Return of a Hero (15 page)

Probably still trying to find out something about Morgan. Hiding her worry, Laura smiled. “Thanks, Pop. I’ll see you later.”

“Sure thing.”

Laura waited until Pop had disappeared back to his guard-dog station at the entrance to this particular vault section. Then she opened the file cabinet, and was faced with hundreds of pieces of paper tightly squeezed into the drawer. Sitting down, she pulled the first handful of papers out into her lap. She was used to this routine, having done it for years when culling for information for a military article or for one of her popular books.

Her mind kept wandering back to Morgan, who had gone over to the main library in Washington, D.C., to dredge up any and all information on Hill 164. Tonight, when they arrived back at her house, they would compare notes.

Morgan lifted his head from the copied papers he was reading. It was 5:30 p.m., and Laura was half an hour late getting home. She appeared at the doorway, her eyes red with tiredness. Sasha bounced out of the kitchen and met her in the living room, whining her welcome, thrashing her thick tail from side to side. Laura leaned over to pat her affectionately.

Getting up, Morgan asked, “How’d your day go?”

She put her coat over a chair and brought the briefcase to the table. “So-so. Yours?”

“So-so.” She looked lovely, and Morgan was pleasantly surprised as she stepped up to him and placed her arms around his neck. Laura rested her head against his chest, and he folded his arms around her, relishing her firm body next to his.

“You look beat,” he murmured, brushing her hair with a kiss.

“Disappointed,” Laura admitted, rubbing her cheek against the cotton shirt he wore. “I should know better, Morgan. Things like this take time. I must have read hundreds and hundreds of documents today. Most of them were company commander reports from all over Vietnam. They’re not categorized by corps areas, so it’s like slogging through peanut butter.”

Laughter rumbled in his chest, and he smiled down at her. “Peanut butter, huh?”

The warm invitation in his eyes made Laura vividly aware she was a woman. “Yes, peanut butter. Are you hungry?”

“I am.”

Laura heard the huskiness in his voice, and realized her question had dimensions to it beyond food. She saw the amusement in Morgan’s eyes and managed a wry smile. “Maybe I should rephrase the question.”

“Maybe you should.” Morgan felt himself growing turgid with his need of Laura. She was like a light, flexible willow within his arms. The lamp on the ceiling highlighted her blond hair, creating a halo effect about her head. There was an angelic quality to her, Morgan decided, holding her lustrous gaze. His need to make love with her dissolved in the reality of the situation. Right now, he was considered a traitor to the U.S. government. If he couldn’t clear his name, there would be no future for him and Laura. And he wanted one with her. Looking deep into her wide, trusting eyes, Morgan realized she was equally serious about him.

All the reasons he should keep his distance melted as he drowned in the warmth of her blue gaze. Without meaning to, Morgan tightened his arms, pressing Laura against him, feeling her softness against his mounting hardness. A groan tore from deep within him as he saw the invitation in her eyes, in the parting of her mouth.

Breath caught in Laura’s throat as she read Morgan’s intent. She hadn’t expected it, was completely unprepared for it as he leaned down, his mouth claiming her—the heat building and then exploding as he moved his lips hungrily against hers. His mouth devoured her, his teeth grazing her lower lip, teasing her into returning his fervent plea. A little cry of surrender arched up through her, and she sagged against him, returning his fire with equal passion. Seconds spun into timelessness as reality melted under the volcanic effects of his mouth devouring her.

Abruptly Morgan broke contact, breathing hard. His eyes narrowed on Laura’s flushed features. The pulse at the base of her throat was erratic, telling him just how much his unexpected kiss had affected her.
Fool!
he berated himself, suddenly releasing her and stepping away. It should never have happened! Angrily he swung around, busying himself at the counter.

Stunned, Laura stared at Morgan’s powerful shoulders and back. Her lips throbbed from the force of his kiss. Feelings of disappointment swirled amid the clamoring desire he’d suddenly released within her. Morgan was male in every sense of the word, and Laura wanted to worship his strong mouth. But feelings of shame mingled with her excruciating need. Realizing he hadn’t meant for the kiss to happen at all, she moved back to the table and pulled out the photocopies she’d made. Her hands shook as she retrieved the papers.

