Return of a Hero (18 page)

Minutes later, Morgan came out of the bathroom. And with the same brisk efficiency, he led Laura from the bed to a tub that was rapidly filling with steaming hot water. He stood inches from her, his hands resting on her slumped shoulders. Gently he moved aside her tangled wet hair, grazing her pale cheek.

“Listen, you get a long, hot bath and relax. I’m going to go downstairs and order us some lunch. When you’re done soaking, we’ll eat here, in your room. How does that sound?” Morgan felt the heat within him threaten to overwhelm him as she lifted those long, thick lashes, her eyes dark and shadowed with fear. Her lower lip trembled. With a groan he felt his heart dissolve beneath Laura’s look, pleading with him to kiss her.

Morgan’s breath was warm and moist across her cheek as he leaned down to claim her. Laura trembled as his mouth took hers with hungry abandon. She fell against him, hungrily returning the branding kiss that seemed to devour her with fire. As he ran his hands up and down her back and hips, she felt herself drowning in the glory of his ardor, sweeping through her like liquid heat.

Tearing his mouth from her lips, Morgan gripped her. Both of them were breathing raggedly. Laura’s lips were wet, inviting. He saw the swell of her breasts outlined by the lavender robe, the nipples pronounced, begging him to touch and tame them. How long could he continue to fight the natural beauty that came straight from her heart? Closing his eyes, Morgan gripped her shoulders hard.

“Get your bath, Laura.”

She swayed in his grip, her lips throbbing in the wake of his kiss. “A-all right….”

Tearing himself away from her, Morgan headed blindly out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He stood for nearly a minute, fighting his desire, fighting his primal need for her. Then, rubbing his face savagely, he forced himself to leave her room, lock the door and go downstairs to order their lunch.

Laura stared into her own eyes in the mirror. They were a soft powder blue. Her hands no longer shook as she combed through her just-washed hair. There was color back in her cheeks, but she knew it wasn’t so much from the bath as from Morgan’s fiery kiss that had claimed her very soul. Setting the comb aside, she applied lipstick, then dressed in a pale-pink blouse, blue jeans and dark fuchsia sweater.

There was a knock at the door. Laura answered it to find Morgan with two sacks of food in his hands.

“Come in,” she said breathlessly. Even now, she could see the pewter flame burning in his eyes. She shut the door, watching him place the sacks on the small desk.

Morgan stole a look at Laura as she came over to sit down. She looked vulnerable and beautiful in the jeans and sweater. “You look better,” he muttered. Did she hear the desire in his tone? He hoped not.

Laura opened the first sack and pulled out the contents. “I feel much better.” It was obvious he didn’t want to discuss their torrid kiss. But it was so hard to ignore his powerful masculinity and the desire in his gaze that her heart pounded with a swift staccato beat. She wasn’t hungry, but she knew she’d better have something. Morgan had ordered them turkey sandwiches, French fries and coffee.

“Here, you eat first,” she said, opening the second sack.

Morgan took a drink of the coffee, scalding his tongue. Damn! Staying around Laura was throwing his feelings into a tailspin. Frowning, he ate in silence. Just the way she held the sandwich in her slender fingers made him ache for her. There was nothing Laura did that wasn’t sensual in his eyes.

After lunch, Morgan gathered up the sacks and wrappers. “I’m going back down there.” He shot her a dark glance. “And I want you to stay here and rest.”

Laura looked out the window of the hotel room. It was pouring. Just the thought of going back into that slashing, freezing rain made her shiver. She watched Morgan put the sacks into the wastebasket near the bed. His shoulders were incredibly broad, his back strong and powerful. The look on his face told her not to argue with him. “When will you be back, Morgan?”

He picked up his damp leather jacket, shrugging it over his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

“Please,” she whispered, “don’t get caught out there after dark, Morgan. Don’t….”

Managing a tight smile, he came over to where she sat. “Did I tell you how pretty you look in that sweater?” He caressed her cheek longingly. “Gives color to your face.”

Laura cradled his face between her hands. “Morgan, be very careful, do you hear me?” The words
I love you
were nearly torn from her. She brushed her fingers through his damp hair.

“Sweet little swan,” he murmured, “I’ve got everything to live for now.” Her lips were soft and pliant beneath his brief, searching kiss. Morgan stood. Laura’s eyes were filled with anxiety and fear. “Stay here and keep the door locked. Don’t open it for anyone but me. Understand?”

