by Cate Beauman
When they made it to the small cabin, Morgan walked directly to the bedroom, ignoring Miles and Robert’s friendly greetings. She didn’t have it in her to socialize. She listened to Hunter make excuses when both rangers stopped playing their card game and stood, concerned, commenting on her sickly, pale complexion.
Still shaken and sick to her stomach, Morgan collapsed on the edge of the bed, covering her face with her hands. Her friends. Her poor friends. They hadn’t deserved to die that way.
The door closed with a quiet click and the mattress sagged when Hunter sat next to her. She smelled soap and the fresh air from their hike on his skin.
“Why? Why would someone do that to them?” She could hear the agony in her own voice.
His muscled arm came around her shoulders. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
“They were so good.” Morgan’s voice broke. “Such good people.”
He pulled her closer, until her head rested against his firm shoulder.
Morgan desperately wanted to hold on to him, to hang on to the strength he offered, so she stood with her back to him. She didn’t want to need him as she had in her weakened moment by the bench in the parking lot. She was a job; he’d made that very clear. He was paid to care, which meant he didn’t care at all. It was important to remember that.
“You know, I’m okay. I really am. I’m going to be all right.” Her voice sounded hollow and weak, even to herself. “I’m going to bed.”
The mattress squeaked when he stood. His hand rested against her rigid shoulder and she closed her eyes. “I’ll give you a couple minutes to get ready, then I’ll be back.”
“No. You don’t have to. I’m all right.” Maybe if she said the words enough, she might believe them. She didn’t dare look at him; she would fall to pieces if she did. Breaking in front of him, showing him any type of weakness, wasn’t an option.
“I’m coming back. I’ll do some work in here on my laptop. We can turn off the light and you can get some rest.”
She didn’t have the strength to argue. “I need to get undressed.”
Morgan walked to the bathroom, going through the motions of her nighttime routine. Running on auto-pilot, she rubbed moisturizer on her face, brushed her teeth. She just wanted to go to bed and not think about what she’d seen anymore. How would she get those images out of her mind?
Every ounce of energy left her body on the way back to the bedroom. Her legs threatened to buckle with each step so she hurried. She changed into her green tank top and panties, crawled onto her side of the bed, sighed as her head nestled the pillow. She covered herself with starchy sheets, curled herself into a protective ball, and prayed for the oblivion of sleep.
The bedroom door opened with a creak and closed. Morgan continued to stare at the wood-paneled wall, pulling her knees tighter to her chest. She listened to Hunter move around the room—unzipping his bag, zipping it closed again. As much as she hadn’t wanted him to come back, she was glad he did. She found comfort in knowing he was close by.
He didn’t talk to her when he sat on his side of the bed. His laptop powered up, casting a blue tint to the room. She drifted off to the sound of Hunter’s fingers tapping against the keys of his computer.
Late into the night, Morgan whimpered in her sleep. She relived the horror of the pictures she’d seen in a grotesque slideshow that played over and over. The photo of Shelly staring with blank, milky blue eyes and blood on her forehead monopolized her subconscious.
The picture came to life, and somehow Morgan was there. Shelly continued to stare with her head bent back against her pack. Her hands reached out, trying to grab Morgan’s legs as her mouth began to move. She screamed and begged for Morgan to help her. Morgan turned to run, but Ian and Tom lay in her way, bloody and missing most of their faces. Their hands made a grab for her ankles and she jumped back, surrounded by the dead, shrieking.
Morgan cried out and shot up in bed. Covered in sweat, her breath sobbed in and out.
Hunter sat up next to her, instantly awake. “Hey, hey, hey, Morgan, it’s okay.” He pulled her close.
Terrified, defenseless, she let herself relax against his warm chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
He tightened his grip, wrapping his arms around her. “Morgan, you’re shaking. It’s all right. Just take some deep, slow breaths.” He drew her away. “I’m going to get you a glass of water. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She wanted to cling to him, to tell him to wait. She wasn’t ready to be alone, but she nodded. As soon as Hunter left the room, Morgan switched on the light, terrified of the dark.
He came back moments later, handing her the glass. She swallowed a sip of cool water, relieving her dry throat. Sipping again, she took in the sight of Hunter’s naked upper body.
He was broad and chiseled. His black mesh shorts hung low on his hips, accentuating his six-pack. A large scar, circular and puckered, stood out on his well muscled shoulder. There was a tattoo of a cross on the side of his left bicep with a date under it. She wanted to ask him what it symbolized but stopped herself.
Morgan moved to put the glass on the shelf above the beds. The blanket pooling at her waist fell away. Hunter’s eyes traveled the length of her legs before she adjusted the sheet back in place.
Hunter let out a deep breath as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah, thanks. Thanks for the water.”
“You’re welcome.” He got under the sheet as she moved farther over on her side.
Morgan cleared her throat. “I’m going to work for a little while before I go back to sleep. I have to generate graphs on my laptop. I won’t need the light, so I shouldn’t disturb you.” She wasn’t ready to close her eyes again, wasn’t ready for the images that might come. If she stayed awake she could block them out with the demands of her job.
