Morgan's Hunter (6 page)

Hunter arrived at the Bureau right on time. He walked up to the homely looking older woman sitting behind a receptionist desk, talking on the phone. A tight bun coiled against the top of her head. Eyeglasses, straight out of the sixties, rested on the perch of her nose, reminding him of the stern librarian that had scared him witless as a young boy.

Her workspace epitomized office efficiency. Pencils with the Bureau’s insignia stood soldier straight in a glass holder, their points needle sharp. Papers were neatly stacked in color-coded files lined along the left edge of her blotter. The dark cherry wood had been polished within an inch of its life.

When she replaced the receiver, she looked up, smiling warmly. “You must be Mr. Phillips.”

“Call me Hunter.” He glanced at her name plate and smiled. “Helen.”

“It sure is kind of you to fly all the way out here to help our little Morgan.”

“I’m happy I could offer my services.”

“Morgan’s a lucky young lady. You’re a handsome one, if you don’t mind me saying so. Remind me a lot of my Charlie, you do. He had a dimple in his chin and blue eyes too. He was skin and bone where you’re all muscle, but handsome just the same. We had forty wonderful years before cancer took him.”

Hunter’s smile disappeared. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Can’t be sorry when we were blessed with forty years. Can I get you something to drink, Hunter?”

“No, thank you. I’ll just see Mr. Taylor if he’s available.”

“You go have a seat, and I’ll let him know you’re here.” She gave him a saucy wink.

Charmed, Hunter grinned, winked back, watched her blush. He sat down, taking in the surroundings of the posh office suite. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind when he thought of an environmental agency. Plastic chairs and linoleum floors were more on par with what he’d envisioned; not plush carpet and leather furnishings.

“Hunter, Mr. Taylor is ready.” Helen put a little extra sway in her hips as she walked him down the hall. He smiled again when they stopped outside the office. Giving a brisk knock, she opened the door, signaled for Hunter to follow.

“Mr. Taylor, meet Mr. Hunter Phillips.”

Stanley Taylor exuded power as he stood and stepped from behind his desk in a charcoal gray designer suit. Salt and pepper hair set off serious dark blue eyes. Helen left as Hunter walked forward, shaking Stanley’s outstretched hand.

“Mr. Phillips, it’s good to meet you. Come, take a seat.”

Hunter glanced around the classy office. Lush green plants sat on dark wood. Several plaques hung on one wall. A small marble-topped beverage station took up the right corner of the room.

“It’s nice to meet you too, sir.” Hunter sat in the leather wing-back chair in front of Stanley’s desk. He zeroed in on an eight by ten picture in a silver frame. A dark haired beauty with green eyes and a smooth olive complexion smiled fully. If that was Morgan Taylor, Ethan would live after all.

“That’s my Morgan, Mr. Phillips. I trust Ethan has filled you in on the situation.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off the face in the frame. “Yes. Although I wouldn’t mind going over everything again—and please, call me Hunter.”

Stanley nodded. “Two weeks ago, three members of my daughter’s wildlife research team were found shot. There are no leads and no witnesses. They were out in the middle of nowhere. It doesn’t make sense. We aren’t sure what the hell happened. All I know is three talented young people are dead.”

“Do you believe the team was targeted, that Morgan will be a target when we get to Montana?”

“Honestly, I can’t be sure, but I don’t think so. From what little the police have been able to gather, we can only assume they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever the case, I won’t be taking chances with my daughter. That’s why you’re here. Ethan tells me you’re the best, and I feel confident with his endorsement.”

“With all due respect, sir, if you’re this concerned for her safety, why don’t you put a stop to the assignment and send her somewhere else?”

“Do you think I haven’t
tried
? She’ll go anyway. Morgan is damn stubborn when she sets her mind to something. She’s determined she’s going to do this. You try to stand in her way and she gets goddamn nasty.”

“Aren’t you the boss?”

This time Stanley let out a full-throated laugh. “Oh, Hunter Phillips, you’re in for quite a surprise. No one is Morgan’s boss but Morgan. She has a mind of her own—has since the day she was born. She’s a love and as sweet as they make ‘em, but once you cross her—” Stanley winced. “Well, you better protect your balls, son.”

He took a sip of water before he continued. “I guess this is a good time for me to tell you I sprang all of this on Morgan at breakfast this morning, and she isn’t exactly happy you’ll be joining her on the assignment, but she’ll go along with it because she knows the line has been drawn in the sand. She just needs a few days to adjust. Morgan is fiercely independent; what you might call…spirited. Overall, though, I think you’ll get along quite nicely.”

Hunter doubted it. “I’m sure it’ll be memorable, Mr. Taylor.”

“Oh, yes, I imagine so. Why don’t you go on over to the house, meet Morgan and Ilene, get yourself settled in.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” He stood.

“Thank you again, Hunter.”

“I’m glad I could offer my expertise, Mr. Taylor.” He shook Stanley’s hand.

“Call me Stanley. Oh, I almost forgot. We’re having a fundraising event tonight—black tie. I hope you’ll join us.”

“Great, just fucking great.” Hunter stabbed the button for the garage as he stepped into the elevator. He jammed his hands into his pockets, cursing fate. Was it too much to ask for an assignment that didn’t involve a high maintenance, self-important Hollywood-type?

What happened to the business tycoons and diplomats who needed protection overseas, or a good high-stakes government function that required his security clearance and reconnaissance expertise?

