Morgan's Hunter

by Cate Beauman

  “Hel—”

  “Dad, what’s wrong? Where are you? Is Mom all right?”

  “Thank God, Morgan. I’ve been waiting for your call. Yes, Mom’s fine. I’m at the office.”

  Inhaling deeply, Morgan sunk to the bed. “Okay, good, good. What’s going on?”

  “Morgan.”

  She stood again, nerves skittering down her spine at the trace of sorrow in her father’s voice.

  “I have some hard news. I’m not sure how to tell you this.”

  “Go ahead, Dad. Please.” She moved about the room, unable to be still, as her heart rate accelerated again.

  “Shelly, Ian and Tom…they—”

  “What? What’s wrong with them?” She gripped the phone until her knuckles whitened.

  “They’re…they’re gone, honey.”

  Morgan stopped in her tracks. “What do you mean they’re gone? What does that mean? They’re missing? How long? The guys and I’ll be on the first plane—”

  “No, honey. They’re dead.”

  She stared at the ugly curtains half opened to the fading light, unable to grasp her father’s words.

  When she didn’t respond, he spoke again. “Your team is dead, Morgan.”

  Wispy fog threatened to dull her thoughts but she shook it away. “That’s ridiculous. There must be some mistake.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “This just can’t be true. How can they be dead?”

  “We’re still waiting for all of the details. I received word forty-eight hours ago.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, Morgan. Their families went out to identify their bodies, honey. Dean flew out with them to lend any support the Bureau could offer. I should’ve gone myself, but he wanted to do this.”

  Her friends were dead? She couldn’t get a handle on it. “Was it…a bear?”

  “No, Love, they were found shot.”

  Nothing could have prepared her for that—nothing. Legs giving out, she leaned against the dingy, yellowed wall for support as she slid to the floor. “Oh Daddy, I don’t understand. Shot?”

  “I wish there was some way to spare you all of this.”

  Her voice wavered, nausea churned. “I-I can’t believe this.”

  “I’ve been having a hard time believing it myself.”

  Morgan closed her eyes. “What happened?”

  “Why don’t we discuss everything tomorrow?”

  She was tempted to agree and wait for the horrid details of their accident. But how did three people accidentally get shot?

  This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. Her body shook. She clenched her fists, attempting to gain control over her racking shudders. She wanted to hang up, to go find Dave and Jim and forget the whole thing. Then she could pretend her father’s call was some sort of mistake.

  But she wasn’t made that way.

  She did her best to steel herself. “No. Tell me, Dad.”

  He sighed. “They were found shot in the head, Morgan, out in backcountry. We hadn’t received any transmission signals from their tracking systems for a couple of days.”

  Her father took another deep breath before he continued. “Shelly’s transmitter suddenly came on the day before the rangers found them. They think she must’ve turned it on when she figured out they were in trouble. At this point, we know they walked about a mile before the signal stopped moving. That’s where they found their bodies, honey.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t…” Her voice broke as her heart crumbled. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she swiped them away.

  Morgan took an unsteady breath as she stood on legs that threatened to buckle. “Dad, I have to tell Dave and Jim. What should I say? How do I explain that our friends—” She pressed her lips together in a firm line, choking back her tears.

  “I can talk to them, honey.”

  Morgan shook her head again. “No. Shelly and I were in charge of this team.”

  “That’s my girl. We’ll put the assignment on hold. Helen will book your flights back for late tomorrow afternoon. That should give you plenty of time to drive to Portland. The tickets will be at the counter.”

  “Of course, but I want to depart in the morning. We’ll leave early. I need to get back and find out what in the hell is going on.” She stared at the cheap lighthouse painting hanging just off center across the room, struggling to take everything in. “Who did this to them? Why?”

  “We don’t know. Perhaps I’ll have more information when I pick the three of you up. I’ll see you tomorrow, Peanut.”

  “Love you, Daddy. Bye.”