Hunter turned off the lamp. Morgan bit her lip, forcing herself not to cry out.
Taking a deep breath, scolding herself for being ridiculous, she continued to sit in the pitch black. “Um, I need a minute to get my computer, to get things up and running.”
The bedsprings creaked as Hunter pushed himself over to her mattress. His leg brushed hers, sending small shockwaves skittering along her skin as he got under her covers. He tugged on her arm until she collapsed against the bed.
“Come here.” Hunter pulled her toward him until her back lay pressed to his chest. He tucked his arm around her waist.
She tried to push herself up, but he held her to him. “Hunter, what are you doing?”
“I’m being your friend, Morgan. We haven’t tried that one yet. You need to sleep. You’re pale and exhausted. Close your eyes. Turn it off for awhile.”
She didn’t speak, didn’t move. She held herself rigid as her body fit intimately against his. It felt good, comforting and safe.
As the minutes ticked by, she relaxed until her breathing steadied out and became deep with sleep.
CHAPTER 12
HUNTER WOKE FLAT ON HIS back surrounded by the dark, sexy scent of Morgan. He lifted his head from the pillow and stared.
Morgan’s cheek rested on his chest as her hand lay lightly fisted over his heart. The tank top she wore had ridden up during the night. The soft skin of her stomach and silk of her panties pressed against his side as her knee bent and crossed over his hip. He fisted his hand, realizing it rested upon her naked lower back.
His current situation gave him a jolt. He hadn’t woken with a woman in his arms in over two years. He’d had his fair share of sex since his return from Afghanistan. He just hadn’t stuck around for the morning after. The complications were never worth it.
Hunter stared into Morgan’s spectacular face, took in glimpses of her bombshell body pressed to his, and knew she was the mother lode of sticky complications he’d tried to avoid.
He found himself admiring her more and disliking her less, which worried him. Morgan was tougher than she seemed. That counted for a
hell of a lot in his book. She’d had quite a shock the day before and had held herself together far better than he’d expected, earning his respect.
She hadn’t become hysterical, fainted, or screamed despite the graphic pictures of her team. They’d made him a little squeamish, and he’d seen the results of violent death more times than he could count.
When she sat on the bed sick with horror and grief, he’d wanted to make everything better, to give her what comfort he could, but she hadn’t wanted him. The more she tried to push him away, the more he needed to be there for her.
While he held her close the night before, he realized the need to find out what happened to her team had less to do with the protocols of keeping her safe and everything to do with giving her peace.
In a week’s time, feelings he tried to avoid were coming to life—feelings he didn’t want. How the hell had that happened? Flutters of anxiety twisted his stomach. Feeling trapped, he gently lifted Morgan’s wrist, attempting to pull himself free of her. The movement woke her.
Half asleep, she stretched the arm out he still held, bringing herself closer. Her shirt continued climbing until her naked breast lay against his ribs and he bit back a groan. Need, bright and hot, burned in his belly, quickly replacing any traces of panic. He ground his teeth, fighting the urge to reverse their positions and take her.
Morgan opened her eyes, tilted her face up until she stared into his. Her full mouth creased in a slow smile before vanishing. She used the hand fisted over his heart to quickly boost herself up to sitting. As she pulled away, a flash of amazing breasts and toned stomach were visible before her tank top slid back in place.
She yanked the covers up to her neck, looking like a sleepy sex goddess with disheveled hair and flushed cheeks. “I, um, I didn’t mean to…lie all over you,” she finished lamely. The flush in her cheeks darkened as she glanced away.
“Don’t worry about it.” Desire roughened his voice. He wanted—no, needed—to put them back on an even keel. He sat up. “You look like you were able to get a little sleep.”
“I was. I didn’t have any more dreams. Thank you, for everything.”
“You’re welcome.” His triceps bunched as he propelled himself toward the front of the beds. He got up and rifled through his bag until he found a t-shirt to put on.
“Why did you have those pictures? Where did you get them?”
He turned, staring at her, blew out a breath. “I’m not going to tell you everything, but I will tell you I asked Ethan to have the situation with your friends looked into. I need to know what I’m dealing with to keep you safe.”
“The police told my father they’re pretty sure the team was killed by a poacher. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Yeah, that’s the official line, but no matter how I spin it, it doesn’t fit. Something doesn’t feel right. Now that I’ve seen the pictures, I know it’s not.”
Morgan’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
His jaw tightened as she hastily crawled across the beds and stood in her hip-length tank top. Her pretty green panties rode high, showing off her shapely legs. “What are you saying? Do you think they were intentionally targeted?”
God, she was killing him. She needed to get dressed. He threw her the pair of jeans she wore the night before.
Her eyes widened when she glanced down quickly, as if she had forgotten how she was dressed, and tugged on the denim.
“I’m not saying anything at this point, but think about it. Everything’s off. It doesn’t make sense. Three people are taken out by one poacher. Three healthy, athletic adults under the age of thirty, shot without a struggle. You saw those pictures, saw the wounds. If they caught a poacher by surprise, they would’ve been shot at random, not execution style.”
“I never really thought it all through, but you’re right. Oh God.” Morgan sat back down. “What happened out there? What did they walk into? What do we do?”
