A MAN LIKE MORGAN KANE

by Beverly Barton

  Bethany fought against Morgan's tenacious hold. "Let me go! If you're not going to do something, I am! I'm not letting that stupid redneck get away with this."

  Hoisting her under his arm, Morgan carried a wriggling, huffing Bethany up the drive and onto the breezeway. The truck pulled out of the drive and chugged its way down the street. When Morgan set Bethany on her feet, she turned on him, her hazel eyes blazing. Planting her hands on her hips, she gritted her teeth.

  "Why didn't you do something?" she demanded.

  "I called the police," he said. "What else do you think I should have done?"

  His question stumped her momentarily. "I don't know. Dragged him out of the truck and beat him to a pulp, I suppose."

  "As angry as you are, I think you could have done that yourself, without any help from me."

  Admitting to herself that she might have overreacted just a bit, she sighed loudly, then glanced down at her dirty shoe, stained by tobacco juice spittle. "He spit on my shoe. That deserved a punch in the nose."

  Morgan handed Bethany the Birmingham News. "Here's your paper." Bending down on one knee, he grasped her ankle, lifted her foot and removed her nasty shoe. His big fingers lightly caressed her instep. She shivered. He removed her other shoe, then hooked two fingers into the back of the narrow heels. "The shoe can be cleaned. Most of the manure can be removed from the yard and the rest can be scattered for fertilizer."

  "You think I overreacted, don't you?" She opened the door to the kitchen.

  "I think you have every right to be upset, even angry." Morgan followed her into the house. "But yes, considering that one attempt has already been made on your life, I do think you might have overreacted to a minor irritation. The way I see it, Farraday's fans harassing you is a secondary concern. It's something I can handle."

  "Well, I'm so glad you can handle it!" She stomped across the floor in her stocking feet.

  He closed and locked the door behind him, then set her dirty shoes in the corner. "Harassment is something you can deal with. I'm not nearly as upset over the fact that some idiot thought he was making a statement by dumping manure in your yard as I am the fact that you went outside this house, alone, in the dark." He grabbed her shoulder and whirled her around to face him. His steel-blue eyes bored into her. "I don't want you to ever go outside this house without me. Do you understand? Not ever again."

  His words were tinged with anger and fear, and she suddenly realized how foolish she'd been to venture into her own front yard without her bodyguard. Morgan was right. Harassment was a minor irritation. Manure could be cleared away; spittle could be washed off. But what if the person who'd sent her the mail bomb had been waiting outside for her instead of some stupid but harmless, loudmouthed fan of Jimmy's? She could be dead now.

  Shuddering at the thought, she gazed up into Morgan's concerned face and said. "I'm sorry. You're right. I wasn't thinking."

  Releasing his hold on her shoulder, he walked around her and went over to the coffee machine. "It wasn't all your fault," he told her. "No, you shouldn't have gone outside, but then you aren't accustomed to having a bodyguard. I was as much at fault as you. Maybe more. When I heard you come downstairs, I should have followed you immediately, instead of giving you some time alone."

  "It wasn't your fault. How could you have known I'd go outside?"

  "Under normal circumstances, I would have followed you immediately and stayed at your side. But I let my personal feelings interfere with doing my job." He removed a mug from the cabinet, filled it with coffee and set the mug on the table. "I should have known that I couldn't be objective when it came to you, and I should have foreseen what happened between us last night."

  "Nothing happened."

  "Who are you lying to, Beth, yourself or me?"

  "All right, so something did happen. But nothing we couldn't handle."

  When she neared the table, he reached up and grabbed her wrist. She hesitated, then glanced down at him.

  "Can we handle it?" he asked. "Can I give you the best protection possible when all I can think about is making love to you?"

  She jerked her wrist free, then quickly picked up her coffee cup and refilled it. "Are you considering quitting this job and turning it over to someone else?"

  "That would be the smart thing to do, wouldn't it? But then I've never done the smart thing when it came to you, have I?"

