Morgan's Hunter

by Cate Beauman

  As her foot left the mattress and touched the floor, the bedsprings squeaked. He watched her wince as she turned to look in his direction. His gaze locked on hers and she froze in her crouched position.

  Morgan’s chilly green eyes glared into his and the apology for last night withered on his tongue. Her mutinous expression rose his hackles. Any tenderness he’d felt for her while reading Shelly’s journal dried up like a desert pool. Perhaps he wasn’t sorry for his actions after all. His gruff “We’ll leave tomorrow” was the best he could do.

  Morgan looked away, stood, pulled jeans over her tiny white shorts. She yanked a bold red sweatshirt over the black tank top he had removed just hours before, opened the bedroom door without a backward glance, shut it with a hard snap behind her.

  “That went well.” Hunter scrubbed his hands over his face before steaming out a breath. He got out of bed, opened the door, wanting to listen to any conversations coming from the office or kitchen.

  He was desperate for a cup of coffee, but thought it best to give Morgan some space, especially when he heard a cupboard close with a bang, the refrigerator door shut with a rattle, and her spoon and bowl clatter against the kitchen table. A shot of caffeine wasn’t worth dealing with that. They’d seen enough of each other already.

  Resigned to start the day without his java buzz, he let Morgan be, pulled his laptop from its case and got to work.

  Throughout the afternoon, the motorized sounds of a vacuum sealer and occasional clatter of dishes made their way back to the bedroom. Preparations for the backcountry hike were in full swing. Morgan made it clear she didn’t want his help. When he offered to organize supplies, he was met with an icy “I’m all set.”

  Hunter was eager to be on the move but knew they had to wait. The torrential downpours of the night before had put a wrench in his plans, but hiking backcountry through thick mud and over slippery rocks was an accident waiting to happen. Minor injuries could turn into major hassles when miles of wilderness separated a hiker from proper medical treatment.

  Hunter used the time Mother Nature had given him. He spent much of the day sitting on his bed in front of his laptop, taking advantage of the security clearance he’d earned as a Force Recon. He hacked into government satellite imagery of the Slough River.

  He compared the images on the computer to the map he and Morgan would bring when they left early the next morning—trying to pinpoint where Shelly, Ian and Tom had found the mining operation.

  The river went on for miles, through Wyoming and Montana. He focused on the northern border of the park, well into the forest where few tourists traveled. Most of the waterway was exposed to open valley, except for small patches of trees scattered along the banks.

  He pressed the right button on his mouse, zeroing in on a segment of water that disappeared under a large section of thick vegetation. He was willing to bet they would find what they were looking for there. Tree cover would disguise the operation, keeping it from detection by satellite and flyovers.

  He and Morgan were in for quite a hike. A good five to ten miles of their trek appeared treacherous with jagged peaks and steep valleys.

  As he searched, he covered his tracks, constantly erasing his computer’s history. Hunter still hadn’t shared the information he had on the journal with anyone. He wanted to brief Ethan, but knew he and Morgan were being watched.

  Robert and Miles were suspicious. Hunter didn’t exactly fit the bill of a wildlife biologist or any other type of associate Morgan would have through the Bureau. He couldn’t be certain his calls weren’t being monitored. If Miles and Robert had something to do with all of this, they weren’t working alone.

  As dusk fell, Miles walked through the front door of the station, greeting Morgan.

  Frowning, Hunter glanced toward the hallway, jaw clenching, fighting the urge to wander out to the kitchen. Instead he focused on the map at his side and continued to prepare.

  Moments later, Morgan’s smooth voice told Miles he was about to have his first cooking lesson. Amazing, spicy scents drifted through the air along with Morgan’s laughter as she and Miles discussed the southern route she planned for tomorrow.

  Hunter’s fist bunched as he listened to their casual friendliness. If it bothered him that he rarely experienced the warm, sweet side of Morgan—the side she shared so willingly with everyone else—he chose to ignore it. Consciously, he relaxed his hand, stared back down at his computer screen, willing the gnawing frustration away.