Laura nodded convulsively. Gripping her hands, she watched Morgan leave the room. A coldness swept through her as she sat alone at the desk. Morgan was like warming sunlight to her existence. Uttering a little cry, she pressed her hand to her brow. “I love you, Morgan.” The words met a silent room in the wake of his exit. Would he be safe? What if Hombre found him? Suddenly Laura could not sit still. She got up and began pacing the rectangular expanse. Her heart ached with a new pain—one of fear for Morgan’s life. He’d nearly given his life for his country once, and had been accused of being a traitor. Now he had to face a different kind of war zone to reclaim his innocence. If only he could find Lenny Miles. If only…

Chapter Ten

“I
’m looking for Lenny the Rat,” Morgan told a young teenager standing just inside the door of a battered old hotel. The red-haired youth shrugged, blowing cigarette smoke out his pinched nostrils.

“Ain’t here.”

“Where, then?” Morgan moved inside the hallway, on guard. The boy, who couldn’t be more than sixteen, carried a knife in a scabbard just inside the leather jacket he wore.

The youth sized up Morgan with a disgusted look. “You a cop or somethin’?”

“No. I knew Lenny a long time ago, and I’m trying to find him.”

“Try the next flophouse down. The Rat usually sleeps in the basement with the rest of the sleaze.”

Morgan nodded. “Thanks.” He went back into the rain, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. Miserable weather for a miserable day. But he could remember far worse monsoon rains in Vietnam. This was nothing in comparison. Walking quickly down the concrete sidewalk spiderwebbed with cracks, Morgan kept his gaze on the five-story brick structure with broken windows where Lenny might be staying.

There was a group of teenage boys huddled in the doorway of the dilapidated hotel. The windows were patched with cardboard and tape, lending to the beaten image. Pulling his hands out of his pockets, Morgan slowly walked up the steps.

“Hold it right there,” a blond-haired boy warned.

Morgan halted within six feet of the group. They all wore the same style of black leather jacket with a tiger emblazoned on the back. “I’m looking for Lenny the Rat.”

“What for?” the blond youth challenged, standing with his feet spread, hands on his thin hips.

“I’m a friend of Lenny’s. I need to talk with him.”

“Frankie, he looks like a cop,” a black-haired boy growled.

The blonde grinned, confident with his cohorts surrounding him. “No cop is stupid enough to walk into Hombre’s territory alone, Mickey. You lookin’ to buy, mister?”

Morgan shook his head. “Drugs aren’t my style.”

“Then he’s a cop!” Mickey cried, pointing a finger at him. “Let’s cut ’im up and send ’im back to the precinct.”

His eyes hardening, Morgan stared at Mickey, then at Frankie. “You start anything and I’ll finish it. I’m not a cop. I’m here to find Lenny.”

Frankie lifted his chin, weighing Morgan’s growling rejoinder. “It’ll cost ya, mister.”

“How much?”

Frankie pursed his thin lips. “Say…a hundred bucks.”

“Lenny’s not worth more than ten bucks.”

Laughing sharply, Frankie moved lithely down the stairs, his skinny hand extended. “Deal.”

Taking a ten-dollar bill from his pocket, Morgan thrust it into the kid’s hand. “Take me to Lenny.”

“Hey, Mickey, take this dude to the Rat,” Frankie ordered, stepping aside.

The rest of the gang moved to allow Morgan entrance into the flophouse. The hallways were littered with garbage and bottles. An unpleasant odor stung his nostrils. Keying one ear to the gang members who remained at the door, Morgan followed Mickey deeper into the hotel. He didn’t trust any of them. He could be jumped at any time.

Mickey stopped and jerked open a door that was hanging by one hinge. “He’s down there with the rest of ’em.”

Nodding, Morgan moved to the rickety wooden stairs and stood for a minute, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gray light seeping through the pitifully few windows in the basement. Mickey left. Occasionally a snore, or maybe it was a groan, escaped from one of the fifteen or so sleeping figures huddled below him. He was glad Laura hadn’t come along. She couldn’t have handled this kind of scene.

Quietly Morgan descended into the basement. Most of the men and boys were sleeping, curled up on cardboard, or whatever they could find that was dry, to keep warm. He stopped at each person. Some remained asleep and he could tell they weren’t Lenny. Others awakened as he drew near, their eyes malevolent with warning to stay away. Morgan respected their distance as he moved carefully among them.

