by Cate Beauman
Jake would never sit in this room again. No more yells of objection at poor referee decisions; no more infectious laughter from one of Ethan’s crude jokes. How would he move past the silence? How would he go on?
His thoughts threatened to overwhelm him. He pressed his cheek against Sarah’s hair, hugged her closer, grabbing hold of something real.
A picture caught his eye—one of many hanging on the wall. Tuxedo clad and grinning, he and Jake gave a thumbs-up. He remembered the flash in time, a special moment he could never have back.
“I’m getting married, man. The photographer wants one more picture before the I-dos.”
“This is your last chance to escape,” Hunter joked.
“I don’t want to run. When you find someone amazing, you grab them up before they get away.”
Hunter studied the men in the picture: “the twins”, as his mother had always called them. A smile touched his mouth as he scrutinized Jake’s classic Italian features and tall, leanly muscled frame—a stark contrast to his honey blond hair, shocking blue eyes, and tough athletic build. Nothing about the two had ever been twin-like. They’d just been best friends…forever.
As another layer of despair overshadowed life’s light, Sarah looked at him, sniffling, and he once again remembered his promise.
“I can’t believe… I can’t believe he’s really gone, Hunter.”
“I wish it’d been me. I would give anything for him to be here with you.”
Sarah gripped his hand, shaking her head. “No, don’t say that. As much as I want Jake back, I could never wish you gone.”
Breathy whimpers echoed through the baby monitor, turning into lusty cries.
“Can I—can I get her?” Hunter put Sarah on the couch cushion, stood.
“Yes, of course.”
He walked down the hallway to the screaming infant. He turned into her pink and pale yellow room, where another framed photograph of Jake hung next to the crib.
Looking down, Hunter stared at Jake’s newborn daughter. Grief invaded, choking him, consuming.
The night before Jake died, they’d sat before a computer screen, watching Sarah push Kylee into the world via Skype.
Hunter picked her up carefully, awkwardly, tucking her into the crook of his good arm. Kylee’s crying turned to whimpers as her baby blues stared up at him. She had Jake’s ears, his long, graceful fingers. She was so tiny, so soft. He kissed her forehead, hugged her gently against him.
“Your dad couldn’t be here. He asked me to do that. I’m supposed to—” His voice broke. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. “He wanted me to tell you he loves you and he’ll always be with you. I’m going to say that a lot.” Tears raced down his cheeks as he glanced up. Sarah stood in the doorway.
Kylee fussed, started crying again.
“She’s hungry, Hunter. Let’s bring her out to the living room.”
He nodded, wiped his damp face, wincing when he wrenched his aching shoulder.
They huddled on the couch while Sarah fed Kylee. Hunter draped an arm around her, holding on, taking comfort as he gave it. This was supposed to be Jake’s moment. He would have it for him.
Hunter told them both what Jake had wanted them to hear, choking on his sobs.
When the baby fell back to sleep, he and Sarah cried together, holding each other close.
CHAPTER 2
May 2012
MORGAN TAYLOR WALKED THROUGH THE parking garage as fast as her legs would carry her. She whipped out her cell phone, dialed Shelly’s number, eager to give her the news.
Waiting for her friend to pick up, Morgan pushed the button on her key fob, unlocking her silver sports convertible.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Shell, we got the assignment.” She sat behind the wheel, started the sweet little Mercedes, backed out of her spot with a squeal.
“We did?”
“Yup, we leave Friday.” Morgan pressed the accelerator, gunning her way out of the garage and into D.C’s rush hour traffic.
“What? This Friday?”
“Afraid so. We’re on the first flight out. Do you want to call the guys and tell them?”
“Sure, I can do that.”
“Great.” She shifted into third, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder. The man in the Lexus behind her laid on his horn when she cut him off. “Oops. Sorry, mister,” she murmured.
“Morgan, are you driving right now? Your driving sucks when you give it your full attention.”
She grinned, more than used to the jokes about her less than stellar skills behind the wheel. “I should’ve waited until I got home, but we don’t have a lot of time. I’ll be quick. This assignment will be a little different. Half of us are going to Yellowstone and the rest to Maine.”
