Her Private
Avenger
Elle Kennedy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Copyright

About the Author

ELLE KENNEDY grew up in the suburbs of Toronto, Ontario, and holds a BA in English from York University. From an early age, she knew she wanted to be a writer, and actively began pursuing that dream when she was only a teenager. When she’s not writing, she’s reading. And when she’s not reading, she’s making music with her drummer boyfriend, oil painting, or indulging her love for board games.

Elle loves to hear from her readers. Visit her at her website www.ellekennedy.com, or stop by her blog, http://sizzlingpens.blogspot.com, to chat with Elle and fellow Harlequin writers.

To Diana Ventimiglia, for having faith in this story. I’ll miss you, D!

Chapter 1

“I don’t like being summoned.” Quinn leaned against the wide door frame and directed a withering look at the silver-haired man behind the desk.

“I don’t like summoning you. And I certainly don’t like needing your help.” Edward Kerr’s features grew pained, as if the admission caused him physical torture.

Intrigued, Quinn stepped into the spacious office, his black boots barely making a sound as he crossed the pristine parquet floor toward Kerr. A lone visitor’s chair sat in front of the forbidding mahogany desk but he made no move to sit down. He didn’t plan to stay long. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure why he showed up here to begin with. Two years ago he’d vowed never to lay eyes on this man—or his daughter—again. Why he’d broken that vow still eluded him.

He examined the older man’s face, saw the worry flickering in Kerr’s dark blue eyes, and his intrigue deepened. Revealing his weaknesses was not in Edward Kerr’s character. His entire career could be credited to his ruthless nature, his ability to remain poised and controlled in any situation. Which raised the question—what was causing Kerr’s obvious anxiety?

Or perhaps he should be asking whom.

“Morgan is in trouble,” Kerr said, getting right to the point.

Something that resembled concern tugged at Quinn’s gut. He managed to paste on a mask of indifference and said, “So?”

“That’s your response? So?” Disbelief washed across the older man’s face. “This doesn’t worry you?”

“Worry suggests I actually give a damn about Morgan’s well-being.” He offered a cool smile. “I don’t.”

“You’re lying.”

Quinn crossed his arms over his chest. “Is this the reason you called me, to inform me that your daughter is in trouble? If so, you’ve wasted both our time.”

A pleading note entered Kerr’s gravelly voice. “I need you to help her.”

He shook his head in irritation before taking two steps back toward the door. “Good night, Edward.”

“Goddamn it, Quinn! She’s in danger!”

Another step to the door. Don’t look back, a little voice warned. He’s playing you. They’re both playing you.

“She’s missing, Quinn.”

A flicker of alarm. Ignore it, keep walking.

Almost at the doorway. One more step and he’d be out of here. Free of Edward Kerr. Free of Morgan. Free of the torna do of memories that assaulted him the moment he’d heard her name.

“She tried to kill herself last week.”

That last revelation made him freeze. Before he could stop it, the image of Morgan’s gorgeous face swept into the forefront of his brain. Her wavy blond hair, always haphazardly falling onto her regal forehead. Those perceptive blue eyes that tilted upward just enough to make her look exotic. The stubborn slant of her chin, the delicate earlobes she refused to pierce. Then he heard her voice in his head, her sassy no-nonsense tone, spoken in a throaty pitch that made her sound as if she walked around with a perpetual cold.

And he remembered her fire, her determination, her will.

Slowly, he turned to face the father of the woman he’d once desperately loved.

“Bull,” he said flatly. “She would never try to take her own life.”

“I’m telling the truth.” Kerr’s eyes became shuttered, but there was genuine conviction in his voice.

Then again, Kerr had always been a convincing liar. He’d manipulated the press for years, making them fall hook, line and sinker for his my-poor-mentally-ill-daughter spiel.

But Morgan wasn’t crazy. Never had been. In fact, she was the strongest woman Quinn had ever met. She valued herself—her life—too damn much to throw it all away by … by what? He was even afraid to ask.

“She drove her car off a bridge,” Kerr elaborated as if reading his mind.

His head jerked up. “Pardon me?” Once again he found himself meeting the other man’s expressionless eyes.

“I know, it sounded unbelievable to me when the police called after they’d pulled her car out of the river. Apparently she was intoxicated. There are half a dozen witnesses who confirm she had several drinks before leaving the pub and get ting into her car. Her brother was there, too. He said she was quite upset.”

“Upset about what?”

“Layla Simms’s body was discovered last week.”

Quinn immediately recognized the name. Layla Simms was the young woman who’d gone missing nearly a decade ago, Morgan’s best friend from high school.

“Where was the body found?” Quinn asked.

“Autumn.” The older man sighed. “That poor family. I’d heard Wendy and Mort Simms never gave up hope that their daughter was alive. This must have been quite a shock for them.”

Quinn absorbed the information. Autumn was Morgan’s hometown, which the Kerr family practically owned before Edward was elected into the United States Senate and moved away for bigger and better things. The Kerrs relocated to D.C. a few years after the Simms girl’s disappearance, Quinn recalled. But Morgan had always been convinced Layla had been killed and that her body lay somewhere in the idyllic town they’d grown up in. She went back there at least twice a year to rustle a few trees and see if any answers fell out, but they never did. Quinn once asked her why she kept going back, kept searching for something she might never find, and she’d always replied with, “She’s there, Quinn. I know it.”

Well, apparently Morgan had been right.

He felt a startling sense of pride that Morgan had known the truth all along, but he quickly tamped it down and tried to focus on the other startling aspects of this conversation.

“Morgan went back there when she heard the body was found?” he asked curtly.

Kerr made an exasperated sound. “You know my daughter, so stubborn about this old case. She went to the memorial service, then stayed to investigate.”

The condescension in the senator’s tone made Quinn’s gut tighten. “We both know she’s a damn good journalist,” he said. “She’s perfectly capable of solving that case.”

Why was he defending her, damn it? Quinn quickly reined in the response, pasted an aloof expression on his face and add ed, “So did she come up with any leads?”

“We’re getting off track,” Edward said, suddenly looking frazzled. “This isn’t about the Simms girl. This is about Morgan attempting suicide.”

Suicide was the last word he’d ever expect to associate with Morgan. Had she changed so much in the two years since he’d walked out on her? With that question came a stab of guilt.

She betrayed you.

He held on to that thought, forcibly pushing the guilt out of his body. Whatever Morgan’s state of mind these past couple of years, he was not at fault. He’d had good reason to walk away from her. Damn good reason.

“She was under psychiatric observation at a private clinic outside the city,” Kerr continued. “And last night—”

“You had her committed?”

“—she escaped,” the other man finished, paying no attention to Quinn’s incredulous interruption.

“Escaped? For God’s sake, don’t tell me you were keeping her under restraint.”

“It was for her own good,” Kerr snapped. “She’s a danger to herself. I’d never be able to live with myself if something happened to my only daughter.”

Quinn snorted. “Right, because Morgan’s best interests have always been your first priority.”

“I’ve always tried to protect her,” Kerr shot back. “Especially from herself. You know what she’s like, constantly landing into trouble. The tabloid photos, the arrest…my PR team worked around the clock trying to repair her image.”

“She was a teenager who just lost her mother. Of course she acted out. What’d you expect her to do, sit at home and knit?”

The senator’s blue eyes flashed. “I expected her to act responsibly.”

Lord, why was he still here? Looking at Kerr’s irritating face, listening to him spew the usual bull about his troublemaker daughter, Quinn was tempted to march right out the door. But one thing was stopping him.

“Where is she now?” he asked gruffly.

“I don’t know,” Kerr said, “but I need you to find her. I don’t trust anyone else with the task.”

His lips curled in a sneer. “Funny, you never trusted me before.”

Kerr uncharacteristically slammed one hand against the desk. “This has nothing to do with the past, damn it. You have to find her.”

“I’ll think about it.” He sounded like a callous bastard and he knew it. Yet he couldn’t ignore the anger and bitterness yanking at his gut. He’d lost the woman he loved because of this man.

“I understand your anger and reluctance.” Kerr swallowed. “But you simply have to find her, Adam.”

Adam. Shit. Now there was a name he hadn’t heard in years.

“You can pretend all you want,” the other man added, “but we both know you still care for her. And you might be a bastard, but you’d never walk away knowing Morgan might be in danger.”

Quinn swore under his breath. He loathed this man. Loathed Kerr’s manipulation and arrogance and those guilt cards he liked to throw out whenever it suited him.

But the son of a bitch was right.

No matter how bitter he was, no matter how angry and disappointed, if Morgan was in trouble, Quinn couldn’t turn his back.

