"And there's something still there, between the two of you? If there is, you're a fool to take the assignment. You know the first rule of a good agent is to never become personally involved. When you care too much—hell, when you care at all—you make mistakes."
"I can't walk away and leave her. She needs me." Morgan gripped the phone tightly. "I walked out on her once before. But not this time. I owe her."
"Just be careful that your desire to make amends doesn't wind up getting you in trouble and putting your client's life at risk."
"If things escalate around here, I might need assistance. If I send for another agent, I'd like for you to send Hawk or Denby."
"Denby is going out on a new assignment today, but if Hawk's free when you need someone, I'll send him," Dane said. "But if he's on a job, you'll have to settle for whomever I have available."
The other agents at Dundee's were trained professionals, but Kane had never worked with any of them, didn't know them personally the way he knew Hawk and Denby. He'd trust his life to either of them. They were the best at what they did. He didn't know a damn thing about Denby's past, not her age, her place of birth or the natural color of her hair. But he knew she was a sharpshooter with a black belt in karate. And she could out-think, out-smart and out-drink just about any man.
All he knew about Hawk's past was that the man had been a CIA operative. And something had happened nearly three years ago on his last assignment that ended his career.
Morgan decided to call Hawk and obviously interrupted a romantic moment.
"Damn you, Kane. This had better be important," Hawk said breathlessly.
"If you're busy, I can hold on for a couple of minutes." Morgan chuckled.
"I'll call you back."
Morgan grinned as he turned off his cell phone. Hawk seemed to thrive on a succession of one-night stands. Women were drawn to the big, dark man like flies to manure. Wild women. Wicked women. Married women. Bad girls and ladies alike. Despite or perhaps because of the fact that Hawk projected an image of being bad to the bone, women couldn't resist him.
"Yeah, what's up?" Hawk asked, when he returned Morgan's phone call a few minutes later.
"Obviously not you anymore," Morgan said.
"Cut the cute remarks. Why are you calling?"
"I'm on an assignment that I figure is going to require two agents sooner or later," Morgan told him. "I asked the boss to send you if I need someone."
"Let me guess. He said fine, if I was still available."
"I want you to stay available."
"Level with me," Hawk said.
"The case is personal. I want only the best. And that's you."
"I'll stay available. Might even take a little vacation myself for the next week or so."
"Thanks. I owe you one."
After finishing his conversation with Hawk, he tossed his suitcase on the foot of the bed, unzipped it and removed the remainder of his clothes. He hung his two suits and various slacks and jackets in the closet, then returned to the open suitcase and lifted out his shoulder holster that sheathed his 9mm Sig. The well-made German gun was an expensive piece of equipment, but worth the cost. The Sig Sauer was a very accurate semiautomatic that could pump out fifteen rounds. Accuracy and dependability were important qualities to a man in his line of business.
Morgan strapped on the holster over his blue oxford cloth shirt. Bethany's bedroom door opened. He tensed. Turning his head slowly, he glanced out into the hall. Their gazes met and held for a split second, then she looked down at his shoulder holster, and her mouth parted into a surprised oval.
He quickly lifted his navy blue jacket off the bed and slipped it on, then nodded to Bethany. "Good morning."
"You have to wear it, don't you?" She glared at the slight bulge beneath his jacket. "You know the odd thing about my being accused of Jimmy's murder? I hate guns. The only reason I even own one is because Seth bought it for me after I was mugged several years ago."
"Guns are dangerous weapons," he said. "But a gun is only as good or bad as the person who uses it."
"I know."
Morgan remembered that Bethany had been pretty, but his memories couldn't compare to the beautiful woman she had become. Slender and elegant in her neat mauve suit, she stood just outside his open door and stared at him, not even trying to disguise the hunger in her eyes. Had she spent half the night thinking about him, wanting him the way he wanted her? Had she fought the temptation to cross the hall and seek him out?
The minute he took a few tentative steps in her direction, the look of longing disappeared from her eyes and she glanced away.
"I hope you don't mind toast, cereal and coffee," she said. "Anne Marie and I aren't big breakfast eaters."
