Morgan's Hunter (41 page)

His heart thundered and he closed his eyes as Stanley offered him a lifeline.

“Morgan will be home in a couple of days before she heads out again. She’ll be gone for quite awhile on her next journey. If it’s urgent, you’ll probably want to give her a call at the hotel. She’ll check out either tomorrow or the day after. After that, I can’t tell you where my little globe trotter will be.”

Hunter blew out a breath, relaxing. “Thank you, Stanley.”

“You can thank me by making my daughter smile again. Now, here’s the number.”

Hunter scribbled the digits down. “I really appreciate this.”

“I imagine I’ll be talking to you again, Hunter, my boy. Bye, now.”

“Bye.” He hung up, pulled the tarnished o-ring he always carried from his pocket, examining it, flipping it between his fingers. Inhaling deeply, Hunter stuffed the metal back in his pocket and picked up the phone again.

Morgan spent her last afternoon in Maine shopping. She stepped from a small boutique—one of the several clapboard shops lining the street. She breathed in the salty scent of ocean, watched waves crash against rock just across the way.

Clouds hung low and gray. The wind blew brisk, but that hadn’t stopped her from grabbing her brown leather jacket and walking the quarter-mile from her oceanfront hotel.

After a week in hiking boots and grubby clothes, she’d dressed for comfort in jeans and a creamy white cashmere sweater. Reveling in the luxury of an actual bed and electricity, she’d slept late and curled the ends of her hair. She hadn’t stopped there; she’d also applied her full arsenal of makeup, enjoying the simple pleasures of being back in civilization.

Loaded down with bags, Morgan headed for the hotel. Her mind wandered to her purchases. She hoped her mother would love the pretty lighthouse figurine she bought her; hopefully as much as she adored the seashells and other knick-knacks she found for herself.

As soon as she’d spotted the starfish and sand dollars arranged in a charming Nantucket basket, a nautical theme for her new apartment materialized—something soothing with touches of blue and white, candles on the bathtub held in place with beach sand in pretty glass vases. It would be perfect.

Morgan was ready for change; she needed it. Tagging the lynx with Jim and Dave had been her last field assignment for the foreseeable future. In two weeks, she was taking over as head researcher for the Los Angeles branch of the Bureau. After Yellowstone, her taste for backcountry tracking vanished. It just hadn’t been the same without…the team.

Life over the last few months had thrown one cruel punch after another. She’d lost so much—her friends, the man she loved—but tragedy hadn’t broken her. She was still standing and determined to move on. Relocating was the first step.

When her father offered her the L.A. position, she’d worried over it, knowing Hunter would be close by. But in a city with millions of people, bumping into him was doubtful. He had his life; she had her own. If her stomach clutched a bit at the thought, she ignored it.

Chilled by the breeze of the late September day, Morgan stopped at the small bookstore and coffee shop across from the hotel. She grabbed the latest issue of
Celebrity
magazine, paid for it along with a cup of green tea with honey. Finding a seat by the cozy fireplace, she sipped at her sweetened drink. Heat radiated from the flames, and she relaxed, leafing through the pages.

Halfway through the magazine, Morgan shook her head, rolled her eyes as she read about the newest celebrity breakup. She turned the page, froze in shock. Hunter and Tatiana Livingston monopolized an entire glossy page.

Decked out in a black suit, Hunter draped an arm around one of Hollywood’s most beautiful and popular movie stars. He was so breathtakingly handsome and official looking with an earpiece in place, an expression of fierce determination on his face as he pushed himself and the leading lady through a throng of paparazzi.

Unable to stop herself, Morgan traced a finger over Hunter’s striking features. Her other hand pressed against her chest, against the pain blooming in her heart. God, she
missed
him.

She read the caption to the left of the picture. It was dated four days ago; Tatiana had spent five days touring Europe promoting her newest box office sensation.

Several minutes passed while Morgan stared at Hunter’s picture. A log snapped, sparking in the grate as her mind floated back to their final night in the Tower Motel. There had been so much emotion, so much fun, so much
heat
and what she’d foolishly believed to be love.

She focused on his cool blue eyes, thought of the police station. His eyes had looked very much the same when he told her it had all been a mistake, that he’d gotten caught up in something that would never work. It still ripped at her heart, still tore her to shreds.

She ripped her gaze from the picture, sipped her drink. The tea had gone cold. With a last look at the photograph, Morgan stood, leaving the magazine behind as she walked away, throwing her paper cup in the trash. When she pushed the door open, the woman at the counter stopped her. “Honey, you forgot your magazine.”

The wind played with her hair as she gave the lady a small smile. “Thank you, but you can keep it.”

The pleasure of the day vanished. It stung to know the wall she’d built around herself could shatter with one look at a picture. It was time to go, time to get out of Maine and get on with her life. She was going to change her flight, leave tonight. It was time to get back to D.C., time to get packed up. She no longer wanted the peace and serenity of the ocean. She wanted the mind numbing chaos a cross-country move would bring.

Morgan let herself into her room. She dumped her bags, peeled off her jacket, grabbed her suitcase, determined to be on the next available flight home. Even if she couldn’t get a direct flight, it would be better than staying here.

A knock sounded at the door. She stopped, frowning.
Who could that be?
She placed her bag down, looked through the peephole, spotting the smiling hotel attendant.

Morgan opened the door. “Yes, can I help you?”

