Since they'd left the house in Illinois they'd been traveling east. A green reflective sign pointing toward Indianapolis loomed ahead. Jack pulled off the road at the first exit ramp and headed toward downtown. They needed to get rid of the car, but they couldn't pull into a hotel without one.
"Where are you going?" Morgan spoke for the first time in hours, it seemed.
"I have a plan," he told her. "There's a field office here. I can get us some help."
"No!" Her eyes shifted to him and he saw fear there.
"What are you afraid of?"
"I don't know these people. Who are they and why are you willing to trust them to help us?"
"Morgan, they're operatives of the United States government. It's their job."
"I've been in this place before. Operatives of the United States approached me. Riddled me with lies and half truths and got me involved in an operation where I was expendable. I didn't like it then and I won't walk back into that kind of situation again."
"It's not your call." His voice was hard. He forced it to be that way. He really wanted to reassure her. He understood her fear. He'd had the same feelings in the past, but he knew this was the best course of action. It was regulation, by the book. Jack wasn't often a rulebook player. He found rules restricting, and they often needed to be revised for the jungle, the desert, the terrorists after him and the powers trying to make it his last day on earth. This had to be different. This was Indiana, not Iran.
Jack had been the reason Morgan got into this, but he didn't have full authority on his side. He'd only known part of the story at the time and she could have lost her young life. Thank God she hadn't. He didn't know if he could have lived with himself if anything worse had happened that night.
"We need help, Morgan." His voice was softer this time. "Backup. Other agents to escort us back to D.C. I promise you everything will be fine."
She hesitated, obviously not trusting him. She had been on her own so long, fending for herself, never really allowing anyone to get close to her, get near enough to trust. Why should she trust him, especially if she knew she was here because of an offhand comment he'd made in a conference room twelve years ago.
"Morgan, you're going to have to trust someone. I promise I'll take care of you."
She sat back. "You already said it wasn't my call."
She lapsed into silence and Jack took it as consent. He continued toward town, but wasn't going to drive directly to the field headquarters. He knew better than to trust out of hand too. He'd call first, set something up. He had a friend in the Indianapolis office. Maybe he could even get a call into Jacob, find out if anything further had developed as to what the real reason was that Morgan Kirkwood had been put on a hit list. Who was trying to kill her?
And why?
The main street into the center of Indianapolis was a corridor of insurance companies. Few people expected anything else in Indiana except the 500, a wide track for race cars to circle. Most have probably forgotten that Michael Jackson and his entire family were born in Gary, or that all the music and video clubs have a warehouse address in Terre Haute. Indiana is only the way to get someplace else. Jack admitted he considered it that way too. He wasn't here to stay. It was a way station on his trip to the capital. He only hoped whoever was after them didn't realize they would stop here. At least not until they had vacated the place and had a clear and definite idea of what the next move should be.
He hated working without a plan, even if it was one he made up minute by minute. The problem was he didn't know the problem and that made it impossible to solve.
***
The air in the conference room on the fifth floor of FBI headquarters was thick with concern. The newspaper accounts of Morgan Kirkwood's house exploding made front-page news in St. Charles, but was buried on page three of the Post-Dispatch. Jacob could thank a quick-thinking agent working at the paper who reported a gas leak as the cause. The official report revealed a dangerous explosive and a timing device as the real cause. Thank God, there was only one casualty, a neighbor named Michelle O'Banyon.
"Where are they?" Forrest Washington had cut his vacation short when word reached him that Jack Temple was under fire in the Midwest. Jacob knew the man was concerned about Jack. Their relationship to each other was the same as Jacob's to Clarence Christopher, the director of the FBI. They bonded, became more than friends—they were family.
"Jack called three nights ago. Since then there's been no word," Jacob replied.
"We can't reach him either. Apparently, his phone has been deactivated. We did find a known member of the Korean mob at the out-of-the-way house of the dead woman in St Charles. What's the connection?"
Clarence Christopher sat forward. It wasn't often the two major arms of the government's law and order forces intersected and Morgan Kirkwood didn't appear important enough to be the catalyst for this high-level meeting. Unfortunately, Jack Temple had stumbled into something and Morgan was the pointman.
"You tell us," Christopher said. "We inherited the Kirkwood woman and were given only part of the story. Don't bother to deny it." He stopped Brian Ashleigh with a wave of his hand. Both Jacob and Clarence knew how agencies worked. They didn't reveal anything that wasn't necessary. So the file Christopher had read on Ms. Kirkwood gave her background and a few details of the one and only sanction she'd been party to. What Ashleigh had in his protected files was the rest of her story.
Washington slid a manila envelope across the polished surface of the conference room table. "This is the whole of it," he said. Jacob opened it, finding a CD and some papers inside.
"The CD is a video history of her. The notes tell you everything we know."
Christopher raised a silver eyebrow.
"Everything," Washington repeated.
Jacob knew of her involvement in freeing Hart Lewiston from the Korean prison during the '88 Olympics. Twelve years had passed without a sound from her and now the Koreans were after her. It didn't make sense and Jacob liked things to add up.
