Hunted (22 page)

The scraping was getting on his nerves. He reached over and jerked the utensils out of her hand.

“You carve the damn bird, then,” she muttered, going to work on the steaming pots on the stove. “Anyway, just stood there like a doe in the crosshairs. I started to get out those silky pj’s she always liked so much and she asked if her sweats were still here.” She whacked a large spoon on the side of the pot. “Girl wouldn’t have been caught dead in those sweats. I should know. She hated wearing them. Always said they made her look fat.” Another whack, and this time she slammed a lid down on the counter. Suzy whirled and shook the spoon at him. “You find out who hurt our girl, Jack.” Her body turned to include Gideon. “And you damn well help him. Make use of those gadgets you’re forever using.” Suzy took a deep breath, stirred and muttered.

J.D. heard a car and Samson barking. Great. “You got the car moved?” he asked Gideon, who nodded.

“I swear if that bastard Simon Dixon walked into my kitchen I’d serve his balls up to him on a plate.”

Gideon cleared his throat and seemed to ignore the remark as he said, “I think we all feel that way. I agree with Blade, we don’t want anyone else to know she’s here, Suzy.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Since when have I ever been stupid? I knew the first time you smoked a damn cigarette and Jack thought he’d snuck into the house. I reckon I figured that one out long before you or your brother did. And if either of you hope to pull anything over your Aunt Eve’s eyes you better try a bit harder.”

J.D. shook his head and walked out of the kitchen wondering how he could get rid of his relatives.

Chapter 16

Morgan sat in her window seat behind the curtain and watched as the last car pulled down the driveway. The house was quiet again except for Samson’s barking as he walked back and forth across the porch.

She’d sat up here, the faint sounds of the family Christmas below floating up to her occasionally. Uncle Brister’s rollicking laugh and Aunt Maybell’s carrying voice. Kids’ laughter mixing with something breaking at the bottom of the stairs.

Some things never, ever changed.

Thank God.

“That the last one?” Lincoln asked quietly from the corner, where he was sprawled on her periwinkle chaise.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I think that was Aunt Eve that just left. I always liked her.”

But she hadn’t wanted to even see her eclectic, easygoing aunt. Not tonight. She didn’t want to see anyone. She glanced through the dark toward the chaise. Yet she didn’t mind being around Lincoln. He calmed, soothed the worries and fears in her.

What would she do when he left? He’d been an anchor to her through all this, always there, even when he was domineering and didn’t ask her opinion, he was there—protecting.

Confused, she looked back to the window.

“Morgan,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“I’m leaving in the morning.”

She sighed. “I know.” Anxiety fluttered in her belly. “Part of me is glad, the other is . . . ” She trailed off.

“The other is what?” He shifted, his clothing hushing over the brocade.

“The other part is scared and wishes I could keep you.” She smiled.

For a moment, he said nothing, then, “You’ll be fine, Morgan. I don’t doubt it. Though promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“That you’ll let someone help you. You were supposed to see Dr. Rothillow, but with things left as they are, I don’t see that happening. Shadow’s creating a list of possible doctors that would specialize in something like this.”

She didn’t want to see anyone. Didn’t want anyone to know.

“I mean it, Morgan.” He shifted again and sat up. “This is too big, too dark to simply shove aside and hope it goes away.”

Morgan sat still as he stood and walked to her, the shadows and light from the windows slashing across him. “Promise me.” His black eyes stared down at her, yet she couldn’t read them. His hand came up and brushed her hair away from her forehead. “You deserve peace and happiness and I won’t let you achieve less than that.”

There was something . . . His voice held an edge, a tension, and she felt it; the hum that always surrounded him seemed to grow louder. Not screaming, yet not as calming as he normally was.

Slowly, she pulled her head back. Wanting some space she said, “I’ll see whoever you recommend.”

His eyes glittered down at her, then he nodded once and turned to the door, exhaling. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

Morgan watched as he opened the door and shut it behind him. Her shoulders relaxed and she breathed deep.