  Hunter still hadn’t clued her in to their change of plans. If everyone believed they were heading south, they were less likely to be followed.

  In the brisk morning air, the sun rose over the Rockies, casting shadows among the trees. Hunter and Morgan donned heavy packs over light jackets and headed south from the ranger’s station.

  Morgan gave Robert and Miles a last wave before they disappeared into the tree line heading down a path toward the southeast trail.

  Birdsong and the productive sounds of twigs snapping underfoot accompanied them on their first mile over rocky, uneven terrain. Hunter kept his ears trained and his senses tuned for a tail. When he was sure they weren’t being followed, he stopped.

  Morgan slammed into his pack, letting out a whoosh of breath, stumbling back.

  Hunter turned, grabbed her hand before she went over.

  Their eyes met and she looked away. Tension, thick as fog, still sat heavy between them.

  “Geez, tell me when you’re going to stop next time, will you? What’s the matter, did you forget something?”

  “I want to turn around. I think we should head northwest.”

  “What? No way. We tried that already and it got us nowhere.”

  “I want to head northwest,” Hunter repeated.

  Eyes frosty, Morgan took a step forward. “Absolutely not. This is my call, not yours.”

  “Well, I’m making it mine.”

  “Why?” Her brow shot up as she crossed her arms.

  Had he really thought she would go along with this without an explanation? “Let’s just call it a hunch.”

  “Screw your hunch, Hunter. Why can’t you just answer my questions? Why are you always so damn evasive?”

  He shrugged. “It’s just another one of my many charming traits.”

  Morgan steamed out a breath. “You’re impossible, absolutely impossible.” She kicked a pebble into the trees surrounding them. “You’re on my turf. This is the part where you cooperate with me. I’ve kept my word. I’ve done what you asked. Now you do the same. Robert thinks I’ll have the most luck tracking the lynx if we head south.”

  “And Robert’s an expert on the lynx?”

  “He’s a damn forest ranger. He knows a hell of a lot more about the fauna in this area than you do, that’s for sure.” Morgan yanked off her pack, ripped off her jacket, stuffed it in the top of her bag.

  “That may be, but I still think we should head back.”

  Morgan went on as if he’d never spoken. “Spotting the lynx in this park is very rare. Although we have recent tracks up north, the last two sightings took place south of here. I agree with Robert’s reasoning. Their main food source is more abundant farther south this time of year.”

  As she spoke in her haughty tone, she put her pack back on. “Last time I checked a career in security didn’t require a deep knowledge of wildlife behavior. How about we both play to our strengths; you use your muscles and I’ll use my brain. If I need you to lift something heavy for me, I’ll let you know. I said we’re going southwest, so that’s what we’re going do. Now let’s go. I have a hell of a lot of work to do.” Morgan started walking off.

  All but out of patience, Hunter seethed, clenched his jaw. He grabbed her arm, turned her so fast she almost lost her balance again.

  “Let go of me. Why do you always think you can put your hands on me?”

  “You didn’t seem to mind the other night.”

  Morgan’s eyes widened before they narrowed to slits. She
yanked her arm free. “You’re the most despicable human being I’ve ever met. Just two more weeks and I can be rid of you.”

  “Believe me, sweetheart, I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

  Morgan took a deep breath, closed her eyes. “Look, the sooner I get this job finished, the sooner we can go our separate ways.” She gave a decisive nod, turned to walk again.

  “I think I have a lead on your friends.”

  She took three steps before she paused and whipped around. With eyes wide, she reached forward, clutched at Hunter’s jacket. “Oh my God, what is it?”

  “I’m not going to say at this point.”

  She released her grip on his clothing, dropped her hands to her side. “That’s not a good enough answer.”

  “It’s the only one I’m giving you. You’ll have to trust me.” He grabbed the map he’d studied from his pack. “We need to head northwest and follow the Slough River.”

