Running for Cover (12 page)

“Thank you, but they’re not all mine. Some are Morgan’s.”

“Really? Which are which?” he asked, lifting a butter yellow vase with a surface as smooth and slick as oil.

“That’s Aunt Helen’s. Mine are a whole lot less refined.”

“You’d only just begun to work with clay, so they weren’t perfect, but they were lovely. This is one of hers. The first piece she ever made,” Helen said, reaching for a large blue bowl. Its fluted edges were uneven, the glaze spotty at best.

“I can’t believe you kept that,” Morgan said, taking the piece from her aunt. The surface was slightly rough and uneven, but the weight felt comfortable in her hands.

“Of course I kept it. I figured eventually you’d be famous, and I could make a hefty sum off the piece. So don’t drop it. I’d hate to see my retirement fund swept up and thrown in the garbage.” Helen smiled, taking the bowl and setting it back on the shelf.

“Retirement fund? You’ll be lucky to get a dollar for it.”

“You never did give yourself enough credit. Come on, Jackson, let’s let my niece get some rest. Good night, Morgan.”

“Good night,” Morgan responded, as her aunt moved out into the hall.

“Are you going to be okay?” Jackson asked, moving close, his hands gentle on her shoulders as he looked down into her eyes. She wanted to shake her head, do what she’d longed to earlier and throw herself into his arms. She took a step back instead.

“Of course.”

“Then why do you look so scared?”

“Because I am, but I can’t let it control me. If I do, I’ll climb into bed, cover my head with a blanket and never come out.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Morgan. Not tonight, anyway. If someone did follow us from the airport, we lost him, and it won’t be easy for him to find us here. Even if he does, your aunt’s dogs will give us an early warning before he even tries to break in. Of course, if you’re still worried, I can park outside your door for the night.”

“I’m not
that
worried.”

He chuckled, letting his hands fall away. “I kind of figured you’d say that. So, I’ll be wherever your aunt puts me.”

He walked out into the hallway, and Morgan had to force herself not to grab his arm to keep him from going.

She was an adult, after all. Perfectly capable of being alone at
night regardless of what she’d been through, and perfectly capable of ignoring the way she felt whenever Jackson was around.

She opened her carry-on, pulled out pajamas, toothpaste and toothbrush and walked into the adjoining bathroom. After a long day’s travel, a shower was probably a good idea, but she didn’t have the energy for it. She changed quickly, brushing her teeth, washing her face and calling that good enough.

The house had fallen silent. No creaking floors or whispered voices. Just the easy quiet that came from a full house gone to sleep. That was one thing she’d missed about her parents’ home. Knowing that someone else was always just a word away.

Outside, the wind had picked up. It howled beneath the eves and moaned through the trees. To Morgan it was the music of the mountains, and it filled her with a sense of peace she hadn’t had in a long time. At least here, far from the sounds of city life, far from the demands of a business that would thrive or die by her hands, Morgan could hear the rhythm of her breathing and of her thoughts. She could picture the sweet face of little Katia, the wise, strong face of Nikolai, and somehow they intertwined with the faces of her family in Washington. Benjamin, Lauren, Josh and Joseph, Mom and Dad and Helen. They were faces of people she loved and of people she’d missed.

So why had it taken her so long to return to them?

She sighed. The pain was beginning to ease, and she knew she should sleep, but sleep had never come easily to Morgan. She paced the room for a few minutes, then went to the French doors, pulling back the curtains and staring into the darkness. Tall evergreens stretched toward the deep black sky, their spindly branches and narrow trunks bending beneath the howling wind. Morgan was tempted to open the French doors, walk outside and lose herself in the darkness for a while. Try to forget the men who were after her, the disk Cody had hidden and the fear that had chased her from Lakeview.

A soft tapping came from beyond the bedroom door, and Morgan stiffened, straining to hear more. A quiet bark, a mumbled word. A door opening and closing. Then silence again.

Helen and her dogs retiring for the night.

If someone was outside waiting for an opportunity to strike, the dogs wouldn’t be so eager to quiet down. Like Jackson had said, if someone had tried to follow them from the airport, the attempt hadn’t been successful. The road behind them had been empty for the last twenty miles of their journey.

So, why not go outside until the pain medication finished doing its work, sit on the swing that hung from the ceiling beams of the back porch? She’d be close enough to the house to run inside if she sensed danger.