Not by a long shot.

The cabin was deserted and shrouded with darkness as Morgan Kerr let herself in with the spare key she’d found under the porch. Good thing she knew her way around, even in the shadows. During the walk here, as she navigated the dark, slushy woods in the direction of the snow-littered clearing where this little cabin stood, she’d wondered if the place would look the same. If it would feel the same. To the former, the answer was yes. The cabin’s small living room still boasted a sofa with plaid upholstery and a coffee stain on the right arm, the gorgeous stone fireplace, the scratchy forest-green carpet.

But did it feel the same?

Not in the slightest.

Setting her purse on the table in the hallway, Morgan breathed in the scent of mothballs, dust and loneliness. Quinn obviously hadn’t been back here since they’d parted ways, and every inch of the cabin ached with loss. As did her heart.

A part of her had been hoping she’d walk in and find him here. Big, hard body sprawled on the couch, dark hair messy as always, his piercing green eyes sparkling with love and desire.

God, she missed him.

Forget about Quinn. You’ve got bigger things to worry about.

She approached the sofa and sank onto the plump cushions, a hysterical laugh bubbling in the back of her throat then spilling out and breaking through the silence of the dark room. Oh, yeah, she definitely had bigger things to worry about.

Like the fact that everyone in her life thought she was crazy and suicidal.

Morgan released a long calming breath and lifted her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She didn’t care what her father or Tony or those doctors said. She hadn’t purposely driven her car off a bridge.

Someone had run her off the road.

Pain seized her insides as she remembered what her father had said when she told him what really happened. You were just imagining things. You were drunk and upset and not thinking clearly. Nobody tried to kill you, Morgan.

The pain transformed into anger when she thought about the staff at the psychiatric hospital her dad had her committed to. The nurses’ sympathetic stares. The doctor’s patronizing words. And her father’s voice, drifting in from the hallway as he spoke to the doctor.

My daughter is…ill. She’s suffered with delusions and mood swings all her life.

Delusions and mood swings, her ass. Sure, she’d been rebellious as a teenager, but that didn’t make her nuts. And was it her fault the press had decided to paint her with the troublemaker brush? Senator’s Wild Child. Senator’s Daughter Caught with Cocaine. Senator’s Loony Daughter.

The memory of all those newspaper headlines had her clenching her fists in fury. She’d never deserved all those labels, and yet somehow she’d gotten stuck with them, and she’d been spending the past ten years trying to rid herself of the stigma.

She’d been doing so well, too. Out of the tabloids for years, landed a legitimate job at a respectable magazine, used a pseudonym to build her writing reputation.

And now…now she was back to square one.

A wave of frustration crashed into her, causing her to stand abruptly. A plan. She needed a plan. She couldn’t hide out in this cabin forever, no matter how safe she felt here. No matter how close it made her feel to Quinn.

If she was going to find the answers, then she needed to return to the scene of the crime.

Autumn. It started in Autumn.

And that’s where she needed to be.

The frustration eased, replaced with a rush of determination that coursed through her blood and got her adrenaline going. She was not suicidal or crazy.

There had been another car on the bridge that night. She’d seen the headlights in her rearview mirror, felt the impact of the other vehicle’s front bumper smashing into her car.

Which meant someone had tried to kill her.

And the only reason someone would’ve done that was because of Layla’s disappearance. She’d been investigating her best friend’s vanishing act for almost ten years, and the moment Layla’s remains were found, someone pushed her car off a bridge? It was too much of a coincidence. In fact, it screamed cover-up.

Lifting her chin in resolve, she headed for the little table next to the front door, where she’d left the purse she’d retrieved from the drawer next to her hospital bed. The small leather bag contained her wallet, ID and credits cards, but she was loath to use anything other than cash in case her father had someone watching her accounts. Which he probably did. She knew he wanted her back in that psych ward, where the doctors could monitor her and make sure she didn’t try to harm herself.

Her cell phone was mysteriously absent from her purse, but she could walk back to the gas station on the main road and call a taxi from there.

In the morning, she decided. She wasn’t particularly keen on the idea of walking around in the dark, no matter how well she remembered these woods.

She dropped her purse on the table and headed back to the sofa. Then she froze.

Were those footsteps she’d just heard?

She swallowed hard, then focused on the soft noises coming from outside the cabin. Snap, snap, snap. Twigs snapping.

Probably an animal. A squirrel scurrying across the clearing, maybe a coyote in search of a midnight snack.

The noise grew louder, the distinct sound of footsteps climbing up the steps. The creak of the porch as the intruder approached the front door.

Her heart pounded against her rib cage, making it difficult to breathe, let alone think.

She needed a weapon. Her gaze darted wildly around the dark room, looking for anything she might be able to use in self-defense. She spotted the fireplace poker at the same time the doorknob began to turn.

Drawing in a breath, Morgan took a desperate step toward the fireplace but she was too late. The door swung open, more footsteps, and then someone grabbed her from behind.

“Let me go,” she squeaked out, struggling to pry herself from the powerful arms restraining her. She attacked with her elbow, eliciting a grunt from her attacker.

“Damn it, Morgan. It’s me.”

She froze at the familiar gruff voice.

No.

No, it couldn’t be him. Maybe she really had gone crazy. Because no way could he actually be here.

Heart pounding, she slowly turned to face the intruder, expecting to see a stranger, or hell, even air. Maybe she was hallucinating this entire exchange.

But nope, there he was, all six feet, three inches of him. The familiar broad shoulders, the muscles rippling beneath his hunter-green sweater. The scent of spice and aftershave she knew so well.

She blinked wildly, then studied his classically handsome features and piercing green eyes.

Oh, God, it was really him.

He was here.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Quinn crossed his arms over his firm chest and said, “I knew I’d find you here.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Her pulse was drumming too loudly in her ears to formulate a sentence, her brain still trying to register the sight of him. After a few seconds of silence, Morgan finally gave up on attempting speech.

Instead, she let out a shaky breath and threw her arms around the only man she’d ever truly loved.

Chapter 2

Oh, lord, it felt good having her in his arms again. Heat coursed through Quinn’s body, his pulse speeding up at the feel of Morgan’s warm body against his, her soft hands clinging to his shoulders. Before he could stop himself, he inhaled the scent of her, the aroma of lavender he remembered far too well.

“Thank God you’re here,” she whispered, her breath tickling his neck.

It was the sound of her voice that snapped him out of the insanity. His body went stiff. Hands dropped from her waist. He took a step back, but waves of heat continued pulsing through his blood.

Quinn quelled the traitorous response and focused on Morgan’s face. On those gorgeous eyes flickering with relief.

He wished she didn’t look so good, but he hadn’t expected anything less. Morgan had always been drop-dead gorgeous. Even now, looking a tad thin and more than a little pale, her beauty made his breath hitch. Her honey-blond hair was tied back in a ponytail that made her appear much younger than her twenty-eight years. She wore baggy jeans and a shapeless knit sweater, but Quinn knew underneath the clothing lay an endless supply of curves. The memory of her soft, womanly form was enough to send his pulse racing again, a reaction he neither appreciated nor welcomed.

“Are you okay?” he asked roughly, meeting her gaze.

“No.” She emphasized the word by slowly shaking her head.

Obviously she was still honest to a fault, and her candid reply brought a reluctant smile to his lips. “I heard about the accident.”

A flash of anger lit her eyes. “From my father?”

Quinn nodded.

Her lips tightened. “Let me guess. He’s outside in the car, waiting for you to bring me out so the two of you could take me back to the hospital. Where I won’t be able to harm myself.”

Hurt and sarcasm dripped from each word. He saw that same hurt flickering on her face, and in that instant Quinn knew he’d been right. No way had Morgan tried to kill herself. He didn’t give a damn what the senator thought. As usual, the man was dead wrong.

“Your father isn’t outside. I came alone.”

Morgan went silent for a moment, and then she shot him a shrewd look. “But he asked you to come.”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes as she drifted over to the couch and sank onto the cushions. “I wish I’d been there to hear him beg you to help.”

He couldn’t help a chuckle. “It was definitely a Kodak moment.”

Morgan laughed softly. “I’ll bet.”

Okay. So this was easier than he thought it would be. They were talking, laughing, no awkward silences, no uncomfor—Oh, for Pete’s sake, who was he kidding? This was difficult as hell, seeing Morgan after two years apart.

Stifling a sigh, he joined her on the sofa, sitting at the other end, and clasped his hands loosely on his lap. “Tell me about the accident,” he finally said.