  She pulled her pack off again, took the map from Hunter’s hand, traced the route he had planned with her finger before she looked at him. “This is a good day’s hike from here and that’s being optimistic. What’s so important about the river?”

  He only flicked her a glance. He’d given her enough information for now.

  “Give me something here, Hunter. I have a right to know about this lead.”

  “It’s a strong lead. That’s all you’re going to get.”

  He held her gaze, smoldering, clashing for several seconds.

  “Well, I guess I don’t have much of a choice here if I want to find out about my friends.”

  That was exactly what he’d hoped for. “Guess not.”

  Morgan stared at him long and hard before she checked her compass and led them off the trail in a northwest direction.

  After hours of walking over steep, brutal terrain, they found a clearing next to a fast flowing stream ten miles from the Slough. The flat patch of dirt fifteen yards from the water was the perfect spot for camp.

  The skyline was a picture of shocking oranges and pinks, fading into purple as the sun made its descent for the night.

  Morgan and Hunter sat in silence while the stove heated the evening meal.

  Hunter set up the tent and appeared completely relaxed resting against a rock with another true-crime novel in-hand, while Morgan sat close by—exhausted and achy. As the adrenaline of the hike wore off, she was tempted to crawl into her sleeping bag.

  Her stomach growled low and long as the enticing gravy scent of beef stew grew stronger. If she wanted to regain her strength, she knew she had to eat.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so drained. Her legs trembled with unaccustomed fatigue. She was used to this type of work, the tax and challenge it placed on the body. She thrived on it, had always loved it, but not today.

  Crickets began their nightly chorus—such a lonely sound—and the heavy weight of grief suddenly swamped her. In that moment, she noticed the lack of laughter, the absence of five voices as familiar to her as her own. It hit her then she would never have that back. Nothing would ever be the same. There would never again be card games by firelight or late night chats under the stars with Shelly, Ian and Tom. They were truly gone.

  Tears threatened to spill. She ruthlessly blinked them back. Tears wouldn’t help her friends now, but answers would help their families. Sitting up straighter, she fought to shake off the looming depression. Hunter had a lead and she was going to follow it.

  She’d been quiet for some time. Hunter snuck a peek as Morgan stared off, looking exhausted, sad, lost. The final two miles of the hike had been agony for her. He’d watched her energy all but vanish, but she hadn’t complained or asked to stop; she’d pushed herself until he knew she didn’t have much left. He admired her for that.

  Morgan tore her gaze from the trees, pulled off her boots. She winced and lunged forward, pressing her toes back. “Ow, ow, ow, cramp.”

  He set his book down. “You should drink more water.”

  “I’ll get some in a minute.” She massaged her foot. “After a day like this, you better have good information, Hunter, really good information about my friends, or I just might have to hurt you.”

  Hunter said nothing as she stood.

  “I’m going to clean up while the stew finishes heating.”

  He snickered as he looked her up and down. Pissing her off always seemed to give her a little spark. He was more than willing to do his part. “I think that’s a very good idea.”

  “You don’t exactly look fresh yourself, you know.”

  “If you fill the shower bag, save some water for me, will you?”

  “We’ll see.”

  He smiled when she turned away with a flash of temper heating her eyes. That was better. He picked up his book again as she grabbed the portable shower bag, her soap, washcloth, and towel.

  His gaze wandered from the words on the page as she pulled her t-shirt off and stood in a gray tank. When she stopped at the water’s edge, she wrapped the towel around her waist, yanked her pants down. The towel stopped at the top of her shapely thighs.

  Hunter gave up with the book altogether and watched her wade into a small, knee-deep pool separate from the rest of the stream. Droplets splashed up, leaving glistening trails down Morgan’s legs. She closed her eyes, tilted her head up to the sky.

  After several moments, she dipped the shower bag into the water, struggled to hold it and keep her towel in place. She glanced over her shoulder and their eyes met.

  Hunter couldn’t hold back a grin. “Got yourself a little problem there. Don’t get that towel wet. You won’t have anything to dry off with.”