  Morgan’s racking sobs echoed off the walls of the shower until the water ran cold. She wrapped herself in a towel, clutching the cotton tight, seeking warmth.

  Her friends were dead—had been dead for two days. While she, Dave and Jim had joked and gambled for marshmallows by the light of their campfire, their pals had been murdered. She didn’t want to believe it.

  Memories of the team’s night out played through her mind. She never would’ve imagined it to be their last. Six people—all as different as could be, from all walks of life—had grown into such a close unit, a family, and now half of them were gone.

  Morgan dressed quickly in jeans and a t-shirt, desperate to be in the company of her two remaining team members—her friends.

  CHAPTER 3

  “DAD, I’M GOING.” MORGAN PACED the length of the spacious office, making flinty eye contact with every turn.

  “Damn it, Morgan!” Stanley slammed his hand on his desk. “The person responsible for the team’s deaths is still at large. You aren’t traipsing through backcountry by yourself. I won’t allow it.”

  “I’m twenty-six.” She glared at him as she turned toward the massive windows of the Bureau’s presidential suite, huffing out a breath. She stared at the triangular tip of the Washington Monument far off in the distance, trying desperately to find some semblance of control over her shaky emotions.

  For days, she’d ridden Hell’s rollercoaster, fighting waves of turmoil death always left in its wake. At moments she’d fly high, finding sweet relief in numbness and disbelief, allowing herself—for just a moment—to deny that the worst had really happened. But newspaper articles or unwanted conversations brought everything to the surface, and she coasted into tunnels of grief so deep, so dark, so intense she often wondered if she would find her way back to the other side.

  The anger coursing through her veins promised action, forcing her to set into motion the plan she’d come up with while laying awake and restless night after night. She refused to spend another day waiting for news, for explanations that would make useless tragedy make sense.

  Her friends’ case grew cold with every passing hour. Relying on others had proved fruitless, so she would act on her own. Answers waited for her in Yellowstone. She wouldn’t stop until she had them. Steady again, finding her resolve, Morgan turned, facing her livid father. “Dad, you don’t understand—”

  “I understand perfectly, but I refuse—”

  “Morgan, if I may.” Dean Jenkins, Chairman of the Trustees and long time family friend, sat in his chair sipping herbal tea like the calm eye in a frenzied storm. “I must admit I agree with your father. Although well intended, your idea is too dangerous. You haven’t thought this through.”

  Morgan whirled, facing the ever-composed Dean in his tidy navy blue suit. “I see you two plan to stand firm on this. Well, so do I.” She stormed for the door. “I don’t give a damn what either of you think.”

  Stanley shot out of his seat. “Morgan Elizabeth Taylor, you get back here.”

  Hand on knob, Morgan stopped. “You know I hate when you use my middle name,” she said between clenched teeth.

  “You leave this room, young lady, and I’ll have security haul you right back.”

  She turned, eyes electric, her voice vibrating on an outraged whisper. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  His jaw clenched, his nostrils flared. Morgan knew he wo
uld do as he said.

  She tossed her hands up and paced again.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, her father sat down. “Stop walking back and forth and take a seat, Morgan. You’re making me tired just watching you.”

  “Fine.” With an air of dignity, she took the leather wingback chair in front of her father’s desk.

  “Thank you. Now, let’s talk this through until we come up with something that works for all of us.”

  “I can go along with that—as long as we understand I’m leaving for Yellowstone next week.” On that she wouldn’t bend.

  Dean cleared his throat, and she spared him a look.

  “Morgan, as Chairman of the Trustees, I have full authority to pull the plug on this whole assignment. In fact, you’ll have to convince me not to.”

  She leaned forward in her chair. “Pull the plug for all I care. My friends are dead, not yours. I will finish this lynx project and find out what happened to the team while I’m at it.”

  Her father closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Morgan.”