“You might want to look at these while I get dinner.” Laura heard the unsteadiness in her voice and winced. Would Morgan notice it, too? She risked everything, looking toward the counter, where he stood cutting up a green pepper.

Morgan barely allowed himself to turn his head. Sweet God in heaven, but Laura was so beautiful and unsure of herself in those moments after his embrace. Guilt tore at him. Her mouth was pouty from the strength of their kiss. Had he hurt her? He hadn’t meant to, not realizing until this moment how much he’d been wanting to kiss her, love her. Clearing his throat, he growled, “Yeah, as soon as I get this salad prepared.”

Swallowing at the hardness she saw in his eyes, Laura again felt the euphoria he’d given her shatter. He was sorry he’d kissed her. It had been a mistake. Her heart disagreed—she’d been wanting to kiss him, love him…. Forcing more strength into her voice, she asked, “Want some help cooking?”

“I’ll finish things,” he said gruffly. “Go take it easy for a while. Dinner will be ready in half an hour.”

Shaken by his sudden coldness, Laura nodded. He was erecting those walls he hid behind so effectively. “Let me go change,” she heard herself say in a monotone. “I’ll be out in about fifteen minutes.” She needed the time to splash her face with cold water and stop her senses from spinning.

“Fine,” Morgan agreed, scowling. He watched Laura leave the kitchen, with Sasha trotting at her heels. Even the slight sway of Laura’s hips enticed him. She was irresistible, he decided, forcing himself to pay attention to what he was doing. A graceful, feminine woman with the ability to help him rise above his own shadowy, uncertain world.

Fifteen minutes later Laura joined Morgan in the kitchen. She’d changed into dark-green slacks and a long-sleeved white blouse with a ruffled collar. Taking an apron from a drawer, she wrapped it around her waist. Whether Morgan wanted help or not, she needed to get rid of the nervousness she still felt after his breath-stealing kiss. Sasha came over and sat on the floor at the end of the counter, watching her mistress with adoring brown eyes.

“I found out Jim Woodward is still snooping around.”

Morgan lifted his head, frowning. “Oh?”

Taking out a skillet, Laura set it on the stove. “Yes. But I guess he hasn’t found anything yet, because Pop, the guy who takes care of the vault material, said he’s down there when time permits.”

“If he discovers who I am before we find anything—”

“We’ll find it first,” Laura insisted, taking two steaks from the refrigerator.

“Getting stubborn about this, aren’t you?” Morgan grinned.

“Jim may be a public relations officer, but he isn’t an archivist like I am.” Laura placed some butter in the skillet and waited for it to melt. “Give me another couple of days with those Vietnam files, and I’ll have a good idea of how they’re arranged. Once I get a feel for the system, I’ll be able to locate Hill 164 documents more quickly.”

“Good. I’m going back to the library after dinner. They don’t close until ten, and I want to keep reading and taking notes.” Morgan grimaced. “They sure as hell drummed me up as a traitor for the whole mess, didn’t they?”

Laura felt his pain. “Yes…yes, they did.”

“Next week Clay is going to come and start snooping in the classified documents,” he said. “Maybe, among us, we’ll come up with something.”

Let it be sooner, rather than later,
Laura thought, placing the steaks in the skillet. Jim Woodward might be slower than her at finding items in the millions of documents kept in the vaults, but he was thorough. How many weeks would it take before she could turn up some scrap of evidence—a finger pointing in the right direction? And if she didn’t, then it would be even more important for Clay to come up with something.

“I think,” Clay said, looking at both Laura and Morgan, “that this might mean something.” Dressed in his khaki uniform, he took off his cap and tossed it on the table. From his leather briefcase he unfolded a piece of paper and handed it to them.

Morgan rubbed his watering eyes. For the past week, he’d been spending long days and nights poring over information that Laura had collected. She leaned over his shoulder as he spread the paper out on the table so they could both read it.

“I found this in a special unclassified part of Section B,” Clay explained. “If it had been classified, I couldn’t have made a copy and brought it out.”

“It’s a memo from then General Kip Young to Richard Hadden, CIA Assistant Chief of Operations,” Morgan said, his brow wrinkling.

Excitedly Laura pointed to the date. “Look, this memo was written one day after Hill 164.” She knew from long experience that certain declassified files were kept in Section B. Only military officials were allowed entry to that area.