She raised one delicate eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you rather we talk about the enormous pink elephant in the room first?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“We haven’t seen each other in two years, Quinn.” Pain swarmed her eyes. “And the last time we were together, you told me to get out of your life and stay out.”

He tried not to cringe. Damn, when she said it out loud, it sounded harsher than he remembered. But he’d been hurting like hell when he’d said those words.

“I probably could’ve been more diplomatic about it,” he admitted ruefully.

She swallowed. “No. I deserved it.”

As she’d always done when she was nervous or upset, Morgan nibbled on her bottom lip with her straight white teeth. Last time he’d seen her do it, she was telling him she wanted to postpone their wedding.

“So—” Morgan cleared her throat “—you’ve been neglecting this old place.” She gestured around the cabin, the change of subject an obvious indication that she’d decided to go back to ignoring the pink elephant.

“I’ve been out of the country,” he answered with a shrug.

He tried not to follow the sweep of her hands, not eager to focus too hard on his surroundings. This cabin had been their sanctuary, the place they’d gone to make love, where Morgan could avoid the scrutiny that came with being a senator’s daughter.

In fact, it had been right here, on this couch, that Morgan first told him she loved him. He’d said it back, no hesitation—God, how he’d loved her—and proceeded to make passionate love to her. All night long.

The memory caused his gut to tighten. Damn it, he wasn’t allowed to think about those days. He had no business remembering how it felt to kiss her, or make love to her. Or the sleepy smiles she used to give him when she woke up in his arms. Or the way she never backed down when she believed in something.

He gulped down a lump of bitterness. But she had backed down, hadn’t she? When it really mattered, she’d allowed her father to talk her out of marrying him.

“Business going well?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah. Seems like everyone’s getting themselves kidnapped these days. My guys and I did three extractions last month alone.”

“Ah, the glorious life of a mercenary,” she said wryly.

A short silence fell, and Quinn used the lull to gather up some courage. He knew what he had to do, and he knew exactly how Morgan would react. And damn, but he was in no shape to face off with her tonight. His chest felt raw, this reunion scraping him open and leaving his insides a mess.

“Quinn?”

He met her eyes. “Yeah?”

“What’s bothering you?”

Now wasn’t that a loaded question.

He ran a hand through his hair and steeled himself for a fight. “I’m just trying to decide whether we should head out tonight, or wait until morning.”

Her hands dropped from her knees, fingers clenching into fists. “And where exactly would we be heading to?”

“I don’t know. I’m assuming your father’s house, or your apartment, if you’d prefer. Either way, I’m driving you back to the city.”

Alarm washed over her features. “No! You can’t take me there! My father will send me back to the psych ward.”

Quinn fought a groan. She was right, of course. The second Edward had Morgan back, he’d commit her again.

But what was Quinn supposed to do about it? He’d promised Edward he would find Morgan, and he’d kept to his word. Here she was, safe and sound. Which meant it was time to get the hell out of this cabin. The memories were liable to suffocate him.

“Quinn, please, don’t call my father.” A pleading note entered her husky voice. “Give me some time to figure out what’s going on.”

“You just escaped from a psych ward. The senator’s not going to let you run around and investigate.”

Her blue eyes flashed. “Right, because I’ll tarnish his precious image again. Well, I’m a journalist, Quinn, and I’m going to investigate no matter what my father says.”

He didn’t like the stubborn tilt of her chin. Once Morgan made up her mind about something…well, God help anyone who stood in her way.

Quinn opened his mouth to protest, but she startled him by slamming one hand down on the sofa cushions in an aberrant show of anger. “Someone tried to kill me, damn it!” she burst out.

Quinn’s jaw tightened. “What are you talking about?”

“The night of the accident. Someone ran me off the bridge.”

Cold fury clawed up his spine. The thought of anyone trying to harm her elicited a troubling pang of protectiveness. “Are you certain?”

“Of course,” she said, sounding oddly defensive. “I saw headlights in my rearview mirror, and the next thing I knew, a car slammed into my bumper. The driver was a maniac, Quinn. Kept ramming into me, forced me into the guardrail and knocked me right over the edge.”

“Did you tell the senator this?”

Pain filled her eyes. “He didn’t believe me,” she said flatly. “Said I was imagining it.”

He muttered a soft curse. “That selfish bastard. He’d rather have you look suicidal than be faced with a possible scandal.” He drew in a calming breath. “What do you remember about the other car?”

She glanced at him in surprise. “You believe me?”

“Of course,” he said softly. “You’re many things, Morgan, but suicidal isn’t one of them.”

A wave of relief crashed into Morgan’s chest, making her heart squeeze painfully. He believed her! After days of staring into her dad’s and brother’s pitying eyes, she’d finally found someone who didn’t think she was a nut-job. Not that she ought to be surprised. Quinn had always had the utmost faith in her. When they first met, he’d laughed off all those tabloid stories, telling her he didn’t believe a word of them.

It was incredibly liberating knowing he still held that faith, especially since it was glaringly obvious the last thing he wanted to do was be here with her.

Since they’d sat down, those deep green eyes of his had flickered with so many different emotions she had no clue what to make of it. Bitterness had been prominent. A flash of tenderness. Something that resembled sorrow. And when you threw into the mix the longing, anger and desire she’d also glimpsed, you got one confusing emotional cocktail.

She wanted to ask him if he hated her, but she couldn’t gather up enough courage to do it. Besides, did she really want to know the answer?

“You honestly don’t think I tried to kill myself?” she asked instead, studying his expression.

Conviction laced his gruff voice. “Hell, no.”

“Then don’t tell my father you found me,” she blurted out.

“I can’t do that, Morgan.”

Something coiled in her belly. Irritation. Desperation, maybe. And anger, because she was sick of everyone else making decisions for her. Ever since the car accident—heck, even before that—her father had been calling all the shots.

The only time she’d ever felt an inkling of freedom was when she and Quinn were together, but her father had managed to destroy that, too.

“Why not?” she demanded. “Just get in your car and forget you saw me. Or, here’s a better idea, help me find out what the hell happened in Autumn.”

She had no idea where the spontaneous request for help came from. She was a seasoned journalist, perfectly capable of investigating on her own. But that feeling of danger…it lingered in her gut like a stray animal, hounding at her. Quinn was a mercenary. He could protect her.

She glanced at his broad chest, the ripples of muscle straining against his sweater. A little thrill shot through her. She remembered with perfect clarity how it felt to run her fingers over that chest, the soft sound of pleasure he made when she pressed her lips to his—

No. Not going there.

She couldn’t think about that right now, although from the sparks of heat going off like fireworks in her body, it was evident this man was still capable of eliciting a primal physical response in her. He’d always done that, made her hot and needy, just by being in the same room as her.

Looking oblivious to her painfully aroused state, Quinn’s forehead creased with unease. “You’re planning on going to Autumn.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

“Bad idea,” he said flatly.

She feigned innocence. “Why’s that?”

Disapproval filled his eyes. “Someone ran you off a bridge. You go in asking questions, digging around, and you could end up asking the wrong person or digging in the wrong place.”

“So come with me.” She laughed derisively. “Keep me in line.”

He responded with a laugh of his own, deep and genuine. “Keep you in line? That’s like trying to teach a raging bull to do tricks.” The laughter faded as rapidly as it came. “Forget it, Morgan. I’m not going to Autumn with you.”

“Then I’ll go alone.”

He gave a firm shake of the head. “Only place you’re going is home. Anything else is too dangerous.”

She experienced a pang of disappointment, but rather than arguing, she dropped the issue. She knew the look in Quinn’s eyes too well. He meant business. He wasn’t going to help her. And she got the feeling he’d take her back to the city even if he had to drag her there, kicking and screaming.

“In fact,” he continued, “we’re leaving now.”

“Couldn’t we at least wait until morning?”

Something indefinable flashed across his face. Averting his eyes, he cleared his throat and said, “No. I don’t have time to sit around here all night with you. We’re leaving now.”

She tightened her lips. “Fine.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fine?”

“Yes, fine.” She rose stiffly to her feet, tossing him a glance over her shoulder as she rounded the couch to get her purse. “Isn’t that what you want?”

He stood up, arms crossed over that spectacular chest. “Yes, but it’s not what you want. So why are you giving in so easily?”

She shrugged, and slung her purse over one shoulder. “We both know I’ll be going to Autumn. This is just a small bump in the road. I broke out of the psych ward once. I can do it again.”

“So that’s your plan, dutifully come back with me and then escape again?”

“Yep.”

He let out an exasperated breath. “You are the most stubb—” He stopped abruptly, suddenly frowning. “Forget it. Beggars can’t be choosers. Your thoughtful compliance only makes my job easier. Once you’re home, you’ll be the senator’s problem.”