“We don’t do anything; not yet.” Hunter crouched in front of her, stared into her eyes. “I never thought there was any real threat to you until I talked to my PI friend yesterday. Now, I’m not sure. You have to stay close, Morgan. I don’t know what the hell is going on around here, but you have to cooperate and stay close.”
She nodded. “I told you I would. I will.”
“Let’s get up and get on with the day. Don’t say a word about this to anyone. No one, not even your father.”
She frowned. “But—”
“No one, Morgan. Not yet.”
She nodded again. “Okay.”
They walked to the kitchen to find something to eat. Robert and Miles sat at the table with their breakfast. Robert read the paper with his coffee while Miles ate a bowl of cereal. Both men glanced over as Morgan and Hunter came in.
“You feeling better, Morgan?”
She smiled at Miles. “Yes, thank you. I must’ve been overtired.”
Robert set his paper down. “You’ve put in a lot of travel time the past couple days. It’s easy to get rundown. There’s plenty of food for the two of you. The Bureau sent money for provisions. Help yourselves to whatever you find.”
“That’s very kind.” Morgan opened the refrigerator, scanned the shelves, pulled out eggs, ham, and cheese. “Hunter, do you want an omelet?”
“I wouldn’t turn one down.” He poured a cup of coffee and joined Miles and Robert at the table. “I’ll take good food while I can, before we head out.”
Robert put his paper down again. “You going out into backcountry?”
“In a couple of days—I think. It really depends on when Morgan gets her paperwork finished.”
Robert sipped his coffee. “Where do you plan to go?”
“I’m not sure.” Hunter met Morgan’s gaze as she poured beaten eggs into a pan. “I’ll let the boss answer that question.”
Morgan chopped ham on a cutting board. “At this point, I’m essentially starting from scratch. My team didn’t get a chance to start their research. They never made it back to report their findings. I know they didn’t tag an animal because we never received a transmission signal. Shelly always kept a journal when we…” She broke off, looked up. Her eyes locked on Hunter’s as she continued with her heart stuttering in her chest.
“Shelly always kept a journal when we were on assignment. She kept a log of what we did professionally, but it was a personal diary. She would’ve recorded their itinerary. There might be a clue as to what happened to them. Did the police find it? I need to call my dad. Have him ask Shelly’s family. Why didn’t I think of this sooner?”
Morgan pulled the eggs off the burner. Omelets could wait. She ran to the bedroom and was back less than a minute later.
“My cell doesn’t work up here. I can’t get a signal. Do you mind if I use the office phone, Robert? I’ll reverse the charges.”
“No, go ahead. Miles and I should get to work. We’ll see you tonight.”
When Robert and Miles walked out the door a few minutes later, Morgan was telling Hunter the police hadn’t found Shelly’s journal.
Morgan and Hunter sat down to omelets and whole wheat toast as the pickup’s engine faded in the distance.
“Are you sure Shelly kept a journal with her?”
Morgan cut a piece of egg and looked at him. “Yes, I’m one hundred percent certain. She and I worked together for three years. She always brought her journal when we went on assignment. She would usually write at night after we settled in. She called it her ‘me time’.”
“She took one every single time you traveled?”
“Yes, Hunter, every single time. Why are you questioning me on this?”
“Just curious.” He shrugged, wanting to play things casual, but he had an idea of where the journal ended up. He sampled a bite of fluffy egg, melted cheese and thought he’d gone to heaven. “This is really good, Morgan.”
“Thanks. You think the person who killed them took it.”
He stopped chewing
and met her steely stare. “It crossed my mind.”
“Why didn’t you just come out and say that? I’m pretty intelligent. I can connect the dots.” She stood. “If you expect me to cooperate with you, I expect you to do the same. They were my friends, Hunter.” She put her plate in the sink and walked off.
As she walked away, Hunter took his last bite. He wasn’t interested in cooperating; only in keeping her safe.
Hunter had watched his new roommates when Morgan remembered Shelly’s journal. Robert had been about to take a sip of coffee when he paused before setting his mug back down. Miles’s eyes had darted to Robert before he’d taken another bite of his cereal.
His stomach had pitched; his shoulder blades had itched the entire time. They were connected with her friends’ deaths; he just didn’t know how yet. He would keep that to himself for awhile.
CHAPTER 13
BRIGHT AND EARLY FRIDAY MORNING, Hunter and Morgan stood at the kitchen table preparing for a day hike. Morgan placed first-aid supplies in her pack, followed by a blue insulated bag, crammed full with lunch. She picked up her list—again—to quadruple check she had everything.
Hunter ran his tongue over his teeth and rocked back on his heels, trying hard to be patient. When Morgan muttered to herself, glancing back and forth from her daypack to the paper she held, he rolled his eyes and let out an impatient breath. “Are you almost ready?”
“Yes, I just want to be sure I’m not leaving anything behind. I would hate to have to come back.”
He stared at the computer-generated list, the neat checks Morgan had placed in the boxes next to each item as she packed it. “I don’t think we have to worry.”
She frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with being prepared. In fact—”
