Possessing Morgan

by Bonnie Edwards

  She’d needed nothing more than a phone call to have a garage door open just when she needed it, then closed the second Bessie was hidden inside. She might be living on the straight and narrow, but she still had friends from the old days she could count on for cover. The blonde had been gone when Morgan had exited her old friend’s garage.

  The radio crackled to life and she snatched it up. “It’s about time you picked up. Where have you been?”

  “Hanging out with some old friends and laying low.”

  “He’s calling here every half hour,” BB said. “And he’s burning my ear. Just call the man and get him off my back.”

  “No can do.”

  “Now he says the World Courier has your real name after all. And they know you work here and where you live.”

  “So what? I’ve already lost a tail today. I can take care of myself.”

  “Stay with me tonight.”

  “Good idea. I will.” She’d swing by her apartment and get some clothes and her own toothbrush first. “I’ll call you later. I’m sitting in front of my last recovery for the day and trying to decide if things look okay or not.”

  “If you’re wondering, then it’s not okay. I’ll send Joe. Wait for him before you do anything.”

  “Right. Will do.” Just because she was high on excitement didn’t make her stupid. “Call me back if he’s going to be longer than thirty minutes.”

  “Roger that. Out.”

  She returned the handset to the cradle and called her mother while she had a few minutes to talk. If anyone knew how to get over a man, it was Elizabeth Swann.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Morgan. I’m glad you called.” Her mom’s warm tone welcomed her. As adults they were much better friends than they’d been in Morgan’s teens. She gave her mom a brief, edited version of the weekend she’d spent with Mac. Still careful about his identity, she only used his nickname.

  “I don’t know why you don’t reel him in, Morgan. He sounds great, and if he’s got a good job, you won’t have to keep driving that smelly truck and working with those people.”

  Morgan closed her eyes, drew a breath and counted to three. “Those people are my friends and I’m not going to reel anybody in just so I can quit a job I like.”

  “Then move on. If this man didn’t do it for you, there’ll be another one. There always is.”

  There was a pause, and Morgan could imagine her mother’s pursed lips. “Play the field if you want to get over him,” Elizabeth advised after a moment. “But wait a few days to see if he calls.”

  “You still have a spare room?”

  “Yes. Are you coming to Miami for a visit?”

  She thought about what would happen if reporters followed her. One she could handle, maybe two, but not a swarm. “I’m thinking about it.”

  “You can stay for as long as you want,” her mother said. “In fact, you could move here, get a job. One that doesn’t involve danger.”

  Morgan laughed at the notion. What would she do without her periodic hits of adrenaline? She needed the hunt, the chase, the capture. Those things would fill in for the excitement of a relationship.

  It had worked before, it would work again. Look at how much more in charge she felt just by losing that blonde in the car.

  “I’ll think about it, Mom.” She moved the conversation to other things, like Elizabeth’s relationship with Ernie.

  She had to hand it to her mother. It might have taken seven tries to get it right, but it seemed this marriage was rock solid. Elizabeth was fully engaged in her life with Ernie.

  Dusk turned into night as she watched for any sign of activity. Safely cocooned inside Bessie’s cab, she waited for Joe, shielded from prying eyes.

  In her mind she ran through the real differences between her and Mac. She’d been a streetwise, tough-talking car thief while he’d taken his dad’s car keys.

  He’d been raised in a mansion with a butler and housekeepers. He’d come to the rescue of a child while Morgan had set out on her own path.

  Mac was a rescuer while Morgan refused rescue.

  She could and would handle whatever life threw at her. Today’s run-in with the blonde reporter was proof. Jack Carling couldn’t have done better himself.

  Lights inside the house winked on as she watched. The living room, most likely. The glow from a television screen lit up a corner of the window.

  The driveway was so littered it was hard to tell if it was used with any regularity. She needed a closer look to be certain.

  The lights went out as Joe pulled up. His truck faced hers, headlights blinding in the dark. He climbed down and walked toward her.

