Her Private Avenger

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.