Breath of Dawn, The (16 page)

He wanted to see fear on her face. Fear and regret, and even hope that she could make it right. She’d make it right, but that wasn’t enough.

Like the people he’d eliminated before, Quinn had made him suffer. Because of her, he’d experienced the degradation of prison. He’d lost four years of his life. Because of her, his cache was gone. But not . . . irrevocably.

D
riving on autopilot, Morgan ticked off in his mind the things he’d put in motion and the things they would still need to do. At the small mountain airport, he parked the Range Rover and chartered a flight to New York. When the crew arrived, he motioned Quinn up the steps into the jet, half surprised she didn’t balk. Since she’d been practically silent, he thought she might be talking herself out of the plan.

She only said, “Where will we go from New York?”

He told her, “You’ll see,” and Quinn-like, she let it go. That was either trust or resignation.

She’d already flown twice in three days and looked a little weary as she buckled in beside him. Shortly after takeoff she closed her eyes. Her hand slipped down her side, the strong yet delicate fingers dangling. For the better part of the flight, he watched her sleep, watched the dreams move beneath her eyelids, studied the peaked line of her eyebrows, the narrow bridge of her nose.

Some heritage less fair than traditional Irish had given her skin a bronzer tone that matched her brown eyes. Her boldly formed lips were parted slightly in slumber, the breath passing softly through
them. One shoulder hunched beneath her tipped head, and he thought of how it had fit inside his palm.

She had clipped her hair into a black plastic claw, but spirals fell loose in a way he could hardly keep from touching. It was the first thing he’d noticed and the most persistent. He wanted to bunch his hands into her hair.

The thought startled him. Quinn would be his wife on paper only, physically off-limits, their hearts unengaged. His mind did violence to the concept, but that was the agreement. She stirred and made a small, soft noise. She’d accepted a merger, not a proposal. He didn’t think for a minute her choice of the word accidental.

And still, he imagined running his thumb down the slope of her cheek, the line of her neck. His throat constricted. He needed to resist the attraction—and not only attraction but fascination. Appreciation. Things more lasting than chemistry, though he suspected that was there too.

If Rick hadn’t prompted him to offer a job, would he have asked her out? Could he even consider dating? His mouth twisted wryly. No dating, only marriage. He shook his head. He’d taken risks in his life, but this was the closest to playing with fire he’d come in a long time.

Quinn woke when they landed in New York, something vulnerable showing through her composure, as though she sensed he’d been watching. Inside JFK she fidgeted while he found a flight to their destination and purchased the tickets. They’d leave at 6:15 p.m. and arrive in Paris at 7:30 in the morning.

The knot in her stomach must have shown, because Morgan reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’ll work.”

Maybe. But it wasn’t only her life changing. It was his life too, even if she left. That thought actually hurt, not only the dishonesty, but a sense of real loss. “What was it you said,
raison
 . . . whatever?”

“
Raison d’être
. Reason for being.”

“You live to fix things?”

He nodded slowly. “Sounds arrogant, doesn’t it?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not if the core is doing what people
can’t do for themselves.” In Morgan’s case, it wasn’t only his vocation but his avocation.

“You do pretty well for yourself, Quinn. This is for both of us. Okay?”

A lump formed in her throat. He was counting on her. She almost told him everything right there and would have, except she needed it so badly.

As the jet began its slow taxi, he said, “Do you have a middle name?”

“Erin.”

“Quinn Erin Reilly. Black Irish?”

“That’s what Pops—my grandfather—calls it.”

“A little Iberian Peninsula in your genetics.” He smiled. “Catholic?”

“Until Pops defected.”

“The one whose hound you’re named for?”

She nodded. “My father was out of the country when I arrived, and my mother wouldn’t act on anything without him. Before she knew what happened, Pops filled out the birth certificate. My father insists it was to keep me from receiving the Christian name he would have chosen.”

Morgan cocked a brow. “Pops on sketchy terms with heaven?”

She slanted him a look. “My dad became a minister in response to Corlin Reilly’s rabid apostasy. In retaliation, he adopted the most rigid faith he could imagine and built a church around it.”

“He could have changed your name.”

“It was only one skirmish in their war.” Though she’d always felt her dad gave up on her there and then, as if the naming gave her into the heathen’s camp. And truth be told, she loved Pops. He was a little like Morgan, larger than life without trying to be. It did break her heart that he battled as hard with God as with his son.

As the jet surged and lifted, he said, “How do you feel about Erin?”

She adjusted to the vertical rise. “It’s fine, why?”

“I think you should be Erin Spencer.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but Quinn glares like a spotlight.”

She had intended to change her last name when they married. Now she’d be losing her first as well. Even if Quinn came with baggage, it was her connection to Pops and her past. “Just on the certificate, right?”

“Bank accounts, credit cards. We want a good paper trail.”

Everything she needed and more. “Erin Spencer.” A tear leaked from the corner of her eye.

“You were ready to buy a false ID. What if the name available was Brunhilda?”

That forced a grudging laugh. “Guess I didn’t think it through. I thought I’d keep Quinn and—I don’t know—be myself still.” She pressed her fingers between her brows.

He reached over and drew her hand down. “None of this changes you.” The kindness in his voice quickened her spirit. “When you look in the mirror, you’ll be the same feisty female of diminutive stature, wayward hair, and winsome way.”