"Lewiston is a U.S. senator, a presidential candidate. Does he have anything to do with this?"
"We've checked him out," Ashleigh admitted. "He's as clean as snow."
"What about the Koreans?"
"We can't find a connection."
"Revenge?"
"After twelve years?"
"It's a matter of honor. They probably know she helped free Lewiston and she beat their number one champion out of a gold medal."
"Makes no sense," Jacob replied. "The same people aren't in power any longer."
"What about those that are?"
***
Just how much money did Jack have on his person? Morgan thought of this when he left to ditch the car. She wanted that car. It had taken a fair amount of time to restore it to peak performance. That car could outrun any police vehicle between here and New York. It served them three days. It seemed longer. She couldn't believe he'd only shown up in her life three days ago. It felt like they'd been running forever.
Morgan looked around at the room. It was standard Holiday Inn fare, clean, bright and with a view of the pool below. She thought he'd pick an out-of-the-way motel, something cheap and not the kind of place you'd expect to find a CIA operative and a fugitive from a twelve-year-old Olympic competition. Again she wondered about the cost and how Jack was paying for it. He wouldn't be stupid enough to use a charge card, she hoped. If he had, someone would surely have traced them by now. She whipped around, looking at all the windows and doors, suddenly feeling vulnerable. Paranoia would invade her mind soon. She needed to talk to him, to find out what he planned, but they didn't communicate well. She'd learned that twelve years ago by a practice pool. And from three days alone in the car with him.
Morgan was alone and hungry. She had plenty to survive on for a while. She didn't know how long. Her plan, if she ever needed one, was to abandon the house and make her way to Washington, D.C. in the car. There she would contact Jacob Winston and turn herself i
n. She'd met him once and she trusted him. He was a fair man, tall, serious with blue eyes, and she felt he genuinely cared about her. If he suggested she go deeper into the program, she would do it. Now she didn't know. She hadn't expected to have anyone with her. She never expected to see Jack after they returned from Seoul. She never expected to have him look at her and find her body tingling with unfulfilled longing.
Jack was a problem.
She had to get away from him. Now was the perfect time, before he got back from wherever he'd gone to dispose of her car. He worked for the CIA, she thought. He was the professional here. He could take care of himself. So why was she hesitating? She never hesitated before. She always knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it. She'd often had to fight for it, and she'd taken her share of the knocks, but she could take care of herself. Jack was a hindrance. She needed to be alone, running by herself, taking care of herself.
She swung around, searching for her backpack. Loading it over her shoulder, she checked the room for anything else she might need, then went toward the door. With her hand around the knob she stopped. Should she leave him a note? He could return and think she'd been kidnapped by the people looking for her.
Grabbing a piece of paper and pen from the desk, she wrote quickly, but did not write a note for Jack. She scribbled the hotel phone number on a scrap of paper and pushed it into her pocket. She would call him in a few minutes and tell him she was all right. She wouldn't wait for him to talk. She wanted to hear his voice one more time, but would not give him time to talk her out of her decision.
Morgan opened the door and peered into the long hallway. The carpet, a maroon pattern that gave with her step, stretched the length to the elevator. Lights at regular intervals bled overlapping pools on the floor and walls. Morgan looked for the stairs. That exit should be better. The elevator was a trap, a tiny room, with no escape. When it opened she would be prey to anyone on the other side of the sliding doors.
Someone like Jack.
Or worse.
She left the room and closed the door. Ten feet away, in the opposite direction, a red exit light hung over a door marked "stairway." She headed for it. The door's weight, designed to provide protection from fire, gave as she pushed it open and turned to softly close it. Inside, the walls were white. Huge pipes six inches in diameter ran up the wall behind the door.
Morgan turned, took a step and walked directly into Jack. She would have fallen if his hands hadn't come out and grabbed her.
"Where do you think you're going?" He squeezed her hard against him. She didn't struggle because she knew it was useless. She was caught. His eyes were angry. She'd seen anger before and it didn't frighten her.
"Let go of me." She pushed back, needing space and air. He surprised her by being there, but being shackled to his body was too close for comfort. This was another reason she needed to get away from him. She wasn't the same woman when he was close, and she couldn't drag him into the mess she'd made of her own life. Even if he was better trained than she was.
Even if he could save her life. She could get him killed and she wasn't willing to let that happen.
She might have known he'd take the stairs instead of the elevator. Didn't everything about him tell her he'd take the stairs even if it was thirty flights? His body was muscular and hard. She'd been pressed against it more than once and she knew the contours of his chest and arms.
"I'm getting out of here," she hissed, more angry with her own reactions than with his unannounced presence.
"So you can get killed?"
"I won't get killed. I've been on my own forever," she threw at him. "In the first place, my plan didn't include you. So leave me alone. I don't need you. Whatever I have to do I can do without your help."
Jack stared at her without a word. It went on long enough to make Morgan uncomfortable. Suddenly he hauled the door open and pulled her through it. In seconds they were back in the hotel room staring each other down like two gunfighters in the middle of town at high noon.
