by Elle Kennedy
When they walked through the front door, Morgan told him to wait in the living room while she went into the study she used whenever she was home to retrieve the files she had on Layla’s disappearance. The phone was ringing when she entered the study, and just when she thought her day couldn’t possibly get any worse, it did.
“Hey, Tony,” she said after the caller ID revealed her brother’s cell phone number.
“Why are you in Autumn?” was his irritated response.
She sighed and sank into the large leather chair at the mahogany desk. “I’m sure Dad already filled you in. I’m here to figure out what happened to Layla, and to me the night on the bridge.”
A short silence descended, then a frustrated curse. “Look, I know you truly believe someone ran you off that bridge,” Tony finally said. “However, there was no evidence to indicate that scenario.”
“It’s not a scenario,” she shot back. “It’s what happened. There was another car behind me, Tony.”
“I know you believe that,” he said again. His normally lively voice softened to a regretful note. “But I think you imagined it, Mor.”
“I did not ima—”
He hurried on. “You were upset, you weren’t concentrating on driving. I was there, remember? I saw you at the pub, saw how upset you were after Layla’s memorial. You had too much to drink, kiddo, and you weren’t in the right state of mind.”
“What state of mind was I in then, Tony?” Sarcasm freely dripped from her tone. “The suicidal kind? God, you really think I tried to kill myself?”
“I think you were upset,” he reiterated. He grew silent again, and she could practically see him dragging his fingers through his sandy blond hair, something he did whenever he was frustrated. “Morgan, I also think maybe it’s time to consider going on medication.”
She nearly dropped the phone. “Medication? Are you kidding me?”
“Your behavior isn’t normal.” He spoke in a calm, condescending tone usually reserved for young children and extremely crazy people—apparently she was the latter. “You know I’m on your side when it comes to how controlling Dad can be, but he has a point about this. For years you’ve been acting out, blaming other people for your destructive actions. And then that incident with the dru
“I have never used drugs in my life,” she snapped. “I was at a nightclub with friends and the owner decided to make a quick buck by claiming I was snorting coke in the bathroom. It never happened, Tony. You said you believed me.”
“I did. I mean, I do.” He released a heavy breath that reverberated through the telephone line. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. All I know is that my little sister wound up in the bottom of a river, and now she’s trying to conduct an investigation she was strictly ordered not to look into. Leave Layla’s death to the cops, Morgan.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she said, cringing at the snide note in her voice. “You never liked Layla, and you don’t give a damn who killed her.”
“See? It’s this kind of behavior I’m talking about. You lash out whenever you feel antagonized.”
She drew in a calming breath. “No, I’m lashing out because everyone in my life is accusing me of being suicidal, delusional and insane.”
Another soft obscenity. “Do I need to come out there, Morgan?”
“Don’t bother. Quinn’s here. He can keep me in line,” she said bitterly.
“Yeah, and there’s another development I don’t quite approve of. Did you get back together with the guy?”
“No, we didn’t get back together. He’s just helping me out.” She couldn’t stop her next stinging remark. “Unlike you and Dad, he actually believes I might be in danger.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, you’re not in danger. I think you need to—” Tony paused midsentence then groaned. “Damn it. I have to go. I’m meeting Caroline for dinner and I’m already ten minutes late.”
Despite her anger and frustration at her brother, the mention of his new girlfriend sparked her interest. Tony had never been in a relationship that lasted more than a few days, so this was quite extraordinary. “You’re still with Caroline?” she asked.
“Yes, and she’s going to be ticked off at my lack of punctuality.”
“Don’t worry, just tell her you were on the phone with your psycho, suicidal sister,” she said sweetly.
“Not funny, Morgan. Look, I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll finish this discussion. Just promise me right now you won’t harass Jake Wilkinson and stick your nose in his investigation.”
She hesitated. “Fine, I promise. Happy now?”
“Yep.”
They said goodbye, and Morgan placed the cordless phone back in its cradle. She didn’t feel the least bit guilty about lying to Tony, though really, she hadn’t exactly lied. She had no intention of harassing Jake, or interfering in his investigation. She simply planned on launching her own one.
I don’t know what to believe anymore.
Her older brother’s frank words buzzed around in her brain like a swarm of bees, causing her to lean back in the chair and lift her knees up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around herself, pressing her cheek against one knee, and the tears she’d been fighting all day finally made an appearance.
Oh, God. Was Tony right? Was she truly unstable?
No. No, she couldn’t be. She hadn’t imagined those headlights behind her. Hadn’t hallucinated the scrape of metal as the other car slammed into her rear bumper, the way the wooden rail on the bridge had snapped like a twig from the weight of her car. The horrifying sense of vertigo as the car soared over the edge and fell ten feet into the river below. Grace River wasn’t the deepest body of water, but deep enough that her entire car had been submerged, that the frigid water poured in from the open window and soaked the simple black dress she’d worn to Layla’s memorial.
She still remembered the bone-deep terror slicing through her body like a sharp knife, her desperate attempts to open the driver’s door. God, she could have died. Would have died, if it weren’t for Colin Kincaid, the deputy who stopped his car on the bridge to investigate the broken railing. Kincaid dove into the cold water and pulled her out of the car, hauling her to the muddy riverbank, where he warmed her with his jacket as they waited for the ambulance.
