Morgan's Hunter (17 page)

He glanced at the ceiling as steady sheets of rain began to pound on the roof. Wind gusted, battering against the windows, compounding the quiet emptiness of the cabin.

This was the perfect opportunity to take a look around. Perhaps a quick shake-down of Miles and Robert’s room wouldn’t be such a bad idea. There was no guarantee he would get another chance.

Hunter closed the fridge door with a snap—his snack could wait until later. He made his way to the front of the house, double checked the locks for the third time. Confident the door and windows were secure, he walked to his room, grabbed a small flashlight from his pack, glanced at Morgan once more before heading to the next room.

Hunter turned the cheap chrome knob, opening the door to darkness. The vague scent of Old Spice wafted through the small space. He stepped inside, using the harsh bright light of the hallway to do an initial scan of the room. He made a mental note of the way everything looked, determined to do a hell of a lot better job than the person who’d been through his and Morgan’s stuff earlier.

Hunter wasn’t exactly sure of what he was looking for, but he had little doubt he would know if and when he found it. He started in the closet, sliding his fingers up and down the shirts and pants hanging on the hangers. The beam of his light ran over every wood-paneled inch of the rest of the small space.

When he found nothing, he checked the beds. His hands snuck under the pillows and on top, squishing the feathers down within. He smoothed the cases out to remove his indented handprint.

Something rattled outside the bedroom window, and Hunter froze in his tracks. His heartbeat quickened, pulsing in his throat. He reached for his gun, muttered a curse. The Glock usually resting in the holster against his ribs was in the other room.

While he scanned the dark for some sort of weapon, another howling gust of wind sent something crashing against the side of the house. The rattling stopped and he remembered the birdfeeder hanging on a hook next to the window frame. Robert had filled it the day before while he and Morgan chatted about the damn animal she was searching for.

Hunter listened for the noise for several more seconds. Confident the feeder was the culprit, Hunter left Robert’s room to check on Morgan just to play it safe. She hadn’t moved.

His pulse leveled as the adrenaline ebbed in his veins. Returning to Robert’s room, Hunter began where he left off by running his hands in between the mattresses. When he came up empty, he peered under the beds and searched the one dresser in the larger room.

Moving from drawer to drawer, he lifted neatly folded boxers, felt jeans and shirts for anything that didn’t seem like it belonged—still nothing. He moved the dresser out slightly, scanning the back with the flashlight, and stopped, coming to attention when the beam landed on a six-by-six inch false panel cut into the scarred flooring. Interesting.

Hunter pulled the dresser out further, squeezed behind, crouching. He pressed on the edge of the panel, tugged on the corner jutting out slightly. He pulled the board free and shined his flashlight into the opening. A small pink book decorated with fancy white flowers had been taped to the inside.

“Bingo,” he muttered.

His shoulder blades tingled, his stomach tensed. This had to be Shelly’s journal. He removed the hardback book from the tape, replaced the panel, put the furniture back. He scanned the room one last time, making certain everything appeared the same as it had when he entered.

Hunter brought the book to his bedroom and eased onto his side of the bed, careful not to cause the bedsprings to squeak under his weight. His flashlight beamed on the pages while he flipped through the journal. There wasn’t a lot to see. He skimmed several entries from the team’s trip to Washington State, but they hadn’t really had a chance to start much of anything in Yellowstone.

With every page he turned, Hunter got a slight whiff of fading perfume. He pulled the book close to his face, sniffed. The frilly, feminine scent reminded him of a warm spring day, and he felt a sudden tug of loss for a woman he’d never known. In life, Shelly must have smelled like this.

He didn’t want to think about that. It made her real instead of just an image in a gruesome picture and a mystery to be solved. He didn’t want to feel closer to her. He didn’t want a reminder that the woman who’d laid sprawled over her pack with dull, staring eyes had been a human being full of life only weeks before. More than that, she’d been a good friend of Morgan’s.

Hunter’s gaze wandered to Morgan’s stunning face relaxed in sleep. He brushed his fingers over her soft hair. Catching himself, he fisted his hand, settled it at his side.

This small piece of Shelly’s humanity touched off a flood of tenderness for everything Morgan had been through over the last month. He wanted to make it better, to take her pain, to turn back time and somehow change it all. Shaken by the need to protect—more than life and limb—he looked away, trying to block it out.