  “The lights went off,” he said, peering through her window.

  “Yes.” She tried to banish the eyelash image from her mind, but she wasn’t sure it was possible. “I haven’t seen anyone come or go.”

  “You’re after a pickup truck?”

  She nodded. “That garage looks too small. It must be forty or fifty years old.” The roof sagged and the door no longer fit squarely.

  “Cars were big forty years ago.”

  “I’ll sneak up and take a peek in the side window just to be sure.”

  “I’ll go,” he said, and turned away.

  She opened Bessie’s door. “I’m dressed in dark clothes. You’re wearing a white T-shirt.” She jumped to the ground, pulling on her gloves as she rounded Bessie’s front end.

  “Be careful. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

  She nodded.

  “Wait,” he said.

  “What?” she whispered back.

  “There aren’t any dogs, are there?”

  “Not that I’ve seen or heard and I’ve been here awhile.”

  She hunkered down and crept along the sidewalk and then up the driveway. If the truck wasn’t here, she could go to BB’s, get a good night’s sleep and pretend she wasn’t yearning for Mac’s touch. She kept to the shadows and crouched lower with each step.

  The buzz under her skin felt welcome and familiar as she moved. The driveway litter consisted of reasonably fresh takeout boxes and food wrappers. No sound came from inside the house as she peered into the side window of the garage. The truck, just as she’d suspected. A shiny black Chevy four-by-four. Bingo. She grinned, delighted her instincts had been right.

  She turned to leave.

  “Who the hell are you?” A quiet, tense male voice came from the back porch.

  She froze, still in her half crouch. He hadn’t turned on a porch light, so he was just as happy as she was with the cover of darkness. Her heart raced with the realization that he didn’t want to be seen. A click sounded. From a handgun? Not that she’d heard many, but still, it was best to be safe.

  Choice number one was to stand up, tell him the score and take her chances.

  Choice number two was to run like hell and hope he couldn’t see her well enough to aim properly.

  “I’m with Five Aces Towing, here to recover your truck. I’ve got paperwork.” A niggle of precaution caused her to take a runner’s stance.

  “Repo? Bullshit!” In the shadow of the back stoop, she saw him push at the screen door.

  He waved something lethal looking. She sprinted back up the drive toward the street, keeping low.

  A thud kicked up the dirt beside her right foot as she ran. Faster. Harder.

  Crap!

  Her heart thudded and her ears rang as she turned onto the sidewalk and made for Bessie. “He’s armed! Shots fired!” she screamed at Joe. Her lungs felt like bellows as she gulped air and ran faster. “Call 9–1-1.”

  She considered a dive into Bessie’s front seat but decided against being a sitting duck. No, she’d use Bessie as a shield. Then she’d deke into a backyard and wait for the police.

  She’d give her statement and get the hell home where it was quiet and safe. Feet pounding the pavement, she pushed her legs to go faster, farther.

  She listened for sirens and more ominous thuds
beside her. “Joe!” she screamed, but couldn’t hear a response over her pounding heart. She stopped at a high board fence at the end of the driveway. A dog snarled on the other side, low and menacing.

  A chain-link fence surrounded the neighbor’s yard. She hopped it and stopped to listen. “Bad dog!” she snapped. The dog whined softly as it padded back and forth on the other side of the fence.

  At long last sirens sounded in the distance and she bent over, hands on her knees to catch her breath. Her cell phone vibrated in her back pocket. She flipped it open, hoping to hear Joe’s voice.

  “Morgan! We have to talk. Where are you?”

  “Mac?” She heaved in a breath. “Now’s not a good time.”

  “Do I hear sirens?”

  “Gotta go!” The last thing she wanted was Mac to show up. With police scanners screaming that shots had been fired, news crews would show up in moments. Someone would get another picture of them together. This time it would be a credible news report, not just tabloid sensationalism.