"Coffee and toast are fine." Rushing out into the hall, he caught up with her before she reached the stairs. He grabbed her arm. She stopped, but didn't turn to face him. "We need to talk about what happened last night."
"There isn't anything to talk about. Nothing happened last night." She pulled out of his grasp and hurried down the stairs.
Morgan hesitated on the landing, watching while she scurried toward the kitchen. His initial reaction had been to chase after her, confront her and force her to tell him why, if she was so afraid of him, she had hired him as her bodyguard.
"Hey, there." A barefoot Anne Marie, wearing a short, blue denim jumper and red T-shirt, eased open her bedroom door and stuck out her head. Thin strands of her long, golden brown hair spiked out from the large electric rollers covering her head.
"What did happen last night?"
"Last night?" Turning around, Morgan shrugged. "What are you talking about?"
"That's what I want to know," she said. "I heard you tell Mama that you needed to talk to her about what happened last night, and she brushed you off. So, what gives? What happened? Did you kiss her?"
Morgan crossed his arms over his chest, cocked his head to one side and gave the girl a speculative stare. "Are you in the habit of putting your cute little nose into your mother's affairs?"
"Mama doesn't have affairs." Anne Marie stepped out into the hall.
"Not even with Seth, who is the only man to ever spend the night here?" Morgan asked.
Anne Marie's smile turned into a giggle, which quickly erupted into laughter. "You're jealous, aren't you? You don't like the idea that Mama might have a boyfriend."
"Young lady, you have an overactive imagination."
"Nana told me that you and Mama were a hot item once. I can't think of anyone I'd rather my mother become involved with than you. After all, you were her first love and—"
"Don't go inventing any fairy tales casting your mother and me as the main characters," Morgan said. "I'm in your mother's life temporarily, to keep her safe. Just until we find Jimmy Farraday's real murderer."
"You don't already have a steady girlfriend, do you? You're not engaged or anything?"
"I'm not the kind of man who becomes involved in long-term relationships. Now, I've said all I'm going to on the subject. You'd better get ready and go downstairs for breakfast." He glanced at his wristwatch. "It's nearly seven o'clock."
Wearing a defeated look, Anne Marie went back into her bedroom and closed the door. Then suddenly she swung the door open and called out to Morgan just as he started down the stairs.
"Morgan?"
"What now?"
"If you promise not to break Mama's heart, I won't mind if you and she have an affair."
Before he could even think of a reply, she slammed shut her bedroom door. Hell! Of all the things for a kid her age to say. Tall and big for her age, she looked seventeen, but he figured she couldn't be more than fourteen, possibly fifteen soon. Kids these days were exposed to too much garbage. They grew up too fast and knew too much too soon.
The smell of fresh-brewed coffee lured him toward the kitchen. He found Bethany sitting at the square pine table in the sunny, yellow breakfast nook, a cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in th
e other.
He spied the coffee machine sitting on the black-and-white-flecked granite countertop beneath the white cabinets.
"Mugs and cups are in the cabinet on the right," Bethany said, without glancing up from the paper.
"Thanks." He retrieved a mug, poured a cup of hot, black coffee, then walked over and pulled out one of the Louis XVI-style chairs covered in red white and black plaid. His mother was the only other woman he knew who would use such fancy chairs in a kitchen. But he had to admit that despite the elegance of the style, the chairs seemed to blend into the casual atmosphere of the room.
Sitting across from Bethany, he put his mug down in front of him. "Your daughter has given me permission to have an affair with you."
Bethany strangled on her coffee. Her face flushed. She crumpled the edge of the newspaper in her hand. Coughing several times, she cleared her throat, then glared at Morgan as she placed her cup in its saucer. "She did what?"
"For some reason, Anne Marie thinks you need a man in your life. Someone besides Seth. And she's chosen me to be that someone."
"What did you tell her?" Bethany threw the paper down on the table and balled her hand into a fist. "Did you lead her to believe that you and I have any kind of future together? So help me, Morgan, if you've given her any ideas about—"
Lightning quick, he reached across the table and grabbed Bethany's wrist. "Don't blame me for your daughter's romantic notions. Before I ever met her, she'd formed an opinion of me as some kind of knight in shining armor. Now I think she sees me as her mother's Prince Charming."