The sudden bite of hostility stung like hell, but she wasn’t sure she blamed him. She’d hurt him when she’d canceled their wedding. Scratch that—he’d canceled their wedding. She’d simply asked to postpone it. But with Quinn, there was no such thing as a gray area. It was black and white, get married or don’t. He’d chosen the latter.

Quinn moved to the door. “Get your coat. It’s cold out there.”

“I don’t have a coat.”

His eyes flashed. “You walked all the way here without a coat?”

She offered a stony look. “I was a little too focused on sneaking out of the psychiatric ward to worry about the weather.”

He muttered something under his breath, then opened the door. They walked out to the rickety porch.

Quinn’s back was to her as he locked up the cabin, and she took the opportunity to draw in a steady breath and examine the porch. Her heart skipped when she noticed a white ceramic flowerpot sitting on the wooden railing. About twice the size of a snow globe, but it would do the trick.

She had no intention of going back to D.C. tonight. She didn’t think she could lose him during the hike to the car, but if she got a head start now…

“Don’t forget to put this back,” she said when he turned around. She stuck out her palm, and the silver spare key sparkled under the thin shaft of moonlight illuminating the front yard.

Without a word, he took the key and headed down the steps. Morgan followed him, casually picking up the empty flowerpot and tucking it behind her back. She waited until Quinn was on his knees, big body bent down to slip the key under the rock she’d liberated it from.

Another breath. Now or never.

Fighting the jolt of guilt that streaked through her, she lifted her arm and murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Quinn’s head swiveled sharply, but he had no time to react as the ceramic pot came crashing down on his head.

Chapter 3

Morgan took off running.

She didn’t dare turn back to see if Quinn was following her but she knew she hadn’t knocked him unconscious, as she’d hoped. No surprise. He’d always had a pretty thick skull. She’d heard his grunt of pain as the flowerpot connected with its target, the sound of ceramic splintering against his head, but he hadn’t passed out. Still, she’d stunned him, and she suffered a tug of guilt as she tore through the woods.

She tried to ignore the image of Quinn’s body falling backward from the impact. God, she hoped she hadn’t hurt him. She wasn’t a violent person, not usually anyway.

But she wasn’t crazy, either, and she’d be damned if she was going to be forced back into that psych ward.

Twigs snapped under her sneakers as she ran, trees whipping by her face. Her cheeks grew flushed from the cold. She came dangerously close to slamming into a branch, but kept moving, slipping several times on the layer of slush beneath her feet.

Sucking in oxygen, she tried to pay attention to her surround ings, but she had no freaking clue where she was going. If she stopped for a minute and looked for her previous tracks, she’d be able to find her way back to the main road, but she couldn’t risk it. No doubt Quinn was right behind her.

Keep going, she ordered herself. Keep going. Keep go—

She was suddenly jerked backward as a big hand yanked at her sweater from behind.

“Damn you!” came Quinn’s infuriated voice.

He grabbed her shoulders and twisted her around, and the look in his eyes caused a lump of fear to lodge in her throat. She’d never seen him like this, his green eyes glittered with menace, his lips an angry slash across his face. She swallowed when she noticed the scrape on his left temple, the thin trail of blood on his cheek. He’d been cut when the pot had shattered. There were even little white pieces of ceramic caught in his dark hair. No wonder he looked like he wanted to throttle her.

His fury seemed to escalate when he caught sight of her face. “Don’t!” he snapped. “Don’t you dare be afraid of me.”

“I—”

“A lot of things might have changed in two years, but not that. I would never hurt you. Never.”

Her heart thudded against her rib cage, making each individual rib tremble. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“For what?” he shot back. “Using my head like a piñata or thinking I was going to hit you just now?”

She cringed. “Both.”

Quinn shook his head angrily. He looked like he was struggling to rein in his temper. “Damn it, Morgan. Do you think I want to be here right now? Do you think I enjoy chasing after you in the woods at midnight?”

“Then let me go,” she begged him.

“I can’t.”

She heard the pain lining those two words, and when she lifted her head to meet his gaze, her breath lodged in her throat. A kaleidoscope of emotions reflected back at her, the most prominent being sorrow. And then his eyes dropped to her mouth, and desire joined the mix.

She stared at him, transfixed, while a rush of pleasure poured into her body. He still wanted her. Oh, God, he still wanted her. The happiness she received from the realization was so strong she nearly keeled over backward. For two years she’d longed for this man, woken up in the middle of the night searching for his big, warm body. And in those two years, he hadn’t contacted her. Not even once. She thought he’d gotten over her. That he’d somehow managed to exorcise the powerful attraction bonding them together.

It was unbelievably satisfying knowing he hadn’t, that she wasn’t alone in the longing department.

“Damn you,” he said again, his voice thick.

“Quinn…” she began.

But he didn’t let her finish. Even as her lips formed his name, his lips were swallowing up the sound. He captured her mouth, kissing her so deeply that all thoughts drained from her head. Common sense left her, too, as she kissed him back frantically. His lips were firm, his tongue hot and insistent as it slid into her mouth as if it belonged there. No, because it belonged there.

Morgan leaned into his hard body, angling her head for better access, drowning in his familiar kiss. As their mouths meshed and tongues tangled, she realized there would never be anyone else for her. She was his.

I missed you.

The words bit at her lips, so she kissed him back with more fervor, before those silly words could find a way out. But God, how she’d missed him. Missed this—his hot spicy taste, the way his five o’clock shadow deliciously scraped her cheek.

“Damn it.”

His sudden curse jolted her from the haze of passion. She gasped as he pulled back, the sensual contact snapping like a bungee cord.

Morgan looked up at him with wide eyes, her brain working so fast she feared it might shut down like an overloaded computer.

And Quinn…he was looking at her in horror, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d done and with whom.

“Jesus,” he muttered, dropping his hands from her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

She struggled to steady her breathing. Hard to do when her entire body still felt winded from that explosive kiss. “Then why did you?” she whispered.

He went silent, his brows drawn together in a frown. But instead of answering the question, he simply cleared his throat and said, “I can’t let you go back to Autumn alone. You could be in danger. You need to be home, where your father can protect you.”

“My father only wants to protect himself.” She rubbed her temples in frustration. “He had me committed, even after I told him I didn’t drive my car off a bridge.”

Quinn didn’t respond, simply frowned.

“I need to find the truth,” she murmured. “I’ve been trying to figure out what happened to Layla for ten years. I can’t stop now.”

“Layla is dead,” Quinn said emphatically.

“Yeah, and someone tried to kill me after her body was found.” Tears pricked her eyelids. “When she disappeared, I knew she was dead. And I was right.”

“Yes, you were. So why can’t you let it go now?” He suddenly groaned. “Forget it. I know why you can’t. Because you’re Morgan Kerr.”

She shot him a faint smile. “That’s me, always the troublemaker…”

Quinn didn’t return the smile. “Please, Morgan, let me take you home.”

“No.”

He let out a sigh, but before he could open his mouth to object, she hurried on. “Look, I know you don’t owe me any favors. If anything, I’m the one who ought to be making amends.” Her voice wavered. “But please, Quinn, do me this favor. Come back to Autumn with me.”

He muttered a hasty expletive. “I already said no.”

“And I’m trying to change your mind. I think the smartest move would be having you with me.” She forced herself not to think about that crazy kiss or their turbulent history as she continued. “You’re a mercenary. You could keep me safe, and since we both agree there was foul play out on that bridge, then my safety is definitely an issue.”

He stayed silent. A gust of icy wind swept through the woods, lifting Quinn’s dark hair, and Morgan noticed the blood on his temple had dried. She was tempted to reach out and touch the wound, but kept her hands to her side. She could clean the cut later. After he agreed to come with her. Which he would. She could see the resolve in his eyes crumbling.

She decided to give him one last push.

“You once told me you’d always protect me.” She tilted her head. “What if I go alone and get hurt? Could you live with that, knowing I’d asked for your protection and you denied me?”

He gave a short bark of a laugh. “That’s low, sweetheart, even for you.”

She shrugged. “Did it work?”

Quinn released a heavy sigh. “What the hell do you think?”

Of all the stupid, moronic, asinine things Quinn had ever done in his thirty-two years of life, this one took the prize. What was he thinking, agreeing to take Morgan to Autumn? During the entire hike back to the main road, where he’d left his car, he’d been asking himself that question. And now, as he unlocked the doors of the black SUV, the answer still eluded him.

The best he could come up with? That flowerpot to the head had knocked a few screws loose.

“Thank you for doing this,” Morgan said as she slid into the passenger seat.