How could anyone think she’d done that on purpose?
A quiet sob slipped from her throat.
“Morgan?”
She lifted her head from her knees, spotted Quinn’s tall, muscular frame in the doorway and swiftly lowered her head again. “Go away,” she mumbled.
For a man who’d been in the army for five years, he wasn’t good at taking orders. Instead of leaving, he strode into the room, crossed the thick burgundy carpet with long strides and was on his knees in front of her chair before she could even blink.
“Hey,” he murmured. One warm hand reached out to cup her chin and tilt her head up. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” She tried to shrug out of his grip. “Just crazy little Morgan with her behavioral issues and delusions.”
He chuckled. “Self-pity does not become you, sweetheart. Now come on, tell me what happened.”
She gave up trying to push his hand away, because he’d begun stroking her jaw with one long finger and it felt far too good. Kneeling before her, he was so close she could smell his woodsy aftershave, his natural spicy scent, his oddly sweet shampoo. She went on sensory overload, breathing him in, basking in the warmth of his hand on her tear-streaked face.
I miss you, she wanted to say.
Instead, she said, “Tony called. Like everyone else, he thinks I was alone on the bridge, so drunk and upset I decided to drive off it.” She swallowed hard. “Oh, and he thinks I should go on medication.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Quinn held her chin with two fingers and forced her to meet his gaze. “You’re not crazy, Morgan.”
“Maybe I am. Maybe I did imagine the other car.”
“Do you honestly
believe you hallucinated what happened?”
“No,” she admitted after a moment. “But crazy people don’t know they’re crazy.”
“Crazy people also don’t question their own sanity,” he said practically. “Jeez, sweetheart, you’re the sanest person I know. If anyone’s nuts, it’s me, for flying off into the jungle and getting my ass shot at.”
She managed a smile. “Brave, not nuts.”
“Well, you’re brave, too.” His green eyes softened, making her want to throw her arms around him and never let go. It was so rare, seeing that tenderness in his eyes. “You’ve stood strong against the press and the rumors and the accusations for years now, and not once did you break. Don’t let them break you now.”
“It’s easy to ignore the media, or even the people in town. But my own brother thinks I’m insane, Quinn.”
Quinn shook his head. “Tony’s only worried about you. He loves you. He’s just so easily influenced by the senator.”
“Who isn’t?” she said sullenly.
His gentle fingers traced the line of her jaw, sending a flurry of shivers up her spine. Their eyes locked for a moment, and his head dipped ever so slightly. Morgan’s pulse sped up. Would he kiss her? She suddenly longed for the feel of his mouth on hers, for the familiar rush of pleasure and love that filled her body each time their lips met.
With heavy-lidded eyes, Quinn’s gaze lowered to her mouth. His lips parted. Morgan’s eyelids fluttered closed in greedy anticipation for his kiss.
It never came.
Her eyes popped open as Quinn cleared his throat. Before she could blink, he was on his feet and utterly expressionless. “Why don’t you grab those files and meet me in the living room?” he said briskly. “I want to bring myself up-to-date on the case before we head out tonight.”
He left the study without another word, while she stared longingly after him, wishing desperately that he had kissed her.
“So, this is everything I have on Layla’s disappearance.” Morgan averted his eyes as she dropped a thin stack of files on the glass coffee table in the living room.
Quinn was grateful she wasn’t meeting his gaze. He didn’t want to look into her beautiful blue eyes, and see the hurt and disappointment he knew he’d find there. Damn it, he’d almost kissed her again. So close, he’d come so close, and yet he stopped himself just in time. He couldn’t succumb to the temptation, no matter how appealing she was, no matter how vulnerable she’d looked with her smooth, creamy skin stained with tears and her eyes awash with pain and frustration.
Lord, he needed to tamp down this foolish attraction. Nothing good could come out of it. They’d failed miserably the first time around, and he wasn’t about to give it a second go. He was no longer the angry, messed-up kid who couldn’t understand why everyone around him had abandoned him. At thirty-two, he understood perfectly. You couldn’t trust anybody but yourself, couldn’t re on anything but your own will and perseverance.
No matter how much he was still attracted to Morgan, he refused to let her cast her spell on him again.
Leaning forward, he reached for the first file folder, opened it and found a photograph of a pretty brunette staring back at him. He’d seen the picture before, instantly recognizing Layla Simms. She’d been an attractive girl, with long, shiny brown hair, deep hazel eyes and a smile that could light up an entire room during a power outage.
Beneath the photo were some high school transcripts, and a medical file he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know how Morgan had gotten her hands on.
Morgan joined him on the pristine black leather sofa, keeping a good two feet between them. She picked up another folder and pulled out a single sheet of paper. “This is Jake’s statement,” she explained, frowning at the mere mention of the sheriff. “Colin Kincaid, the deputy who rescued me from the river, gave me some copies of the police files when I first started investigating, before Jake became sheriff.” Her frown deepened. “Now I can’t get access to anything.”
Quinn took the paper from her, scanned it, then raised one eyebrow. “Jake was the last person to see her alive?”