She grabbed a jacket from her carry-on, shoved her feet into slippers and opened the French doors. There was a light switch inside her room, but she didn’t bother to turn on the outside lights. Cold, fresh air slapped her cheeks and stung her eyes as she felt her way to the edge of the porch and the swing that hung there. Though she couldn’t see it, she could picture the painted wood and cushioned bench, the thick chains that attached it to the ceiling. They groaned a protest as Morgan settled onto the seat, and she smiled, remembering all the nights she’d spent sitting alone on the porch, enjoying the cool summer breeze, dreaming of the day she’d be reunited with Katia and Nikolai.

Those dreams hadn’t come true, but she was back on the swing, inhaling the first hints of winter in the gusting wind.

She’d almost died without knowing what had happened to the two people she’d loved most when she was a kid. The two people who’d lived what she’d lived, experienced what she had. She was connected to them in a way she wasn’t connected to anyone else.

Maybe it was time to dream again.

She leaned her head against the back of the swing, and
closed her eyes. She’d renew her search to find Katia and Nikolai, but first she had to find the disk that Cody had hidden. Considering how little she actually knew about her husband and his business dealings, that would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

“Any help you want to give me would be great, Lord,” she muttered, wondering just how effective her prayer would be. It seemed like she spent a lot of time asking God for help, but not nearly as much trying to ascertain His will for her life. It wasn’t the way her parents had raised her. Their faith was as strong and unwavering as the mountains that surrounded their house. Morgan’s was much more fickle. She believed in God, believed the message of salvation she’d professed when she was twelve, but she didn’t always believe that God was eager and willing to step in and save the day.

She sighed, knowing she should go back in the house and get some sleep. The pain medication was doing its work, the throbbing agony of her injuries now a muted ache, but the swing was comfortable, the memories it invoked more pleasant than painful, and she stayed where she was as the wind continued to howl and the first drops of rain began to fall.

J
ackson scanned one of several dozen online articles about Cody Bradshaw’s trial and frowned. There’d been plenty written about Morgan. Speculation about her affair with Sean and about what she might gain from having her husband go to jail. The media had painted her in an unforgiving light, citing sources who claimed to have the inside scoop and who were quick to point out that Morgan had filed for divorce before Cody was arrested. She was, they’d said, a black widow. A woman who made her living preying on the men in her life.

No wonder Morgan had been anxious to leave New York.

He pulled up another article, skimming it for any details that hadn’t been in the last few he’d read. There was nothing.

He scowled, logging off the computer and pacing the den. It was late and calling the East Coast would have to wait several hours. In the meantime, Jackson should sleep. He should, but his mind was humming with questions that begged answers.

Who?

Why?

Those were the two most pressing ones. Until he could answer them, Morgan wouldn’t be safe.

Until
he
could answer them?

There were plenty of people working the case. Since when had it become his responsibility to solve it?

That was another question that begged answers, but it wasn’t one that Jackson was all that anxious to explore.

He frowned, raking a hand over his hair and eyeing the pullout sofa Helen had made up for him. A few hours of sleep would clear his head and put him in a better frame of mind to tackle the case. He dropped down onto the mattress and lay staring up at the ceiling, the questions he’d been asking for the past two days circling around in his mind, refusing to let him sink into sleep.

Cody Bradshaw had information that was dangerous to someone. Jackson knew it. All he had to do was get his hands on the disk and he’d know exactly what the information was and exactly why someone was willing to commit murder to retrieve it.

Outside, the wind had abated, but the rain that had begun an hour ago continued, the soft patter as it hit the roof mixing with the creaks and groans of the house settling. A soft hum was audible just below the other sounds. Not a person. Maybe a machine?

Curious, Jackson stood, stretching the kinks from his neck and back as he followed the sound through the den and into the great room with its vaulted ceilings and stone fireplace. The kitchen was visible from here, the stainless steel appliances and sleek granite counter a stark contrast to the old-fashioned feel of the rest of the house. Like her niece, Helen wasn’t someone who could be easily pegged.

The hum grew louder as Jackson stepped into the wide hall that led to Morgan’s room. It seemed to be coming from the closest room, and he walked to it, bending his head close and listening. The hum was definitely mechanical. Not a washing machine or dryer. Something else. Maybe Jackson wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. He was tempted to knock and see
who came to the door, but the thought of pulling Helen from whatever she was doing wasn’t nearly as appealing as the thought of pulling Morgan away from something.

A quiet huff sounded from the other side of the door, and Jackson backed away as a dog barked, the deep rumble of sound telling him exactly who was in the room. Helen murmured something to the animal and it quieted, but she didn’t come to the door to see who was roaming the hall.

Maybe she knew.

