A Shadow on the Ground (17 page)

“Mom!”
Jeremy shrieked. “
Mom! No!”

“I'm here, son. Wake up, Jeremy. I'm right here.”

Morgan pulled on her robe and stood in the doorway, listening.

“I want my Mom,” Jeremy whimpered. “I want her here.”

“I know you do,” Gage said.

“I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen.”

“You were dreaming,” Gage said gently. “It was only a dream.”

“She was mad I wouldn't give her the keys. Then she grabbed them out of my hands. I wanted you to stop her. You saw her. Why didn’t you stop her?”

“I tried to, son. But I thought you needed me more.”

“I started yelling, but you came to see what was wrong with me instead of going after her. It's my fault. It's my fault you came into my room instead of getting the keys from her.”

“
Shhhh,
” Gage said. “It's not anybody's fault. Your mom wasn't herself that night. She hadn't been herself for a long, long time. Nothing she did could have ever been your fault.”

Morgan quietly closed the door. She had already listened far too long. The words between Gage and his son were private, but the little she'd heard made her heart ache for both of them. Jeremy had been saddled with the kind of guilt no child should ever have to carry. She didn’t have the power or the wisdom to ease his pain—nothing could do that—but there was one thing she could do for the kid. She could let him know he wasn't alone.

****

Gage rolled over and realized the fingers curled around Jeremy's arm were numb. He also realized the reason he had awakened so abruptly had nothing to do with the bright sunlight streaming through the windows. His cell phone was ringing.

He fished it out of his pants pocket and eased himself off the bed. Then he unlocked the phone with his thumb, staggered into the hall, and pulled the door closed behind him. He looked at the name on the screen. “Shit,” he whispered, his low baritone cracking. He cleared his throat and said, “Morning, boss.”

“So, you’re alive,” Tyson said. “I was beginning to wonder.”

“Hold on.” Gage hurried past Morgan's closed bedroom door and went downstairs. He snaked his way through the living room and dining room, then let himself out the back door. Cold from the concrete stoop seeped into the soles of his bare feet. “Okay, Tyson. Shoot.”

“What's up? Did you get the flag?”

“Not yet.”

“Then what the hell are you waiting for? Does she have it or not?”

“She has it.”

“So, what's the holdup? Is she on to you?”

“No, but there have been…extenuating circumstances.”

“Christ, Gage. Speak English.”

“Something funny's going on. Last night, the bar she works at caught fire. The day before, she found a dead body on a neighbor's farm. Then Quillen’s son showed up and threatened her if she didn't give
him
the flag. And her brother's in jail because—”

“I don't give a rat's ass where her brother is. Or if she even has a brother. Just get the godammed job done or I'll find someone who can. I gave you this job as a favor.”

“Bullshit. You gave me this job because it’s six miles from where I’m living, and you don’t have to pay travel expenses.”

“Listen Gage, I can't sit around waiting for the full moon. This thing isn’t open-ended. I have a client breathing down my neck. If you can't come through for me, he'll take his business elsewhere.”

“I know, I know.”

Gage rubbed his forehead and stared at the beds of purple asters on either side of the guesthouse. A wide slash of early morning sun fell across the backyard. The sharp scent of fresh mulch and fertilizer jabbed at his nose.

What the hell was he going to do? He couldn't take the flag from Morgan, but if he didn't find it and deliver it to its rightful owner, Tyson would send some punk who would. Either way, Morgan was in trouble. He had to find out where the flag was hidden. For her sake, he hoped it wasn’t in the house.

Should he talk to her? Confess he'd shown up with a hidden agenda the size of Montana? She didn't trust him. Or any man, as far as he could tell. But she seemed to be trying. The night before had been incredible—holding her, touching her. More than he’d had a right to ever hope for. If she found out he'd lied to her, she would never trust him again. Not that she was going to anyway.

The sound of a car door slamming brought him scrambling to his feet. He edged to the corner of the house just in time to see Morgan unlatching the gate.

“Gage?” Tyson said. “You there?”

He couldn’t risk telling her. And he couldn't take the flag. The best he could do was buy himself more time until he had a plan. He sat on the steps. “Tyson, man, please. Give me two more days—until Monday. By then, I should—”

“Tomorrow. I’ll give you until tomorrow. But I’m putting the word out that a job paying big bucks just opened up. Some of these guys are champing at the bit to make some fast cash.”