He started the engine, then turned on the heat full-blast, hoping it might thaw the useless block of ice his brain had become. He couldn’t do this. Just being near this woman was pure torture. He was aching for her, angry at her, torn between pulling her into his arms and pushing her far, far away.

Setting his jaw, he spared her a glance and said, “Buckle your seat belt.”

He was about to move the gearshift when she reached out to stop him. Her hand was cold, but feeling her slender fingers on his hand sent a shot of pure heat to his groin. Unable to stop himself, he thought about the kiss they’d shared in the woods.

Again, what was he thinking? Kissing her had been foolish on so many levels. It had been wrong, and pointless, and … unbelievable. The second their lips met, he was transported back in time. The jolt of arousal, the sense of belonging, the sheer rightness of having Morgan’s mouth pressed against his own. It was almost as if they’d never parted.

He abruptly shrugged off her hand, angry at his train of thought. No matter how mind-blowing that kiss had been, it didn’t change a damn thing. He and Morgan had parted. She’d cast aside the man she supposedly loved so her dear old daddy’s reputation wouldn’t be tainted.

“Let me clean you up first,” she said softly, completely oblivious to the turmoil riddling his body.

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly.

“Humor me.”

Gritting his teeth, he watched as she rummaged around in her purse, finally pulling out a small pack of tissues and a travel tube of hand sanitizer. “This will do the trick,” she said with a nod. She squirted some hand sanitizer on a tissue. “Lean forward.”

He didn’t move. No way was he leaning closer to her. Last time he got too close, he’d ended up with his tongue down her throat.

Morgan rolled her blue eyes. “Why is it that when it comes to injuries, men are either big babies or irritating tough guys?” Without waiting for an answer, she slid toward him and swiftly pressed the tissue to his temple.

He flinched, ignoring the tiny sting of pain, and patiently sat there as she wiped up the dried blood on his cheek. When her scent wafted up to his nose, that intoxicating dose of flowers, honey and woman, he held his breath, determined not to let it affect him. Damn it, she was too close. Way too close, and … why was she running her fingers through his hair?

He hissed out a breath, and her hand froze. “You have … ceramic in your hair,” she said, her husky voice coming out shaky.

Quinn curled his fingers around her slender wrist and moved her arm away. “I can do it,” he muttered. Avoiding her eyes, he raked the tiny shards from his hair, then repeated his earlier request. “Will you buckle up now?”

When she was strapped in, he shifted gears, drove off the gravel shoulder and pulled onto the dark two-lane road.

“So…I guess I should call my father,” Morgan said. “Do you have a cell phone?”

His voice came out brusque. “There’s no service out here. We’ll call him when we get closer to civilization.”

That was one call Quinn wasn’t looking forward to. No doubt the senator would be furious when he found out where they were headed, nor would he be pleased that Quinn had decided to stick around and help her.

“Tony will be worried, too,” Morgan said absently. “Remind me to call him after I speak to Dad.”

“How’s your brother these days?” Quinn found himself asking. He’d always been fond of Morgan’s older brother. The guy had a lust for life, a perpetual lopsided grin and a contagious live-in-the-moment attitude that Quinn had always found oddly refreshing.

“He’s doing well,” Morgan replied, smiling. “He’s happily working at that advertising firm. And he actually has a girlfriend. Finally got over his commitment issues.”

Ah, commitment issues. Quinn knew all about those. In fact, when he’d first met Morgan, the last thing he wanted to do was enter into a relationship with her. For a former foster kid who’d pretty much been abandoned by everyone he’d ever cared about, getting close to someone had been as appealing as having his legs waxed.

Yet Morgan managed to break down his walls. Snaked her way right into his heart, until he’d actually started to believe happily ever after didn’t just exist in fairy tales.

Evidently he should’ve stuck to his original viewpoint.

“I think the first item on our agenda should be talking to the medical examiner,” Morgan said, snapping him from his thoughts. “I was in town the day Layla’s body was found, but the M.E. couldn’t meet with me until the next morning. Unfortunately, my car wound up in the river that night, so I never made it to the meeting.”

“Were Layla’s remains buried or cremated?”

“Neither. The M.E. still needed to properly examine them, so we held a memorial service at the church. There might be a burial in a few weeks, if Layla’s parents feel up to it.”

“You need to be careful about who you speak to,” Quinn warned. “We still don’t know who tried to kill you, but there’s a high probability that someone from town caused the accident.”

She swallowed. “What if they try again?”

He could feel those beautiful blue eyes on him, and when he turned, he saw the anxiety in them. It was almost the exact same expression she wore the week before their wedding, when she’d asked him if he minded postponing it until after her father’s reelection campaign.

He’d minded, all right. Minded so much he’d dropped an ultimatum in her lap, one she promptly tossed right back at him.

“Quinn?” she prompted.

He knew she wanted reassurance, a promise, a guarantee that he would stick by her side during this potentially dangerous investigation.

He was tempted to tell her to go to hell.

But when he opened his mouth, what came out was, “As long as you’re with me, you won’t get hurt, Morgan.”

Too bad he couldn’t say the same for himself.

Chapter 4

They were about forty minutes from the town of Autumn when Quinn pulled in to the parking lot of a twenty-four-hour gas station. He didn’t need gas. Nature wasn’t calling, either. But the past half hour, which involved long silences broken by Morgan’s tentative attempts at making conversation, had finally gotten to him.

Parking in front of the small, well-lit building, he shut off the engine and grabbed his cell phone from the cup holder he’d shoved it into.

“Are we calling my father?” Morgan asked, that husky voice tinged with—shockingly enough—bitterness.

Well, it was about damn time he heard that tone in relation to the senator. God knew he’d felt that same spark of bitterness hundreds of times over the years. Yet he’d tried to be decent about it, hadn’t revealed precisely how much he loathed the man who’d sired her, all the while wondering how Morgan could be so blind to Senator Kerr’s machinations, why she constantly defended the bastard.

Her father’s constant interference in their lives had been annoying, to say the least. If Quinn made dinner reservations for the three of them, Edward canceled them, forcing them to dine wherever he chose. For Morgan’s birthday, they’d planned a trip to Fiji—only to abandon their plans so Morgan could attend some fancy-pants dinner her father insisted she go to. Quinn, of course, wasn’t on the guest list. Morgan’s father tried hard to keep Quinn’s association with his daughter under wraps. Apparently a soldier for hire wasn’t good enough for a daughter Senator Kerr didn’t even truly care about.

Quinn had put up with it all, while Morgan remained unaware of his feelings toward her father. But then came the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back—the senator’s insistence that they postpone the wedding. Quinn hadn’t held back after that, and all the malicious—and well-deserved—thoughts he’d ever had about Morgan’s father spilled out during that last confrontation.

“I’m making the call,” he corrected. She opened her mouth to object but he held up a hand. “Don’t argue with me on this. We both know how easily you give in to the man. If you want to go to Autumn, I make the call.”

Without letting her respond, he pulled the door handle and stepped out of the SUV. The late night air immediately chilled him, but he welcomed the cool rush. Anytime he was around Morgan he was liable to get hot. Uncomfortably so.

Pausing near a trash can overflowing with coffee cups and dirty wrappers, he punched in the number for the senator’s private line.

“Did you find her?” came the brisk answer.

As always, he stifled the urge to spit out a nasty reply. “Yes,” he said.

“Thank God. I knew you would. Are you on your way back to the city?” The relief in the senator’s voice was unmistakable. No doubt Kerr considered this another successful triumph.

Tuck Morgan back in the psych ward before she could stir up trouble for dear old dad.

Quinn wished he could see the man’s face when he dropped the next bomb on him, but he could live with hearing the outrage.

“Actually…” He grinned. Couldn’t stop it, couldn’t help it. He’d dreamed of sticking it to the senator for years. “I’m not bringing her back.”

Deafening silence.

Followed by a foul curse, then, “What? Why the hell not?”

“She doesn’t want to come home,” he said simply. “And I don’t feel inclined to take her.”

“You son of a bitch. That wasn’t our deal.”

“We didn’t make a deal. I told you I’d find her, and I did. I never said I would bring her back.”

He’d planned on it, though. When he found her in the cabin, he had every intention of driving her right back to D.C. and depositing her on Edward’s doorstep. But that was before she told him what really happened on the bridge. No matter how badly he wanted—no, needed—to be away from her, he couldn’t abandon her if she was in danger. If he left, who would protect her?

“I swear to God, Quinn, if you don’t get in the car and drive her back to the hospital where she belongs, I’m going to sic every cop in the city on you.”