"Prove it," Jack challenged, anger so tightly wound he felt he'd snap any second now. She blinked, confused by the question. "Prove you don't need me around and I'm out of here." Jack grabbed her wrists. She gasped and he nearly let go. "I haven't done a tenth of what I can, but you don't need me. Show me how you don't need me." He noticed the way her breasts rose and fell under the light fabric.
Morgan stepped forward, pushing her hips against him. Her mouth clamped on his. He didn't pull away. Her tongue dove into his mouth. She used her mouth as the only weapon available to her. Moving her head, she repositioned her mouth, taking more of him as he joined her in the kiss. Her hips rubbed suggestively against his lower body. She could feel his arousal. She raised one leg, wrapping it around one of his and shifting up and down, feeling the heat and the hardened bulge in his pants. As expected he released her wrists. She felt his arms circle her waist and begin to pull her closer. At that moment she jerked her leg and pulled him off balance. Together they went down. At the same moment they hit the floor Morgan rolled away. With the speed of lightning she grabbed his arm and twisted it behind him in a way that forced immobility.
She looked at him for a few seconds, breathing hard. "This is what I could do to get out of that," she said. Holding his arm only long enough to make her point, she dropped it and went to her bedroom.
Jack collapsed with the slamming of the bedroom door. In all his years no one, no one had ever gotten to him the way she did. And a woman! He didn't mean to belittle women. They could be as tough as men. He'd run up against his share of them. This one he should be able to overpower with a nod, and she'd taken him down, reduced him to nothing more than a weak mass of need. And she'd been so cool about it. So calculating. Unemotional.
Damn, he cursed, she was getting to him.
***
Morgan opened the door to the bedroom half an hour later. Her face was clean of makeup and her hair was loose about her shoulders. She'd brushed it straight. It fell to her shoulders then curved slightly upward on the ends. A tease, Jack thought. He wondered if she'd done that to entice him. If so, it worked. He wanted to slip his hands in the soft mass, bring it to his nose and inhale the clean flowery smell of her shampoo. And he didn't want to stop there.
Jack planned to leave as soon as it was dark. Morgan had foiled his plans more than once, but today she'd proved he couldn't leave her alone, he couldn't trust her not to get herself killed. It would be better if he could. He'd like to walk away. He'd like to forget everything and just go, but he couldn't. It wasn't in him. Maybe the idea of quitting wasn't part of his future. He hadn't started out to find trouble, but it had found him and there was no way he could leave Morgan to fend for herself. No matter how much she thought she could handle it.
Or how much she set off his hormones.
He needed to call Forrest Washington and find out what, if anything, had turned up. When he ditched the car he hadn't had time. He thought he needed to get back to the hotel and as it turned out, he did. He even ordered room service so he wouldn't have to leave the woman he was now sworn to protect.
"I'm sorry," she said, standing in the doorway. "That was unfair of me. I should never have done it."
"It was effective," Jack said.
"It's not like I do this all the time," she replied angrily.
Before Jack could answer, there was a knock on the door.
"Room service," he explained as he went to it. He put his hand on his pistol and looked through the peephole. He opened the door and the waiter set up the food on the dual desk-table. It was small and they would have to sit close if they were to eat together. Jack paid the waiter in cash and moments later they sat across from each other.
"Do you trust me enough to tell me the truth?"
"I have told you the truth." Her voice was a little higher than usual but she controlled it. "I don't know anything more."
"What about Korea? What happened there?"
Morgan stuffed a small red pota
to in her mouth and chewed. She didn't look at him, yet Jack stared at her as he waited. She took her time. She wanted to tell him. He could almost taste it. She wanted someone she could talk to, tell about that night.
Jack had been there. He knew some of what she could tell him, but not all. He didn't have a clue why someone would wait twelve years to come after her. He wouldn't rush her, wouldn't push her into doing or saying anything. She would tell him. He knew ways to get her to talk. He could force her to tell him what he wanted to know, but he wanted her to tell him on her own. He wanted her to want his help. He wanted her to need him. He knew she would do it, but she would only trust him in her own time.
"I won a gold medal," she finally said.
***
Jack linked his fingers and rested his forehead against them. Morgan had disappeared into the bedroom right after she ate. He could hear the water running in the shower. There was no window in the bathroom and they were on the ninth floor. There was a window in the bedroom, but he didn't think she'd want to die scaling the side of the building trying to get away from him. This was not the prison. There was no ledge, no intricate ironwork for her to grab hold of. Between her room and the ground was only the brick face of the building, no place to get a foothold for anything greater than a spider, and while she might be able to dismount from a beam and stick to the floor, she wouldn't be able to use any of those skills from this location. The door was her only means of escape and she'd have to pass him to reach it.
What was he going to do? Short of tying her to the bed, he needed her cooperation. In order to save her life, he needed her to want his help. Why wouldn't she? She couldn't still think he meant to harm her. He could never do anything like that.
More Than Gold (Capitol Chronicles Book 3) Page 9