by Cate Beauman
Hunter shrugged. “The image doesn’t fit. I didn’t think someone like your mother would know how to cook. I figured you had a cook.”
Brows furrowed, Morgan put the spoon back in her bowl and stared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean, someone like my mother?”
“I wasn’t being insulting. She’s a great lady.”
“Yes, she is. She learned to cook from her mother and taught me. Just because you have financial advantages as an adult doesn’t mean you had them as a child. She didn’t. She was raised by a single mother who worked her butt off in a factory to get by. It’s my dad who comes from money.”
“Your grandmother was a senator. I kind of figured that out.” Hunter scraped the rest of the stew from his bowl. “Like I said, I wasn’t trying to insult you or your mother. I was raised by a single mother myself.”
Morgan perked up. “You were?”
“Yup, she’s a pediatric nurse back in L.A.”
“Have you always lived in Los Angeles?”
“Born and raised.”
“Do you have brothers or sisters? I heard you talking to your niece the other day.”
Hunter immediately thought of Jake and shut down. “Neither, it’s just me and my mom.” He stood, walked to the tent.
“I feel like I said something I shouldn’t have.”
He turned, saw the questions in her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I’m going to shower real quick. Will you be okay if I leave you here by yourself for a few minutes?”
“Of course, you’ll just be over there.” She gestured toward the darkened area by the trees. “I’ll wash the dishes after I finish up. I might be down by the stream when you get back.”
“All right. Stay close to camp and bring a flashlight.” He strode off into the darkness.
Morgan walked away from the light and comfort of the campfire wondering what she’d said to upset Hunter. Their conversation played through her mind; she couldn’t figure it out.
If he didn’t have any siblings, how did he have a niece? She would’ve asked him about the little girl he clearly adored, but his eyes had changed. They’d grown so cool and distant in the firelight; his voice had lost its inflection while he spoke.
He’d actually shared something about himself; she couldn’t help but be sorry the moment ended so quickly. She wanted to know the man who slept inches from her every night.
Shaking off the sense of loss, she scooped up water in her collapsible bucket, started toward camp. A wave of unease hit her and she stopped. Her eyes darted back and forth in the pitch black. Her pulse jumped as dread curled like a tight fist in her stomach. She felt as if she were being watched.
Grabbing the flashlight, Morgan shot the beam into the distance but saw nothing. She laughed nervously as she cursed her imagination, but she couldn’t shake the feeling.
Spinning slowly, she examined her surroundings. She snatched up her pail with hands that shook, dropped it, spilling the water. “Damn it,” her voice trembled. She went back to the stream for more, even as her instincts told her not to.
With breath quickening, Morgan dipped the bucket in the current, suppressing the overwhelming need to run. She took a step back from the water’s edge, heard the snap of a branch to the right of the stream. She pivoted with the flashlight, scrutinizing the dark.
She picked up her pace as her chest constricted and her breath sobbed in and out. Someone was definitely watching her and they were close, very close. She whirled again and screamed.
Hunter froze his ass off as he washed. The cool night air and frigid water were a bad combination. Goosebumps covered every inch of him. He clenched his jaw, fighting against the racking shudders threatening to chatter his teeth. He couldn’t wait to get back to L.A. He wanted the hot summer sun.
Turning on the shower nozzle again, he sucked in a sharp breath, cursed the ice cold water, rinsing the Campsuds he lathered in his hair. He turned the nozzle off, dried himself, threw on his boxers, his jeans. He was about to pull on his shirt when Morgan’s bloodcurdling scream echoed through the air.
With his heart in his throat, Hunter grabbed his gun and flashlight and sprinted forward in bare feet. He fought the urge to call out her name, to tell her he was coming. He had to stay quiet until he knew what he was dealing with.
He ran until he saw the beam of her flashlight, came to a dead stop. Of all the scenarios racing through his mind, he hadn’t expected this. Morgan gripped a big rock in her hand as a pair of green, glowing eyes stared at her in the light’s reflection.