"And we both know that you're certainly no Prince Charming, don't we, Morgan?" She tried to pull her wrist out of his tenacious grasp, but he held fast. They glared at each other across the table. "I allowed Claudia to fill Anne Marie's head with nonsense about you because I knew what those idiotic Morgan stories meant to Claudia. Since I assumed that my daughter would never meet you, I didn't think the stories could hurt her. And they won't, if you don't encourage her. If you don't give her any false hopes or make promises you can't keep. If you—"
"Who are we talking about, Beth, you or your daughter?" Morgan slid his thumb across her wrist, then down inside the palm of her hand.
Bethany shuddered, the very touch of his skin against her skin igniting quivers of arousal in the depths of her femininity. "Don't try to use Anne Marie to get to me. I won't allow it. Don't encourage her romantic fantasies about the two of us."
"What about my romantic fantasies?" He caressed the center of her palm in a slow, circular motion. "After the way you kissed me last night, I had a difficult time going to sleep. All I could think about was crossing the hall to your bedroom. Tell me, did you lie awake wanting to come to me?"
The kitchen door swung open and Anne Marie flew in, quickly assessing the situation as she glanced from her mother's flushed face to Morgan's somber face and then to Bethany's manacled wrist.
"Good morning." Anne Marie smiled at Morgan while she bent over and kissed Bethany's cheek. "So, what are you two going to be doing today while I'm registering for school?"
Morgan instantly released his hold on Bethany, who drew her hand against her chest and rubbed her wrist.
"I'm going to the Galleria boutique today," Bethany said. "With Lisa in the hospital, I'll have to take over some of her workload temporarily."
"If you're going to be doing more work than ever, how are you and Morgan going to do any investigating?" Anne Marie opened a cabinet and removed a small glass. "I thought the two of you'd be running around all over Birmingham together, gathering information and questioning people and … well, you know, all that private eye stuff."
"I'll be conducting a private investigation," Morgan assured her. "But at the same time, I'll be with your mother twenty-four hours a day to protect her. Dundee's, the agency I work for, can do a lot of the leg work using the computer. Our main objective, after keeping Bethany safe, is to compile a list of other possible suspects and then dig deep enough to discover which one actually murdered Farraday."
"Well, that list of suspects is going to be a mile long." Anne Marie opened the refrigerator door, pulled out a carton of orange juice and poured the juice into her glass. "There had to be dozens of people who hated Jimmy and wished him dead. The only people who liked him were the people who didn't really know him."
Loud, repetitive knocking came from the back door. Anne Marie jumped. Bethany gasped. Morgan tensed. All three heads turned.
"Oh, it's probably just James," Anne Marie said, then downed half her orange juice while she walked over and grasped the doorknob.
"Don't!" Morgan shouted.
Anne Marie's hand froze on the knob. "What's wrong?"
"From now on, don't assume you know who's on the other side of the door," he said. "Ask first. And be sure you know and trust the person. Understand?"
Anne Marie shook her head affirmatively, her nose crinkling as she frowned. The insistent knocking continued.
"Hey, what's going on?" a young male voice demanded. "Open the door, will you?"
"It's James," Anne Marie said, "Is it all right if I let him in now?"
"Who is James?" Morgan asked.
"He's mother's stepson, James Farraday, Jr.," Bethany said. "He and Anne Marie are good friends. He's come by to drive her to school today."
"He's a senior at Mountain Brook High," Anne Marie told Morgan. "Dropping me by Redmont Academy is a bit out of his way, so I don't want to keep him waiting too long."
"Let him in." Morgan watched while Anne Marie opened the door and stepped back to allow Farraday's son to enter the kitchen.
"What took you so long?" James asked. "I could hear y'all talking, so I knew you were in the kitchen."
"Morgan wanted to make sure you were who I thought you were," Anne Marie said. "Come on in. I haven't eaten yet. Do I have time for some toast?"
"Yeah, sure." James glanced past Anne Marie, his piercing blue eyes focusing on Morgan. "Who's this guy?"
