I'll Never Let You Go (Morgans of Nashville) (3 page)

“Became known as my fighting shirt.” Alex had never gone looking for a fight, but when one found him, he never backed away. After eight weeks, the shirt had been torn, mended, and bloodied more times than anyone could remember. When it vanished from the wash, his mother had denied responsibility, but they all knew she’d finally thrown it out. Alex could handle the trouble, but their mom could not.

“Georgia also tells me you have a date.”

Alex could have asked how his sister knew about the date but didn’t bother. She had radar, a fact he’d accepted long ago. “Yep.”

“I thought she was joking.”

“No.”

“So who’s the lucky girl?”

“Leah Carson.”

“The veterinarian who takes care of Rick’s dog?”

Their brother Rick had been a canine officer who’d been allowed to adopt Tracker after the dog had been retired. “Yes.”

“How’d you meet?”

“Rick is boarding his dog at the vet’s kennel. I told him I’d check on Tracker while he was gone.”

“What’s special about Leah?”

“She’s Deidre’s new best friend.”

Deke nodded. “You set this up.”

“I did.”

“How’d you get Rick to board Tracker?”

“Told him I needed an undercover officer with four legs. He liked the idea of his canine working again.”

“And now you and Deidre’s friend are going on a date?”

“That’s right.” Digging his phone out of his pocket, he texted Georgia. R
UNNING LATE
. G
IVE MY DATE THE HEADS-UP
. B
UY HER A DRINK
. B
E THERE IN TWENTY
.

“What do you know about her?”

“Not much. But that’s the point of a date. To learn.”

“Mixing business with pleasure?”

When it came to catching the bad guys, lying came naturally to Alex. He did what he had to do. In his personal life he never lied. Leah was the first time black and white had muddied to gray.

“Leah’s the only personal friend Deidre Jones seems to have these days. Wouldn’t hurt to find out what she knows about Deidre.” Alex’s phone dinged with a text. W
ILL DO
. He slid his phone back into his pocket. “Have you gotten me a rundown on Deidre’s recent cases?”

“On my desk. I’ll send it tomorrow.”

Neither one of them liked the idea of investigating Deidre. But good cops went bad for all variety of reasons, and when they went bad, Alex had the unpleasant job of mopping up the mess. “I’ll call you when I have something.”

“Talk only to me.”

“Understood.”

Chapter Two

 

The freshly tattooed wedding vow ran along the twenty-six bones of his spine, entwined by a thorny, flowerless vine that coiled around and cut through the neatly scripted letters. A delicate sparrow fluttered above a jagged thorn and the word
Death
.

Each prick of the tattoo artist’s needle had been a painful reminder of the love he carried for his sparrow, a lovely wife who, confused and misled by lying friends, didn’t understand the true depth of his commitment.

Though she’d left him, he’d never stopped keeping tabs on her, and he’d tracked her to her rented town house near Nashville’s West End Park. He’d cried when she’d begun flirting shamelessly with men. When she’d begun sleeping with them, hurt had turned to rage. His little lark had turned into a whore.

Now, he sat in his dark truck parked at the corner of Fourth and Broadway. Across lanes of traffic, he watched her sitting in her car, the engine running. He knew her routine well. When she went out, when she met her new friend for a glass of wine, when she arrived at and left work. No detail was too small. Not one iota missed.

She got out of her car, locked it, and, hands tucked in her pockets with head ducked against a cold wind, and marched up Broadway. She paused at a honky-tonk called Rudy’s and, for a moment, stared into the large window, studying the crowd.

A slight smile tweaked the edges of his lips. “Looking for me, babe? Think I’m inside?”

After a pause, another woman approached her, and the two exchanged laughs before she tugged open the front door and they moved inside. He knew the other woman as well. His wife’s new best friend.

He shifted forward in his seat, leaning against the steering wheel as he watched her through the window. Rudy’s, buffered from the cold and alight with music and laughter, was packed with customers.

His wife pulled her scarf free and opened her jacket as she lingered on the fringe of the crowd. She wore a long-sleeved black turtleneck that accentuated her full breasts. Black hair hung loose around her shoulders. He didn’t like the new look. Too dramatic. Bossy. She’d made so many changes, and he hated them all.

She smiled and raised her hand. His gut twisted, imagining the smile for another man. Even with dark hair, she was a pretty woman, and men wanted her. Pretty women like his wife didn’t go to bars unless they wanted to find a man. His sweet wife now consorted like a barhopping slut.

Jealousy knifed through anger, allowing the sadness to bleed free as images of those perfect first days of their relationship flashed by. She’d once looked at him with such trust and unfailing devotion, as if only he could make her world better. Her love had empowered him, stroked his ego and washed away the demons of his own troubled past.

