Morgan's Hunter (15 page)

“That isn’t the agreement you made with my father. You’re being paid for the month. When the month is up, I’ll put
myself
on a plane and go back to D.C.”

Her haughty tone irritated him. He put a little heat behind his words. “If I call your father and tell him what went on here today, he’ll come out and get you himself.”

She took a step forward. “You go ahead and call whoever the hell you want, but I’m not going anywhere. My father isn’t in charge of my life. I am. As I said before, if you’re out then get out, but don’t you dare talk to me as if the two of you make my choices.” She picked up her pack and headed back toward the ranger’s station.

Morgan walked down the steep path slippery with dry pine needles. As her anger faded, she slowed her pace, not wanting to get too far away from Hunter—not that he would allow that to happen. And if truth be told, the arrangement suited her just fine.

Followed. They’d actually been followed. She shuddered. The thought of having every move she made watched disturbed her. If Hunter hadn’t made her aware, she would’ve gone through her day oblivious, and that terrified her.

But why? Hunter was right. That was the question. How did a day hike to track an animal make someone nervous, and more, how had the person known their plans? She looked deep into the surrounding trees, wondering if she was still being stalked.

Hunter picked up his pace, walked closer, no more than four or five steps behind, and she relaxed. Morgan played back their latest argument, closed her eyes for a heartbeat. She didn’t want him to go and leave her here to do this on her own.

It shamed her to think she’d almost agreed with him. She’d almost let herself be talked into going back to D.C. without answers. Didn’t her friends deserve them?

A smile ghosted her mouth as she remembered their last night together—the music, the laughter, the fun. Shelly, Ian, and Tom had been so carefree, so
alive
. If only she had known. Her smile vanished as pictures of their violent deaths circled through her mind, replacing the good memories of an evening that seemed so long ago.

Her fault. She would never forget that three people died as a result of her poor planning. How many times over the last few weeks had she damned herself for not changing the teams? Why did she let Ian talk her out of it? Physically, Shelly and Tom had been the weakest of the crew and the terrain of Yellowstone so much more difficult than Maine.

What if they’d had to run for their lives? Shelly and Tom had never been very fast, and Ian never would’ve left them behind. Had they fought and struggled only to lose in the end? Would physical strength have made the difference?

She would never know, but she’d followed along with rash decisions, fully aware that the crew that went to Yellowstone never should’ve been there in the first place. And now she could do nothing more than find their killer or killers. She owed them.

Nothing was going to stop her—not fear, not her father, and definitely not Hunter.

She would stay, even if it meant she stayed alone.

Chapter 14

A
COOL FRONT MOVED THROUGH THE mountains during the last mile of their hike. Dark, heavy clouds and gusting winds promised a strong afternoon storm. Morgan opened the door to the station as the sky rumbled with thunder and the first fat drops of rain hit the ground.

When she and Hunter made it inside, she closed the door, stepped over to the large picture window and peered out into the storm-darkened forest. Weariness and worry consumed her, weighing heavy on her shoulders. With a small shudder she turned. Hunter stared at her, measuring.

“He’s gone. He didn’t follow us back.” Hunter walked to their room, stopped short at the door.

Morgan crept up behind him. “What are you…”

Hunter put a finger to his lips as he pushed her behind him. He moved forward, forcing the door open with a powerful kick. Wood slammed against the paneled wall with a loud crack.

The room was empty.

Morgan rushed in after him. He shut the door behind her, secured the lock.

“Hunter, what in the hell are you doing? What is your problem?”

With brows furrowed and lips pressed tight in a thin line, he glanced around the room. “Our door was open. I closed it before we left.”

“Maybe you thought you did.”

His eyes stopped scanning and locked on hers. “I know I shut it.”

Why was he making this into such a big deal? “It was barely cracked. I’m sure the wind caught it or something.”

“Yeah, or something.” Hunter took his suitcase from the closet and rifled through his clothing. “Boot up the computer and search your history. What’s on there?”

“Why?”

“Just
do
it.” He turned his on as well. “Look through your stuff. Is anything missing? Has anything been tampered with?”

Morgan pressed the power button on her laptop, glimpsed over her shoulder at the suitcases. Everything looked exactly as it had when they left this morning. “Is this another one of your ‘memorable lessons’?” She glared, hands on hips, as he spared her a glance. “I don’t know why you’re trying to scare me. I already told you I’m not going back to D.C.”

“I got that point loud and clear.”

“Are you suggesting someone broke into the station?”

“No, I’m
telling
you someone went through our stuff while we were gone.”

Frowning, Morgan scrutinized their space. Everything was in its place. “Give me a break,” she said without much conviction.

Doubt trickled through at Hunter’s look. The rigid set of his body and his humorless blue eyes certainly didn’t give her the impression he was joking. “I’m not kidding.”

“How can you tell? Nothing seems disturbed. I know someone followed us, but I think it’s a bit of a stretch to think they came here first. They wouldn’t’ve had enough time to do both.”

Hunter looked back at his computer. “Just trust me on this one.”