“Aw, but this is my final stint in the field. I wanted one last hurrah before I leave. Can’t your dad arrange it?”
“No, he can’t,” she scolded, breezing through a yellow light. “It’ll be weird not having the six of us together, but that’s how the Bureau’s handling it. Are you sure you want to head up research in smog-choked L.A?”
“Yes, Morgan, I do.”
The warning tone rang through in her friend’s voice, and Morgan blew out a breath. “I know this is something you’ve wanted for a long time. I’m happy for you, Shell. Let’s see if everyone wants to get together tomorrow and we’ll figure out who’s going where. How about we meet at your place? We can help you pack.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
Morgan ignored the hesitation. Shelly had barely begun to get her apartment together. “I’ll grab a bunch of food—that’ll keep the guys happy. If everything’s in order before we go on assignment, we’ll be able to concentrate on your goodbye party when we get back. I’ll book us a day at Claude’s—the works—and we’ll plan away.”
Shelly’s voice brightened. “What an excellent idea. I’ll make the calls now. Oh, by the way, I’m officially electing you to decide who’s going where. I have too much to do already without worrying about that.”
“Fine,” Morgan said with a playful huff. “I’m always the heavy.”
“Yes, and you do it so well. I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning. Crap, my relaxing week just got extremely hectic.”
Morgan turned on Connecticut Avenue, heading northwest toward her parents’ home in Chevy Chase. “Better get packing, Shell. Talk to you later.” She pressed end as her speedometer hit sixty-five in a fifty.
The team of six rested on the floor of Shelly’s one-bedroom apartment. A dozen pizza boxes lay on taped cardboard stacked and scattered about the room.
“Well, Shell, I can’t technically call you a hoarder, but it’s close.” Ian Letterbeck sat leaned against the wall, his paper plate heaped with pizza.
“Hey, I don’t have that much stuff.” She nibbled her veggie-loaded slice.
“Damn, girl, are you kidding? I mean, look at all this shit.” Dave Andrews dabbed at the sweat on his handsome ebony face as he gave the box closest to his foot a slight nudge.
Dave’s identical twin, Jim, laughed and Morgan grinned, elbowing him.
“Leave her alone, guys.” Tom Smithson pushed his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have a lot of stuff, Shelly.”
“You say that tomorrow, Skinny Man, when your muscles are screaming,” Jim said as he laughed again.
Morgan wadded her napkin, put it on her plate. “All right, now that we’ve had fun at Shelly’s expense, let’s talk about this assignment and figure out who’s going where.”
“We’re tagging and tracking a lynx. We don’t have to make this into a big thing.” Ian stood, took more pizza. “Tom, Shelly and I’ll take Yellowstone, and the Bobbsey twins will go with you to Maine. Now, let’s grab a drink at Club Rave.”
“I can get behind that.” Dave knuckle bumped Ian, then Jim.
Morgan rolled her eyes, smiled. “Does anyone object to Ian’s oh-so professional business proposal?” She glanced around at shaking heads. �
��Okay, everyone, go home and change. We’ll meet at Rave in an hour.”
Flashes of bright light pulsed throughout the dimly lit club in time to the heavy bass of the song currently playing. Pretty mixed drinks were delivered to the team’s table.
“Oh good, let’s do a toast,” Morgan yelled over the deafening music. “To three of the best damn years of our lives. We’re going to miss you like crazy, Shell.” They clinked glasses, and Morgan sipped the creamy coconut of her pina colada before enveloping Shelly in a huge hug.
Shelly’s eyes watered. “Oh, Morgan, you’re going to make me cry.”
“No crying tonight. We’re here for fun. Let’s dance.” Everyone in the group jumped up except for one. Morgan grabbed Tom’s hand. “Come on, Tom.”
Brown eyes magnified by the strength of his prescription lenses stared into hers as he tightened the knot in his bright orange tie. “I don’t dance, Morgan. I strictly came because this is Shelly’s last assignment.” He shoved at his glasses for the umpteenth time and her heart melted. She had a soft spot for Tom—always had. He exemplified the classic geek. She couldn’t help but adore him.
