A Man Like Morgan Kane (9 page)

giving in to her desire. He'd treated her badly once, and she'd never forgiven him. In a way, he supposed he'd never really forgiven himself.

But he wasn't that same rebellious, self-centered young man he'd been sixteen years ago. If he had it to do over again, he'd take Beth with him when he leftBirmingham. But as the old saying went: Hindsight Is Twenty-Twenty.

AndBethanycertainly wasn't the same shy, insecure young woman she'd been when he left her. The girl he'd known back then never would have taken the initiative and led him into a passionate kiss the way she'd done last night. Nor would his sweet, trusting Beth have warned him that she was going to do everything in her power to control the desire she felt for him.

What he couldn't figure out was why, if she feared succumbing to their mutual attraction, she had allowed him to take the job as her bodyguard? If she'd asked for another agent, Dane could have sent Hawk or Denby, who were both between assignments. Seeing what a strong woman Beth had become, he didn't think she had given in to either Claudia's or Anne Marie's pleas to hire him. No, there had to be another reason. But what?

I want you—I need you—in my life right now, but not as my lover.

Why did she want him? Why did she need
him,
and not just any bodyguard? He would ask her, if he thought she'd tell him. But his instincts warned him that she wasn't ready to share any more of herself than she already had. The girl he had once known so well was an enigma to him now—a puzzle with several missing pieces. Sooner or later, though, he'd find those pieces and solve the puzzle. Then he'd have the answer to all his questions.

As long as her stubbornness didn't endanger her life, he'd letBethanyhave her way. But the minute circumstances changed—the minute another attempt was made on her life—the rules would change. For the time being, she could run the show; later she'd have to let him be in charge.

He stayed awake long after Beth and Anne Marie had gone to sleep. Once he'd checked the security system, he decided it was adequate enough to hinder any amateurs, but not a professional. Farraday's killer wasn't a professional, nor, he assumed, were any of Farraday's thousands of redneck fans. But Kane didn't intend to rule out anything or anyone in this equation. Beth's life could well depend on his highly trained skills and his almost infallible instincts.

He lay in bed, on top of the spread, and listened to the night sounds. An occasional chirping cricket. The howling of a dog several houses up the street. The slamming of car doors when neighbors returned home late.

And he thought aboutBethany. About how close she was. About how easy it would be to cross the hall and go into her room. He ached with the need to possess her, to find again the wild, sweet fulfillment he'd never found with another woman.

He slept off and on aftermidnight. Over the years, he'd grown accustomed to getting by on a couple hours or less of sleep a night. Then when an assignment ended, he'd crash for days.

He seldom used an alarm. His body possessed an internal clock that woke him early every morning. Part of his training. Part of the man the Navy had made him.

He woke before dawn, showered, shaved and dressed, then using his cellular phone, he made a few
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calls. When he interrupted Dane Carmichael's breakfast, he apologized.

"So what's so urgent you couldn't wait until I got to the office?" Dane asked.

"Later today, I'm going to fax you some information about the Jimmy Farraday murder case and I want you to look over everything I send you. Look it over with an unbiased, critical eye. I can't be totally objective. I'm personally involved."

"The woman, Bethany Wyndham, was married to a relative of yours," Dane said. "According to Maxine Carson, it was very important to your mother that you take this case. I wondered how you'd handle the situation since Ms. Wyndham is practically family."

"There's more to it than that," Morgan admitted. "Years ago … before I went into the Navy, I was involved withBethany."

"She was your girlfriend?"

"Yeah. She was mine."

"And there's something still there, between the two of you? If there is, you're a fool to take the assignment. You know the first rule of a good agent is to never become personally involved. When you care too much—hell, when you care at all—you make mistakes."

"I can't walk away and leave her. She needs me." Morgan gripped the phone tightly. "I walked out on her once before. But not this time. I owe her."

"Just be careful that your desire to make amends doesn't wind up getting you in trouble and putting your client's life at risk."