  She heaved in a couple more deep breaths and listened for activity on the street. A truck fired up, and she heard the sound of splintering wood and then spewing gravel. It was either Joe or the jerk with the gun trying to get away with the pickup. She heard police shouting and tires screeching to a halt.

  Damn, now the truck would end up in the police impound.

  Her phone rang again. She answered.

  “Don’t hang up on me! You tell me where you are right now. I can be there in minutes.”

  “I don’t want you here.” But she did want him. Here, with her. So he could hold her and tell her she wasn’t crazy for doing this job.

  Through the phone, she heard a car door open then slam shut. He was on his way to her. He only needed her location and he’d be here. She flashed on the feel of his arms, how he smelled when aroused, the way his chest hair curled around her index finger. She closed her eyes, sucked in a breath.

  “I’m at work and I need to go and talk to the police, but I’m fine,” she assured him. She tossed the phone gently to the ground on the other side of the fence, then climbed over. Her breath came out with a whoosh. She picked up again. “I have to go now.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing,” she interrupted as she walked purposefully along the driveway. Ahead she saw the swirling lights of a police squad car. “This is my job, Mac. This is my life. The life I…like.” Did she still like it? She wasn’t sure anymore. But she was certain that there was no future for her with Mac. “And Jack’s right, I’m not the woman you think I am. I don’t need you to rescue me. Goodbye. I won’t forget the time we spent together.” She disconnected and slipped the phone into her pocket. She wouldn’t answer again.

  As she approached the police officers, she saw Joe in animated conversation. He turned to her and hugged her tight. “Morgan, thank God you’re safe. Are you okay? BB’s going to shoot me herself for letting you go up that driveway.”

  She let Joe hold her a moment so she could get her bearings, then she felt dizzy. He grabbed her as she bent at the waist to keep from fainting. Emergency services checked her over, gave her the all clear so she could make her statement to the police.

  Around midnight, Morgan pulled Bessie into her apartment building’s parking lot. She’d taken a roundabout route home so no one could follow her. Joe had gone to BB’s and she figured they’d want their privacy. Besides, at this time of night, she doubted anyone would still be lurking outside her building.

  A couple of television news vans had shown up at the scene of the aborted repossession, but she’d kept well away from them, although camera flashes had come from every direction.

  The building superintendent didn’t like the sight of Bessie and made Morgan park the truck in a back corner so no one could see it from the road. He was a pretentious man, living an unpretentious life, but he had standards, and a tow truck parked in his lot somehow offended him. She supposed he’d be happy if she moved out, but she’d been here longer than he had and she refused to be pushed around.

  She climbed down, grabbed her still-warm pizza and shouldered Bessie’s door closed. Thank God for all-night pizza joints. Raindrops spattered the pavement as she dashed across the parking lot to the back door of the building, cursing the super for making her park so far away.

  She still felt the reaction from the adrenaline of the chase, but it wasn’t as much fun as it usually was. Getting shot at destroyed the thrill. Funny how that worked.

  As she’d given her statement to the cops, she’d been shaking and freezing cold. Joe had forced her to take his jacket but it hadn’t helped much.

  She wanted Mac. Needed Mac. His steadiness would calm her. He’d been a rock this weekend when everyone around him had been frantic about the crazy events. He’d never once doubted her, in spite of Jack’s obvious suspicions.

  Mac didn’t even blame her for that photo in the tabloid. He was more worried for her. She wanted to tell him that she’d handled far worse things in her life.

  Jail for one. Six different dads, for another.

  What a fool she was to want the man just because she’d had a fright. She needed to grow a pair, she really did. Pining for Mac’s solid reassurance would only lead to a sleepless night. She needed sleep. Dreamless, restful sleep. No more dreams of Mac, no more yearning to feel his body next to hers.

  A cup of herbal tea would help. She slid her key into her lock and pushed the apartment door open with her shoulder. A lamp in the living room spilled light onto the floor in a golden circle. The sight warmed and welcomed her, but she hadn’t left it on and she still hadn’t picked up a timer. She started to back out, frightened again.