Or maybe she assumed it was Morgan.

Morgan, who should be sleeping soundly in the room just down the hall.

Was she?

If so, she was the only one who wasn’t awake and restless, too filled with thoughts and worries to sleep.

Jackson knew that walking down the hall and knocking on Morgan’s door was the last thing that he should do. What he should do, what he needed to do was turn around, go back to the den and do his best to fall asleep.

It was what he should do, but for reasons he wouldn’t name, he didn’t.

Instead, he walked to Morgan’s door, pressed his ear close to it and listened. He heard nothing but the hum of whatever machine Helen was working on and the tap of rain on the roof. Nothing to make him think Morgan was awake. He knocked anyway, the sound soft enough that it would only carry to someone inside the room. Someone awake enough to hear it.

When Morgan didn’t respond, Jackson turned to leave. Then hesitated. Making assumptions wasn’t something he believed in doing. Morgan could be sleeping, or she could be wide awake like everyone else in the house. Wide awake and at loose ends. In her position, he’d be tempted to walk out the double French doors, let the crisp mountain air clear his head. The
thought of Morgan wandering around outside in the storm was enough to have him knocking again.

He waited, then twisted the doorknob and opened the door just enough to get a clear view of the room. Dark and quiet, it looked exactly as it had when Jackson had entered it an hour ago. Crisp white bedding smooth and rumple free.

He frowned, opening the door wider and striding into the room. Morgan had left the carry-on open on the floor, left the door to the adjoining bathroom open to reveal another empty space.

She
had
gone outside.

Jackson’s pulse jumped, his stomach twisting as he imagined her walking around in the mountain wilderness. It wasn’t nature that worried him. Bears, coyotes, wolves and mountain lions weren’t nearly the threat that man could be.

He crossed the room, yanking open the French doors so hard they slammed against the wall. Rain splashed onto the ground and the roof as he stepped out onto a wide porch, the sound filling the sheltered area. Jackson waited impatiently as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, his ears picking up other sounds. The rustle of leaves, the creak of tree branches, a soft shuffling sound that didn’t fit with the others.

He tensed, turning as a black shadow lunged from the darkness to his right, darted out into the rain. Jackson followed, splashing through mud and puddles, grabbing the back of a jacket, ready to throw himself against the intruder, knock him off his feet.

Except that the intruder looked to be about five-four, maybe a hundred and five pounds.

“Morgan?” He yanked on the jacket, tugging her back and hearing fabric tear as she fought to free herself. “Morgan! It’s me. Jackson.”

It took a second for his words to sink in. When they finally did, she stopped struggling and turned on him, her pale face
barely visible in the darkness, the fist she was swinging just missing his jaw.

He grabbed her hand, gently pulling it down before she could take another shot at him. “Hey, I’m not one of the bad guys.”

“No, you’re just the guy who scared a decade off my life. What were you thinking coming out here?” Her voice shook, and Jackson pulled her into his arms, pressing her head against his chest, trying to still her trembling and offer the comfort she seemed to need.

“I could ask you the same thing, but I think I know the answer.”

She stiffened, pulled back. “I couldn’t sleep. Too much has happened, and I’m still wound up from it all. It’s as simple as that.”

“I wasn’t suggesting anything else.” But it was interesting that she’d thought he had been. Maybe the danger she was in wasn’t the only thing that had been keeping Morgan awake. Maybe, like Jackson, she was wondering what was happening between them.

And there
was
something happening, whether they wanted to admit it or not.

“Come on,” he said, knowing that she wouldn’t want to hear his thoughts. “Let’s get back on the porch before we’re both soaked.”

“I think it’s too late for that.”

“So maybe we can grab a couple of towels from your bathroom and dry off.” He released his hold and stepped back, offering Morgan a hand.

She hesitated, then accepted, her palm icy as he hurried her up the stairs and into her room.

“Wait here. I’ll get the towels,” she said, rushing into the bathroom and shutting the door.

Maybe he should walk out of her room, go back to the den and dry off there.

That was the safe thing to do. Maybe even the right thing,
but Jackson couldn’t leave. Not until he knew Morgan was really as fine as she always claimed to be.

The bathroom door swung open, and she reappeared, a towel wrapped around her head, a thick terry cloth robe covering what looked like heavy flannel pajamas. She was still dripping, rain water trickling from the hem of the pajamas and pooling at her feet. Despite the bruises, she was breathtaking, her skin smooth and tan, her eyes such a striking blue Jackson thought he could stare into them all night and never get tired of looking.

