Morgan's Hunter (37 page)

Hunter turned to face him, breaking the embrace. “Yeah?”

“I’m Lieutenant Ryan Myers of the Montana State Police.” He flashed his badge, put it away. “I’ve come to collect an item from you.”

“Can I see your badge again?”

The officer stared at Hunter as he dug in his back pocket. He handed over his badge for Hunter’s inspection.

Hunter met his gaze, nodded. “Let me get it.” He walked to his pack, digging deep, pulling the pink journal with the pretty white flowers free. He placed it in the officer’s hand.

Morgan couldn’t take her eyes from the small book holding her friend’s thoughts, dreams, and horrors of her last moments. She wanted to yank the book back from the stranger, knowing that when he brought it to the police station, Shelly’s thoughts would never be private again.

“Thank you, Mr. Phillips. Miss.” The tall no-nonsense man nodded, placed the book in a bag, walked off.

Hunter put his arm around her, pulling her close, kissing her head. “You okay?”

She pressed herself against him, holding tight to the comfort he offered. “Yeah. It’s hard to let him walk away with that. On one hand I feel like I’m betraying Shelly; on the other I guess I’m glad he has it. Now they can put those bastards away for what they did.”

Officer Myers walked to his unmarked police car sitting in slot A-3 on the ground floor of the parking garage. He opened the door, sat down, put the pink book on the passenger’s seat. He was about to close the door when the cold barrel of a silencer rested against the back of his head. It was the last thing he felt before a bullet pierced his brain.

The gunman smiled at the mess he made of the good officer. He was just like those three asshole tree huggers who didn’t know how to stay away from places they didn’t belong.

He hurried to the other side of the vehicle, grabbed the bag with the journal in it, wiping the spatters of blood and tissue on the seat.

With the book secured in the inside pocket of his jacket, he walked toward the airport, ready to finish the job.

The bitch and her stud had ruined everything, now they were going to pay.

Chapter 30

H
UNTER SAT ON A FIRM leather chair waiting for Morgan to emerge from the restroom. In the next grouping of seats, Stanley leafed through a golf magazine, sipping his coffee with Baker at his side.

Hunter glanced up as Morgan exited the public bathroom, excusing herself when she bumped into a frazzled woman with two cranky toddlers.

Her eyes met his across the hallway. She smiled slowly, fully. God, she was beautiful. She made her way through the chaos of a family of ten just deplaned.

“Well, that was an obstacle course.” Morgan sat next to him.

“Looked like one.” Hunter played with a strand of her soft hair, twisting it around his finger, as she leaned against his shoulder.

He’d surprised himself when he asked her to come to California. The invitation had been out of his mouth before he thought it through. He’d looked into her big, green eyes and knew they weren’t finished. He hadn’t been ready to say goodbye. He kept waiting to regret his impulse, but didn’t. In fact, he was very comfortable with it. He felt good, even happy.

Maybe he would fly out to see her a week or two after she got back from visiting him. They could get together a couple times a month. If she spent enough time in L.A., she might think about applying for the job Shelly had planned to take.

“Baker’s a pretty serious guy.”

Morgan’s comment interrupted his thoughts. “Huh?”

“Baker.” She smiled, gesturing toward her father and the big, black tank of a man staring straight ahead. “He’s pretty no-nonsense.”

Hunter snickered. “Apparently. I’ve never worked with him before. At least you won’t have to worry about him talking too much on the flight home.”

She grinned. “There is that.”

A cell phone rang in the distance. Hunter remembered he hadn’t turned his on. “I should grab my cell phone, check in with Ethan.”

“That’s probably a good idea. I’m surprised my father hasn’t asked me for his—shocked, actually.”

Hunter chuckled. “He definitely loves his technology.”

“What time does your plane take off?”

“Four-thirty.” His phone beeped as it powered on. The red message light flashed. “Shit, thirty-two missed calls and twenty messages.”

“Aren’t you Mr. Popular?”

“Yeah, lucky me.” He dialed Ethan’s number, waited. “Cooke, it’s Phillips.”

“Where the hell have you been?”

Hunter stood, walked toward the window. “Hold on. I can’t hear you. The signal’s awful here.” A plane lifted off the ground as he leaned against the glass. “Can you hear me now?” he joked.

“Did you get my messages? I thought I would’ve heard from you by now. I tried calling the motel room, Stanley’s phone, Baker’s—hell, even Morgan’s.”

Hunter’s smile disappeared at the urgency in Ethan’s voice, his stomach coiling tight. “What are you talking about?”

“I got a call from the Montana State police about two hours ago. It was Miles Jones. All of it.”

Hunter stood straight. “Wait. What?”

“His father was the rancher involved with the mining operation. It wasn’t Robert who pulled the trigger on Morgan’s friends. The cops confessed they were with Miles when he killed Morgan’s team. He hasn’t been apprehended. You and the Taylors are still a target.”

“Damn it.” He jammed a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t the cop tell us when he was here to collect the journal?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he assumed you already knew.”