His disappointment grew stronger with each man he checked. Finally there was only one person left, in the far corner, wrapped in a tattered and filthy olive-green wool blanket. Morgan stepped through the clutter on the floor, making his way toward the sleeping figure.

Leaning over, Morgan gripped the thin shoulder through the damp blanket. Muttering, the man turned his face, his hooded eyes puffy slits.

“Miles.” The name came grinding out of Morgan. He tightened his grip on the man’s shoulder, forcing him against the wall.

Lenny looked up, his eyes widening. They were glazed over, indicating he was high on drugs. “No!” he croaked, trying to scramble backward but stopped by the wall.

“Hold still!” Morgan hissed, kneeling to grab the ex-soldier by his filthy collar.

Lenny was breathing hard, his voice high and off-key. “Captain Trayhern! No! It can’t be…they…they said you were—”

“Shut up, Miles. Shut up and listen.” Morgan leaned forward, baring his teeth. “You and I have some talking to do, Miles. I need you to testify for me. You’re going to clear my name. Now come on, get up!” He hauled the small man to his feet.

“But,” Lenny squealed, “I can’t! They’ll kill me! They said they’d kill me if I—”

“And I’ll kill you if you don’t testify about what really happened, Miles,” Morgan muttered savagely. He placed one hand on the addict’s collar and jerked one arm behind him. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”

“You can’t do this!” Lenny screamed, fighting weakly against Morgan’s superior strength and bulk.

“Like hell I can’t. Now move it, Miles.” He pushed him toward the stairs.

Lenny Miles was in a weakened state that alarmed Morgan. The guy was nothing but skin hung over bone. He’d gone downhill since Morgan had last seen him. Guiding Miles toward the entrance, Morgan saw that the Hombre gang had disappeared. Good. It would make his job easier getting Miles safely back to the hotel.

As he dragged Miles out of the house and onto the street, Morgan wondered how Laura would react to this disheveled man who had knowingly put the name “traitor” on him.

The heavy, persistent knock at her door sent Laura into a spasm. She leaped off the chair, running to answer it.

“Who is it?”

“Morgan. Meet me over in my room, Laura.”

“Okay.” She took the key from her purse and quickly opened the door, then walked out into the carpeted hall. Morgan’s door was open. As she entered his room, a stench assailed her, and she winced. When she saw Lenny Miles sitting unhappily on a wooden chair, she came to a halt.

Morgan kept a hand on Miles, not trusting him. “This is Lenny Miles,” he told her darkly.

Compassion swept through Laura as she stared at the unkempt, thin man. Lenny really did look like a frightened mouse.

“Let me go, Captain,” he wailed. “I don’t know nothin'!”

“Shut the door, Laura,” Morgan ordered grimly.

Lenny cringed when Morgan lifted him to his feet. “You’re sickening, Miles.” He shoved up the sleeve on the threadbare jacket Lenny wore. There were at least ten needle tracks, attesting to his shooting hard drugs. Turning, Morgan told Laura, “Get a bath ready. I’m going to scrub him until he squeaks. While I’m doing that, you go downstairs to the men’s store and buy him some decent clothes.”

Nodding, Laura did as he asked. In no time the bath was prepared. She laid out several towels, a fresh bar of soap and a razor. Lenny was stinking and dirty. That scraggly brown beard did nothing but make him appear more gaunt.

“The bath’s ready, Morgan,” she called.

Morgan had already stripped Miles of everything but his trousers. “Thanks. Now go get those clothes. You can take his filthy garments with you.”

Laura had never seen Morgan in this kind of a mood. His face was hard, and so were his eyes. This was his soldier side, the fighter side. “I’ll throw them in a paper sack,” she said quietly.

“After you get the clothes, put them in my room and then go to yours until I call you,” he ordered, dragging Lenny toward the bathroom.

Relieved that Morgan was safe and unharmed, Laura nodded and left. From the look on his face, he was ready to drown Lenny instead of wash him. Her hands shaking, she clutched the filthy remains of Miles’s clothes and made her way back to her room. She was sure that as soon as Morgan got him decent, he’d begin interrogating him. A cold shiver rippled up her spine. With the mood Morgan was in, he could hurt Lenny Miles badly.

An hour later Morgan called her. He wanted the tape recorder brought over. Grabbing it, Laura left her room and walked those few feet down the hall. The door to Morgan’s room was open, and she stepped inside. Morgan looked agitated, his sleeves rolled up on his forearms, the front of his shirt damp from Miles’s much-needed bath.