  "So, what are you trying to tell me?" Cradling her cup in both hands, she brought it to her lips.

  "I let you come downstairs alone this morning because I thought you probably dreaded facing me again as much as I dreaded facing you. We know what nearly happened last night, what I wanted to happen. And I know you didn't sleep any better than I did. You tossed and turned all night wishing you were lying in my arms."

  She opened her mouth to protest, but his warning glare silenced her.

  "I'm not leaving, Beth. I'm staying until we find out who really killed Farraday. You might be safer with someone else, but I can't hand you over to another man. Not ever again."

  Silence hung between them like a soundless, elegiac message, an unspoken, heartbreaking memory. Their gazes locked for endless moments, then Bethany turned abruptly.

  She set her coffee cup on the counter, walked across the room and lifted her dirty shoes off the floor. "I'm going to take these upstairs and clean them. I'll be back down in a few minutes."

  She had to escape, had to get away from his declaration of guilt. "I can't hand you over to another man. Not ever again." He knew, damn him! He knew that leaving her sixteen years ago had been tantamount to giving her to Amery. Had he known, even then, what would happen to her when he left Birmingham and then left, anyway?

  * * *

  Bethany stayed in her room long after she'd cleaned her shoe. She didn't want to go back downstairs and face Morgan, even though she knew that sooner or later she'd have no choice. Had she made a mistake allowing him to become her bodyguard, letting him move into her home and live with Anne Marie and her? She had thought she could deal with whatever attraction she still felt for him, thought she was strong enough to withstand any emotional assault his presence might cause. But she'd been wrong. She could no more control her desire for Morgan now than she'd been able to in the past.

  She reminded herself of the reason she had opened her home to him, why she wanted and needed him to become a part of her life. A part of Anne Marie's life. She hoped that on some level Morgan and Anne Marie would bond. If the worst happened and she was sent to prison for Jimmy's murder, then she would have to tell Morgan that he was Anne Marie's father. By that time, she prayed that he'd care too much for their child to turn his back on her.

  She gasped when she heard a knock on her door. Turning quickly, she instinctively took a step backward when Morgan opened the door and walked into her bedroom.

  "I just got a call." He held up his cellular phone. Lines wrinkled his normally smooth brow.

  "What's wrong?" Her stomach quivered.

  "Maxine called. Judge Harper has set a date for your grand jury hearing."

  "When?"

  "Next Thursday. Ten o'clock. Jefferson County Courthouse."

  "Oh. God!" Lifting her hand to her mouth, she bit down on her clenched fist.

  "You knew it was coming. Better to get it over with. There's a chance you won't have to go to trial."

  "Do you really believe that? With all the evidence the district attorney has against me, I don't see how the jury could rule in my favor."

  "If we can find Farraday's murderer, all the charges will be dropped against you." He crossed the room, reached out and gripped the back of her neck.

  Unmoving, she stood there and stared at him, her body as tense as a coiled spring. "What are our chances of discovering who killed Jimmy by next Wednesday?"

  He stroked the side of her neck with his thumb. "I won't kid you. The odds are against us. But even if the grand jury rules to hand you over for trial, it doesn't mean you'll be found guilty."

>   "I'm scared, Morgan. For myself. And for Anne Marie. I don't know what she'd do if I had to leave her."

  Morgan drew Bethany toward him; she went without hesitation. He wrapped her in his arms; she laid her head on his chest.

  "I'm not going to let you go to prison for a crime you didn't commit," he said. "I'm not going to let anyone or anything hurt you or Anne Marie. Not ever again. I promise."

  "Oh, Morgan. I thought I told you not to make any promises you couldn't keep."

  Lifting her chin, he tilted her face upward, then lowered his head and brushed her lips with a featherlight kiss, "I'll do everything in my power to protect you and your daughter. And that is a promise I'll keep."

  "If I go to prison—"

  He silenced her with his mouth, the kiss forceful and demanding. When he lifted his head, he said. "You aren't going to prison."

  "But if I do, would you … will you keep your promise to protect Anne Marie?"