"If things escalate around here, I might need assistance. If I send for another agent, I'd like for you to send Hawk or Denby."

"Denby is going out on a new assignment today, but if Hawk's free when you need someone, I'll send him," Dane said. "But if he's on a job, you'll have to settle for whomever I have available."

The other agents atDundee's were trained professionals, but Kane had never worked with any of them, didn't know them personally the way he knew Hawk and Denby. He'd trust his life to either of them.

They were the best at what they did. He didn't know a damn thing about Denby's past, not her age, her place of birth or the natural color of her hair. But he knew she was a sharpshooter with a black belt in karate. And she could out-think, out-smart and out-drink just about any man.

All he knew about Hawk's past was that the man had been a CIA operative. And something had happened nearly three years ago on his last assignment that ended his career.

Morgan decided to call Hawk and obviously interrupted a romantic moment.

"Damn you, Kane. This had better be important," Hawk said breathlessly.

"If you're busy, I can hold on for a couple of minutes." Morgan chuckled.

"I'll call you back."

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Morgan grinned as he turned off his cell phone. Hawk seemed to thrive on a succession of one-night stands. Women were drawn to the big, dark man like flies to manure. Wild women. Wicked women.

Married women. Bad girls and ladies alike. Despite or perhaps because of the fact that Hawk projected an image of being bad to the bone, women couldn't resist him.

"Yeah, what's up?" Hawk asked, when he returned Morgan's phone call a few minutes later.

"Obviously not you anymore," Morgan said.

"Cut the cute remarks. Why are you calling?"

"I'm on an assignment that I figure is going to require two agents sooner or later," Morgan told him. "I asked the boss to send you if I need someone."

"Let me guess. He said fine, if I was still available."

"I want you to stay available."

"Level with me," Hawk said.

"The case is personal. I want only the best. And that's you."

"I'll stay available. Might even take a little vacation myself for the next week or so."

"Thanks. I owe you one."

After finishing his conversation with Hawk, he tossed his suitcase on the foot of the bed, unzipped it and removed the remainder of his clothes. He hung his two suits and various slacks and jackets in the closet, then returned to the open suitcase and lifted out his shoulder holster that sheathed his 9mm Sig. The well-made German gun was an expensive piece of equipment, but worth the cost. The Sig Sauer was a very accurate semiautomatic that could pump out fifteen rounds. Accuracy and dependability were important qualities to a man in his line of business.

Morgan strapped on the holster over his blue oxford cloth shirt.Bethany's bedroom door opened. He tensed. Turning his head slowly, he glanced out into the hall. Their gazes met and held for a split second, then she looked down at his shoulder holster, and her mouth parted into a surprised oval.

He quickly lifted his navy blue jacket off the bed and slipped it on, then nodded toBethany. "Good morning."

"You have to wear it, don't you?" She glared at the slight bulge beneath his jacket. "You know the odd thing about my being accused of Jimmy's murder? I hate guns. The only reason I even own one is because Seth bought it for me after I was mugged several years ago."

"Guns are dangerous weapons," he said. "But a gun is only as good or bad as the person who uses it."

"I know."

Morgan remembered thatBethanyhad been pretty, but his memories couldn't compare to the beautiful woman she had become. Slender and elegant in her neat mauve suit, she stood just outside his open door
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and stared at him, not even trying to disguise the hunger in her eyes. Had she spent half the night thinking about him, wanting him the way he wanted her? Had she fought the temptation to cross the hall and seek him out?

The minute he took a few tentative steps in her direction, the look of longing disappeared from her eyes and she glanced away.

"I hope you don't mind toast, cereal and coffee," she said. "Anne Marie and I aren't big breakfast eaters."

"Coffee and toast are fine." Rushing out into the hall, he caught up with her before she reached the stairs.

He grabbed her arm. She stopped, but didn't turn to face him. "We need to talk about what happened last night."

"There isn't anything to talk about. Nothing happened last night." She pulled out of his grasp and hurried down the stairs.