He blew out a breath. “All right. I’ll see if I can get Stanley and Morgan on the plane now. We’ll head back to—” Hunter glanced over from the window, and fear froze his heart.

Miles walked down the long, windowed terminal before he broke into an all-out run, pulling a pistol from his jacket.

Hunter dropped his phone, ran toward Morgan. “Get down!”

Morgan walked toward her father, flipping through her missed calls, when Hunter yelled.

Suddenly everything was happening in slow motion.

Baker leaped out of his seat, flying forward, taking her father to the floor, covering him. Three quick pops echoed in the terminal. Spatters of blood flew from a blooming red hole in Baker’s thigh.

Morgan whirled. Miles, crazy-eyed and smiling, ran toward her, aiming a gun in her direction. Three more blasts shattered the glass directly behind her. Before she could do more than blink, Hunter barreled forward, pummeling her to the floor. The weight of his body crushed her and she gasped, losing her breath.

Linoleum flooring ricocheted around them as Miles took aim and fired. Hunter grasped her around the back, clasped his legs around hers, sent them rolling. Gun in hand, Hunter’s arm extended, jerking twice as two rapid explosions sounded close to her ear. Miles’s eyes widened, his body jolting, when the bullets hit his chest. The pistol fell from his hand as he stumbled, collapsing backwards.

Morgan stared at the soles of Miles’s boots. Her heartbeat hammered in her head, her ears. With effort, she broke through the dim fog of shock, and the world around her came back to life. People screamed and cried as they huddled together. Airport security ran to the terminal, shouting.

Hunter dropped his gun with a clatter, pale, shaking. He pulled himself to sitting, dragging Morgan with him.

As soon as her head rested upon his firm chest, he drew her away. “Are you all right, Morgan? Are you okay?” He yanked her back against him, crushing her in a hug before she had a chance to respond. His trembling hand brushed through her hair, his arm constricting around her back until she could hardly breathe.

“Hunter, you’re going to break my ribs.”

He continued to stroke as if he didn’t hear her. “Oh God, Morgan. You’re okay.”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m just fine.”

Her father barked orders, demanding a paramedic as he crawled out from under a groaning Baker. He looked over, met her gaze. “Morgan, are you all right?”

Hunter still held her plastered to his body.

“I’m fine, Daddy. Are you okay?”

Pale himself, he gave her a wink. “Not a scratch on me, thanks to Baker.” He turned back, assisting his bodyguard.

A team of paramedics burst through the sliding door, rushing to the wounded man.

Miles hadn’t hit her. Hunter’s heart rate settled as it sunk in—he’d made it in time. She was safe. He eased Morgan back to help her to her feet, extending his hand forward to take hers. Bright red streaks covered his arm from elbow to wrist.

Staring, his mind drifted, switching gears before he could grab hold of his thoughts. The wails and shouts within the airport flickered in and out as echoes of machinegun fire and chopper blades whirled, creating a confusing carousel of past and present. He sweated, consumed by heat and dust as Jake lay before him bleeding out. Too much blood, too much…
“I’m not going to make it, man. Take care of them…”

Morgan frowned. “What are you doing?” She grabbed his arm, gasped. “You’re bleeding, Hunter. You’re bleeding.”

What did she say? Jake was dying. No. Jake was dead.

Heart pounding, chest constricting, he wheezed each breath. His stomach clutched, churning until he was certain he would vomit.

Morgan’s hands flew over his body, cool against his molten skin. “Where’s it coming from?”

The sliding door across the room opened, bringing in more police. He clutched hold of reality, struggling to bring himself back. He was in Montana, and Morgan needed him. Morgan.

He looked away from the officers hovering over Miles, focused on her. Sweat beaded against her pale forehead as her brow creased. “Damn it, why are you just staring at me? Where’s the blood coming from, Hunter?”

Back in the moment, he zeroed in on her shirt, wet at the shoulder. Horrified, he ripped the sleeve clean from the seam, wavered. The wretched smell of burning flesh and vehicles intermingled with the tropical scent of Morgan’s shampoo. Smoke spewed from Jake’s truck, and Morgan’s green eyes grew saucer wide as she stared down at the bright red drops dribbling down her arm.

“You’re shot, Morgan.” His own words startled him out of shock. He moved forward in a rush, laying her on her back, raising her arm high above her heart, pressing the t-shirt sleeve to the wound. “I need paramedics over here, now! She’s been shot!”

Stanley ran over, taking Morgan’s hand as a second team on standby swarmed in.

“I’m okay, Dad. It stings but I’m all right. I thought I hurt myself falling to the floor. I didn’t realize I was bleeding. I thought it was Hunter.”

A paramedic donning bright blue gloves dabbed at the wound low on her shoulder.

Morgan examined her injury. “It doesn’t look like a bullet hole; not like the one on Baker’s leg.” She glanced up at Hunter. “Are you all right?”

He flicked her a glance before zeroing in on her delicately muscled arm.

The paramedic dabbed at her skin, smiled reassuringly. “You’re going to be fine, ma’am. You were grazed. We can treat you here. You’ll want to see your physician when you get to your destination.”