“Well, I guess we better have some fun then.” Morgan pulled him into the mob on the dance floor. “Move those hips, Tom.” She grinned as his gangly body moved in tight, jerky circles. “The night’s still young. You’ll get there.”
Ian, known for his inner party animal, didn’t have any trouble getting into the spirit of things. He spun Morgan away. “I couldn’t bear to witness that a moment longer. I was embarrassed for you. Is he hula hooping or dancing?”
Morgan laughed, giving Ian’s broad shoulder a solid smack. “Stop. He’s trying his best.”
He pulled her closer. “I watched the men around here staring at the hot lady in the little red dress dancing with the nerd. You could tell they wondered how the hell that happened.”
Morgan smacked him harder; he grinned.
“I’m playing. You know I think the guy’s brilliant. He just can’t dance.” Ian’s blue eyes darted in Tom’s direction and he winced. “Really can’t dance.” He met Morgan’s gaze, took her hand, tugging her petite body to his and away in a quick spin. When he pulled her back, he continued. “So, I can’t believe this is it—the end of the six musketeers. It’s been a hell of a run.” He bopped her hip, smiling, accentuating his handsome face.
“Yeah,” she said on a wistful breath. “I’m going to miss you guys this month. It’ll be weird having everyone separated.” She spun away and back again. “You know, I’m not sure I’m happy with the way our teams were picked. I think I might change the groups around. I should take Yellowstone. And it would be better—”
“Its fine,” Ian interrupted. “Everyone is in agreement, so let it go. Besides, how can I talk Shelly into staying if you mess everything up?” He wiggled his eyebrows, smiled. “L.A.’s got nothing on the five of us.”
“You’ve been after her for three years. Maybe you’ll finally get lucky—although I wouldn’t count on it.” She gave his cheek a gentle pat, danced away to help poor, awkward Tom.
An hour later, Morgan sipped her water as Tom removed his ugly tie, swinging the silk fabric like a lasso.
“Good for you, Tommy Boy. See, Morgan, I told you he’d loosen up. He just needed a little liquid courage,” said Dave.
“Yes, you did. Hopefully, you and your brother will be driving him home.” Morgan frowned. “Where is Jim anyway?” She scanned the crowd until she stopped on the well-muscled man surrounded by several women. Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. “Your brother’s making time with a pack of ladies.”
“Typical.” Grinning, Dave took her hand. “Let’s join Tommy Boy before he hurts himself.”
Jim finally joined the party on the floor. They all teased him about his pocketful of phone numbers. Six good friends laughed and danced into the early hours of the morning, enjoying their final night together as a group.
Morgan walked into her hotel room, filthy, exhausted, and more than glad her team of three had come back for their bi-weekly supply run. She hit the lights, dropped her heavy pack, looked around. The small, stuffy space was far from luxurious with its burnt orange bedspread, matching curtains and décor from the seventies, but it was clean, and most importantly, it had a mattress and shower.
She sat on the bed, sighed. Pulling off her hiking boots, she closed her eyes, relishing the feel of something other than cold, hard ground beneath her ass. It was tempting to lie back against the soft, ugly bedding and let sleep pull her under, but she had too much to do.
Her father would be expecting her to check in and fax her initial reports for the Environmental Protection Agency, even though she had little to share. They hadn’t found anything yet. Hopefully the Yellowstone crew had stumbled into more luck than she, Dave, and Jim.
But faxes would have to wait—her date with hot water and soap came first. Morgan stood and walked to the bathroom, casting a wistful glance over her shoulder. One more hour of work, she promised herself, and she’d be snuggled under the covers of her temporary bed.
Facing the vanity-style mirror, Morgan grimaced at her dimly lit reflection. “Yikes. You’ve seen better days, Taylor.” She flicked on the light. “Definitely worse than I thought.”
She pulled the elastic from her messy ponytail, chuckled. Claude was going to freak when she stepped into his spa fourteen days from now—he always did after she returned from an assignment.
The city’s top stylist would cluck his tongue and scold her in fluent French while he pulled her to a salon chair as if her life hung in the balance. A flute of champagne would be thrust into her hand as a team of hair and skincare specialists descended on her like doctors and nurses responding to a ‘stat’ call.