  "You aren't going to prison," he repeated.

  She clutched his shoulders. "But if I do, will you—?"

  "I'll keep my promise."

  Smiling weakly, she nodded as she swallowed her unshed tears. "Thank you."

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  The days passed quickly for Bethany—far too quickly. Tomorrow grand jury would convene and her fate would be decided by a group of eighteen men and women who didn't personally know her or Jimmy Farraday. They wouldn't know what a bastard Jimmy had been, what a lousy father, what a habitually unfaithful husband. And they wouldn't know that she was innocent. The prosecutor would present them with the facts. And the cold hard facts pointed directly to Bethany as Jimmy's murderer.

  She knew that it would take a miracle to prevent the jury from binding her over for trial. Despite Morgan's continuous attempts to boost her morale and convince her otherwise, she realized the deck was stacked against her.

  She was scared. For herself. For Anne Marie. And she was even scared that the real murderer might turn out to be someone near and dear to her. The pressure she felt on a daily basis was compounded by Morgan's presence. With every subtle glance, every unexpected touch, the tension between them increased. But she couldn't send him away, not when there was every possibility that she would have to turn over Anne Marie's care to him sometime in the very near future.

  "Let's review all our information again." Morgan propped his big feet up on the paisley ottoman in front of him and readjusted his hips in the Chippendale armchair. "There has to be something here that can help us."

  "I can't imagine what it could be." Bethany slipped off her shoes and let them drop to the floor. Bending her knees, she lifted her feet up on the sofa. "All this information proves—" she threw the file folder on the coffee table "—is that I wasn't the only one with a motive for killing Jimmy. A lot of people hated him, but I'm the one whose fingerprints were on the gun that shot him. I'm the only one who threatened to kill him the night before he was murdered. And I'm the one who witnesses will swear was at the scene of the crime a few minutes before Jimmy's body was discovered."

  "You and I both know that one of the suspects on our list went into Jimmy's office, got your gun out of your purse and used it to kill Jimmy, then slipped out of his office without being seen."

  "Well, that narrows it down, doesn't it?" Bethany said sarcastically. "Every suspect on our list was at the television station that afternoon. Mother was there. James was there. And of course, Tony and Vivian were both at the station."

  "And Seth Renfrew," Morgan said.

  "Despite what you think, I do not believe Seth killed Jimmy. My heavens, if Seth had been going to kill Jimmy, he'd have done it years ago, wouldn't he? I mean, why wait until now?"

  "As far as I can see, Seth had more reason to hate Farraday than anyone else, except perhaps your mother."

  Grabbing one of the numerous throw pillows on the sofa, Bethany hugged it to her. "I've told you repeatedly that I refuse to believe my own mother would allow me to go through the hell I'm in right now. If she killed Jimmy—"

  "Eileen might not be thinking rationally. We both know that she's always acted first and thought about what she did later, after the fact."

  "As far as I'm concerned, we can scratch Mother, Seth and James off the list." Bethany's oval nails dug into the burgundy polished cotton pillow.

  "You're thinking with your heart and not your head," Morgan told her. "You love these people so you don't want to believe one of them killed Jimmy, and for all intents and purposes framed you for the murder. If we eliminate them, that leaves Vivian and Tony, and from what we've been able to find out, both of them worshipped Jimmy."

  Bethany flung the pillow at Morgan. He grabbed it midair and tossed it back onto the sofa.

  "But Vivian has a motive and so does Tony," she said. "Just because they were in awe of Jimmy doesn't mean one of them couldn't have killed him. Lord knows that Mother was madly in love with Jimmy and yet she hated him, too."

  "All right, let's look at the facts." Kicking the ottoman forward, Morgan stood, walked over to the front window and gazed out at the gray morning sky. "Vivian and Jimmy were lovers on and off, ever since she came to work for him. Maybe he promised to divorce Eileen and marry her. Maybe he strung her along for years. She could have gotten tired of waiting, of being lied to, and killed him. But we have no evidence. Only a theory."