  “No, Dad, I won’t hear anymore.” She slapped her hand on the smooth leather of the armchair. “It’s been two weeks and they have nothing. Not one damn lead. The police are clueless. We’re affiliated with the federal government, for God’s sake. Solving these murders should be top priority. Their funerals are this weekend and the families have more questions than answers.” Morgan stood again, unable to sit still. “It’s unacceptable.”

  Her dad’s voice gentled as hers radiated with pain. “You’re not a cop, sweetheart.”

  “You’re right, I’m not. I’m a biologist who wants to do her job.” And a friend who desperately needs to know what happened.

  The men exchanged glances.

  “Let me think, Morgan. I’ll find a way to make this work.”

  She wanted to soften as her father had, but if she stared too long at the pleading look in his eyes, she might change her mind. She had to do this. “Fine, but remember, I’m leaving Monday. Can I go now or will you call security?”

  His brows winged up, mirroring hers.

  “Good night, then.” Morgan walked to the door, closing it with a hard click behind her.

  Stanley scrubbed his hands over his face as he sat alone with Dean. “That girl is so goddamn stubborn.”

  “I wonder where she gets it.” Dean smiled. “Morgan’s beauty comes from her mother and her wretched temper from dear, old Dad. You’re two peas in a pod, Stan.”

  Stanley laughed.

  Dean sipped his tea. “I’ll pull the funding for the project. I was about to submit paperwork when you called me up here.”

  “I don’t think it’ll make a damn bit of difference. She’ll go anyway. If the funds stay in place, she’ll be busy tracking animals instead of getting herself into trouble searching for a killer.” The very thought made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

  Dean set his cup down, stood by the window. Lights blinked on around the city. “This isn’t a good idea. The remaining members of her team have already been reassigned. I won’t risk any more of our field scientists on this, and she can’t go alone. Short of hiring a bodyguard, how will you make this work?”

  Sitting up straighter, Stanley slammed his hand on the desk. Dean’s words gave him an idea. “Why, Dean, you’re a genius—a damn genius.”

  Dean turned on an incredulous laugh. “You can’t be serious, Stanley. A bodyguard? Where are you going to find someone willing to hike out into backcountry Montana and keep Morgan out of trouble? It’s absurd.”

  “I happen to know a man out in L.A. who owns one of the best security firms in the country. Hell, in the world. His father and I roomed together in college. I’ll put in a call.”

  “Christ sakes, Stan, wiring alarms for people and standing at some actor’s security gate aren’t the same as what you’re looking for.”

  “I’m still going to ask. If he can’t help me, perhaps he’ll put me in touch with someone who can.”

  “You do what you need to, but let’s be clear on one point. The Bureau will not pay for a bodyguard.”

  “I’m aware of that, Dean. Money is the least of my worries.” Finding the number for Ethan Cooke Security, Stan lifted the phone.

  “This should be interesting. I’ll leave you to your call, then. I’ll be interested to see what you come up with.”

  CHAPTER 4

  THE PHONE WOKE HIM. HE’D been on duty forty-eight hours straight and asleep for three. Hunter lay on his stomach with his cheek squished against the pillow. He felt around the side table for his cell, knocking his alarm to the floor with a bang. His fingers made contact with the vibrating plastic and he grabbed hold, pressing talk with his eyes closed. “If you’re calling me at this hour somebody better be dead.”

  “Hunter, it’s Ethan.”

  Rolling to his back, he blinked, stared up at the patterns the early morning sun left on his ceiling. “Yeah, I know who it is. What do you want? I’m trying to sleep here.”

  “I’ve got the job of a lifetime for you, man.”

  “I’m pretty sure you said the same thing last week. I spent two days at a spa in northern California with four rich bitch ladies who thought they were important enough to warrant protection. I still can’t figure out why. One of the women’s daughters, who is barely legal by the way, came on to me—several times. She pinched my ass and flashed me. Thoughts of coming home and killing you got me through.”

  “I can’t lie, Phillips, I would’ve paid to see that. Look on the bright side, at least you weren’t bored. Now, back to the job of a lifetime.”

