Possessing Morgan

by Bonnie Edwards

  Mac mustn’t know yet. They’d spent Sunday morning making love, raiding the kitchen, using the hot tub and playing video games. But by the afternoon, Jack had intruded with call after call about the investigation until she realized the truth.

  The fantasy weekend was over and she’d be smart to put it into perspective and get back to reality-ville.

  More weekends and lazy days spent in bed with Mac would not happen. Maybe with some other woman, but not her. Maybe he’d find the perfect match Morgan could never be.

  She considered calling him to explain that she hadn’t arranged for the photo to be taken, but there wasn’t any point. Jack had probably already accused her of orchestrating the photo, especially if he’d dug up her association with Johnny’s gang.

  Not that Mac would care that their tryst had been exposed. He was a single, heterosexual male. He’d probably get high-fived for boinking the help.

  She folded the tabloid and put the front page facedown then drove on to work. Her last normal morning had only been a few days ago. Thursday, the day she and Joe had nabbed the Charger.

  Before then she’d been edgy and, she hated to admit it, sex-starved. At least now she had the memory of Mac to fall back on when times got dark or lonely. For one shining weekend, she’d been his woman, cosseted and cared for. She’d played and made love with her fantasy man.

  No one could take that away from her.

  Still, it was time to forge ahead. There were recoveries to make, people to track and vehicles to tow. She looked forward to the surge of adrenaline that came with each adventure.

  Seeing BB’s car in her usual spot proved that in spite of the tabloid story, this Monday was like any other. She considered leaving the cringe-worthy newspaper behind, but BB would have an interesting take on it.

  One look at her friend and the whole concept of a normal day went out the window. The unflappable BB was jumpy and nervous.

  Morgan took a deep breath, held it and braced for trouble. “What’s up?” Maybe BB had already seen the tabloid.

  “I screwed up this weekend,” BB said. “Bad.”

  “Did your uncle find out we fudged on recovering Mac’s Morgan?”

  BB dismissed the question with a flick of her wrist. “Once I got the whole picture from Jack Carling and your Kingston McRae ponied up a deposit, it wasn’t a problem.” She leaned close in spite of the office being empty. “This is about Joe.”

  “Is that a blush I see?” BB blushing didn’t happen often. “Wait a minute. You and Joe? You didn’t!”

  BB scrunched her face and nodded.

  “You did!”

  Her blush deepened.

  “You two are so hot for each other, this place should spontaneously combust.”

  BB’s whole demeanor had changed over the weekend. She glowed, looked lovely and lush and hmm…sated. Must be something in the air, because Morgan felt like she was looking in a mirror.

  Still, something was off about BB. “Where are your eyelashes?” she asked. BB never forgot her full black set. “You look half-dressed.”

  “They came off.”

  “So, why didn’t you stick ’em back on?”

  BB went bright, fire-engine red.

  “Where and how did they come off?” Suspicion rose. “Were you with Joe at the time, all hot and sweaty?”

  “You could say that. One of them kind of tangled in his, um…” She stood abruptly and headed for the coffee station. As ample as her boobs were, her butt was just as lush. Encased in a spandex miniskirt, it barely moved. BB was firm, even if she was a plus-size gal. “His, um…oh, don’t make me say this.”

  “In his chest hair?” Morgan held in bubbles of laughter, but it wasn’t easy.

  “Lower.” BB’s voice quivered and the coffee carafe clattered back onto the warming plate. Her shoulders jiggled. “Don’t make me say it.”

  “His pubes?” Morgan blurted. She had to be wrong. She shouldn’t have said it. But when BB kept up the silent giggles, Morgan blanched. “Your eyelash got tangled in his pubes?” She hooted with laughter. At least she wasn’t alone in her insane behavior with men. Nothing she did with Mac could top this, tabloid or no tabloid.

  “You shush, it isn’t funny.” BB turned back to her and rolled her bare-looking eyes. “Okay, it was a little funny.” A giddy light shone in her eyes and she bit her lip. “After the first one came off, he asked for the other one.”