  Glancing over her shoulder, Bethany stared at Morgan's broad back. Memories flashed through her mind. Morgan swimming laps in the pool. Morgan doing push-ups in his room. Morgan checking his gun and then strapping on his shoulder holster.

  "So that leaves Tony," Bethany said calmly, while butterflies danced in her stomach. She hated herself for letting Morgan's nearness affect her so strongly. But it had always been that way. From the first moment she saw him, when she was eighteen. "Tony's only motive is that he wanted Jimmy's job. But all he had to do was wait a couple of years until Jimmy retired. He was already the heir apparent."

  "Maybe Tony got tired of waiting. He wouldn't be the first prince to eliminate a king in order to acquire a throne."

  A roll of distant thunder rumbled noisily. Dark, sooty clouds swirled in the sky. Morgan stuck his hands in his pockets. From the evidence they'd acquired during the last few days, Morgan couldn't see any real reason for Vivian or Tony to have murdered Jimmy. Not unless something showed up after the agency dug a little deeper into their backgrounds.

  Vivian Crosby was a model citizen, except for her longstanding affair with a married man. And Tony Hayes seemed to be cut from the same cloth as his mentor—a loudmouthed sleaze, adored by his public and despised by those who knew him intimately. But just because a guy was a real son of a bitch didn't mean he was capable of murder.

  "Didn't the Dundee Agency come up with any information on Vivian or Tony that might help us?" Bethany asked.

  Turning around, Morgan glanced at Bethany. Dark circles under her eyes told him what he already knew. She wasn't sleeping well. He often heard her stirring about in her room in the middle of the night. He had longed to go to her, take her in his arms and give her comfort. But if he'd gone to her, she would have sent him away. She knew as well as he did that, between them, comfort would soon turn to passion.

  "Dane hasn't come across anything that could help us," Morgan said. "Just general stuff. Things like Vivian was homecoming queen in high school. She's been married and divorced. No children. And Tony was born illegitimate and adopted by his stepfather when he was two years old. He did a stint in the army and he's worked at a dozen different television stations in the past twenty years. He's never been married, has no children, but considers himself quite a ladies' man."

  "You don't have to tell me." Bethany grimaced, remembering her second date with Tony, when she'd had to fight him off.

  "Have you had some trouble with Tony Hayes?"

  "Four years ago I had two dates with him. The first one was a social function, and I actually had an enjoyable ti
me, but the second date turned into a physical struggle. He thought that a second date meant he'd be invited to spend the night."

  "So, you rejected him. Maybe he's been carrying a grudge the past four years. That would give him a motive for framing you. Now, if we could just come up with a believable motive for him to have killed Farraday."

  "We're back where we started." Bethany slid her legs off the sofa and stood. "We keep going around in circles and we always come back to Mother, James and Seth."

  "Despite your misgivings, we're going to have to consider all three of them as suspects."

  "I thought you told Anne Marie that you didn't think James killed his father."

  "I don't think he did," Morgan said. "I kind of like the kid. But that doesn't mean I can rule him out as a suspect. Especially not since we learned that Jimmy had a million-dollar life insurance policy and James is his sole beneficiary."

  "That's not a good reason." Bethany paced back and forth in front of the stone fireplace. "Mother buys James anything he wants. She adores him. Mother and Jimmy were always fighting over the way she spoiled James. Jimmy even demanded that Mother not let James have any money without his approval."

  "You've just given James another motive. He hated his father. He loves Eileen and didn't like the way Jimmy treated her. Not only does he stand to inherit a million dollars in insurance money, with Jimmy out of the way, but now there's no one to censor Eileen's generosity."

  "Whatever you do, don't let Anne Marie know that James is still a suspect." Crossing her arms over her chest, Bethany increased her pace to a frantic speed, marching back and forth from the round, cloth-covered table by the fireplace to the double windows, draped in green plaid.

  Sweeping across the room, Morgan grabbed Bethany's arm. "Honey, will you stop pacing? You're making me crazy."