"He's Nana's son, Morgan Kane." Anne Marie grabbed a loaf of bread off the counter. "Morgan is mother's bodyguard, and he's also an investigator. He's going to find out who really killed your father."
James pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. "You're really a bodyguard, huh? And an investigator? Do you work for yourself or for some big outfit?"
"I work for Dundee Private Security, out of Atlanta," Morgan said, as he sized up young Farraday. Tall and lean, with sharply chiseled features and short black hair, the boy sat there inspecting Morgan with the same thoroughness. The kid possessed a cocky self-confidence that reminded Morgan of his own youthful recklessness.
Anne Marie dropped two slices of bread into the toaster. "Anyone else want toast? How about you, James?" When she smiled at the boy, her cheeks flushed slightly and her cool gray eyes softened to a deep, warm blue.
Morgan remembered a time when Bethany had looked at him exactly the way Anne Marie was looking at James Farraday, Jr. An irrational urge to grab the boy by the collar of his cotton knit shirt overwhelmed Morgan. He wanted to issue a warning: no matter how much she adores you, this girl isn't yours for the taking. If you touch her, you'll answer to me.
Where had such paternal thoughts come from? Morgan wondered. From his own guilt? Or from some totally irrational need to protect Bethany's child?
"None for me," James said, his gaze still riveted to Morgan. "Are you living here now?" he asked, then answered his own question. "Yeah, I guess you'd have to if you're Bethany's bodyguard. She needs somebody to protect her from the great Jimmy Farraday's idiot fans. Those crazy people. Calling her. Sending her nutty letters. Then trying to kill her with that bomb."
"Come on, James." Anne Marie laid her toast on a napkin. "I can eat on the way." Holding the napkin-wrapped toast in one hand, she lifted her small bag with the other and draped the straps over her shoulder. "After registration, I'll go to Grandmother's with James and y'all can pick me up this evening."
"Have a good day, sweetheart
," Bethany said.
James shot up out of his chair, held out his hand to Morgan and said, "Nice to meet you."
Morgan shook the boy's hand. "Drive carefully."
James laughed. "Yeah, sure thing." He walked over, slipped his arm around Anne Marie's shoulders and opened the back door, then paused and glanced back at Morgan. "Hey, I hope you find the person who killed my father. When you do, let me know before you turn them over to the police. I'd like to give them a medal for taking the old man out."
"James!" Anne Marie nudged him in the ribs. "That was an awful thing to say about your father."
"Yeah, well, I just said what everybody's been thinking." James ushered Anne Marie out the back door.
Morgan turned to Bethany. "Any chance Junior might have been the one to empty your gun into Farraday?"
"You don't honestly think that boy could have killed his own father, do you? James didn't get along with Jimmy, but that was Jimmy's fault. The man was a lousy husband and an even worse father. He ignored James all his life. My mother has given that child the only real parental love and attention he's ever known."
"It's apparent that Junior hated his father. Maybe he hated him enough to kill him. He sounded like he's glad his old man's dead."
"You hated your father, too. Remember?" Bethany looked directly at Morgan. "But you never would have killed him."
"Yeah, I remember." Morgan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Even if Junior didn't kill Farraday, I think he bears watching. Just how much do you trust that boy?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean your daughter's got a thing for that cocky, young SOB, and if he decides he wants her, then he'll take her and to hell with the consequences. He could wind up hurting Anne Marie, breaking her heart and—"
"Now, who are you talking about?" Bethany asked. "James and Anne Marie or you and me?"
* * *
Late that afternoon, Bethany left the Galleria boutique in the capable hands of assistant manager, Shelly Harris, and went with Morgan to Maxine's office. Although she'd tried to go about her business as usual all day and forget about her bodyguard's presence, she had been constantly aware that Morgan was never more than a few yards away from her. While she had rearranged schedules and discussed with Shelly applicants for a new part-time sales clerk to fill in for her during Lisa's absence, Morgan made numerous phone calls, sent and received several faxes and "borrowed" her computer. Whenever she left her office, he followed her, but remained at a discreet distance while she dealt with delivery men, salesmen and customers.
A MAN LIKE MORGAN KANE Page 7