The only way he would get through this assignment emotionally unscathed was to remember she was just a job.

Focusing on the book again, he scanned the words. Nothing remarkable caught his eye. Frustrated, he blew out a breath, rubbed at his pounding head. They weren’t going to find anything this way.

Continuing, he glanced at more pages, read the thoughts that had passed through Shelly’s mind: she and the team hadn’t found anything yet; where had all of these feelings come from for Ian; he wanted to be with her, but what about taking over as lead researcher out in L.A.; Did she love him? Yes, absolutely…

Hunter turned to the next page and sprang up to sitting. “Holy shit.”

He winced and glanced over at Morgan, hopeful she wouldn’t wake up. She slept on, and he read Shelly’s entry.

May 25, 2012

As I sit by the light of our campfire tonight and write, I still find myself in complete disbelief. It feels like today was a dream. We will certainly have a story to tell when we get back to D.C.

Ian, Tom and I traveled northwest for three days and found little to nothing that would aide us in our attempt to locate and tag our animal. If truth be told, our luck has been terrible so far. It’s been colder than average and rainy with it. One of the tents leaks, and we haven’t located any evidence that verifies a lynx lives in the area. I hope Morgan and the guys are having more luck in Maine than we are here. I’ll ask Mr. Taylor for an update when we check in.

We stopped for lunch this afternoon and decided—unanimously—to make our way back to the station if we still had no findings to add to our data. Perhaps we need to start over and try a different area of the park.

As we gave it our last shot and journeyed along the banks of the Slough River, we didn’t find the lynx but something far more disturbing. Large carcasses, which appeared to have been mule deer, were scattered about every few hundred yards in different states of decomposition.

After closer examination, we saw that they had been shot. It was unclear as to why. They weren’t killed for meat and their heads were left behind, which ruled out shooting for trophy. I believe the poor animals were murdered just because someone carried a weapon and could.

We tried radioing our location to the station, but we were too far out of range. The guys and I traveled well beyond the typical tourist destination. With few options, we noted the area on the map and planned to share our findings as soon as we could make radio contact again.

Just as we were about to turn and head back, a loud blast shook the area. Ian thought we should check it out, but Tom and I were hesitant. Ian reasoned that perhaps we would find a clue as to why the animals had been killed.

We followed the river for another half mile before we came to the large clearing and hid ourselves in the shelter of the trees. From there, we could see what was going on. After a thorough examination through our binoculars, we concluded a gold mining operation was taking place on federally protected land. Ian wanted to confront them, but Tom and I talked him out of it. The situation was too dangerous. We were outnumbered and unarmed.

We left as quickly as we could and hiked our asses off. A hike that should’ve taken two days ended up taking one—my aching feet can attest to this. If the station wasn’t still a good day from here, we would’ve kept going and told the rangers in person, and I would be writing this entry in the comfort of a bed.

After several attempts, we finally made radio contact with the northeast ranger’s station. Tom started to tell the ranger what we’d discovered, but the man interrupted Tom and had him switch to another frequency. He asked us for our location and said we should stay put for the night. He plans to meet us here by midmorning and we’ll bring him back to the spot where we found the mining operation.

All of this is so crazy. It makes me wish for Morgan and the rest of the team. It’s strange not having everyone together, and it’s too quiet. I can’t wait to get back to the station and make contact with the Bureau. Perhaps if we time things right, I can get a call through to Morgan’s hotel. She will be shocked when I tell her what we’ve been up to. She’ll be envious of our adventure, although I’m looking forward to its ending.

I’m eager to be back in D.C. During the nights when I’m cold and, on occasion, wet, I keep reminding myself I have my ‘Farewell to Shelly’ party to attend, and it immediately lifts my spirits. I mentally leaf through the few dresses I haven’t packed away, but none of those will do. This one has to be special.

Perhaps Morgan and I will make a quick trip to the little boutique just down the road from her house. We’ll walk in, she’ll scan the selection, and within seconds I’ll be making my way to the dressing room with the perfect outfit. I don’t know how she does it, but she never fails. I want to look amazing. With Morgan and Ilene putting this little soiree together, it’s guaranteed to be quite an event. It’s going to be great.

