No one spoke for a minute. Then Jackson asked, “What’s wrong with our sister and what the hell is going on?”
Cheery carols floated from hidden speakers that he felt like hurling through the blasted windows.
Lincoln thought about how much he could tell them. Instead of answering the question, he inquired about where to park the car so no one would ask to whom it belonged.
Gideon Gaelord answered him and said he’d take care of it.
Again silence settled around them. Lincoln decided on another cup of coffee, and since no one offered it to him, he picked up his earlier cup, dumped the dregs and refilled it.
Jackson cleared his throat. “Why can’t Morgan come down? We’re not the only ones that have missed her. Her entire family has worried and wondered.”
“They’ll just have to wonder a bit longer, then.”
“Look. Morgan used to pull stunts like this to get out of things she didn’t want to do. And I can’t help wondering if this is some ruse for Morgan to get out of—”
“Ruse?” The tight hold he’d had on his tempter snapped and he slammed his mug down on the counter, stepping closer to Jackson. “This is no ruse, mate. Your sister is damn lucky to even be alive and I’ll not allow anyone, family, brother or no, anyone, to shove her over the edge.” He took another step closer and Jackson held his ground. “You love her, you’re happy she’s home. I get that. But she’s not up to some grand celebration. She needs peace, quiet, and a haven.” He dropped his voice. “If you cannot provide it for her, then I’ll take her somewhere where she’ll obtain it. Do I make myself clear?”
The man’s eyes, pale as his sister’s, narrowed. “Just who the hell are you?”
“Do I make myself clear?” Lincoln bit out, tired of sitting back watching Morgan struggle to keep her secrets, struggle from their questions while still wanting to please them.
“Yes,” Gideon answered from the doorway. “Something happened to her, didn’t it?”
Finally, he looked away from Jackson and to the other brother. For one long moment he said nothing. Then he said, “Yes, something happened to her, though I’m not at liberty to say what. Just be bloody thankful she’s safe and at home, and that I’m not contacting you because her body was the one found outside of Prague. That is, if the authorities were lucky enough to find a body at all.”
With that, he turned and walked out of the kitchen.
* * *
Jackson paced in the kitchen while Gideon rinsed the dirty dishes in the sink.
“I mean it, Jack. You give her tonight,” Gid said, drying the bowl Suzy had used to mix the brownies. He set it aside and opened the oven door before shutting it again. “You can ask your questions either after everyone leaves or save them for tomorrow. I want to know what the hell is going on just as badly as you do.”
A but hung in the air.
. . . be bloody thankful she’s safe and at home, and that I’m not contacting you because her body was the one found outside of Prague . . . Blade’s words poked the terror J.D. had kept buried for months. That one day, someone would call or show up saying their sister was dead.
What the hell had happened? He nodded and rubbed his hands over his face. “I will. I should have. I saw she didn’t look the same, but I guess I just got lost in the old Morgan antics.”
Which didn’t say much for him.
“Yeah, well, I sure as hell didn’t see any of the old Morgan in that scared girl tonight.” Gideon pointed toward the foyer, his eyes narrowed and hard.
It was rare Gideon was upset. Jackson’s younger brother had always been even-keeled, go with the flow, slow down and enjoy. Whereas J.D. had been more an activist.
The sound of someone coming down the back stairs into the kitchen had both men looking toward the breakfast nook in front of the bay window.
Suzy walked in, her normally smiling face furrowed deep with worry. She shook her head. “Something bad happened to our girl.”
“Did she talk to you at all?” J.D. asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.
“No,” she said, walking to the center island and taking the turkey out of the roasting pan. “Girl never had a modest bone in her body.” The carving knife scraped along the sharpening wand. “Don’t know how many times she’s stripped in front of me, or anyone else for that matter. I asked if she wanted me to wash her hair while she took a nice hot bath, like I used to, and she said no. Turned on the shower and I was getting towels out and her robe, expecting her to get in like she always did, slinging clothes this way and that, jabbering about whatever boy or trivial problem she has . . . ”
The scraping was getting on his nerves. He reached over and jerked the utensils out of her hand.
“You carve the damn bird, then,” she muttered, going to work on the steaming pots on the stove. “Anyway, just stood there like a doe in the crosshairs. I started to get out those silky pj’s she always liked so much and she asked if her sweats were still here.” She whacked a large spoon on the side of the pot. “Girl wouldn’t have been caught dead in those sweats. I should know. She hated wearing them. Always said they made her look fat.” Another whack, and this time she slammed a lid down on the counter. Suzy whirled and shook the spoon at him. “You find out who hurt our girl, Jack.” Her body turned to include Gideon. “And you damn well help him. Make use of those gadgets you’re forever using.” Suzy took a deep breath, stirred and muttered.
J.D. heard a car and Samson barking. Great. “You got the car moved?” he asked Gideon, who nodded.
“I swear if that bastard Simon Dixon walked into my kitchen I’d serve his balls up to him on a plate.”