Those days had been perfect. And they were gone.

Now, his wife melted into the crowd, no doubt nestling into another man’s embrace. Kissing him. Touching him. Whispering seductive words in his ear.

He gripped the edge of the steering wheel and pushed his spine into the seat, grinding hard leather into the fresh tattoo. Pain shot up and down along his spine, firing along all the tender nerves in his back.

“I gave you everything. And you left me.”

The men and women who streamed into the bar all had a look. Short hair. Swagger. Frequent glances from left to right before entering. A tug of a jacket over a sidearm. Counting secondary exits. This wasn’t an ordinary bar. It was a cop hangout.

Took one to know one.

The badge had attracted her. Her father had died, and she’d been lost and alone. Afraid. She wasn’t a badge bunny, looking for a quick lay. She’d needed a man who could take care of her. Be strong. That sweet young girl had needed his protection. And he’d gladly given it, and his love.

Regrets swirled, fluttering like buzzing bees. Maybe he’d held on too tightly. Maybe he’d worried too much about where she went or whom she befriended. He’d always asked, pushed for answers, never satisfied and never noticing how she’d chaffed under his love.

Her abandonment had been devastating and jarring. Anger had receded to desperation and, immediately, he’d set out to prove his love. Flowers, letters, phone calls, visits to her new apartment. All were signs of
his love
. But the harder he held on, the harder she’d pulled away.

Regardless of how long they’d been separated, there’d be no surrender. He would never give up on her. Ever.

“Until death do us part, babe.”

Yeah, he’d made mistakes, but the vows they’d spoken had been clear.

“Until death.”

Chapter Three

 

No
should have been the operative word. No, thank you.
Thanks, but no thanks
.
Maybe another time
would have worked. But Special Agent Alex Morgan had caught Leah Carson off guard when he’d asked her out. With no excuses in her back pocket, she’d fallen into a
yes
before she could think twice.

Leah had sworn she’d never date a cop again, and here she was on the brink. She’d recognized the signs that he was a cop when he’d first entered the vet hospital. The way he moved. His dark, crisp suit. The controlled, careful gaze, always assessing. A cop through and through. She had known. Should have run.

His visits to the clinic all made sense of course. He’d been checking up on his cop brother’s retired canine cop dog that was boarding for a couple of days. According to the clinic staff, the Morgan siblings were all cops. A sister worked forensics. Two brothers worked Nashville homicide. And Alex was an agent with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation.

She inhaled and exhaled. This was a date. Not a relationship. Shouldn’t be a big deal to go on a date with a cop. Once. But it
was
a big deal. Everyone assumed cops kept you safe, right? They were the good guys, right? Sometimes. Most times. But not always.

“Come along,” Alex had challenged. “It’ll be fun.”

Fun
. The word hadn’t fit Alex Morgan. Straitlaced. His sharp, assessing gaze devoured details and nuances. And his even, controlled voice gave away nothing. He wasn’t a guy who did fun.

She’d been reaching for a quick
no
when he’d tossed in a very disarming smile, and for a split second, she’d been charmed. The
yes
had slipped out through a tiny crack in her carefully constructed barriers.

“Stupid.” She curled her fingers over her scarred palms as she glanced around the noisy restaurant. He’d offered to drive her to the bar, but she’d insisted on driving herself. Knowing where she worked was one thing. Knowing where she lived, another.

The energy of the bar, the loud taped music, the buzz of conversation and the clink of glasses swirled. Freezing temperatures had not chased away Rudy’s customers. Wall-to-wall mob. A crush. There were a few cowboy hats and men wearing western garb, but the majority had short-cropped hair, long-sleeved shirts, and well-worn jeans. Most had beers and many glanced toward the windows and doors. The ones who sat had their backs to the walls. Made sense that a cop would invite her to a cop function.

When she’d moved back to Nashville, her first stop had been Broadway and a cowboy boot store. She’d bought a midcalf-high boot with a pointed tip, tassels, and a heel tipped in silver. Oddly, she’d not worn the boots until tonight, and only impulse had made her put them on. Now the choice bothered her. The boots had a pay-attention-tome vibe, made her stick out just a little too much.

A long time ago, in another life, the boots wouldn’t have been a concern. A long time ago, she’d been a different person who didn’t worry about boots or cop dates. Now, doubts, like the bright neon signs on the strip, flashed. Too much? Too coy? Trying too hard?

Twenty-nine-year-old women should know what normal people did on dates. They were comfortable with men and enjoyed their company.

They. Had. Fun.