“Let me guess, you’ll charge me with kidnapping? Yeah, I expected that threat.” Quinn’s grin widened. “You won’t do it, though.”

“I sure as hell will.”

“No,” he answered coolly. “You won’t. Because if you do, I’m going to unleash a media storm on you. I’ll contact the press, tell them all about how you fabricated Morgan’s mental illness in order to keep her in line. I won’t stop there, either. If it strikes my fancy, maybe I’ll spin a few tales of my own, lob a few accusations your way, like, shoot, I don’t know, illegal campaign funds? Bribery? That’ll get them salivating.”

Senator Kerr sounded absolutely livid. “I have done nothing of the sort.”

“Yeah, but the media doesn’t know that, do they? Either way there’ll be a few black spots on your name, no matter what the truth is.”

The line went quiet for a moment. “Why are you doing this?” Kerr finally asked, sounding wary.

“Because someone tried to kill your daughter last week,” Quinn retorted stiffly. “And unlike you, that actually concerns me.”

“Nobody tried to kill her,” Kerr said in frustration. “She was hallucinating—”

“Save the lies for someone else. I don’t give a damn if you believe her or not. I’m just letting you know the reason I’ve agreed to help her. And I’m also giving you a friendly reminder that if you attempt to have me arrested, the results won’t be pretty.”

“You’re a ruthless bastard, Adam.”

“Takes one to know one, doesn’t it, Edward?” he said glibly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Morgan and I have somewhere we need to be.”

The senator hung up.

A rush of exhilaration swept up Quinn’s spine. Oh, yeah. A long time coming, that’s what this confrontation was. And he knew his threat wouldn’t go unheeded. The senator would not call the police. He’d stew about this latest development in private, of course, but risk a possible scandal? Never.

Closing the phone, Quinn headed back to the car, only to pause midstep. A wave of uneasiness washed over him as he spotted Morgan leaning against the back of the SUV, her expression a combination of anger and respect.

“You heard all that?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Well, let’s have it then.” Disgust rose up his throat. “I antagonized your poor, innocent father, right? Overstepped my boundaries?” When she didn’t take the bait, he lifted a sardonic brow. “Huh. Where’s that famous Kerr temper?”

Morgan ran a hand through her silky hair. “I’m not going to tear into you. You did good.”

Though it was rare, Quinn was stunned speechless.

“I can only imagine what he was saying to you,” she added, shaking her head in irritation. “He wants me back in the psych ward, right? Well, I won’t go back. And if keeping me out of there meant you had to launch a few threats in his direction, I can’t fault you for that.”

Again with the bitterness. A part of him wanted to lash out at her, too, demand to know why she was only now opening her eyes to her father’s true colors. Why not two years ago, when it had actually mattered? But he held his tongue. Somewhat. Still, he had to ask, “Where is this coming from?”

Morgan met his inquisitive gaze head-on. “He didn’t believe me,” she said simply, then turned on her heel and headed back to the passenger side.

Quinn had stood up for her. Although it hardly meant he’d forgiven her, and it definitely didn’t mean he’d welcome her back into his life with open arms, Morgan couldn’t fight the small thrill that shot through her body. Her father had the annoying ability to bulldoze any man who came into her life, but not Quinn. He’d threatened a senator. Her father. For her.

Morgan buckled up her seat belt and watched from the corner of her eye as Quinn started the engine. God, she wanted to throw her arms around him. She wanted to thank him again for what he’d done just now, for that unshakable belief he still seemed to have in her, despite the messy way they’d ended things.

The memory of their breakup struck a chord of regret. No, she didn’t want to think about that heartbreaking goodbye. Right now, as she sat next to the man who’d just defended her to her father, she couldn’t stop thinking about the hello.

“Do you remember the day we met?” she burst out, unable to stop the words from leaving her mouth.

Quinn’s head jerked in her direction, surprise etched in his rug ged features. Surprise that soon dissolved into wariness. “Of course I remember,” he said gruffly.

But along with the wariness, there was tenderness in his voice. Tender. When they’d first met she would never have expected a man like Adam Quinn to possess even an ounce of tenderness. He’d been all business that day, clad in camo pants and an olive-green T-shirt that clung to his sweat-soaked chest. He’d marched around that refugee camp, barking orders at his men—and at her.

“I thought you were such a jerk,” she admitted with a grin. “You kept ordering me to get on the ‘damn chopper.’”

“And you kept refusing,” he replied mildly.

She shrugged and leaned back in her seat. “My story wasn’t finished. And the threat didn’t feel real.”

But it had been real, hadn’t it? Quinn’s team was sent in to extract all the relief workers and journalists at the camp, after intel came in that a rebel group planned to raid it. Morgan held on to the end, though, leaving on the last chopper out of the Congo. Twelve hours later, the rebels had massacred half the camp.

“I wish we could have helped them,” she whispered.

“We could only help ourselves.”

Morgan swallowed, blocking the images of the carnage from her mind. She hadn’t seen it firsthand, but she’d viewed the photos later, horrified by the deaths of all those innocent victims. And yet amidst chaos and disaster, she’d fallen in love with Quinn, the big, tough mercenary who for some reason had fallen for her, too.

“I don’t know what you saw in me,” she confessed, turning to meet his dark green eyes. “I was a total mess. Dirty clothes, rumpled hair. But when we landed in D.C., you called me beau tiful.” Her throat tightened at the memory.

His hard gaze softened. “You were beautiful.” He half grinned. “Not to mention stubborn, irritating, demanding…you wouldn’t quit until you got me to agree to an interview.”

“Which you didn’t end up doing,” she reminded him.

No, they never got around to that interview. Drinks at his hotel led to dinner, which led to a nightcap, which led to a night of spontaneous lovemaking that left them both shocked and breathless. A one-night stand, that’s what she thought it would end as, but two years later, they’d been engaged to be married.

“That first night,” she continued, her voice coming out wobbly. “It was the best night of my life, did I ever tell you that?”

Their eyes locked again, and Morgan heard a hiss of at traction in the air. Before she could stop it, the memory of their first time shot to the front of her brain. Quinn’s chest, rippled with hard sinewy muscles, pressed against her bare breasts. The delicious heaviness of his body covering hers, the feel of his arousal slowly sliding inside her body. Completion. That’s what it felt like, the first time he entered her.

From the flash of lust and remembrance in his eyes, she knew he was thinking about it, too, how right it had felt. How perfectly they’d fit together.

God, she wanted him back. So badly that her lips ached with the need to tell him she loved him, she missed him, she couldn’t live without him.

But just before she could open her mouth, the fire in his eyes died, replaced by ice. A muscle twitched in his powerful jaw, and she saw his hands tighten over the steering wheel.

“Don’t go there,” he finally said, the ice in his eyes freezing his tone as well. “We’re not taking a trip down memory lane, Morgan. We’re finding out who tried to kill you.”

She released a shaky breath. “I know. I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, you meant it, all right.” Quinn’s hard gaze slid over her face. “Reminding me of the day we met isn’t going to make me forget the day we said goodbye.”

“I know. I—”

“Don’t play games with me, Morgan. I’m not interested in rekindling our affair.”

Hurt seized her insides. “Affair? I think the two years we spent together means we went far past the affair stage.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too,” he said harshly. He cocked his head. “But considering everything, I’ve rethought that. You made it quite clear in the end what your priorities were, and our relationship wasn’t one of them.”

“That’s not true,” she protested. “I never wanted to end it. I just—”

“We’re not going there,” he said again, silencing her with another deadly look. “What’s done is done. We’re not together anymore and I don’t plan on changing that in the near or distant future.”

Each word was like a bullet straight to the heart. Was it possible for words to cause such extreme physical pain? Evidently so. Morgan’s entire body felt bruised, her chest raw, her insides twisted with intense agony that brought a wave of nausea. Cruel. When had he become so cruel? Her heart ached again as she realized she was probably the cause of this new personality defect of his. God, why had she ever chosen her father over Quinn?

In hindsight, she knew she’d let her father dictate a large part of her life with Quinn. Constantly caved in to his demands, all the while knowing she was doing the wrong thing. Why hadn’t she acted differently?

Stand by your father. Help him when he asks. He doesn’t like to ask for help.

That’s why. Her mother’s words, the plea she’d made before she died, that’s why Morgan made the choices she had.

But that didn’t make it any easier. She knew she’d hurt Quinn, but she hadn’t imagined the extent of the pain she’d caused him.

“Thanks for making that clear,” she finally said, her voice as stiff as her shoulders. “I’ll refrain from bringing up the past, if it makes you so uncomfortable.”