Why couldn’t she find any level ground? Why did everything feel like it was shifting? Tired of thinking, not being able to reach any answers, she stood.

She wanted to see the family Christmas tree with all the old ornaments on it from her childhood that her and Mama had made. She reached down and pulled the thick white socks tight on her feet; slouchy socks annoyed her.

Morgan stopped at the door. Maybe she’d give her brothers a bit longer. Perhaps they’d go to bed. She really wasn’t ready to face them yet. There was no telling what they thought of her after her performance earlier. At Lincoln’s words, at knowing he was on the phone, she couldn’t help her reaction. The fact he hadn’t answered her question on the dead girl answered the question itself. Some woman, who looked like her, turned up dead outside of Prague. She shivered, rubbed her hands over her face, and wished . . .

What? That things were different?

On a muttered curse, she paced. Things were not different. But she was at home and she’d deal with this. She would, damn it. She’d dealt with and survived
everything
else. She would just take a day at a time. How hard could normalcy be?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her room smelled like lavender and vanilla, or maybe she was just imagining it. She’d never noticed her room smelled before. She hadn’t been in this room in several years. There had been high school at the private academy Jackson had forced her to attend. Then she’d enrolled at the University of Texas in Austin, but dropped out when offered the modeling job. Then came a string of hotel rooms, suites, flats. Until Simon. Until Prague.

She sat on the bed, the purple and yellow star quilt bunching under her. She ran a hand over the soft worn fabric. The memory of fighting with Jackson over changing her room flitted through her mind. She’d wanted black, then leopard print, followed by screaming red if memory served. She’d always fought with her older brother. And he’d been right most of the damn time. With the room. The room, the boys, her modeling—he said it would ruin her—and then there was Simon.

Gathering the crocheted throw off the end of the bed, she wrapped it around her and stood.

She couldn’t sleep. At least not in this bed. The white iron head- and footboard brought back too many memories of similar beds, of stench and sex. Maybe she’d just sleep in the window seat or on the floor.

She hadn’t realized it, but the bed at the hotel, the ones at the safe house, were either solid wood or didn’t have head- and footboards. She’d been bound to too many of the damn things. She knew just the rattle of this frame would give her nightmares.

Maybe she could wait a while before mentioning getting a new bed to Jackson. It wasn’t like she had the right. Unless she, by some miracle, still had some of her trust fund left. After all, she would have counseling bills. Lincoln was right. She wanted happiness and peace enough, she’d see someone. She didn’t have to tell her brothers. But the fear they somehow knew, could somehow tell, prickled her skin.

She grabbed the doorknob and jerked open the door. Voices from the kitchen floated up the back stairs. They were still up.

Feeling cowardly, she softly closed the door and walked to the window seat.

There would be questions. Questions she simply wasn’t ready to answer. She’d wait. Wait until tomorrow. Tonight she could hide. Just one more day while she could.

Exhaustion pulling at her, she crawled into the cubby she’d loved since she was a child.

* * *

J.D. and Gideon sat in the kitchen. They’d helped Suzy clean up after everyone left. The last had been Eve, who was confident that Morgan would return one day. Out of all his extended relatives, she was the only one he felt connected to. She was different, bohemian, eclectic and vivacious with her dark curly hair, peasant blouses and skirts that most would look ridiculous in, but she was simply Aunt Eve.

He sighed and sipped his scotch.

Gideon didn’t say a word. The silence between them needed no words. They were both worried and baffled, confused and angry at their sister’s return.

“Where the hell has she been?” he muttered, taking another sip.

Gideon shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. “Jack, we’ll figure it out. In due time. I have a feeling Morgan is actually resting.”

“Yes, but is Blade in her room?” Why that detail should matter when Morgan was twenty-five was beyond him, but damn it, she was his little sister.

Gideon scoffed. “Not that it’s really any of our business, but no. I saw him go to his room a bit ago.”

“Think their lovers?” J.D. asked, sipping.