The only sad part in all of this is I really am going to miss the team—so much. I guess they’ll have to come visit me out in L.A.—a lot.

I wonder what Morgan will think when I tell her Ian is coming with me. I guess my ‘Goodbye to Shelly’ party will actually be a ‘Goodbye to Shelly and Ian’ party. He wants to be with me. He wants us to make a go of it, and surprisingly enough, so do I. I don’t know when all of this happened—it sort of just did. It almost seems too good to be true.

I left Morgan dangling with bits of a long story, which wasn’t very fair, but we’ll talk when I get home. This is all so new. I’m in love and I can’t wait to tell her everything.

Well, until tomorrow. Here’s to hoping for a dry night of sleep and a quick resolution to our most amazing discovery.

Hunter turned the page and found another entry. The handwriting no longer appeared pretty and looping. It looked as if it had been written in a rush.

Something’s wrong. The ranger came with two police officers—it feels off. When they met up with us, every instinct in my body shouted at me to run. I think the guys feel it too. Ian and Tom are going to try something, but we’re outnumbered—three guns to none.

After looking at our map, they told us we would hike north-northwest to find a shortcut. They’ve been grilling us with questions. I’m turning on my GPS so the Bureau can track us. God, I want to go home. I’m so scared.

I think

Hunter flipped through the rest of the pages. They were blank. He held the book upside down, shaking it from side to side, hoping the map they’d marked might be stuck to another page. It wasn’t.

Mentally filing the information away, he got up to put the journal back. He pulled the panel from the floor, felt around for more loose boards, hoping the map would be there. He found nothing else.

As he secured the journal under the tape the bright beam of headlights cut across the room. Wet brakes squeaked just outside the cabin. “Shit.”

Hunter closed the panel, moved the dresser into place, hustled back to the bedroom. The front door opened seconds later.

Hunter stared into the dark long after the house had gone quiet again, thinking about what he read. If the team had turned around instead of following the noises they’d heard, they would all be alive.

He blew out a long sigh, ran his fingers through his hair. So much for a month-long vacation-like assignment. His plans for a somewhat relaxed trek through backcountry had been shot to hell in less than twelve hours. He and Morgan were living with at least one shady ranger. He had little doubt Robert was in this up to his eyeballs, but what about Miles? Did he know? And the cops, how many dirty cops were involved with murder?

Since he couldn’t convince Morgan to go back home and there was little he could do—at this point—to force her, they might as well get to the bottom of all this. The answers lay along the banks of the Slough River.

He and Morgan would have to move in that direction tomorrow. If they hiked hard, it would take them the better part of two days.

He would keep the journal to himself for now. Once he confirmed what Shelly and the team had seen, got exact coordinates, he would get Morgan the hell out of Yellowstone before the shit hit the fan—whether she liked it or not.

Chapter 16

H
UNTER WOKE INSTANTLY WHEN MORGAN’S leg brushed his in her attempt to crawl over him. Her soft skin sent rockets of need radiating through his body. Despite his promise to keep his hands to himself, he wanted to grab her and finish what they started the night before.

As her foot left the mattress and touched the floor, the bedsprings squeaked. He watched her wince as she turned to look in his direction. His gaze locked on hers and she froze in her crouched position.

Morgan’s chilly green eyes glared into his and the apology for last night withered on his tongue. Her mutinous expression rose his hackles. Any tenderness he’d felt for her while reading Shelly’s journal dried up like a desert pool. Perhaps he wasn’t sorry for his actions after all. His gruff “We’ll leave tomorrow” was the best he could do.

Morgan looked away, stood, pulled jeans over her tiny white shorts. She yanked a bold red sweatshirt over the black tank top he had removed just hours before, opened the bedroom door without a backward glance, shut it with a hard snap behind her.

“That went well.” Hunter scrubbed his hands over his face before steaming out a breath. He got out of bed, opened the door, wanting to listen to any conversations coming from the office or kitchen.

He was desperate for a cup of coffee, but thought it best to give Morgan some space, especially when he heard a cupboard close with a bang, the refrigerator door shut with a rattle, and her spoon and bowl clatter against the kitchen table. A shot of caffeine wasn’t worth dealing with that. They’d seen enough of each other already.