Morgan picked up her laptop, hit a couple of keys, accessing her security settings. She remembered the kiss he’d planted on her lips after he tackled her to the ground by the southwest trail—in the name of teaching her a lesson. His methods of proving his points left her unwilling to give in. “I think you’re being paranoid. I think...” A flashing red box popped up on her screen, alerting her to a failed log-in attempt. Her heart hammered in her chest. A loud blast of thunder shook the station, making her jump.

“Not so paranoid after all, huh?”

Morgan hadn’t missed the smug tone. “How-how did you know?”

“I get paid to know.”

“No, really, how could you tell? I’m looking around and everything seems the same.”

“I set my things up in a certain way so I can tell if anyone touches them. I always leave my stuff flush against the wall, creating a ninety-degree angle. The suitcase is now at eighty-five. The apple on my computer faced the other way when I powered it down before we left.”

“Oh,” she said lamely as she stared at his carry-on. “We should tell Robert and Miles. They might want to check their stuff too.”

“No, we aren’t going to say anything about any of this.”

Someone knocked on the bedroom door and Morgan jumped again. Hunter stood to answer. “Not a word.” He opened the door to a smiling Miles.

“Hey, I wanted to make sure you two made it back. That’s a pretty crazy storm out there.”

Morgan joined Hunter at the door. She gave Miles a warm smile. “We did. It’s certainly a loud one.” Thunder clapped as she spoke. She laughed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling when Mother Nature followed her cue.

Without warning, Hunter put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her close. She slid him a glance when his fingers caressed her shoulder in long, slow strokes, sending shockwaves of need through her body.

Miles glanced from Hunter to Morgan, cleared his throat. “Well, I’m glad you’re back safely. I’m on supper duty tonight. We usually eat around six if that works for you.”

Morgan pulled away from Hunter’s hold, fighting to steady herself. “It works just fine. Can I help out?”

“I’ll never turn down an extra hand.” He winked, grinned. “What do you say we get started in an hour?”

She smiled again. “Perfect.”

Miles walked off with a spring in his step.

Morgan closed the door with a snap. “What was that?”

Hunter wandered to the computer, sat down on the bed, staring at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about. “What was what?”

“You know.” She gestured wildly with fluttering hands. “Why did you put your arm around me that way, as if you and I were…involved?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

“You didn’t like the way he
looked
at me.” She put her hand on her hip. “And just how was he looking at me?”

Hunter’s eyes fixed on the laptop, held there. “Like he wanted to take a bite out of you. What kind of information do you store on this thing anyway? I’m trying to figure out what someone would want to access.” He pressed keys rapidly, breaking through her security systems within seconds.

She yanked the laptop from his hands, slammed the top closed, tossed it on the bed. “Forget the damn computer. Miles was being perfectly polite, and you were, once again, incredibly rude. We simply talked about dinner. What signal was he giving off, Bodyguard Phillips, that led you to believe I was somehow in need of your ‘protection’ at that moment in time?”

Hunter sneered as he shook his head. “He was mentally undressing you while you talked about the weather. Hell, Morgan, you were about to lose your panties before dinner even made its way into the conversation.”

Outrage left her staring. “You’re despicable and crude, but that’s beside the point. Who do you think you are? You don’t get to make decisions about my personal life. If Miles is looking at me as if he wants to take a bite out of me—” she emphasized with exaggerated air quotes “—that’s his choice. If I want him to take a bite out of me, that’s mine.” She turned toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I can’t be around you right now without wanting to hurt you. I’m going to help Miles with supper. We’ll eat early. You’ve got a hell of a nerve, Hunter, one hell of a nerve.”

She left the room without a backwards glance.

Morgan and Miles’s happy chatter drifted back to the bedroom while Hunter stared at the computer screen he opened again after she left. The rain drummed on the roof but failed to drown out Morgan’s laughter. The smoke and velvet sound had his stomach clenching, his fists bunching at his sides.

When he had all he could take, he strolled down the hall to the kitchen. During the half hour he spent alone, Hunter had time to think about what she’d said, knew she was right, and didn’t like it.

He stepped in the doorway, narrowed his eyes when Miles touched Morgan’s hips as he brushed behind her to get to the refrigerator. The kitchen was small but not that small. She glanced over her shoulder, smiling while Miles passed. She turned, met Hunter’s stare. Her smile vanished. She looked down and put freshly rolled meatballs in hot olive oil.

Robert walked through the front door with water dripping from his bright yellow slicker. “That’s one hell of a storm out there. Miles, we’ll have to check roads for washout later.”

“Great. That’s just how I want to spend the evening. Morgan and I are making spaghetti and meatballs.”

Robert’s gaze passed over Hunter before he gave Morgan a smile. “I look forward to it—smells great. We’ll have a hearty meal before we head out into this bitch of a storm.” He winced. “Begging your pardon, Morgan.”

“Don’t worry about a thing, Robert.” She dried her clean hands, walked over to Hunter with plates and silverware. She shoved them into his arms with more force than necessary. “Set the table for us,
honey
.”

His brows drew together as she walked away and smiled at Miles again. Oh, they were going to talk about this later.

Fifteen minutes later, they sat around the table with plates full of pasta and meatballs, garlic bread and salad.