Index fingers absently traced the scars on her palms, still rough to the touch. The plastic surgeon had done his best to minimize the scarring, but palms were a tricky stitch job. The wounds had reopened twice and had to be restitched. Never fully fading, the scars always warned that sometimes smiles, even the best ones, hid evil.

Clutching her purse close, she glanced out the front window toward Broadway. The door was opened by a couple and the cold air cut like a whip. If this had been July, the streets would have been teeming with people, but on a cold January night, the sidewalks produced only the occasional group of partygoers burrowed in thick coats and wooly scarves. No one lingered or strolled. All hurried in and out of doorways.

Crowds or near desolation both offered advantages and disadvantages. Crowds offered cover. Empty streets gave her room to run.

A man caught her gaze, but hers quickly flittered away. Before her ex-husband, a stranger’s passing glance or a man’s seductive smile excited and titillated. Laughter came quickly and easily.
Yes
wasn’t to be feared. Thoughts didn’t have to be assessed and reassessed.

Philip had changed all that when he’d entered her life. Now, as she had a thousand times before, she wondered how she could have loved him. Married him. How did a smart woman miss the rising tide of suffocating attention and control? Exactly one year after they spoke their marriage vows, his final attack had left her with twenty-three knife wounds, nightmares, and unpredictable panic attacks.

The beat of the honky-tonk music pulsed in Leah’s chest, racing alongside her thrumming heart. Twenty feet separated her from the door and a clean getaway.

So easy
, fear whispered.
Leave while you can
.

Fear’s warnings had stopped her so many times. Too many nights spent huddled behind a closed, triple-locked door. Too many nightmares.

Fear had gifted her with it all.

“You’re not quitting,” she whispered.

Philip did not have the power to control her. After his attack, he’d vanished. Weeks later, his car had been found in South Carolina at the bottom of a ravine. The car had been badly burned, the body unrecognizable. The authorities had shipped the body and his belongings back to Nashville, and his grandmother had seen to his burial. She hadn’t attended the funeral, and had only visited the gravesite once before she’d left for Knoxville. That was to confirm the bastard was in his grave.

The front door opened to herald a few more laughing couples. No Alex.

Still time to leave
, fear coaxed.

No
, she insisted,
time to stay
. Turning from the cold blast of air, she embraced the warmth, the music, the laughter, and that
before
Leah, who might have been a bit naïve and trusting but who’d been fun. She’d had friends. No fears.

Tonight, she clung to the memories of the
before
Leah and banished warnings and prophecies of doom.

“It’s the deep end of the ocean, Leah,” she muttered. “Jump or dive?”

A petite redhead, her hair pinned in a loose riot of curls around her face, cut straight through the crowd over to Leah. “Dr. Carson?”

“Yes?”

The woman had a wide, welcoming grin. “I heard my brother Alex invited you tonight. Welcome.”

Leah searched her memory for the woman’s name, but it lingered out of reach. “Thanks.”

Reading Leah’s questioning expression, the woman’s smile broadened. “Sorry. Right. Forgetting introductions. I’m Georgia Morgan. Youngest of the Morgan clan. My brother Rick speaks highly of you. Loves the way you take care of Tracker.”

Tracker. The police canine boarding at her vet hospital. Her nerves relaxed. Dogs were safe, soothing territory. “He’s a great dog. We always like seeing him. Your brother Rick wasn’t happy about boarding him a few weeks ago.”

“It’s the first time he’s ever boarded the dog. He and his wife are having a great time on their honeymoon, but Jenna knows the dog is not far from Rick’s mind.”

Honeymoons meant happiness. New beginnings. Love. And on cue, she produced a practiced smile to hide the flicker of worry. “The dog is doing great.”

“So I hear.”

“Was it Rick’s idea to send Alex by every day to check on Tracker?”

Agent Morgan had appeared every day and stayed long enough to take Tracker outside and then speak a few words to her. He always varied his arrival times, a disciple of ‘trust but verify.’

Georgia laughed. “We Morgans keep an eye out for those we love.”

Keep an eye out for those we love.
The statement should have warmed her heart, but she filed the comment away under
potential threat
. “You’re close-knit.”

“We are.” Glancing toward the bar, she waved toward the bartender, an older man who’d shaved his head bald, sported a thick, bushy mustache, and wore a full, bright Hawaiian shirt that draped a rounded belly.

Leah followed Georgia’s gaze. “He looks annoyed.”

“That’s KC. He owns the place, and he’s giving me the stink eye because I’m supposed to be on stage in thirty seconds.”

She calculated the distance to the stage. “Thirty seconds. Cutting it close.”