Gideon cleared his throat and seemed to ignore the remark as he said, “I think we all feel that way. I agree with Blade, we don’t want anyone else to know she’s here, Suzy.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “Since when have I ever been stupid? I knew the first time you smoked a damn cigarette and Jack thought he’d snuck into the house. I reckon I figured that one out long before you or your brother did. And if either of you hope to pull anything over your Aunt Eve’s eyes you better try a bit harder.”
J.D. shook his head and walked out of the kitchen wondering how he could get rid of his relatives.
Chapter 16
Morgan sat in her window seat behind the curtain and watched as the last car pulled down the driveway. The house was quiet again except for Samson’s barking as he walked back and forth across the porch.
She’d sat up here, the faint sounds of the family Christmas below floating up to her occasionally. Uncle Brister’s rollicking laugh and Aunt Maybell’s carrying voice. Kids’ laughter mixing with something breaking at the bottom of the stairs.
Some things never, ever changed.
Thank God.
“That the last one?” Lincoln asked quietly from the corner, where he was sprawled on her periwinkle chaise.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I think that was Aunt Eve that just left. I always liked her.”
But she hadn’t wanted to even see her eclectic, easygoing aunt. Not tonight. She didn’t want to see anyone. She glanced through the dark toward the chaise. Yet she didn’t mind being around Lincoln. He calmed, soothed the worries and fears in her.
What would she do when he left? He’d been an anchor to her through all this, always there, even when he was domineering and didn’t ask her opinion, he was there—protecting.
Confused, she looked back to the window.
“Morgan,” he said quietly.
“What?”
“I’m leaving in the morning.”
She sighed. “I know.” Anxiety fluttered in her belly. “Part of me is glad, the other is . . . ” She trailed off.
“The other is what?” He shifted, his clothing hushing over the brocade.
“The other part is scared and wishes I could keep you.” She smiled.
For a moment, he said nothing, then, “You’ll be fine, Morgan. I don’t doubt it. Though promis
e me one thing.”
“What?”
“That you’ll let someone help you. You were supposed to see Dr. Rothillow, but with things left as they are, I don’t see that happening. Shadow’s creating a list of possible doctors that would specialize in something like this.”
She didn’t want to see anyone. Didn’t want anyone to know.
“I mean it, Morgan.” He shifted again and sat up. “This is too big, too dark to simply shove aside and hope it goes away.”
Morgan sat still as he stood and walked to her, the shadows and light from the windows slashing across him. “Promise me.” His black eyes stared down at her, yet she couldn’t read them. His hand came up and brushed her hair away from her forehead. “You deserve peace and happiness and I won’t let you achieve less than that.”
There was something . . . His voice held an edge, a tension, and she felt it; the hum that always surrounded him seemed to grow louder. Not screaming, yet not as calming as he normally was.
Slowly, she pulled her head back. Wanting some space she said, “I’ll see whoever you recommend.”
His eyes glittered down at her, then he nodded once and turned to the door, exhaling. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”
Morgan watched as he opened the door and shut it behind him. Her shoulders relaxed and she breathed deep.
Why couldn’t she find any level ground? Why did everything feel like it was shifting? Tired of thinking, not being able to reach any answers, she stood.
She wanted to see the family Christmas tree with all the old ornaments on it from her childhood that her and Mama had made. She reached down and pulled the thick white socks tight on her feet; slouchy socks annoyed her.
Morgan stopped at the door. Maybe she’d give her brothers a bit longer. Perhaps they’d go to bed. She really wasn’t ready to face them yet. There was no telling what they thought of her after her performance earlier. At Lincoln’s words, at knowing he was on the phone, she couldn’t help her reaction. The fact he hadn’t answered her question on the dead girl answered the question itself. Some woman, who looked like her, turned up dead outside of Prague. She shivered, rubbed her hands over her face, and wished . . .
What? That things were different?
On a muttered curse, she paced. Things were not different. But she was at home and she’d deal with this. She would, damn it. She’d dealt with and survived everything else. She would just take a day at a time. How hard could normalcy be?
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her room smelled like lavender and vanilla, or maybe she was just imagining it. She’d never noticed her room smelled before. She hadn’t been in this room in several years. There had been high school at the private academy Jackson had forced her to attend. Then she’d enrolled at the University of Texas in Austin, but dropped out when offered the modeling job. Then came a string of hotel rooms, suites, flats. Until Simon. Until Prague.
She sat on the bed, the purple and yellow star quilt bunching under her. She ran a hand over the soft worn fabric. The memory of fighting with Jackson over changing her room flitted through her mind. She’d wanted black, then leopard print, followed by screaming red if memory served. She’d always fought with her older brother. And he’d been right most of the damn time. With the room. The room, the boys, her modeling—he said it would ruin her—and then there was Simon.
Gathering the crocheted throw off the end of the bed, she wrapped it around her and stood.
She couldn’t sleep. At least not in this bed. The white iron head- and footboard brought back too many memories of similar beds, of stench and sex. Maybe she’d just sleep in the window seat or on the floor.
She hadn’t realized it, but the bed at the hotel, the ones at the safe house, were either solid wood or didn’t have head- and footboards. She’d been bound to too many of the damn things. She knew just the rattle of this frame would give her nightmares.