Instead of enjoying a low-key duty with the added perks of backwoods hiking and camping, he’d signed up for thirty days of princess sitting—worse, at a time when his patience for pampered purebreds was at an all-time low.

Ethan would pay for this one. Technicalities kept his pal free and clear of a major ass kicking. Ethan hadn’t lied, after all. Morgan was smokin’; her picture confirmed it. He just forgot to share the part about her being a spoiled bitch.

Hunter should’ve figured that out before her father more or less corroborated his suspicions. Stanley’s office screamed “filthy rich”. She probably held her position at the Bureau because Daddy was CEO and she’d wanted it, not because she was qualified and had earned it.

Serious wildlife biologists didn’t look like that. He’d never actually met a wildlife biologist, but he doubted they looked like her. Weren’t they au natural? Didn’t they have hairy armpits and wrinkles from the sun? That certainly wasn’t Morgan Taylor. No, she was Grade A. He knew the type—saw it every day: there wasn’t a hair out of place or any activity attempted that could break a nail.

Halfway through his conversation with Stanley, it became apparent he would be spending most of his days in a salon in Montana instead of L.A. She would probably get bored with the whole animal tracking thing after a day or two and be ready to go home early. He figured he’d be on a plane back to L.A. in less than two weeks. He could deal with her for two weeks. Spirited, was she? Well, he could be pretty damn spirited himself.

Cheered by his own thoughts, Hunter smiled as he stepped from the elevator and walked through the parking garage. He hopped on the Harley he’d rented and drove toward the address Stanley gave him.

Chapter 6

M
ORGAN DROVE HER JAM-PACKED CONVERTIBLE down the long, winding drive of her parents’ estate. She glanced at lush grass spread over vast grounds and cherry trees—green and leafy without their blossom. Smiling, she passed a grouping of smaller trees. Their branches had yet to cascade over the drive like the rest. She and her father had planted them when she’d been a little girl. It was one of her most cherished memories—her father’s large hands covering hers while they gently tamped soil around tender, young roots.

As Morgan rounded a sharp bend, she adjusted the visor close to the windshield. Late afternoon sunshine poured against the faded brick of her family’s massive home. Blinding light reflected off acres of glass and pillared white columns.

Morgan pulled up to the walkway leading to her guesthouse, careful to avoid the catering trucks parked by the kitchen of the main house. Florists bustled about, setting up lavish arrangements on either side of the enormous double-oak front doors.

Cherry trees and childhood memories were forgotten. Guests would arrive in little more than three hours. She and her mother had so much to do yet. If she was quick, she could drop off her supplies, grab a snack and head over to help in less than ten minutes.

Morgan popped the trunk with the button on her key, walked to the back of the car, stopped when the deep rumble in the distance interrupted her thoughts. She watched as the black and chrome motorcycle pulled up next to her, stopping inches from her feet. The engine deafened, making her want to plug her ears.

She stared at the man sitting on the Harley, taking in every impressive inch. Arms, well muscled and tan, filled out his white t-shirt. He wore his Dodgers ball cap backwards, giving her a good look at high cheekbones and a deep dimple in his square jaw. Oakleys covered his eyes.

He turned the key, killing the engine, dropped the kickstand and in one efficient and surprisingly graceful swing of leg, stood next to his bike. Blue jeans, snug in all the right places, accentuated his mouthwatering build.

Morgan stared at broad shoulders and a solid chest before pulling herself together. She recognized the red and black insignia printed on the breast of his shirt as Ethan Cooke Security’s and was certain this could be none other than the man who would be tagging along after her for the next thirty days.

In an attempt to move beyond her irritation with the situation in general, she extended her hand in introduction, but pulled back when he glanced in the trunk, smirked and shook his head. Morgan’s thin eyebrow arched above her black Wayfarers, her friendly smile disappearing.
Just what in the hell is his problem?
She felt the low burn of her temper come to life and finally broke the tense silence humming between them. “So, you must be the muscle my father hired.”

Hunter shrugged. “That’s me. You got a problem with it, talk to him.”

Yup, he was going to be a pain in her ass after all—
great
. Deciding it was better to say nothing more, Morgan turned and reached for the bags she’d forgotten. Although her hands were full, several items remained in the trunk. She walked toward the house, glanced back, hoping Hunter would offer to help. He didn’t move. “Could I get a hand here?”

He backed up, palms out. “Let’s get one thing straight, sweetheart. I’ve been hired to protect you, life and limb. I’m not a servant.”

Oh, that was it!
Morgan placed her bags on the driveway, stormed over to Hunter until they stood toe to toe. The top of her head met the bottom of his chin. She had no choice but to look up to make eye contact. “Listen,
sweetheart
—” She poked him in the chest with her index finger as she emphasized the word. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I won’t put up with you talking to me like that.”

He pushed his aviators onto his cap. “You gonna tell Daddy on me?”

His potent grin and shocking blues eyes left her blinking. Her heart stuttered. In defense, the temper she’d tried to hold snapped. “You’re an even bigger idiot than I first feared. I was hoping you might have manners. Customarily, when you see someone with several items, it’s polite to help them, or at least offer.”

Hunter flicked her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose. Morgan’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’ll try to keep those manner things in mind. Perhaps over the next month you can teach me more. By the time we get back, I just might be civilized.”

“Oh, I seriously doubt it.” She snapped her glasses in place, reached down for her bags and walked off without giving him another glance.