  Scowling, Morgan turned back. She bent slightly, and the towel loosened around her waist. She grabbed the end, catching it just before it hit the water.

  Hunter’s grin turned into a roar of laughter.

  “I’m glad you find this so funny.” She walked closer to the bank, threw her towel down.

  Hunter’s laughter died. His eyes widened as he tried not to swallow his tongue. Her bikini-cut panties showed off her tanned, glorious legs. When she pivoted to rescue the shower bag on the verge of sinking, he read ‘TOO HOT’ printed in big black letters on the ass of her pink underwear. He couldn’t agree more. He wanted his hands all over her shapely, sculpted butt.

  Morgan turned again with her small biceps bulging from the weight of the bag. Their eyes held, sparked as desire pounded through him in time with his rapid pulse.

  Morgan stepped from the stream, bent over, tied a piece of sturdy rope around the handle of the makeshift shower and walked off.

  Hunter cleared his throat. “Don’t go too far. It’ll be dark soon.”

  Moments later, Morgan swore. He turned to see her standing on tiptoes with her arms reaching above her head, trying to get the rope over a sturdy branch. Her calf muscles bunched. Her tank top rode high, showing off her impressive backside.

  Hunter walked toward her, picked up the shower supplies she left behind. He came up behind her, grabbed the bag she struggled with. She fell back and her body brushed against the front of his. The contact was shocking, like a bolt of lightning.

  Morgan stepped to the side, stared at him with the same heat and surrender he saw in her eyes the night before, when she had wrapped herself around him as he carried her to the bed.

  He clenched his jaw, remembered his vow to keep his hands to himself. “Are you going to take this stuff so I can hang the damn thing up or just look at me?”

  She blinked and stepped over to grab her things.

  He knotted the rope and walked away. As he approached the campsite, steam from the bubbling stew caught his attention. He spun on his heel to tell her supper was ready, but the words died in his throat. She turned toward the shower, pulling her tank top over her head.

  She was the most spectacular thing he’d ever seen. His gaze wandered over her petite, athletic body, and he remembered the way her soft skin felt against his, the way her exotic scent
made him want more.

  She stood with her back to him, gasped as the first drops of spray hit her. The water cascaded down her hair, her skin, turning pink underwear a darker shade, accentuating the taut body beneath.

  Hunter took a deep breath, turned away, looking forward to his turn under the spray. He desperately needed a cold shower.

  CHAPTER 17

  SEXUAL FRUSTRATION BURNED HOT AND bright through Hunter’s blood. His need to touch Morgan, to be inside her, to pound and plunder away all of the want went from smoldering to flashpoint within seconds.

  He used his energy to create a fire pit, willing the visions away. The sweaty work of gathering heavy rocks to construct an ornate circle did little to erase the picture of cool water sluicing over golden skin.

  In the end, Hunter sat in front of the fire, staring into the flames with his muscles wound tight as an archer’s bow, hoping the images torturing his mind would vanish.

  By the time Morgan approached from behind he’d found a tenuous grip on his unrelenting need. He used the small ladle to scoop simmering stew.

  “You can’t have a fire out here. This isn’t a designated area.”

  He glanced up—stomach clutching in reflex—but never skipped a beat, even though she wore a towel and wet hair. “They’ll have to fine me. I’ll put it out in the morning before we go.” He spooned up a bite of carrot and beef.

  “I forgot to grab clean clothes. It’s getting cold.” She took pajamas from her pack, stood behind him. “No peeking.”

  It was tempting—too tempting. He knew how to be a gentleman when it suited him, and it did now. If he looked back and saw her, he’d take her. Desperate to think of something other than Morgan’s hot body, he changed the subject. “Stew’s good. You really are an amazing cook. I’ll admit I’m surprised.”

  “Oh yeah, why’s that?” She put her towel and other clothes over a fallen tree, then sat down next to him in her snug, white long johns and black fleece top, scooped herself a healthy portion of stew, blew on the first bite.