Maybe she could wait a while before mentioning getting a new bed to Jackson. It wasn’t like she had the right. Unless she, by some miracle, still had some of her trust fund left. After all, she would have counseling bills. Lincoln was right. She wanted happiness and peace enough, she’d see someone. She didn’t have to tell her brothers. But the fear they somehow knew, could somehow tell, prickled her skin.
She grabbed the doorknob and jerked open the door. Voices from the kitchen floated up the back stairs. They were still up.
Feeling cowardly, she softly closed the door and walked to the window seat.
There would be questions. Questions she simply wasn’t ready to answer. She’d wait. Wait until tomorrow. Tonight she could hide. Just one more day while she could.
Exhaustion pulling at her, she crawled into the cubby she’d loved since she was a child.
* * *
J.D. and Gideon sat in the kitchen. They’d helped Suzy clean up after everyone left. The last had been Eve, who was confident that Morgan would return one day. Out of all his extended relatives, she was the only one he felt connected to. She was different, bohemian, eclectic and vivacious with her dark curly hair, peasant blouses and skirts that most would look ridiculous in, but she was simply Aunt Eve.
He sighed and sipped his scotch.
Gideon didn’t say a word. The silence between them needed no words. They were both worried and baffled, confused and angry at their sister’s return.
“Where the hell has she been?” he muttered, taking another sip.
Gideon shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. “Jack, we’ll figure it out. In due time. I have a feeling Morgan is actually resting.”
“Yes, but is Blade in her room?” Why that detail should matter when Morgan was twenty-five was beyond him, but damn it, she was his little sister.
Gideon scoffed. “Not that it’s really any of our business, but no. I saw him go to his room a bit ago.”
“Think their lovers?” J.D. asked, sipping.
Gideon shrugged. “There’s something between them, and you’d know more about intimacy issues than I would since I don’t keep one woman around long enough to connect with.”
Molly. Damn. “I guess I should call her.”
Without a word, Gideon stood and slapped him on the back. “She was as worried as you these last months. She even called me to see how you were doing.”
Jack shook his head. He and Molly might be married, they just couldn’t live together for some reason. Well, he knew the reason and tonight was not the night to think about it. Instead, he leaned over and grabbed the phone as Gideon walked out of the kitchen and up the back stairs. He dialed the Austin number from memory and waited while it rang. Then her husky voice floated through the phone and he knew he’d woken her up.
“Hello?”
“Molly?” he leaned back in his chair.
“Jack? What? It’s . . . What’s wrong? What’s happened?” She became more alert with each question.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just wanted to call and let you know that Morgan—”
“Oh God.”
“No, Molly. No. She’s here. She’s come home.”
For a moment the voice at the other end was silent. He’d often wished things had either worked out for them or that they would be able to let each other go. Since neither of them seemed capable of those options, they remained in limbo. Most days he didn’t think about it too much. But tonight . . . Tonight he wished . . .
“I’ll come up tomorrow. Will that be okay? Or I could pack now and be there by . . . what the hell time is it?”
“Nearly midnight. No, I’d rather you not drive tonight.” He’d love it if she did, but he wasn’t going to ask that.
He wondered briefly if there was someone there with her and shoved the thought away before it could take root. Not his business if there was. Wasn’t like he hadn’t dated, or screwed, another woman in the last few years.
“I could leave now, Jack. Is she okay?” Her soft voice floated over him as it always had, soothing as little
could in this world.
He rubbed his face. “No, she’s not. Someone hurt her, she’s sick—or looks it, skin and bones. Not even when she modeled was she this skinny, Mol. And her eyes . . . ” He blew a breath out. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. I’m sorry for calling so late, but I thought you should know. I’d have called earlier this evening, but Morgan showed up right before everyone else and things got complicated. Gideon and I . . . we didn’t tell anyone she was here, giving her some time and everyone just left. So . . . ”
“So you called.” She sighed. “I can be there by four.”
He looked out the window. It was late. “Thanks, Molly, but no. Get some sleep and start out in the morning. You shouldn’t be driving this late.”
It was an old habit, one he’d never shaken—worrying about her and what she was doing, or should be doing.
“All right. I’ll get an early start. Maybe by five and be there around nine. All right, Jack?”
He nodded. “That sounds better.”
For a minute both were silent. Then she cleared her throat. “All right. Well . . . um . . . good night, Jack.”
“Molly?”
“Yes?”
I love you. “Call before you leave in the morning, okay?”
He could hear the smile in her voice. “I do too, Jack, and I will. Sweet dreams.” With that she clicked off. He sat at the old scarred ranch table nestled in the breakfast nook in the dimly lit kitchen and stared at the phone in his hand. Feeling better, he hit the OFF button and smiled.
She’d always said that to him, every night when they’d gone to sleep.
Sweet dreams, Jack.
God, he missed her.
* * *
The night air was cold as she watched them shovel the dirt on top of Ebony, the dirt showering down, lightly pattering as it hit.
She shivered, still nude, too tired and scared to even rub her arms. The warmth of his hand on her arm sent more chills through her.
Hunted Page 17