  Hunter stumbled out of bed in blue boxers sporting a grinning skunk that told someone to pull his finger. He made his way to the tiny efficiency kitchen, grabbed a gallon of OJ from the refrigerator, and chugged while Ethan continued.

  “Hear me out before you give me an answer.”

  He capped the juice, shoving the jug back on the top shelf. “Every time you start your ‘Job of a Lifetime’ spiel off with a disclaimer, I want to hang up on you and disconnect my phone.”

  “Stop being a cranky bastard, Phillips. Just shut up and listen. The guy you’d be doing this for is some bigwig in D.C.—an environmentalist or something. He’s President of the Parks and Conservation Bureau. His family is big into politics.”

  Hunter poured a huge bowl of cereal, dumped in milk. “I’m still waiting for the part where this is the opportunity of my lifetime.”

  “Stop interrupting and I’ll tell you. His daughter needs protection for a month. Let me speak off the record here for a minute—friend to friend—and say she’s fucking hot, Phillips. I mean smokin’. I met her once a few years back at some party my parents threw. It was memorable.”

  After a pause and sigh of reverence that made Hunter smile, Ethan went on. “She’s a biologist or whatnot, like her dad. She’s going out to Montana—backcountry—to trap animals. Something happened to her partners out there. I didn’t get all the details, but basically Daddy wants to be sure she’s safe while she’s doing her thing.”

  Intrigued, Hunter shoveled a bite of Wheaties into his mouth. This assignment would be a hell of a lot more interesting than standing outside a hair salon listening to women talk about who was screwing who. After the past few weeks, he’d had all he could take of the spoiled Hollywood-type. Time away in the wilderness would be a nice change of pace.

  Ethan interrupted his thoughts. “You haven’t hung up on me. This is always a good sign.”

  “Just how hot is this daughter?” Hunter took another bite.

  “We’re talking a solid ten, and I haven’t even mentioned cash yet. Stanley said money was no object.”

  “When would I need to head out? I want to make sure Sarah’s all set before I take off.”

  “Morgan will be ready to leave next week. If you fly out to D.C. tomorrow or Friday that would probably work best. Go visit Sarah today. I’ll keep an eye on her while you’re gone. We were planning
to bring Kylee to the beach for ice cream tonight anyway.”

  “I know you will. I’ll take the job. If I get there and find myself taking care of some hairy legged, bottle-thick glasses nerd for a month, you’ll have to sleep with one eye open for the rest of your life.”

  “I guess I’ll be sleeping soundly then. You won’t be disappointed, Phillips, I promise. I’ll call you with the details after I talk to Stanley again.”

  “Sounds good.”

  The sunny June afternoon was alive with the sounds of children at play. As Hunter walked through the busy park, he scanned the parents and kids until he spotted the two blonds at the swing set. Kylee laughed as Sarah gave the baby swing a push. Kylee kicked her chubby little legs back and forth, clapping. “More, Mama, more.”

  “You’re high enough, Kylee.”

  “No, Mama, more.” She clapped again.

  Walking over, Hunter grabbed the swing, pulled it up until his forehead rested against the angel-faced little girl’s. He kissed her nose and let her go. “Unke Hunte, Unke Hunte.” She held her arms up for him to take her out.

  He unfastened the safety clip, tugged up the bar, pulled her from the blue plastic, settled her on his hip. “You’re getting closer, kid. It’s Uncle Hunter,” he over enunciated as he hugged her close. Kylee put her fingers to his lips. Hunter growled and tried to eat them, as was expected. Her deep belly laugh made him chuckle.

  He smiled at Sarah, kissed her. “Hey, thanks for meeting me.”

  Kylee wiggled to get down. Hunter pushed her up and over his head until little blond pigtails dangled and she stared down at him. “And where do you think you’re going, ma’am?”

  She grinned. “Sand.”

  “All right then, let’s go.” He set her on her feet in the sandbox. Kylee plopped herself down with a pail and shovel.