a white, letter-size envelope. No postmark, no sender or return address.
“No, it wasn’t there.” He knelt down and picked up the envelope by one corner, then rose to his feet. The envelope wasn’t sealed, and when he held it under the porch light, he saw it contained a lined piece of paper, the kind kids stuck in their school binders.
“Should we open it, or take it to the police?” Morgan asked.
Quinn rolled his eyes. “The police? You mean Jake? Considering he seems to spend more time sleeping with a married woman than doing his job, I think it’s safe to say he won’t be much help with this. Let’s open it.”
Morgan stared at the envelope as if it were a bomb. “You do it.”
He smiled faintly. “Yes, ma’am.”
Neither of them spoke as he gently lifted the flap and extracted the paper, again only grasping the corner. Chances were there would be no prints, but one could never be too careful.
He noticed Morgan’s hands shaking again, the glow of the porch light illuminating the flicker of apprehension in her eyes. Slowly, he unfolded the paper.
There were only two words on the sheet, each one cut out from a newspaper and glued on the paper creepy serial-killer style. Only two words, but they spoke volumes, and sent a chill up Quinn’s spine.
Leave town.
Chapter 11
“What does it say?” Morgan demanded.
Without a word, Quinn handed her the note. Trepidation crept up her spine as she lowered her gaze to the paper. The two words brought a spark of fear and anger. “What the hell does this mean?” she asked.
“I think it means whoever wrote the note wants you to leave town,” Quinn said helpfully.
“Duh.” She rolled her eyes at him. “But why? Is it a threatening kind of leave town, as in, leave town or I’ll kill you? Or is it a helpful warning, you know, because you’re in over your head and as a concerned citizen I think you should go?”
Quinn’s lips twitched. “I highly doubt a concerned citizen would take the time to cut individual letters from a newspaper and glue them to paper. A phone call would probably make more sense.”<
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“So it’s a threat then.”
He nodded, a deadly glint filling his eyes. “Yeah, I think it is.”
She unlocked the door, deactivated the alarm and bent down to unlace her boots. “Who do you think sent it?” she asked as she watched Quinn kick off his own boots.
“I’m assuming the person who killed Layla.”
Ice filled her veins. “Do you think he’ll come after me again?”
“Or she,” he pointed out. “We have no idea if it was a male or female who killed her.”
“What do you think?”
“Male,” he admitted. “The fractures in her skull indicate the attacker was very strong.” He grinned. “And before you say women are strong, too, I know that. The nature of the crime, though, leads me to believe it’s a man.”
“Me, too.” She stood up, opened the large closet in the front entrance and shoved her and Quinn’s boots inside. “I need to be more careful.” She bit her lip. “You realize whoever left that note somehow managed to get through the gates. There’s a code you need to punch in, Quinn.”
“I know.” He shot her a rueful look. “But you know how easy it is to bypass anything electronic these days. You saw how quickly I disabled the alarm at Davidson’s office.”
He was right, it probably wouldn’t be that hard to circumvent the gate. The interior alarms, though, would pose a serious problem for whoever delivered the note, which was probably why he—or she—left it on the porch.
“I always told my father we should have security cameras set up outside,” she remarked. “He thought the system inside was enough. But if he’d listened to me, we would be able to see who dropped the note off tonight.”
“It is a pretty good interior system,” Quinn admitted, his gaze straying to the keypad on the wall. “Motion detectors, sensors at every door and window. It would be difficult for an intruder to break in to this house.”
“But not impossible,” she said, fear rising in her throat.
“No, not impossible,” he agreed. He noticed her concerned expression and shot her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, even if someone managed to break into this fortress, they wouldn’t get past me.”
“No?” She lifted one eyebrow. “Grady got past you tonight.”
Quinn shot her a bewildered look. “I knew he was following us.”
“You did?”
“Of course.”
“So why did we wind up facedown on the rt? You weren’t even armed.”
The corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Says who?” Before she could respond, he lifted the hem of his sweatshirt and did a half turn, revealing the gun tucked into his waistband.
Despite the ominous view of the weapon’s sleek black handle, a rush of heat flooded Morgan’s body. He’d lifted his shirt, and the smooth strip of golden-brown skin exposed made her mouth go as dry as a desert. God, she wanted to touch him. She remembered how soft his skin felt beneath her fingers. He didn’t possess an ounce of fat, only sinew and muscle and sheer masculine power.
Morgan gulped, trying to bring some moisture back into her mouth. It didn’t work, so instead she tried to focus on the reason they were together in the first place. The case.
“I’m going to find who killed her, Quinn. I don’t care if Jake says the case is too cold.” Ignoring the pulsing waves of desire in her body, she made for the study. “We’re going to pore over those case files until we come up with a new lead.”
“You’re going to,” came Quinn’s dry voice from behind.
She paused at the end of the foyer. “You’re not going to help?”
“Not tonight. I plan on taking a shower, going to bed and looking at those files with fresh eyes in the morning.” He shrugged out of his black coat as he spoke, tucking it under his arm.
“Suit yourself,” she said. Determination hardened her features. “But I’m staying up.”