Hunter racked the slide on his Glock, held the gun over his head, fired into the air. Morgan jumped, screamed again as the cougar ran off into the night.
Hunter walked over, yanked the flashlight from Morgan’s hand. He trained the beam into the distance, making sure the animal left. When he was certain it was gone, he shined the light to see her more clearly.
Morgan didn’t look scared. Her eyes glistened bright with excitement. He’d almost had a heart attack and she was grinning from ear to ear. Christ, she was something. “That cougar was about to pounce on you. That doesn’t seem to bother you.”
She rested her hand on his arm. “Thank you for not shooting him. I was scared breathless until I heard you coming. I could see he was going to leap, but he didn’t. This is amazing, just amazing. Sightings of the cougar are fairly rare. Not as rare as the lynx, but still.”
She spoke rapidly in her enthusiasm. “This is great. He was so close—inches away, just inches. We must be in his territory or too close to his kill. From his size, I’d be willing to bet he’s about two years old. Often times, a cougar his age will’ve just separated from his mother and be on a search for his own territory. Attacks are rare but more likely during that time.”
Hunter’s pulse steadied as he continued to stare. “Fascinating.”
His sarcasm completely escaped Morgan in her delight. “Oh, I know. I’ll have to record this in my log, get some pictures of his tracks—measurements too.”
Her hand still rested on his arm. It was damp and clammy, but he had to give her points for her guts.
Morgan started forward to pick up the pail she’d dropped, turned back. “Thank you.”
She sent Hunter one of her knock ‘em dead smiles and he fought to keep his breath as he gave her a brisk nod. She was absolutely stunning. He wanted her like he’d never wanted before.
Morgan turned again. “Well, let’s get things cleaned up and go to bed. Tomorrow’s bound to be another long day.”
“Yeah,” was the best he could do as he watched her walk toward the stream for another bucketful of water.
After Morgan took her pictures and recorded measurements with his assistance, they settled into their sleeping bags in the bright orange two-person tent. Morgan’s deep, steady breathing told him she slept. She seemed as accustomed to sleeping in the great outdoors as she was in the posh guesthouse in D.C.
He wondered what she would think if they found the mine tomorrow, when she put the pieces of her friends’ deaths together. He had no doubt she would; she was too damn smart not to.
CHAPTER 18
BY LATE MORNING, HUNTER AND Morgan made it to the banks of the Slough River. The sun blazed bright in the cloudless blue sky, baking the tall grass in the valley surrounding them. The cool mountain breeze, usually plentiful and refreshing, blew stingily, offering little relief from the stifling heat.
Hunter swallowed the last of his water as they approached the blessed shade of several tall pines—one of the few groupings of cover along the river. “Let’s stop here for awhile, take a break, refill our bottles. I want to look at the map again.”
“When are you going to tell me more about this lead?” Morgan demanded. “I just can’t figure out what the river has to do with the team’s deaths. We’re miles from where Shelly turned on her GPS, from where their bodies were found.”
Morgan took off her pack, sanitized her hands, reached in for the double-sealed package of trail mix. Sh
e popped a handful of raisins, peanuts and chocolate pieces into her mouth as she sat next to Hunter on a small boulder while he scanned the map.
“I’ve already told you, I’m not saying anything until I can confirm the information given to me.” If they were able to verify Shelly’s journal entry today, he wouldn’t have to say a thing.
Hunter snagged Morgan’s wrist as she brought another handful to her mouth, brought it up to his own instead, dumped it in. His lips brushed the soft skin of her palm and she stiffened. He realized his mistake instantly as his gaze met hers. Hunger burned in her eyes and his stomach clenched tight.
She pulled her arm free of his grip as he watched the tip of her tongue dart across her lips in the same nervous gesture he recognized from two nights before—the night they’d almost become lovers.
“What was that?” she asked in a voice gone tight.
“I haven’t sanitized yet, and I’m hungry.” He chewed the mouthful of food, trying to play it light, even though she was driving him crazy.