  A deep voice boomed across the room. “Where the hell have you been?”

  11

  MAC SAT ON MORGAN’S tiny sofa, bristling with anger, fear and relief that she was home, safe and sound.

  “How the hell did you get in here?” she fired back at him. Her pizza box wobbled while she fumbled with the key. “That wasn’t what I wanted to say! Why do I always—” Her distress burst out of her and hit him in the chest.

  “Oh God, Morgan, you scared the hell out of me!” Her near-tears expression made him move—fast—to get to her.

  He rescued the teetering pizza box and slid it onto the kitchen counter then dragged her into his arms, where she belonged. “I got in because Rory has a way with locks.”

  “Figures,” she said through a teeth-chattering smile.

  “God, I heard those sirens—” He cut off his own words by covering her lips in a kiss. He could no more hold back his fear than he could walk on water. She let him hold her, let him comfort her, while he assured himself she was uninjured.

  “I was scared, Mac. There was a gun. I’ve seen them before but this time, this time he used it.”

  Mac stiffened, went cold with a mixture of rage and terror.

  “What happened, baby? Tell me.” Tell me the bastard’s name!

  “I watched this house for hours and figured there was a pickup hidden in an old garage, but I didn’t feel right about the place. After dark, I sneaked up the driveway, but he must have seen me because he st-st-started shoo—shooting and I ran. I ran so hard!”

  “You got away? He didn’t hurt you?” He’d heard the sirens and shouts. The horror of those moments sent a shock to his gut. He held her tighter. “I would have come for you. Why didn’t you tell me where you were?”

  “I c-c-couldn’t. You don’t have to rescue me.” She looked up at him, her eyes tear-filled, her beautiful face white with fear.

  “Those sirens, I thought—I don’t know what I thought. I envisioned you on the road, bleeding. Torn up!” He shuddered with the need to hold on to her, to feel every muscle, every curve, to see if she hurt anywhere.

  She pulled back, set her hands on either side of his face. “And somehow, in the middle of all that, I decided to take your call? While I was lying in the street?” And there she was, the Morgan he knew, the feist
y, cheeky slip of a woman who had stolen his heart.

  She smiled, then slid her hands to his shoulders, gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I’m fine.”

  “Then why are you shaking?”

  “That’s not me,” she said with a gleam in her eye, “that’s you.”

  He chuckled. The lie was in her eyes, in her trembling hands. “Then kiss me and make it stop.” He groaned as he pulled her closer. Sweet heaven, she was soft where he was hard and he needed to claim her.

  He lifted her and stood while she wrapped her legs around his waist. He scooped her delectable behind higher. With no hall, this was the most compact apartment he’d ever seen. “The bedroom’s on the right,” she said.

  He nudged his way through the door to find a narrow bed jammed into a corner with a single dresser on a side wall. When he set her down he heard springs creak.

  She bit her lip. “Tight for space, but we’ll manage.”

  “I like tight.” He pulled off her T-shirt, overwhelmed by joy at holding her safely against him.

  “The headboard is against an outside wall,” she murmured. “We can bang that thing all night and no one will hear.”

  He laughed, loud and long. “Morgan Swann, I love the way you think.”

  “So I’ve heard.” She licked her lips as her gaze traveled the length of him and settled on his groin. “I love this part,” she murmured. “I love that you’re so hard and straining to be free of your underwear. It’s like unwrapping the best present I’ve ever received, Christmas, birthday, whatever. What you have behind this warm cotton is exactly what I need. What I crave. And right now there’s nothing in this world I want more than I want you.”

  The words alone were enough to send the last of his blood to his cock. “Morgan—” He bit off the words. If he said what he felt, he could never take the words back.

  The unspoken words zipped away when Morgan tugged down the band of his underwear and took a peek inside. She let the band settle again, exposing the glistening head of his erection, charged for action.

  When she raised her eyes to stare into his and her tongue slicked across her lower lip, he was done for. She knelt and took him into her mouth.