  “And?”

  BB tried and failed to deadpan her expression. “He propped them—propped them!—on either side of his penis. It looked like a nose. A very long, thick nose.” She collapsed against the filing cabinet and laughed. “A face with droopy eyelids!”

  Morgan was thunderstruck. BB was sleeping with a nutbar. A sexy, appealing guy who also happened to have a wild sense of fun.

  She must be crazy about Joe, because she never, ever, ever dated any of the crew.

  “Oh. My. God. BB, you’re in love!” It had been weeks since BB had gone out clubbing. Three weeks to be exact, ever since Joe had been hired.

  She straightened. “No, I’m not! I’m not in love. Joe and I are having a few laughs and some great sex.” Her face glowed as her mind seemed to focus on a memory. “Really, really great sex.” She sobered. “But enough about me. What happened with Kingston McRae?”

  “It was fabulous. Dreamy. I’ll never forget it.” Or him.

  “But?”

  “It’s got to be over sometime. I have to be realistic.”

  BB nodded and indicated the decor in the old gas station. “You mean this wouldn’t meet his standards?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Did he figure out you have a crush on him?”

  “No. But I let that go when I realized he’s not the man the World Courier thinks he is.” She shrugged. “I also didn’t quite get around to telling him about my record. Why ruin the fantasy with the awful truth? We had a fabulous time. No regrets, no expectations. Seriously, the guy’s so far out of my league.” She crossed her arms to contain her confused emotions. “Every time I mentally prepared myself to leave Mac’s estate, he’d look at me with this I want you expression and I’d cave in and stay.” She sighed softly at the memory of his oak-colored gaze heating her up. “And that was so not good for me. I mean, I was flattered, but I have to get my priorities in order.” She had to stop playing at being Cinderella.

  BB looked ready to say more, but Morgan put up her hand to stop her. “If there were a chance for something more—” she held out her copy of the World Courier “—this would definitely put an end to whatever might have been.”

  BB read the headlines then gaped in shock at the photo of Morgan. “Oh, no! How?”

  “I’m betting on a camera phone.”

  “Of course.” She looked disgusted. “Those things cause way more trouble than they’re worth. What will you do?”

  Morgan waved her hand in dismissal. “Get back to work.” She shrugged. “Mac’s the story, not me.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

  “When I’m on the road, I’ll move fast and keep moving. They’ll pick on someone else soon.” She tapped the photo and BB went back to scanning the paper for details.

  “What does Mac say? Is he angry?”

  “I haven’t heard from him.”

  “It’s creepy that whoever is stalking Mac may be looking at this picture of you right now,” BB said. “If anyone comes asking questions about you, I’ll call Jack Carling,” BB said. “He’ll want to know.”

  “It’s okay to tell him.” Not that she ever cared to see the guy again. “Remember, he’s prematurely gray.”

  “I’ll remember the silver fox.”

  Even if he was wrong about her, Morgan admired the man’s forthright demeanor. “More like an Arctic wolf. Predatory and stone cold.”

  BB quirked her eyebrow. “I checked around and no one has any other recoveries aimed at McRae. It was the Morgan and the yacht. That’s it.”

 
“Maybe this is all some horrible mistake then.” She picked up three work orders before BB could cross the floor and stop her.

  “Morgan! I haven’t sorted those yet.”

  “That’s okay. If I see anything that looks the least bit hairy about any of these, I’ll call for backup.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise. I need to keep busy.”

  BB made a doubtful noise and narrowed her gaze. “You can’t bury your feelings for Mac under a ton of work.” Her eyes softened in sympathy. “Take it from me, that only works for a while.”

  Fortunately, her phone rang before BB could say anything else. Morgan turned away from her inquiring gaze and dug the phone out of her denim sack purse. “Hello?”

  “Morgan, it’s Mac.” Silly her. Too cheap for call display.

  Her belly dropped and churned like a river over rocks. “I didn’t know about the camera,” she blurted.