Morgan nodded. “That’s why he’s on the top of my suspect list. According to Jake, he saw Layla in the field behind the high school.”
“She looked ‘flushed and nervous, like something was totally bugging her,’” Quinn recited from the statement.
According to Jake, Layla then hurried off in the direction of the path leading into the woods. Apparently the Phys. Ed. teacher often made his students jog along the trail in the forest, so Jake wasn’t worried that Layla was going alone. Like most of the other students at Autumn High, she would know her way around, as long as she kept to the trail.
“Think she was meeting someone in the woods?” Quinn speculated.
Morgan’s eyes took on a thoughtful glint. “Possibly. Or she could have been going for a run. Jake said she was wearing sweats and a tank top, which she usually wore when she exercised. The two of us used to jog that trail often.”
“So what are you thinking? Jake followed her into the woods, maybe hoping to get back together, they argued, he killed her, then buried her body in the forest?”
“Possibly,” she said again. She made a sound of frustration. “We really need to get our hands on the autopsy report. I still have no idea how she was killed, and that could make all the difference.”
“How so?”
“Well, if she was stabbed or shot, I can’t see Jake being responsible. If she was beaten to death, on the other hand, that’s right up Jake’s alley. He picked so many fights as a teenager. Definitely used his fists instead of his brain.”
“We’ll have that report tonight,” Quinn reminded her.
Morgan didn’t respond. He glanced over and saw the un certainty pooling in her bottomless blue eyes. “What’s wrong“What if we never find the truth?” Her forehead creased with unhappiness. “I’ve spent ten years on this case. I don’t know how much more I can take.”
“We’ll find the truth.”
“You really think so?”
The hope suddenly shining in Morgan’s eyes sent a surge of determination through him. When she looked at him like that, her beautiful face filled with hope and trust and desperation, he was ready to give her any damn thing she wanted. Morgan hated showing vulnerability, and when she did, it melted his freaking heart.
Annoyed with how easily he let her get to him, Quinn set his jaw and looked down at the file in his hand. But he could still feel Morgan’s gaze on him, the need for reassurance pouring out of her and seeking him out.
He would be a real ass not to offer that reassurance.
Lifting his head, he met her gaze and in a resolved voice said, “We’ll find the truth, Morgan. I promise.”
Chapter 8
Rather than parking Quinn’s SUV at the high school, they left the car in the parking lot of an all-night diner a block away, then walked to the school. It was past midnight, and Morgan shivered in the late night air, wishing she’d brought a pair of gloves. Quinn, of course, wore black leather gloves that matched perfectly with his black trousers, sweater and boots. She’d donned an all-black getup too, yet on Quinn, it looked natural, while she resembled a Catwoman-wannabe. Make that cat burglar. With her wavy blond tresses tucked under a black wool hat, she looked precisely like what the people in town thought her to be—someone about to cause trouble.
“It’s so cold,” she grumbled as they crossed the field behind Autumn High and headed for the woods. “I even have goose bumps on my butt.”
Quinn shot her a sideways glance. “Thanks for sharing.”
The dry quip raised her spirits slightly. It wasn’t the “can I see it?” he would’ve lobbed her way two years ago, but it wasn’t quite a “shut the hell up,” either. Ever since the almost kiss they’d shared in her study, she hadn’t been able stop thinking about how much she wanted it to be more than almost. She’d found herself staring at his mouth all evening, to the point that her brain had turned
into a hazy pool and she hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything else.
She’d dated a few men before she met Quinn, but nobody had ever compared to him. His intensity, his rare smiles, that dry sense of humor and brooding strength… She loved everything about him. More than that, she respected him. It was difficult finding a man in D.C. who wasn’t all about appearances, ambition, getting ahead. Yet Quinn didn’t give a damn what people thought of him. He was tough, rough and utterly composed. Nothing got to him.
You did, a little voice pointed out.
Yeah, she’d gotten to him in more ways than one, hadn’t she? By his own admission, she was the only womand ever loved.
And she’d broken his heart.
“Here’s where the trail starts,” she said, pushing away her distressing thoughts as they approached the woods.
A muddy, twig-strewn path bisected the trees. She experienced a tremor of apprehension as she stared at the shadowy trail, suddenly wishing she’d had the foresight to bring a flashlight. Fortunately, the Boy Scout at her side pulled one out, flicked it on and pointed the faint stream of light at the darkness.
“I’m surprised Jake didn’t post a guard here,” she said, glancing around the empty field warily.
“You never know,” Quinn said with a shrug. “There could be someone waiting for us at the scene.”
He was wrong. After they walked half a mile or so into the dark forest and reached the roped-off area where Layla’s remains had been found, nobody jumped out from the trees to surprise them. Yellow crime-scene tape isolated a square of forest, surrounding a shallow makeshift grave. The police had excavated the grave after a jogger’s dog dug up—Morgan cringed—Layla’s skull. A pile of dirt sat next to the gaping hole.
“Oh, Layla,” she whispered, approaching her best friend’s final resting place. She slowly turned to Quinn. “She didn’t deserve this.”
“No, she didn’t,” he replied softly.