With that, the conversation came to a screeching halt. Morgan glued her gaze to the window, watching the scenery whiz by. Tall pine trees lined both sides of the road, along with the naked skeletons of the oaks that had shed their leaves for the winter. The abundance of trees told her they were nearing Autumn. She’d loved growing up there, at least when her mom had been alive. Their estate rested on the edge of a forest, and during the summers she and Tony enjoyed hiking and exploring the woods.

Layla came along on their hikes, too, though not often. Tony had the annoying habit of teasing Morgan’s best friend mercilessly when they were growing up, so Layla avoided him whenever she could.

Layla. Just thinking about her friend brought another jolt of pain to Morgan’s belly. Layla’s bones had been found in that forest. Not near the Kerr estate, closer to the outskirts of town. Whoever killed her buried her in the woods. Left her there to rot.

Morgan’s throat tightened. Her friend hadn’t deserved to die like that.

“We’re here,” Quinn said, breaking the silence.

Yep, they sure were. Morgan glanced at the bright green sign with the words Welcome to Autumn, experiencing a knot of trepidation. It was a familiar feeling, one she suffered each time she came home over the past ten years. And after what happened on her last visit, her anxiety levels were at an alltime high.

Quinn slowed the SUV as they drove into Autumn. It was past one o’clock in the morning, and the town was dark, but even bathed in darkness, it held an unmistakable charm. Quaint shops and little brick buildings lined each side of Main Street, the sidewalks were cobblestone, and old-fashioned lampposts stood proudly along the street. An enormous yellow banner had been strung from two lampposts on opposite ends of the street, advertising the annual winter festival the town held each November.

Quinn glanced at the banner. “What exactly are sapsicles?” he asked warily.

She bit back a laugh. “Maple syrup Popsicles, snow cones, too. Old Mr. McMurty sells them at the festival every year.”

He made a face. “Hope the town has a good dentist. I imagine the rate of sapsicle-related cavities is quite high.”

“Still living sugar-free, I see,” she said drily.

He raised a brow in her direction. “I’m thirty-two years old and cavity-free. Can you say the same?”

Morgan hid another smile, then grew annoyed with herself for even feeling the urge to show mirth after the way he’d spoken to her earlier. So what if Quinn still avoided sweets? So what if she’d teased him mercilessly about it in the past? This wasn’t the past. As he’d so candidly told her, the past was over. And the future held nothing for them.

Tears stung her eyes. She quickly blinked, forcing the traitor ous tears to retreat.

“Turn left at this stop sign coming up,” she said, wincing at the hoarseness of her voice.

Fortunately, Quinn didn’t seem to notice how close to breaking down she actually was. He followed her directions, turning left, then right, then following the dark asphalt road she indicated.

She’d never brought him home before. As they pulled onto the winding driveway leading to the Kerr estate, Morgan wondered how he would react to the house. When they were together, she was always careful not to talk too much about her wealth. Quinn had been carted from foster home to foster home growing up, and his less than luxurious upbringing often made her feel guilty.

A pair of enormous wrought-iron gates greeted them at the end of the drive. Since the gates were always locked tight and required a code on the keypad in order to part, Morgan’s body stiffened when she found the gates gaping open.

“What the…” Her jaw hardened, her eyes suddenly focusing on the car parked on the circular driveway in front of the mansion.

Quinn drove through the open gates and shot her a wry look. “Can you honestly say you’re surprised? Your father’s a smart man—he knew precisely where you wanted to go.”

“I still can’t believe him.” She met Quinn’s gaze with a frown, then glanced back at the police cruiser sitting ominously on the smooth pavement.

Chapter 5

Sheriff Jake Wilkinson looked like a man ready for a fight as he stepped out of the cruiser and approached the SUV. Morgan unbuckled her seat belt, studying the man through the windshield, and, as usual, marveling at the fact that he looked exactly the same as he did in high school. Six feet tall, with a stocky chest and the arms of a bouncer, Jake had been the star linebacker on the high school football team, and his don’t-mess-with-me attitude had followed him to adulthood. Back then, he was always itching for a good fight, often throwing the first punch. According to some acquaintances in town, that hadn’t changed much, only now he had a badge to go along with his fists.

Morgan was not a fan of Jake Wilkinson. Hadn’t liked him back then, didn’t like him now.

“The sheriff, I presume?” Quinn murmured.

“Yep,” she murmured back. “My father must have called him the second you two got off the phone. You’re right, he knew exactly where we would go.”

Quinn paused for a moment. “Sheriff dated her, right?”

“Yep.”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed at the man approaching their vehicle. “Isn’t the person closest to the victim usually the likeliest suspect?”

“Yep.” Morgan sighed. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

She and Quinn got out of the car. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Quinn had squared his shoulders, a sure sign he was geared up for a possible altercation. And if it came to one, she suspected Quinn could take the sheriff easily.

Jake’s wide mouth was creased in a frown as she stepped closer to him. His dark-eyed gaze rested on her briefly before shifting to examine Quinn. The way he studied the other man, there might as well have been a neon sign with the words testosterone overload flashing across Jake’s forehead.

She stifled a sigh. “Hello, Jake.”

“Morgan.” He gave a curt nod of greeting before turning to Quinn. “Adam Quinn, right?”

Quinn offered a nod of his own, along with a cheerless smile. “What can we do for you, Sheriff, at, oh—” he made a show of looking down at his watch “—one thirty-eight in the morning?”

Jake ran a hand through his jet-black hair before lowering it to the gun holstered at his hip. His fingers rested on the weapon ever so casually, yet the entire move screamed intimidation. “Your father informed me you were heading back to town,” he said. “So I decided to come here and see how you’re doing. You know, considering the last time you were here I was pulling your car out of the river.”

Morgan bristled at his words. The night she went over the bridge, she’d told Jake about the other car. Like her father, he hadn’t believed her.

“I’m fully recovered, thank you,” she returned stiffly.

“Uh-huh.” The tone of his voice revealed precisely what he thought of the matter—suicidal chick in denial.

“Let me guess,” she said. “You’ve made no headway in tracking down the car that was behind me that night.”

Jake’s obsidian eyes flashed. “I investigated your claim and found nothing to indicate there had been another car on the bridge.”

“Of course.” Each word dripped with sarcasm.

The sheriff ignored her tone. “How long are you planning on staying?” His gaze shifted from her to Quinn, distrustful.

“Does it matter?” Quinn asked with insincere friendliness. “This is where Morgan grew up.” He gestured to the massive house behind them. “Her family still owns this house. She’s allowed to be here as long as she wants, no?”

“Sure, as long as she doesn’t decide to interfere with my investigation.”

Anger skimmed up Morgan’s spine. “The investigation in to Layla’s death, you mean? The one that poses a serious conflict of interest for you, seeing as you dated Layla?”

Jake’s fingers tightened over the butt of his gun. “Layla and I broke up before she disappeared and you know it, Morgan.”

“That doesn’t mean you didn’t kill her,” she answered sweetly.

She opened her mouth to say more, but Quinn’s hand suddenly dug into her waist. He palmed her hip hard, sending the clear message to cool it. Despite the warning in his touch, she welcomed it. The feel of his long, warm fingers sent a sizzling rush through the material of her sweater and burned her skin.

Ignoring the intense reaction, she focused on the sheriff, whose hard gaze didn’t waver. “I’m a journalist, Jake,” she said, softening her tone. “And Layla was my best friend. I have every reason to want to find out what happened to her.”

“Finding that out is the police’s job. My job,” he clarified.

“Do you have any leads?” she asked.

His jaw twitched. “No.”

“Suspects?”

“No, but—”

She hurried on. “Then what’s the harm in another pair of eyes, another brain trying to solve this puzzle?”

Irritation flashed in his eyes. “I’m warning you, Morgan, don’t stick your nose in my investigation.”

She disregarded the threat and said, “I want access to the crime scene and Layla’s remains.”

“No way,” Jake said flatly. He made a frustrated sound. “Your father told me you’d try to interfere. Well, I’m making it clear right here and now, if you mess around with my case, I’m charging you with obstruction.”

Morgan swallowed back her anger. Antagonizing Jake wouldn’t help the situation, but she was unbelievably tempted to lash out. Instead, she drew in a calming breath. “I’m a good journalist. I could help—”

“You’re mentally unstable,” Jake interrupted, his voice cold er than a glacier. “I read the newspapers, I know about the delusions, the reckless behavior.”

The fury she’d swallowed down rushed up her throat and scorched her cheeks. “I am not—”

The fingers at her hip dug in deeper. Quinn, who’d been silent up until now, cut her off quickly. “Fine, Sheriff, we hear you loud and clear.”