“Suit yourself,” he mimicked. His green eyes suddenly softened. “Don’t stay up all night. Layla will still be dead in the morning.”
The remark, though gently delivered, sent a shot of pain to her chest. “I know.”
He studied her for a moment, as if he wanted to say something more. In the end he just sighed. “Good night, Morgan.”
“Good night, Quinn.”
She watched him climb the winding staircase. When he disappeared from view, she headed for the study. She’d left the files on her desk, a thin stack that for ten years had failed to result in a single viable lead. Her back muscles ached as she sank into the leather chair, making her realize she’d hit the ground a lot harder than she’d thought.
The memory of Quinn’s body shielding hers brought another infusion of warmth. She wished he’d been on top of her for another a reason, one that involved a bed and a healthy dose of lust, not danger.
But apparently he’d gotten over her.
Yeah, right. She’d lived with the man for two years, long enough to become adept at reading every expression, every nuance…every lie. And he’d lied to her out in the car. He still wanted her.
With a sigh, she reached for the first file, which contained the interviews the former sheriff conducted when Layla went missing, but before she could open the folder, the phone on the desk began to ring. A glance at the caller ID revealed the line to her father’s D.C. penthouse.
The s became a soft groan. Well, she shouldn’t be surprised her dad was calling. It had been two days since she’d left the hospital. She was surprised he’d held out this long.
Gearing herself up for what she knew would be a fight, she picked up the receiver and leaned back in the chair. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hello, Morgan.” The senator’s voice was so chilly she found herself shivering. “Are you ready to put an end to this madness and come home?”
“What madness are you referring to? My need to figure out who tried to kill me? My determination to solve my best friend’s murder?” She shook her head to herself. “How can either of those things be considered mad?”
Her father ignored the sarcastic response. “The press broke the story of your suicide attempt. My PR team has been fielding calls since yesterday.”
“So? They should be used to cleaning up my messes by now,” she said with a bite of hostility.
“Aren’t you growing tired of humiliating this family?”
Her fingers tightened over the phone. “You’re the one who caused this, Dad. If you’d believed me when I told you about the other car instead of having me committed, the media wouldn’t be salivating this way.”
“I refuse to play along with your delusions, young lady,” the senator snapped. “The sheriff investigated and found no evidence that someone ran you off the bridge. On the other hand, you’ve provided this family with plenty of evidence over the years showing you are unstable.” He gave an uncharacteristic curse. “I want you to come home, Morgan. Tonight.”
“Sorry, but no,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Asking questions about your friend’s death isn’t going to achieve anything. The Simms girl is dead. It’s tragic, yes, but it’s been ten years. Even Mort and Wendy have let her go.”
She wasn’t buying the sudden softness of his tone. Her father always had an agenda, an ulterior motive, and he wasn’t above using false kindness to get his way. Well, for the first time since her mother died, she wasn’t caving in.
“I’m not leaving Autumn until I’m good and ready,” she said evenly.
His gentleness faded so fast she almost laughed. And as usual, he tossed out the ace in his sleeve. The guilt card he never failed to use. “Your mother would be very disappointed in you, Morgan.”
Ignoring the ache in her chest, which the mention of her mother always evoked, she set her jaw. “No, I think she’d be disappointed in you.” Her throat tightened. “Mom would have believed me about what happened on the bridge.”
“Your mother was always too naive,” he replied curtly. “And apparently our friend Adam is equally naive. He was s
upposed to bring you home. Instead, he’s buying in to your delusions.”
“Quinn knows I’m not delusional, and I don’t appreciate you contacting him behind my back.” She swallowed. “Why don’t you have any fain me?”
Her father stayed silent for a moment. Then, rather than addressing the hurt-laced question, he said, “If you’re not home by the end of the week, I’ll take matters into my own hands.”
“Nice, Dad, threaten me. I suppose you’ll send some guys with white coats to take me to a padded cell.”
She couldn’t quite hide the pain in her voice, but as usual, her father remained oblivious to it. Or else he simply didn’t care how much he hurt her. How much his lack of trust and faith had slowly chipped away at pieces of her heart over the years.
“The end of the week, Morgan,” he repeated.
He hung up without saying goodbye.
Despite her best attempts at blinking them back, a few tears leaked from the corner of her eyes. Damn him. What would it take for him to show her an ounce of decency, an iota of compassion? She was his daughter, for Pete’s sake, yet he treated her like a pawn he could move around his own little chessboard.
Her fingers shook as she placed the phone in its cradle. Breathing deeply, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, pushed back the chair and stood up. Layla’s case files sat on the desk, pleading with her to look at them, but she couldn’t do it tonight. Quinn was right. Better go over them tomorrow, with fresh eyes. After the conversation with her father, she was in no mood to search those papers for clues.
She shut off the light and left the study. She hesitated on the second-floor landing, the temptation to go to Quinn so strong her legs tingled.
She forced herself to keep walking. He might still want her, physically at least, but she knew he hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t want a relationship again. She’d hurt him too badly two years ago, unearthed his old feelings of abandonment, and seeing as he was almost as stubborn as her, Quinn wouldn’t back down on his newly resurrected no-relationship policy.
Which was a shame, because right now, she’d never needed anyone more.