  A three-second silence then, “You thought I’d blame you?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “This is all on me. One of the servers recognized me when I walked past him in the reception hall. But instead of steering clear of you—I was so focused on getting you into that coat check, I didn’t think about the consequences.” Warmth and concern filled his voice. And regret. He regretted the time with her.

  “Oh,” she said, then opened the office door so she could get some oxygen. BB’s interest had perked up when the word camera had entered the conversation. She must know it was Mac. “I’m at work. But thanks for the call.” She wanted to hold on to him forever, but she needed to run as fast and as far away from him as she could.

  She burst outside and began to pace in a fever of indecision, wishing he’d let her be. Let her go back to being just Morgan Swann.

  “I want to come get you,” he said. “Take you away somewhere for a few days.”

  The ache she felt at having to refuse him burned. “I heard you tell Jack that you wouldn’t run away from your stalker. You have work to do.”

  She forced down her joy at the sound of his voice, his deep, rumbling, sexy-as-hell voice. Then she looked at the work orders still clutched in her hand. “And so do I.”

  “Going away for a few days will do us good.”

  Her heart stumbled over the most important word in that sentence. “Us? There is no us. There can’t be.”

  “A few days. A week. Take the time off. You must have read the article, Morgan. The Courier knows your real name and where you live and work. Right now, they’ve got one reporter working the story. Once word gets out about your real name, you’ll be swarmed.”

  She looked around the lot. No unfamiliar cars. No strangers lurking nearby. “They won’t find me. I’ll move too fast.”

  “I’ll pay your wages for the week,” he blurted.

  Shock stalled her for two full seconds. “You can’t buy my time! I gave you my weekend freely, without strings, without expectations. Because it was my time to give you. Just because I’m not one of your usual women doesn’t mean I’m for sale.”

  “Morgan, I didn’t—”

  “This conversation is over.”

  She would not be like her mother, time and time again, waiting for some man to rescue her. Morgan had to stand on her own two feet, had to be in charge of her life.

  She stormed back into the office. “If Mac calls looking for me, you don’t know where I am.”

  “Are you sure?” BB stood up, her face full of concern and support. “Of course you are. You’re sure of everything.”

  She wanted to cry, but she was too angry to allow the weakness. She slipped her sunglasses on and faced her friend squarely. “The only thing I’m certain of is that I can’t see him right now. He thinks he can ride into my life and sweep me off my feet. He thinks I need to be rescued.”

  “And nothing could be further from the truth, is that about right? You can outrun these tabloids, you can hide from a swarm of reporters, but you can’t outrun yourself.”

  “Just watch me.” She opened the door, but before she could step outside, BB spoke again.

  “What about his stalker? What if Jack Carling calls?”

  “Jack will get the stalker.” She was sure of it. “And Mac wouldn’t ask Jack to find me.” Or to speak for him. “He’d want to come for me himself. And I will not see him. Understood?” She stared out the door at Bessie and waited.

  “If you say so.”

  Morgan sighed and felt a weight descend on her shoulders. “I’ll hide for as long as I need to.”

  Settled inside Bessie, she cranked the ignition. The rumbling clicks of the diesel brought bone-deep satisfaction.

  She would bury herself in work.

  Days would move into weeks, and at some point, thinking of Mac would stop hurting.

  Right now, she needed to make the shaking stop. She kept her hands in a death grip on the steering wheel and headed out of the lot. She pulled into the traffic flow on the cross street then realized she hadn’t read the address on the work order. Checking the rearview and side mirrors, she drew over to the curb to read the paperwork. She waved on a beige car behind her and then checked her street map to find the address she needed.

  Just her luck, she had to turn around and get on the freeway. If she didn’t get her head on straight she’d drive in circles all day.

  The same beige car pulled in behind her when she hit the on-ramp. Goose bumps stole along her arms, so she slowed and allowed the car to pull ahead of her.

  The driver honked and glared, flipping her the finger as she roared past. A blonde woman with spiky short hair, skinny arms and a tight jaw flashed by as Morgan settled into her seat again.

  If this was a game of chicken, Bessie could be one mean machine, but if this was hide-and-seek, the blonde could outmaneuver her.