Strong fingers with neatly shorn nails waved breezily around Georgia’s head. “Well timed, I like to say.”

Leah couldn’t help grinning. “Don’t let me hold you up.”

“I hate to give people what they want right away.” She lingered, questions dancing in her gaze as she sized up Leah.

“I understand you’re a very good singer. I work with a gal at the clinic who’s heard you sing a few times. I can’t wait to hear you.” A bubble of tension grew inside her.

“Thanks. I like to rock the house.” She turned, and then paused, as if remembering. “Alex just texted me. He told me to tell you he’s running late.”

“He could have texted me.”

“Didn’t get your number. Has the vet number, but not your private cell.”

“I must have forgotten to give it to him.”

“He won’t be much longer. He’s sent me five texts in the last half hour, updating me on his status.” She leaned closer, as if they were conspirators. “He’s communicated more this evening than in the last month.”

“I don’t picture him texting.” In truth, his tardiness gave her a chance to corral nerves that bucked out of reach despite her positive self-talk.

Maybe he’ll be so late you’ll miss each other entirely tonight
, fear said.
Maybe you’ll have a beer, hear some great music, and go home. No harm. No foul.

Georgia laid her hand on Leah’s arm. “If Alex says he’ll be here, he will.”

“Great.” She watched Georgia cut through the crowd, crack jokes with a few of the men and women, and take her place on center stage. The band behind her was comprised of two guitars, a drummer, and a fiddle player. The fiddle player sawed a few chords of “Fire on the Mountain” as Georgia wrapped her fingers around the mic.

Nestling her mouth close to it, Georgia asked, “You boys and girls ready for some trouble tonight?”

The crowd hooped, hollered, and clapped.

The heat in the room rising, Leah moved toward a coatrack and hung her jacket on a peg. Habit had her recounting the exits in the bar. Only two, and neither was easily reached. Tension rippled through her body. What had her therapist said?
Breathe in. Breathe out. You’re going to be fine.

Moving toward an open spot on the bar, she welcomed the task of getting a beer more than the drink itself. Something to hold would make her feel more normal for a second or two. Normal twenty-nine-year-old women held a beer, right? And then, once she got the beer, well, she’d worry about what came next.

As Georgia began a lively tune, a Taylor Swift song about boys and true love, the bartender, KC, caught sight of her almost immediately and lumbered toward her. “What can I get you?”

She smiled because people in lively places like this were supposed to be having a good time and people having a good time smiled. “A beer.”

He picked up a rag from under the bar and wiped the space in front of her. “Bottle or draft?”

“Bottle.”

From a cooler below the bar, he pulled out an iced bottled beer. She watched as he popped the top and set it in front of her. As she reached for money, he shook his head. “Alex said he’d cover the tab when he got here.”

Was everyone watching her? That should have made her feel protected, right? “How do you know I’m here with Alex?”

“He told me to expect a pretty petite brunette. And I saw you talking to his sister.”

He was complimenting her, and compliments prompted smiles. She smiled. “Thanks.”

His deep voice cut through the music. “Alex hates to be late. But that’s the nature of a cop’s job.”

“Makes sense. No schedule for crime and all.”

As Georgia’s voice rose and teased the edges of a high note, KC leaned closer. “He’s a hell of a good cop. Great guy. Bit of a control freak. In a good way of course.”

She sipped her beer, wondering if there was a good kind of control freak. “Of course.”

KC leaned on the bar, in no real rush to move along. “I hear from Georgia that you work at the vet hospital.”

The cold beer tasted good. “For about four months now.”

Beefy fingers swiped over a thick mustache. “What’re you, like a nurse?”

“Like a doctor. I’m a veterinary surgeon.”

A dark brow arched, and she sensed he’d checked off another box on a mental list. “A real animal doctor.”

Grinning, she raised the bottle to her lips. “I’ve got the papers to prove it.”

“Good for you.” A patron at the bar held up an empty glass and called out, but he waved him away. “So how did you and Alex meet?”

“At the clinic. Tracker introduced us.”

KC laughed. “Right. Makes sense. That dog gets around.” He turned to go, then paused. “You know, there’s nothing to be nervous about.”

She swallowed a gulp of beer. “I’m not nervous.”

He winked. “I used to be a cop. I know nervous when I see it.”

A direct gaze, she’d been told, conveyed truth and courage. “I’m not nervous. Must be fatigue. I worked a twelve-hour shift today.”

“My mistake.” His tone didn’t sound apologetic. “Your accent sounds like Nashville.”

“Born and raised here. Went to vet school in Knoxville, but as soon as I graduated, I came back home.” Maybe, if she tossed the guy a few easy facts, he’d back off.