“Morgan Taylor?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“A message was left for you at the desk.” The attendant handed it over. She hesitated, took it. The last time she’d been given a message in a hotel room, her world turned upside down.

She opened the pink sheet of paper, smiled.

What does a father have to do to get a phone call from his daughter?

-Love, Dad

“Thank you.” Morgan shut the door, walked over to pick up her cell phone when another knock sounded. She opened the door again, smiling. “Yes, did you—”

Her smile disappeared, her heart pounded. She clutched the doorknob as piercing blue eyes stared into hers. Hunter leaned against the doorjamb in jeans and a bomber jacket looking tough and sinful. “You forgot to ask who it was.”

Oh God
. She thought she would never see him again and here he was, standing in front of her, making her feel things she didn’t want to feel. Love and pain overwhelmed her. In defense, she slammed the door in his face.

Pressing her back against the glossy wood, she covered her face with shaking hands. She fought the need to give in to her watery legs and slide against the door until she sat. Why was he here? What did he want? In a matter of seconds, the life she was rebuilding blew to pieces.

A knock sounded again.

“Morgan, let me in. We need to talk.”

She shook her head. No, he didn’t get to do this to her. He didn’t get to waltz back into her life almost three months after he destroyed it and leave her with nothing again.

“Come on, Morgan.”

His voice weakened her, making her want to turn around and do just what he asked. Steeling herself, she crossed to the other side of the room, walked out the sliding glass doors leading to the beach.

Eventually he would give up and go away.

The gusts of wind blew her hair, blinding her, until she swiped strands behind her ears. Cold to the bone, she hugged herself tight, making her way to firmer sand close to the waves. The dull gray water roared, tossing spray. The sky darkened to pewter—a storm was on the way. It fit her mood perfectly.

Tears threatened; she blinked them back. Hadn’t she promised herself there wouldn’t be any more for him? He could go back from wherever he came and leave her the hell alone. She didn’t want him anymore, didn’t need him.

Determined to believe her own lies, she continued down the beach, desperate to find some sort of grasp on the small pieces of happiness she found over the last few months without him.

Hunter knocked twice more before he figured Morgan wasn’t going to answer. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against the frame. Christ, she’d taken his breath away. Her beauty was like a sucker punch to the gut. It’d taken everything he had to act casual when she opened the door. When she stood before him staring, he’d wanted to yank her forward into his arms.

But the pain had been there, radiating in her eyes, and he’d hesitated for just a second too long. Before he knew it, the door slammed with a sharp crack.

He stared at the dark, glossy wood and brushed nickel numbers of room 121.

Hunter pulled the keycard he’d conned from the front desk attendant free of his pocket. His badge and a decent lie had done the trick.

Blowing out a weary breath, he knocked, giving her one more chance. “Morgan, if you don’t open the door, I’ll open it myself. I really have to talk to you.”

Still nothing.

Pulse pounding, his nerves stretched tight as he realized she might not give him another chance. Hunter swiped the card, and the green light flashed. He turned the handle, stepped into the room, breathing in the dark, sexy scent that was Morgan. Need, hot and bright, clutched his belly. He had to have her back; he wouldn’t leave until she left with him.

“Morgan?” Frowning, he scanned the room, opened the bathroom door. She hadn’t answered because she wasn’t here. Hunter walked over to the only other exit. A cool draft seeped through the sliding glass door Morgan hadn’t closed all the way. He caught a glimpse of her, slim and beautiful, hair billowing around her shoulders, as she disappeared behind a large grouping of rocks further down the beach.

He grabbed the soft leather jacket from the bed, followed, walking quickly, afraid she would somehow find a way back to her room and be gone before he could make everything right.

The jackhammer of his heart settled a bit when he rounded the rocks and she stood statue-still with her eyes closed, her face to the wind. A small line creased the skin between her brows, ruining the illusion of peace she projected.

Hunter approached quietly, stopping just behind her. He slipped the jacket on her shoulders and she whirled around.

Morgan stared, lips quivering. “Get out of here. I don’t want you here.” Shaking her head, she turned to run.

He caught her arm before she took two steps. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute, Morgan.”

She struggled, pulling to free herself. “No. Just let me go.”

In one swift move, Hunter spun her until her back pressed against his chest, his hands held her around the waist. She stilled instantly, standing rigid.

He pressed his face to her neck, breathing her in, holding on. Moving his mouth to her ear, he spoke quietly. “Please, Morgan, let me talk to you. God, I’ve missed you.”

“Stop it.” Her voice wavered as she tried to pull free once more.

Hunter tightened his grip. Whether it was selfish or not, he didn’t care. Everything was on the line.

“What are you doing here, Hunter?”

He turned her until she faced him, until she had no choice but to look him in the eye. “I came back for you.”

She let loose a humorless laugh as anger snapped into her eyes, joining unshed tears. “You came back for me? Should I feel honored?” She shoved at him. “Let me go. I won’t run.”

He didn’t want to, but he did as she asked. They both knew he would catch her if she tried.

Morgan turned away, clutching her jacket around her. The waves crashed, pounding against the rocks.

Hunter tried again. “I needed to see you.”

“Why? Did the check bounce?”

He clenched his jaw. She wasn’t going to make this easy. “This has nothing to do with the check. I shredded the damn thing. We need to talk. There are things I should’ve said before I left.”

She faced him, eyes still simmering. “I think you said plenty.”