“I understand. But if I can't—” The screen door hinge screeched behind him. “Gotta go.”

Morgan stuck her head out. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Gage said, closing his phone. “My old boss called. He hadn't heard from me in a while, and he wondered how I was doing. I came out here because I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I’ve been up for hours. I went to the hospital to see Peach, then stopped by the grocery store. I hope you like eggs. It’s one of the four things I know how to cook.”

“Eggs will work.”

She sat beside him on the stoop. Why did women always look so damned appealing when they weren't trying to? Her oversized white shirt—probably her brother's—fell open at the neck, revealing enough creamy cleavage to drive him back into her arms. Her faded jeans hugged her curves in all the right places. She’d harnessed her long hair into a high ponytail, and smelled of some kind of scented soap that made him lightheaded. And that neck. That long silky neck. It was all he could do to keep from leaning over and pressing his lips against it, then letting them trail down it, lazy and slow. It had turned her on the night before. Big time. Sent shivers of excitement pulsing through her, then through him. Knowing he was capable of giving her that kind of pleasure had tripled his own.

“So, how are you doing?” she asked.

“Not bad.” He smiled at her. “It was a long night. Thanks for letting us bunk inside.”

“I wouldn't have wanted to stay in the house alone. Not after the fire.”

He glanced at her tiny bandaged wrist. “How's your arm?”

“Not bad.”

“Oh, I see how this is going,” he said, laughing. “How’s Peach?”

Morgan wrapped her arms around her knees. “Something’s going on with her. We’ve never been close, but she seemed guarded. Peach is a bucket mouth. She’ll tell anybody anything, whether it’s true or not. She didn’t even ask about Sean, and two days ago she was planning to quit her job and move in here to help him run the orchard.”

“Maybe she’s found someone else. You said her turnover time was faster than a bell clapper in a goose’s ass.”

She looked at him sideways. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“Me, either.”

“Anyway, I was standing by the elevator, waiting to leave, and I heard one of the nurses say, ‘I sure am glad the man visiting Peach Davison is gone. He made me nervous.’ Then, she described Denny. Exactly. Down to the corduroy house shoes. It had to have been Denny. How many guys in Riverbirch look like forty-year-old drug addicts in corduroy slippers?”

“Why would your ex-husband go see Peach? Do they know each other?”

“Just from the bar, I think. The thing is, I went back to Peach’s room to ask her if Denny had been there, and she was gone.”

“What do you mean gone?”

“Gone, vanished, not there. Her hospital gown was lying on the bed, and her closet was empty.”

He thought for a minute. “Let me see what I can find out. I do have some skills in that area.”

She smiled. “And other areas.”

“I wish I could get hold of her cell phone. Those things can be enlightening”

“Oh.
Oh, my God. I have Harlan’s phone. I put it in my pocket after I found him, and it’s still there. I meant to take it to Sheriff Stallard yesterday, but I was so upset about Sean, I forgot.”

“Mind if I look at it?”

“Dad?” Jeremy stood behind them, peering through the screen. “I'm hungry.”

Gage laughed. “You’re always hungry. I’ll check out the phone after breakfast.”

“Guess the Maguire Diner is open for business,” Morgan said. “Eggs or waffles, kid?”

“Both.”

“Let me make them,” Gage said. “If you don't mind me cooking.”

“I would welcome your cooking,” Morgan said. “I would welcome anybody's cooking.”

Morgan made coffee, then sat on a kitchen stool while Gage and Jeremy fixed breakfast. The mood was unexpectedly light, and Morgan wondered if Jeremy and Gage’s talk the night before had cleared the air. Their easy banter seemed natural and spontaneous. The look of relief that kept crossing Gage's face whenever he looked at his son touched her heart. Between the laughter and the new-found circle of warmth that enveloped the three of them at the sun-drenched table, no one seemed to mind that the waffles were a little soggy and the eggs a trifle overcooked.

After breakfast, Morgan gave Harlan’s phone to Gage.

“Are you going to see Sean today?” he asked.

“They said I could come at two. They still haven't charged him with anything. How long they can hold him without charging him?”