While a cosmetologist brushed green goop over her face and a stylist fussed and cooed over her neglected mane, Claude would continue, outraged. “Beautiful skin should be treasured, no?” or “How can Morgan Taylor of the D.C. Taylors allow herself to fall apart like this every time she leaves town? Disgraceful!” And let’s not forget: “What would your grandmother, the former senator, think if she happened to pass you on the street—like this—looking as though you just crawled out of the gutter? Scandalous!”
Morgan shook her head, rolling her eyes, and brushed a hand through dull hair, admitting a good douse of Claude’s special hydrating treatment couldn’t hurt. Her silky brown locks hid among the tangled mess hanging at her shoulders—somewhere.
Morgan swiped at the purple smudges under her dark green eyes, noted her broken fingernails, shrugged. Vanity and the wilderness just didn’t mix. But as soon as she got home, she and Shelly were spending the day with Claude. The appointments were already booked. God knew they deserved it—a month of trouncing through backcountry definitely warranted six hours of pampering, fun, and catching up.
While two masseurs kneaded away knots of tension, Shelly would finally fill her in on the details of their last hurried conversation as they parted ways at Reagan International.
“Morgan, I know this isn’t a good time—that we’re leaving—but I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
“Ian came to my place last night. We got into an argument—”
“Wait. What were you and Ian doing together? Weren’t you both getting ready for the trip?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll explain everything when we get back, but he kissed me, Morgan. I mean, really kissed me. He said we’re going to have a serious conversation in Montana—that he thinks he loves me and has a lot to say before I just get up and walk out of his life.”
“Wow. I—”
“What am I supposed to do? I leave for L.A. in five weeks. What should I do?”
“I-I…Jesus, Shell, I’m still trying to catch up here. I had no idea anything was going on between the two of you. Do you love him?”
“I don’t know. I… Damn. That’s my boarding call.”
“We’ll talk when you get back.”
Oh, they would talk all right. Being left to dangle with small tidbits of a surprising turn of events was its own form of torture. Not knowing what had gone on between her best friend and Ian was…unbearable.
If she hurried with her shower and phone call to her father, she might catch Shelly alone in her hotel room—if they weren’t out in backcountry.
With a shrug, Morgan snapped the shower curtain open, turned the lever to hot, smiled when the spray spit from the head. “Oh, I am so ready for this.” Steam plumed, fogging the mirror, filling the room with warm, moist heat. A grin spread across her face as she unbuttoned the flannel she wore over her t-shirt. This was the best part of her entire trip—real soap, hot water, the feel of soft cotton against her skin.
A faint knock sounded at the door. She swore. “I was so close.” Morgan turned off the nozzle with a bad tempered twist, buttoned the grimy shirt she’d almost undone. “Just a minute.” Peeking through the peephole, she frowned at the staff member in the hall.
Morgan opened the door with a polite smile. “Yes, can I help you?”
The perky blond beamed. “Ms. Morgan Taylor?”
“That’s me.”
“Hi, I’m Judy, the night manager. I tried calling up to your room—several times—but I kept getting a busy signal.”
Morgan glanced at the phone. She’d taken it off the hook in hopes of avoiding the habitual and foolish prank calls Dave and Jim pestered members of the team with every time they got a hotel room.
“You had an urgent message waiting for you. Someone called a couple of days ago. The guy said you’d be staying here. I saw that you just checked in, so I thought I should bring this up.”
Frowning, Morgan took the pink piece of paper. Unease roiled in her belly as she unfolded the note. “EXTREMELY URGENT—CALL IMMEDIATELY!!! Dad” The words were underlined three times. Had something happened to her mother? “Thank you, Judy,” she murmured, shutting the door in the woman’s face.
Morgan raced to the cell phone she hadn’t powered on in two weeks, dialed her parents’ house number. It rung incessantly, and her stomach tensed with panic. Why didn’t the voicemail pick up? She tried her father’s cell next with unsteady fingers, pacing back and forth while her heart galloped wildly in her chest.