  The woman took the next exit. Morgan relaxed her grip on the steering wheel and turned her attention to the road. With any luck, she’d have a long, full day ahead of her. Five minutes later, the blonde was three cars back.

  10

  AT 5:00 P.M. MAC PACED his den, growled at Rory and roared into the phone at Jack. “What do you mean you don’t understand what this guy’s up to?” The IT crew had followed a trail of cyber bread crumbs right up to the stalker’s door.

  Jonathan Lake had used the same Internet service providers to cover his tracks for each attack. Jack sounded as cold as Mac was hot. “No experienced cracker would make this mistake.”

  “You’re saying he wants to get caught?” He couldn’t see why the stalker would expose himself unless he wanted to divert their attention from some other scheme. They’d tossed that idea around but Jack had covered every base. All Mac’s accounts had been moved, changed or closed. His entire life was now behind an impenetrable wall. He glared across the grounds to the back wall and the garden shed. He considered closing off the exit, but it was the only way to escape the grounds if the paparazzi laid siege to the gates. “Put a camera in the shed. If anyone comes and goes through there, we should know about it.”

  “I did that after the power outage,” Jack replied dryly.

  “Good.” A new thought came to him. “This mistake the cracker made. Maybe it wasn’t Lake’s idea to do all this in the first place.” Maybe he’d been seduced into it. Men did stupid things for beautiful women. His father had been a prime example.

  “Wild assumption there, Mac. This guy’s likely smarter than you think.”

  “Then why make an obvious mistake?”

  “I’ll get back to you on that once we find him. In the meantime, grab a beer, take a swim or do whatever the hell it is you do to let off some steam. You’re a mess.” He hung up.

  Mac tossed his cell phone on the black lounger. He wasn’t a mess, he was frantic about Morgan. She wasn’t answering her phone and BB refused to tell him where she’d gone. It had taken a lot of convincing to make her admit Morgan had taken three work orders and headed out to do some recoveries.

  Cassie’s contact at the Co
urier had suddenly stopped talking and she figured it was because they were already following Morgan.

  All he could hope was that BB had got through to Morgan and Morgan knew she was being followed.

  So why wasn’t the bullheaded woman answering her phone?

  His gut ached that he’d insulted her. Surely she didn’t think he offered to pay—He snapped off the thought and glared at Rory, who’d surprised him by walking into the den.

  “When did you start wearing slippers in the house?”

  Rory gave him a look he hadn’t seen since he was sixteen and Rory caught him watering down the vodka in his father’s liquor cabinet.

  “Here’s the tabloid you asked for,” Rory said, tossing it faceup on the coffee table. He snapped to attention, squared his shoulders and turned smartly to leave the den.

  Mac ran both hands down his face. Rubbed until he felt his anger clear some. “Rory, thanks.” He got up to get the paper, the third one with no mention of himself or Morgan. She’d be better off if he left her alone. “At least Morgan’s free of all this.”

  “Lucky girl,” Rory said and marched out.

  Mac had apologized, but voice mail wasn’t the same as face-to-face. If she returned his calls, he’d ask her to lunch the way he’d planned and apologize in person. Once this stalker was found, they could pick up where they’d left off.

  He blew out a breath, let frustration eat at him.

  He could drive past her apartment building to see if it had any security. The irony of the idea didn’t escape him.

  A victim of a nasty stalking wanting to stalk a woman he barely knew. A woman he genuinely liked. A woman he’d insulted.

  “Rory, get your coat. We’re going out!”

  “Where?” Rory bellowed back from the kitchen.

  “To her place, where else?”

  “’Bout time,” Rory roared back. “I’m driving! You’ll kill us both with the mood you’re in.”

  AT DUSK, MORGAN TAPPED the steering wheel and bounced in her seat, high on adrenaline as she watched her next target’s house. Losing that blonde had given her a rush she hadn’t had since she’d last stolen a car. A little backtracking and a sudden turn or two without signaling had taken her to her own neighborhood.