Gideon shrugged. “There’s something between them, and you’d know more about intimacy issues than I would since I don’t keep one woman around long enough to connect with.”

Molly. Damn. “I guess I should call her.”

Without a word, Gideon stood and slapped him on the back. “She was as worried as you these last months. She even called me to see how you were doing.”

Jack shook his head. He and Molly might be married, they just couldn’t live together for some reason. Well, he knew the reason and tonight was not the night to think about it. Instead, he leaned over and grabbed the phone as Gideon walked out of the kitchen and up the back stairs. He dialed the Austin number from memory and waited while it rang. Then her husky voice floated through the phone and he knew he’d woken her up.

“Hello?”

“Molly?” he leaned back in his chair.

“Jack? What? It’s . . . What’s wrong? What’s happened?” She became more alert with each question.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just wanted to call and let you know that Morgan—”

“Oh God.”

“No, Molly. No. She’s here. She’s come home.”

For a moment the voice at the other end was silent. He’d often wished things had either worked out for them or that they would be able to let each other go. Since neither of them seemed capable of those options, they remained in limbo. Most days he didn’t think about it too much. But tonight . . . Tonight he wished . . .

“I’ll come up tomorrow. Will that be okay? Or I could pack now and be there by . . . what the hell time is it?”

“Nearly midnight. No, I’d rather you not drive tonight.” He’d love it if she did, but he wasn’t going to ask that.

He wondered briefly if there was someone there with her and shoved the thought away before it could take root. Not his business if there was. Wasn’t like he hadn’t dated, or screwed, another woman in the last few years.

“I could leave now, Jack. Is she okay?” Her soft voice floated over him as it always had, soothing as little could in this world.

He rubbed his face. “No, she’s not. Someone hurt her, she’s sick—or looks it, skin and bones. Not even when she modeled was she this skinny, Mol. And her eyes . . . ” He blew a breath out. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. I’m sorry for calling so late, but I thought you should know. I’d have called earlier this evening, but Morgan showed up right before everyone else and things got complicated. Gideon and I . . . we didn’t tell anyone she was here, giving her some time and everyone just left. So . . . ”

“So you called.” She sighed. “I can be there by four.”

He looked out the window. It was late. “Thanks, Molly, but no. Get some sleep and start out in the morning. You shouldn’t be driving this late.”

It was an old habit, one he’d never shaken—worrying about her and what she was doing, or should be doing.

“All right. I’ll get an early start. Maybe by five and be there around nine. All right, Jack?”

He nodded. “That sounds better.”

For a minute both were silent. Then she cleared her throat. “All right. Well . . . um . . . good night, Jack.”

“Molly?”

“Yes?”

I love you.
“Call before you leave in the morning, okay?”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “I do too, Jack, and I will. Sweet dreams.” With that she clicked off. He sat at the old scarred ranch table nestled in the breakfast nook in the dimly lit kitchen and stared at the phone in his hand. Feeling better, he hit the OFF button and smiled.

She’d always said that to him, every night when they’d gone to sleep.

Sweet dreams, Jack.

God, he missed her.

* * *

The night air was cold as she watched them shovel the dirt on top of Ebony, the dirt showering down, lightly pattering as it hit.

She shivered, still nude, too tired and scared to even rub her arms. The warmth of his hand on her arm sent more chills through her.

“No one escapes me. Tonight you had to learn that and I think you have. Now perhaps the rest of your punishment will have a bit more purpose.”

Punishment. The brothel? Or something more. More trips? Would he put her back down in the hole? She’d do just about anything not to go back down in the hole. She shuddered.

“You’ll never run, will you?”

The ground shifted and she fell, falling to her knees.

A gun at the base of her skull made her whimper. His voice sounded loud to her, dripping with malice.

“I’ll not only hunt you, but anyone that helps you.”

She looked down but the ground wasn’t there; instead a river ran red, a headless body missing its hands floated by, followed by another, a woman, she didn’t know. Then another.

No, please, no more. She whimpered again.