Morgan hesitated on the landing, watching while she scurried toward the kitchen. His initial reaction had been to chase after her, confront her and force her to tell him why, if she was so afraid of him, she had hired him as her bodyguard.

"Hey, there." A barefoot Anne Marie, wearing a short, blue denim jumper and red T-shirt, eased open her bedroom door and stuck out her head. Thin strands of her long, golden brown hair spiked out from the large electric rollers covering her head.

"What did happen last night?"

"Last night?" Turning around, Morgan shrugged. "What are you talking about?"

"That's what I want to know," she said. "I heard you tell Mama that you needed to talk to her about what happened last night, and she brushed you off. So, what gives? What happened? Did you kiss her?"

Morgan crossed his arms over his chest, cocked his head to one side and gave the girl a speculative stare. "Are you in the habit of putting your cute little nose into your mother's affairs?"

"Mama doesn't have affairs." Anne Marie stepped out into the hall.

"Not even with Seth, who is the only man to ever spend the night here?" Morgan asked.

Anne Marie's smile turned into a giggle, which quickly erupted into laughter. "You're jealous, aren't you?

You don't like the idea that Mama might have a boyfriend."

"Young lady, you have an overactive imagination."

"Nana told me that you and Mama were a hot item once. I can't think of anyone I'd rather my mother become involved with than you. After all, you were her first love and—"

"Don't go inventing any fairy tales casting your mother and me as the main characters," Morgan said. "I'm in your mother's life temporarily, to keep her safe. Just until we find Jimmy Farraday's real murderer."

"You don't already have a steady girlfriend, do you? You're not engaged or anything?"

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"I'm not the kind of man who becomes involved in long-term relationships. Now, I've said all I'm going to on the subject. You'd better get ready and go downstairs for breakfast." He glanced at his wristwatch.

"It's nearlyseven o'clock."

Wearing a defeated look, Anne Marie went back into her bedroom and closed the door. Then suddenly she swung the door open and called out to Morgan just as he started down the stairs.

"Morgan?"

"What now?"

"If you promise not to break Mama's heart, I won't mind if you and she have an affair."

Before he could even think of a reply, she slammed shut her bedroom door. Hell! Of all the things for a kid her age to say. Tall and big for her age, she looked seventeen, but he figured she couldn't be more than fourteen, possibly fifteen soon. Kids these days were exposed to too much garbage. They grew up too fast and knew too much too soon.

The smell of fresh-brewed coffee lured him toward the kitchen. He foundBethanysitting at the square pine table in the sunny, yellow breakfast nook, a cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other.

He spied the coffee machine sitting on the black-and-white-flecked granite countertop beneath the white cabinets.

"Mugs and cups are in the cabinet on the right,"Bethanysaid, without glancing up from the paper.

"Thanks." He retrieved a mug, poured a cup of hot, black coffee, then walked over and pulled out one of the Louis XVI-style chairs covered in red white and black plaid. His mother was the only other woman he knew who would use such fancy chairs in a kitchen. But he had to admit that despite the elegance of the style, the chairs seemed to blend into the casual atmosphere of the room.

Sitting across fromBethany, he put his mug down in front of him. "Your daughter has given me permission to have an affair with you."

Bethanystrangled on her coffee. Her face flushed. She crumpled the edge of the newspaper in her hand.

Coughing several times, she cleared her throat, then glared at Morgan as she placed her cup in its saucer.

"She did what?"

"For some reason, Anne Marie thinks you need a man in your life. Someone besides Seth. And she's chosen me to be that someone."

"What did you tell her?"Bethanythrew the paper down on the table and balled her hand into a fist. "Did you lead her to believe that you and I have any kind of future together? So help me, Morgan, if you've given her any ideas about—"

Lightning quick, he reached across the table and grabbedBethany's wrist. "Don't blame me for your daughter's romantic notions. Before I ever met her, she'd formed an opinion of me as some kind of knight in shining armor. Now I think she sees me as her mother's Prince Charming."