She grabbed the sanitizer from her pack, set the small container in his palm. “You sanitize and eat. I’ll take care of getting us some water.”
He let out a long, slow breath when Morgan took his empty bottle to the edge of the river, filled it, did the same with her own. As she checked for cracks in the filters and capped the bottles, he admonished himself for touching her. The violent need that snapped through his system proved he would have to keep his hands to himself, even in the most casual of ways.
Morgan walked back to the shade and shelter of the trees, stuffed the bottles into the mesh side pockets of the packs, wiped her dripping hands on the hips of her hiking pants.
Hunter ate another handful of dried fruit and nuts, stared at Morgan a moment longer before his gaze drifted to the vast green of the valley beyond. He estimated they were about two miles—three at the most—from where he thought her friends had discovered the mine. He wanted to proceed cautiously, uncertain of the mine’s security measures.
Had they beefed it up after Shelly’s team made the discovery, or was everything status quo, thinking they’d taken care of the problem by killing three people? Either way, it was worth taking precautions before approaching any further.
Hunter’s gaze wandered back to Morgan as she bent over and tidied the front compartment of her pack. “Do you have anything you could put on that might blend in with our surroundings?”
Morgan frowned, looking down at her bright yellow top and black zip-off cargo pants before her eyes met his again. “Yes, of course, but why?”
“I just think we should try to blend a bit, that’s all.”
Morgan stared, her brow raised in a stubborn line. Hunter held her gaze until she huffed out a breath. “Fine, I have a brown or dark green top.”
“Go dark green. Change your pants too. Do the khaki you wore the other day.”
Morgan dug the clothes from her pack, neatly replacing the items she disturbed. He looked at the map again, catching her movements in his peripheral vision. She lifted her shirt over her head, stood in her skimpy powder blue bra and pants while she folded the yellow top. Her breasts spilled slightly from the cups. He dropped all pretenses of looking at the paper in front of him, tracking his gaze down her firm, smooth torso.
His fingers itched to touch, to feel her against his hands again.
Morgan reached for the shirt, stopped when she glanced up. Her gaze met his. “Do you mind?” she asked, her voice gone husky.
His eyes stayed locked on hers. Despite her frown, the green depths, darker with desire, told him to come take her. He wrestled with the need to keep his distance and his want for her.
Images of water raining over her amazing, panty-clad body flashed through his mind. Unfulfilled desire swamped him and lust won out.
She nibbled her bottom lip as she swiped at a lock of hair come loose from her ponytail. The tight tether on his control unraveled; he suddenly didn’t give a damn that this wasn’t the time or the place. He let the map fall to the ground, closed the distance between them.
Short, shallow breaths escaped Morgan’s mouth, feathering over his lips, driving him half mad. As blue eyes stared into green, he flicked his finger under the clasp of her bra, releasing her breasts. She gasped as his hands caught her and played.
He reveled in the feel of her soft skin. “To answer your question, I don’t mind at all.”
Morgan kissed him first this time. Her fingers brushed through his hair as she pulled his lips to hers and took. Her tongue entered his mouth—testing, teasing.
Hunter traced lazy circles around her nipples. She clutched his forearms, breath quickening, sending shockwaves careening through his body. He gently backed her against a tree, bent down to taste. Her exotic flavor, like her scent, filled his senses and he groaned, unable to get enough. She laced her fingers around the back of his neck, pushing him closer, inviting him to take more.
Hunter’s tongue and teeth played with her until she shuddered, letting out a quiet moan. She tugged his shirt over his head. Heat seared in the look that passed between them. Her small, confident hands trailed down his muscled arms as she left open-mouthed kisses across his chest.
His breath steamed in and out; his stomach muscles quivered as her clever fingers danced toward the snap on his pants. He craved to feel her wrap around him, but he wanted to touch her more. He pressed himself against her, heat to heat, trapping her hands, preventing her from making the first move.