“Not sure,” Gage said. “It varies from state to state. I have a call in to a lawyer I know in Atlanta. His secretary said he'd get back to me.”

“Thanks,” Morgan said. She turned to Jeremy. “Aren't you late for school?”

“It's Saturday,” Jeremy said.

“You're right,” Morgan said. “Hey, I need to stretch my legs. You want to take a walk with me while your father looks around our sad little bankrupt farm?”

“Sure.” Jeremy's face broke into a wide grin. “I'll get my shoes.” He slid across the polished dining room floor in his sock feet, then raced upstairs.

“That’s some kid you’ve got there.” The rasp in her voice deepened.

He reached out and took her hand. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

She nodded.

“If you don’t mind, I'd like to look at the books, too.”

“Sure. According to Sean, there are two sets—one in the red, and one in the black. No pun intended. The printouts were on the desk beside Harlan’s computer the day he died.”

“Interesting.”

“I think so, too. Sean's computer is in the office. The password is
apple42
.”

“Forty-two apples in a bottle of apple wine?”

“Forty-two pounds in a bushel. I’ll be back in five. I need to run upstairs and put on my face.”

“The one you keep in a jar by the door?” The grin spreading across his face was identical to his son's.

“No. The one that keeps me from frightening small children and animals.”

She started for the door, and he reached for her. He slid his fingers down her arm to her hand, clasped it in his, and wrapped it around his waist, pulling her close. His lips were inches from hers. “I think your face is perfect the way it is.”

“Spoken like a true face connoisseur.”

He nuzzled the spot between her shoulder and her neck. “Are you regretting last night?”

“Of course not. There’s nothing I like better than a good old-fashioned case of arson. And wrapping dishtowels around my hands to break glass is a skill I don’t get to use often enough.”

He chuckled. “I mean us. You and me.”

“We didn’t do anything.”

“We did enough. Enough for me to realize you’re still the smartest, sexiest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

“Well, that beats pleasant and polite, I guess.”

“You’re anything but polite.”

She caught her breath as he grazed his lips against the slope of her jaw. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Didn’t you hear me say ‘thanks’?”

His laughter, sexy and low, rumbled in her hear. Warm breath drifted across her neck, sending a shaft of need rushing to her solar plexus. Her hands slid around his neck. She rubbed the side of her chin against his and breathed in the heady scent of his skin. She ran her fingers along the curved neckline of his white T-shirt, then bunched the soft cotton into her fist and held it tight.

Gage glanced at her beneath half-closed lids. His lashes, black, and longer than hers, swept against the lean angle of his cheek. The memory of his mouth moving against hers the night before hadn’t been out of her head since she’d opened her eyes that morning. So when his lips found hers, she tried to prepare herself for the tremors of pure sensation that would soon be rocketing down her spine.

His tongue slid against hers. The bones in her legs began to dissolve. He let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pressing her against him, deepening their kiss. Her mind coasted along, soaring down a mountain somewhere with the wind tearing through her hair and the sun hot against her face. She held on to the back of his neck and his T-shirt as if they were anchors keeping her rooted to the earth.

“I can’t find my shoes,” Jeremy called from upstairs.

Morgan stepped back and laughed. “Look in the bathroom,” she yelled.

“Come back here,” Gage said, pulling her to him. “I don’t want to let you go yet. Maybe not ever.”

“Things are zipping along a little too fast.” She traced the outline of his collarbone with her fingertips. “There’s still a lot we don’t know about the people we are now. Like this scar you don’t want to talk about. How’d you get it? And if you say from a gun, I will brain you with a waffle.”

He absently rubbed the scar with his right hand. “I misjudged a situation because I was in a hurry, and hadn't done my homework. It's always the easy cases, the ones where you let your guard down, that screw you over. I’d been following a man whose wife thought he was cheating on him, something I'd done a hundred times. I was leaning over the edge of a hotel balcony, trying to get a clear shot with the camera, and he looked up and saw me. He didn't care if I’d caught him with another woman, but he sure as hell wasn't about to let me photograph the four-hundred G's worth of crystal meth spread across his king-size bed. He pulled out a gun and shot me before I could focus my eyes, much less the camera. The bullet hit two inches from my heart. The last image I saw before the world turned black was my son’s face.”