Jake’s suspicious gaze shifted to the other man.

“Neither Morgan nor I will interfere with the investigation,” Quinn went on. His tone was composed and friendly, but the hard set of his broad shoulders revealed he wasn’t pleased with this turn of events, either. “I brought Morgan here so she could recover from the accident away from the media in D.C. We plan on keeping a low profile anyway.”

Some of the suspicion in the sheriff’s gaze dimmed. “Good,” he finally said, nodding. “Stay out of my way, and we won’t have any problems.” He lifted his hand from his holster. “You two have a good night.”

Gritting her teeth, Morgan watched as Jake walked back to his cruiser, opened the door and slid inside. A moment later, the engine roared to life and then he was gone.

After the cruiser disappeared through the gates, Morgan brushed Quinn’s hand off her waist and spun to face him. “I have every intention of investigating my best friend’s murder.”

A fleeting expression of amusement crossed his face. “Of course. Who said you couldn’t?”

“You. You just told Jake—”

“I lied. You honestly think I’d bring you back here only to make you sit at home twiddling your thumbs?”

Relief shimmied up her spine. Then she faltered. “But he won’t let us see the crime scene. And I’m pretty sure he’s going to order everyone involved in the case not to talk to us, including the coroner, which means we won’t get access to her remains.”

A spark of humor lit his green eyes. “Have you forgotten what I do for a living, sweetheart? I’m a mercenary. We live and breathe covert. Don’t worry, you’ll have access to anything you want.”

Although she should’ve still been furious at him for the way he’d spoken to her earlier, Morgan’s anger thawed, replaced by a warm rush that surrounded her heart. Licking her dry lips, she tilted her head to meet his eyes and said, “Thank you.”

The conversation with that ass of a sheriff had made it difficult to examine his surroundings, but with the distraction gone, Quinn was finally able to really look around, and what he saw floored him. He knew Morgan’s family was wealthy, but this house…hell, house? Calling it a house was like calling Andre the Giant a dwarf.

Three stories high, the French colonial-style mansion resembled the White House, with enormous limestone pillars flanking the entrance, wide marble steps leading to a pair of intricately carved front doors, and large balconies with wrought-iron railings on the second and third floors.

Morgan unlocked the door and beckoned for him to follow her into the front foyer. White marble spanned the enormous space, making Quinn feel as if he was committing a grievous sin as his big black boots connected with the pristine floor. Morgan seemed oblivious to his turmoil as she stepped forward in her sneakers, leaving a trail of mud on her way to the light switch. She flicked the switch, and the foyer lit up, revealing a crystal chandelier that belonged in Buckingham Palace, and two spiral staircases leading to the second and third floors.

“Don’t worry about getting the floor dirty,” Morgan said when she noticed him hesitating. “I’ll mop it up in the morning.”

He took a tentative step, his gaze drifting to a shadowy room to the right, which seemed to boast not one, but two shiny black grand pianos.

“The music room,” Morgan supplied, following his gaze.

He finally found his voice. “I didn’t realize anyone in your family was musical.”

“We’re not.” She rolled her eyes. “But as my father says, every home needs a music room.”

Quinn fought the urge to mention that said music room was the size of his apartment. Hell, the foyer alone was bigger than most people’s homes.

He wasn’t surprised that Morgan had never brought him back here before. Knowing her, she’d be embarrassed by the gaudy show of wealth. And the fact that her father spent most weekends here was probably another reason she hadn’t invited him. Not that he minded—he’d rather cut off his own arm than spend his free time with Senator Kerr.

“Would you like a tour?” Morgan asked. “Or would you rather go straight to bed?”

Quinn’s mouth turned to cotton. Damn, this woman was not allowed to say the word bed. Even after an escape from the psych ward, a run through the woods and a two-hour car ride, she still looked as beautiful as ever. Blond strands had fallen loose from her ponytail, framing her heart-shaped face like ribbons of gold, and her cheeks were flushed from the cold, or perhaps from their encounter with Wilkinson. Either way, the rosy blush made her look unbelievably sexy.

When his groin tightened, Quinn forced himself to remember what he’d told her in the car. He was not here to rekindle their romance. He wouldn’t let himself.

“A quick tour would be okay,” he said gruffly, deciding it was probably best to stall going into a bedroom with Morgan for as long as possible.

“Quick isn’t going to be feasible. Did you see the size of this house?” She gave a rueful smile. “All right, let’s see what I can do.”

Quinn didn’t say much as she took him around the first floor, showing him the famous music room, two living rooms and a sitting room—”I’m not sure what the difference is,” she’d admitted—a kitchen boasting so much black marble and stainless steel his eyes hurt, two studies and a library that ap parently contained over five thousand books.

“Ready for the second floor?” Morgan made a show of glancing at a watch she didn’t wear. “We’ve got another hour or two.”

He started to follow her back to the foyer, then halted. The hall they were in was lined with portraits, and one in particular caught his eye. In a beautiful gilded frame, a portrait of a stunning blonde with enormous blue eyes, delicate features and a long regal neck.

“My mother,” came Morgan’s soft voice.

He knew who it was before she even spoke; he’d seen pictures of her mother before. Besides, there was no mistaking the resemblance. Only, Patricia Kerr looked far more fragile than the daughter she’d given birth to. The eyes were too soft, the mouth too tender. She lacked the sparkle of humor, the fire, the glint of stubbornness, qualities her daughter possessed in spades.

“She was very…fragile,” Morgan confessed, using the exact adjective that had entered his mind.

Quinn gave her a sideways glance and saw the sorrow swimming in her eyes.

“She hated conflict,” Morgan went on. “Arguments made her nauseous, and she was so sensitive. If someone in town said an unkind word to her, she would stay in her room for days, inconsolable.”

“She sounds…” His voice drifted. The word he wanted to use was weak but he couldn’t bring himself to say it, not when Morgan’s face shone with such obvious love for her mother.

But Morgan knew him well. “Weak?” she suggested. “I guess in a sense, she was.” Her features softened, and suddenly she looked very much like the woman in the portrait. “But she was also very sweet. She loved me, and she adored Tony. Unlike my father, she spent a lot of time with us when we were kids. She was a good mother, Quinn.”

“I don’t doubt that.” He cleared his throat. “Come on, let’s head upstairs.”

The second-floor tour ended up being quick. Each member of the house had their own wing, decorated in a way that distinctly revealed the personality of the person it belonged to. The senator’s wing was done in shades of gold and black. Pale creams and yellows filled Patricia Kerr’s rooms. Tony’s wing was blue and green, with a splash of yellow thrown in here and there. And Morgan’s wing…

“Pink?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

Morgan paused at the doorway of her childhood bedroom, making a face at the pale pink walls. “My parents chose it. I think they believed they could tame my wild and tenacious streak if they suffocated me with ladylike colors.” She glanced at him and shrugged. “I would’ve chosen red.”

Quinn couldn’t help a grin. “Of course you would.”

Morgan shut the door, then took him up to the next level, quickly showing him the playrooms she and Tony had used as children, another study and half a dozen guest rooms.

“You can sleep here.” She flicked on the light to reveal a room with navy blue walls and gray trim, a queen-size bed with a deep gray bedspread and shimmery blue curtains over a large bay window that overlooked the backyard.

“Is the room okay?” she asked.

“It’s fine.”

“Thanks again for handling Jake. I was perilously close to losing my temper when you stepped in.”

He smiled faintly. “No problem. Though I’m not sure it was a good idea letting him know you’ve considered the notion that he might have killed Layla.”

She sighed. “I know. I couldn’t help it. Jake has always rubbed me the wrong way.”

“I can see why. The guy is a first-class jerk.” Quinn headed for the bed and sank down on the edge, then bent down to unlace his boots. As he removed the mud-caked footwear, he glanced at Morgan. “Do you think he did it?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. Is he capable of it? I think so.” She leaned against the doorway. “He always had a temper, used to pick fights with any guy who looked at Layla.”

Quinn kicked aside his boots. “Did she break up with him, or was it the other way around?”

“She broke things off. And I know for a fact Jake didn’t take the breakup well, which is why—” Morgan paused midsentence, a flush sweeping across her cheeks.

It took a second for him to figure out the reason for the blush. In the midst of their conversation, he’d started to remove his shirt. His hands froze on the hem of the sweater, then shoved the material back down to his waist. Damn it. It irked the hell out of him to realize he’d fallen right back into old habits. He used to undress in front of Morgan back when they lived together. She’d be filling him in about the latest developments in a story she was working on, he’d be removing his clothing, and…well, there wouldn’t be much talking after that.

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