When her palms lay flat against his lower stomach, halting her movements, he unbuttoned her pants, unzipped them. He teased and traced just above the silk of her low panty line. Their tongues danced again as her hips rocked, begging him to make her come alive.
Small throaty moans escaped her throat as her nails dug into his shoulders. He stared into her dark green eyes as his thumbs hooked in her belt loops and began to tug.
Morgan’s pants cleared the top of her hips, continued their journey down, bringing light blue panties with them while Hunter nibbled on her collarbone.
The sexy sounds she made were making him crazy. He had to have her—right now. He strained, muscles taut, vibrating with need. His hands wandered down, caressing smooth skin, ready to fulfill, when the drone of a plane engine finally registered. Breath unsteady, he broke contact with Morgan’s body, glancing up as a single engine plane flew overhead.
He noted the time on his watch—a habit long ingrained—then looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen from his. The moment that passed between them vanished as he watched her eyes follow the small white aircraft through the sky.
She covered her breasts with her arm. “Wow, that was really low.”
Hunter picked up his shirt, yanked it over his head, grunting instead of responding.
Morgan clasped her bra closed, put on the dark green top, pulled on the khaki pants he suggested. “I didn’t realize tourist planes came this far north. I’ve never been in one that flies quite so close to the trees. I thought they focused on the southern part of the park where visitors can see the waterfalls and buffalo population.”
“Yeah, I don’t know.” But he did. He knew they were close now. There was no way in hell that was a tourist plane; that was a security flyover. This had to be a hell of a mine to require flyovers and the murder of three federal employees.
Luck had been on their side when they stopped under the tall pines instead of the wide, open space of the valley surrounding them. There would be very little cover for the next two to three miles, until they hit the heavy forest again.
Morgan changed her socks, damp with sweat, preventing blisters while Hunter picked up the map and scanned it again, focusing on the area he planned to lead Morgan to as safely as possible. Satisfied, he folded the paper, placed it in his pack.
The sound of the airplane came back, flying so low instinct had them both ducking.
“Shit. That was too close.” Hunter stood from his crouched position, looked at his watch. “Ei
ght minutes,” he muttered.
“Why are they flying like that?”
“I’m not sure.”
“But you have an idea. I can tell by your voice.”
“They’re lower than I like. I don’t know if they saw us. Hurry and get your boots on. I want to make it to the next line of trees before they come back.” He jammed her clothes in her pack while she tied her laces.
He hefted her pack for her as she got to her feet. “Can you run with this?”
“I want you to tell—” she cut herself off, shook her head. “Of course I can run with my pack.” She took it from him, settled it on her shoulders.
“Good. If I’m right, this plane should circle by every eight minutes. I’ve only timed them once, so hopefully that’s it. The next tree line is about two hundred-fifty, maybe three hundred yards away. Can you make it?”
“Yes, I can make it. Let’s go.”
They ran hard to the next section of cover. The heat and the weight of their packs left them winded.
Hunter glanced at his watch again. “We should have about two and a half minutes before they come back. I want to get as far away from the first clearing as possible and into the dense woods up and beyond.”
“Hunter, tell me what’s going on.”
Ignoring her, he brushed his upper arm across his sweaty forehead. He didn’t plan to say anything at this point. He wanted Morgan focused on running, on doing what he told her. “The next break is much shorter—about one hundred yards. The one after is going to be a bitch, though. It’ll be about three-quarters of a mile. I think after we get to the next, we should wait awhile, make sure we’re fresh. We can’t afford—” A huge blast cut him off. He felt the vibrations in his feet.
For a flash, he was back in Afghanistan. Jake’s voice echoed through his mind. “I’m hit, Hunt, I’m hit!” Jake’s blood dripped from his hands as he looked down at his dying friend. His mind jumped to the next instant, where he sat in the dust and dirt with excruciating heat radiating through his shoulder while blood oozed down his arm. Then, somehow, he was in the chopper, staring at the white sheets flapping in the wind, covering six dead soldiers—his men.