He was teasing, in a good way, his hand on hers warm and firm. “And hey,” he added, “we’re nearly straight Irish on my mother’s side. Erin’s a blessed name.”

His encouragement braced her like a fresh wind in her face. How did he know just what to say? Part of his
raison d’être
, she supposed.

“So I go by Erin too? I mean when we talk?”

“Talking with anyone. A clean break is safer.”

Erin Spencer. Erin. “What about my passport and everything?”

“We’ll get it figured out.”

“How can you be so sure?”

His smile went all the way into his eyes. Devastating. She hadn’t considered the greatest risk in all of this. Falling for him, heart and soul.

A rare snow was falling on the streets of Paris as the cab carried them from Orly Airport to the town hall, where Justine met them, kissing him on both cheeks and taking Quinn’s hand between hers in a warm welcome. “You know there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Morgan, but this haste has stretched even my influence.”

“I know. Thank you.”

An executive with Chanel, Justine was still as long and elegant as when she’d walked the runway. She had wealth, prestige, and close family in both the National Assembly and the Senate. A favor from Justine Gaudet was no small thing.

“You must still have the blood tests, and there is a doctor just down the street to perform them. You have the documents?” Her voice softened when she specified, “The
Acte de décès
?”

“Yes.” He’d brought Jill’s death certificate.

“The sworn translator in this
mairie
will transcribe your certificates of birth, certificates of celibacy—that you are not married already to others—certificates of law, that you are free to marry and your country will recognize it.”

He’d obtained the forms at the French Consulate in New York.

“The doctor will issue your medical certificates, and that leaves—” she made a slow blink and tipped her head—“the
attestation d’hébergement sur l’honneur
.”

He held her eyes. “I’m not asking anything you’re uncomfortable with, am I?”

“Do you think I would hesitate when you did so much to disguise what could have been so bad for us?”

She had struggled six years ago when he saved her father’s company, until she realized he had reorganized the power and reversed the corporate damage, without revealing the malfeasance caused by, as yet undetected, dementia that would have disgraced and destroyed the man.

Since he had lived in one of the family’s properties through the completion of not only the consultation but also the reorganization itself, her sworn statement that he’d met the residency required for this civil ceremony was passably true. Also, at her august urging, the mayor would waive the ten-day posting of banns. Without her, the marriage would not have been possible so quickly, if at all.

“Jean will arrive soon, and together we will witness the union. Your French is so bad—
c’est vrais?
—we could hire a translator, but only the witnesses are required to understand.” She smiled broadly.

He touched her arm. “
Merci
, Justine.
Merci beaucoup
.”

She leaned in and kissed his cheek again. “It is my joy.”

He turned and saw in Quinn’s expressive face that she was confused and visibly anxious.

Justine spoke to her. “Your fiancé did my family a great kindness, and I am happy for a chance to return it.”

Quinn nodded.

“So.” She gave him an address. “To the doctor with you; then back here. You can walk if you don’t mind the snow.”

“You call this snow?” He took Quinn’s hand, noticing she looked pale and skittish. “It’s a basic blood test and general checkup. In our case, practically a formality. Justine has arranged everything. She’s well connected, and her husband, Jean, even more.”

“Were they—I don’t know what to call it—clients?”

“I turned her father’s company around, but there were personal and private elements that made it especially sensitive.”

He felt her tension. From the moment they landed she’d looked faint. In the taxi, she’d chewed a nail to the quick and clenched and unclenched her hands enough times to work out her forearms. The prospect of marrying him must be daunting indeed.

The snow fell silently, disappearing upon impact. Around them, the city moved and breathed in a sort of hush, as though pondering his intention. You think you can marry this girl and pretend it’s nothing? Put this woman in your life and keep her at arm’s length?

Back at the town hall, with their blood test results and the rest of the documentation in order, Justine introduced the mayor, Henri Brun. He asked if there would be guests or other aspects to the civil ceremony. Did they need somewhere to change clothes? Having come straight from the airport in the clothes they’d worn to travel, his query made sense.

“We’d like it simple. An agreement,” Morgan managed in French.

The mayor nodded.
“Mais oui. Je comprends.”
Since he understood, they would begin.

“Wait.” Quinn turned, her eyes intense, two spots of color on her cheeks. “I have to tell you something.”

Seeing the seriousness, he asked everyone’s pardon and went off to the side with her. “What’s wrong?”

“He found me.”

“What?”

“My house is trashed. Everything I had, my furniture, my clothes, ruined. It must have been when I went to Dallas. Morgan, he found me . . . and this might be dangerous for you.” Tears sprang into her eyes. “I thought we could do this and I’d leave before you really got involved. But . . .” She closed her eyes. “That’s not fair.”

Taken aback, he processed not only the information but her timing. It must have been eating her up the whole time. “Who is this guy?” He had Anselm’s version but wanted hers.

“A con. A professional grifter who duped my father. I caught him at it and testified. But he’s out, and he wants me to pay.”

“He’s in Juniper Falls?”

“He was. Long enough to wreck my place. But, Morgan, nothing in there connects me to any of you. I promise. If he even took time to look. He probably just went ballistic.”

Morgan chewed his upper lip. He would call and warn Rick, but they were in France now. It took courage for her to tell, but it didn’t change the plan. He gripped her shaking hand and returned to the mayor and the witnesses, waiting curiously. When he’d reassured them it was no more than jitters, the ceremony proceeded.