Clay leaked a small grin. “Yeah, but look what it says.”

Laura reached over, one hand on Morgan’s arm. She sensed the strength of his muscles beneath her fingertips, and felt once again how much she was drawn to him. “‘Must initiate detailed public relations offense concerning Operation Eagle,’” she read aloud.

Morgan studied it over and over again, his fingers tightening on the paper. “Young was the general over us at the time. Armstrong was a colonel below him.”

Snapping her fingers, Laura quickly got up and went over to the kitchen counter, where, over the course of the week, she had begun placing certain documents in specially numbered piles. Rummaging through one stack, she pulled out a piece of paper. Her eyes shone in triumph as she brought it over to the men.

“Look at this.” She traced the words “Operation Eagle” in the document. “This is a general communiqué from Armstrong to Young three days after Hill 164.”

Morgan read the long, detailed document. “Most of it has to do with taking care of the bodies of my men and getting them stateside,” he said. “Operation Eagle is mentioned, it seems, only in passing.”

Leaning over his shoulder, Laura read the last line of the communiqué. “‘Operation Eagle has been initiated.’” She looked at Morgan. “That could mean you had already been flown to Japan.”

Clay rubbed his jaw. “How can you be sure that Morgan
is
Operation Eagle?”

Straightening, Laura said, “We can’t be. Not yet. But the only coherent thread I’ve found so far is this Operation Eagle.”

“And if ‘Eagle’ is in reference to me,” Morgan added, “then this implicates Hadden at the CIA.”

“Which,” Laura pointed out, “ties in with what Armstrong admitted to you on his deathbed—that the CIA was involved.”

“At least you know
who
,” Clay said, grinning slightly. He looked at his watch. “I don’t know about you, but it’s time for me to hit the sack. I’ve got an early flight back to San Francisco tomorrow morning.”

Morgan rose, thrusting out his hand to Clay. “In two days you’ve done a lot. Thanks.”

Clay’s face became solemn. He gripped Morgan’s hand. “Believe me, no one wants to see the scum who really caused this fiasco caught more than I do.” A twinkle came to his eyes. “Why don’t you two do a little celebrating for me? Good night.”

Laura smiled as Clay rose. She went over and threw her arms around his shoulders, giving him a long embrace. “Thank you, Clay. I know how hard this must have been for you.”

He hugged her back, then released her, glancing significantly over at Morgan. “Better keep this woman, Trayhern. She’s real special.”

Flushing, Laura whispered good night to Clay and watched him retreat to the door, leaving for his hotel. She turned, and caught the naked look in Morgan’s eyes. Shaken by the intensity of his hungry stare, she gathered up the papers.

Morgan stood watching Laura. She had such long, graceful hands. She made writing a sensuous experience, he decided. His need to love her warred with his caution. The past week had consisted of late nights, early mornings and twelve-hour days of sifting through material at the library or archives. There had been no time for them.

He followed her with his eyes as she walked over to the counter to straighten the pile she had riffled through earlier. Frustration ate at him. He’d like to be able to take her out to a restaurant for dinner, but he couldn’t risk being identified. And they were sitting on a time bomb, with Jim Woodward continuing his investigation.

Laura felt Morgan’s gaze on her. Nervously she shuffled the papers. The past week Morgan had been moody and withdrawn. That unexpected kiss had been the reason. Still, she ached to be held and kissed by him again.

Frustration claimed Laura. Why was a kiss so wrong between them? He was acting as if it were a federal offense or something. She missed his arms, his mouth strong and hot against hers. Morgan was all the man she’d ever dreamed of—but obviously she wasn’t the woman of
his
dreams. She had been a disappointment…. The pain of his rejection cut her deeply, and Laura had no defense against the relentless wall of silence Morgan used as a shield between them. Taking a deep breath, she completed her duties with the documents and turned. Morgan stood in the center of the room, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, staring at her.

Need sizzled through her, and Laura managed a weak smile. “Clay’s right. It’s time to hit the sack. I’ve got an eight o’clock start tomorrow morning.”

The desire to bring Laura into his arms nearly drove Morgan to reach out. He forced his hands to stay in the pockets. “I’ll drive Clay to the airport tomorrow morning, then get back over to the library.”