He took a step toward her, stopping himself just short of doing what he wanted—pulling her into his arms again.

Maybe sticking around hadn’t been such a good idea.

“Here you go.” She tossed him a handful of towels, and he caught them, using one to wipe water from his face and wishing it would clear his muddled brain, too.

“Thanks.”

“It’s the least I can do, since it’s my fault you ran out into the storm. You never did tell me why you were awake,” she said absently as she pulled the towel from her head and rubbed her hair dry with it.

And Jackson decided a full retreat was his best option.

“I think I’ll grab a cup of coffee to warm up.” He spun around and walked out the door, hoping Morgan wouldn’t follow.

Hoping she would.

“Were you looking for information about Cody? I know you said you were going to, but I figured you’d get some sleep first,” she said as she walked into the kitchen behind him.

“I decided there was no time like the present to start digging, so I did some online research.”

“Find anything?” she asked a little too nonchalantly. She knew what was in the newspaper reports, knew what she’d been accused of and what public opinion about her had been
during her husband’s trial. No doubt, she was waiting for him to bring it up, but Jackson didn’t see any sense in doing so.

“Nothing that will help. As soon as it’s a decent hour, I’m going to call Cody’s parents. See if they’ll be willing to answer a few questions.”

“Good luck. Like I said before, they only do what benefits them,” she responded, grabbing coffee from a cupboard and starting a pot.

“They were brutal to you during Cody’s trial.”

“They weren’t easy to get along with at the best of times. After their son went to trial, they needed a scapegoat. I was it.”

“That had to be rough.”

“Not really. I expected it. As long as the jury found Cody guilty, I didn’t care what anyone thought of me.”

She poured coffee, handed him a cup. “How about we take it back out on the porch? I don’t want to disturb Aunt Helen.”

He knew he should say no. Knew he should suggest that Morgan go back to her room and he go back to his.

He didn’t.

And that told him more than he wanted to know about what direction his relationship with Morgan was going and just how far over the line of professionalism he’d crossed.

“Sure. Why not?”

They walked silently through the hall, back through Morgan’s bedroom and out onto the porch.

“There’s a swing over here. It might be a little wet. The wind has been blowing the rain onto the porch,” Morgan said, her voice holding a hint of the uncertainty Jackson was feeling.

Sitting on the porch swing together was different than sitting on a plane or in a car, or even standing in Morgan’s room chatting. It was an acknowledgement of what they both felt, an agreement that what they were forging was more than just business, more than just a joint effort to find the men who were after Morgan.

Jackson knew it, but he went anyway, taking Morgan’s hand and leading her to the swing, brushing the moisture off with the towel he’d hung around his neck. Then folding the towel and gesturing for her to sit on it.

“That’s very gentlemanly of you,” she said, laughing nervously as she took a seat.

“My mother will be happy to hear that you said that.”

“She doesn’t think you’re a gentleman?”

“She’s hopeful, but not always convinced.”

“Are you close?”

“Yes, but it’s been harder since my sister died. When we’re together, me and my parents, there’s always a feeling that someone is missing. That we aren’t complete.” He settled onto the bench beside her, felt her stiffen, then relax.

“I know how difficult that is. I’ve spent most of my life feeling the same way.”

“The difference is, there is every chance that your brother and sister are out there somewhere, waiting for you to find them.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time trying to do just that, but I keep coming up empty.”

“I meant what I said about helping you, Morgan. All I’ll need are their names and birth dates. The city and country of birth.”

“I’ll give you what I have. It’s not much.”

“Not much is more than what I’ve gone on before. I can’t promise results, but I’ll try my best.”

“You’re already doing too much.” But she didn’t tell him not to try, and her hand slipped into his, her fingers squeezing gently before she released her hold. He wanted to capture it again, bring it to his lips and press a kiss to her knuckles. But that would be too much too soon!

“We should go back inside now. You did promise your sister that you’d be at church, and that’s not too many hours from now.”

“I know.” She didn’t get up, though. Just sat completely still, her head resting against the back of the swing. In profile, her face was delicate, the angle of her jaw sharply defined. She looked lost in thought, caught up in her memories, but completely relaxed and more at ease than he’d ever seen her before.

“Is this a place you spent a lot of time when you were a kid?”

“Nearly every night during the summer for four years. Helen doesn’t believe in television. She says it distracts from creativity.”

“So you sat out here instead of sitting in front of the television?”

“Not quite.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“It isn’t. While Helen worked, I’d wander around in the woods behind the house. Eventually, I’d end up back here, and I’d sit on the swing and listen.”