Morgan's Hunter (20 page)

She pulled her arm free of his grip as he watched the tip of her tongue dart across her lips in the same nervous gesture he recognized from two nights before—the night they’d almost become lovers.

“What was that?” she asked in a voice gone tight.

“I haven’t sanitized yet, and I’m hungry.” He chewed the mouthful of food, trying to play it light, even though she was driving him crazy.

She grabbed the sanitizer from her pack, set the small container in his palm. “You sanitize and eat. I’ll take care of getting us some water.”

He let out a long, slow breath when Morgan took his empty bottle to the edge of the river, filled it, did the same with her own. As she checked for cracks in the filters and capped the bottles, he admonished himself for touching her. The violent need that snapped through his system proved he would have to keep his hands to himself, even in the most casual of ways.

Morgan walked back to the shade and shelter of the trees, stuffed the bottles into the mesh side pockets of the packs, wiped her dripping hands on the hips of her hiking pants.

Hunter ate another handful of dried fruit and nuts, stared at Morgan a moment longer before his gaze drifted to the vast green of the valley beyond. He estimated they were about two miles—three at the most—from where he thought her friends had discovered the mine. He wanted to proceed cautiously, uncertain of the mine’s security measures.

Had they beefed it up after Shelly’s team made the discovery, or was everything status quo, thinking they’d taken care of the problem by killing three people? Either way, it was worth taking precautions before approaching any further.

Hunter’s gaze wandered back to Morgan as she bent over and tidied the front compartment of her pack. “Do you have anything you could put on that might blend in with our surroundings?”

Morgan frowned, looking down at her bright yellow top and black zip-off cargo pants before her eyes met his again. “Yes, of course, but why?”

“I just think we should try to blend a bit, that’s all.”

Morgan stared, her brow raised in a stubborn line. Hunter held her gaze until she huffed out a breath. “Fine, I have a brown or dark green top.”

“Go dark green. Change your pants too. Do the khaki you wore the other day.”

Morgan dug the clothes from her pack, neatly replacing the items she disturbed. He looked at the map again, catching her movements in his peripheral vision. She lifted her shirt over her head, stood in her skimpy powder blue bra and pants while she folded the yellow top. Her breasts spilled slightly from the cups. He dropped all pretenses of looking at the paper in front of him, tracking his gaze down her firm, smooth torso.

His fingers itched to touch, to feel her against his hands again.

Morgan reached for the shirt, stopped when she glanced up. Her gaze met his. “Do you mind?” she asked, her voice gone husky.

His eyes stayed locked on hers. Despite her frown, the green depths, darker with desire, told him to come take her. He wrestled with the need to keep his distance and his want for her.

Images of water raining over her amazing, panty-clad body flashed through his mind. Unfulfilled desire swamped him and lust won out.

She nibbled her bottom lip as she swiped at a lock of hair come loose from her ponytail. The tight tether on his control unraveled; he suddenly didn’t give a damn that this wasn’t the time or the place. He let the map fall to the ground, closed the distance between them.

Short, shallow breaths escaped Morgan’s mouth, feathering over his lips, driving him half mad. As blue eyes stared into green, he flicked his finger under the clasp of her bra, releasing her breasts. She gasped as his hands caught her and played.

He reveled in the feel of her soft skin. “To answer your question, I don’t mind at all.”

Morgan kissed him first this time. Her fingers brushed through his hair as she pulled his lips to hers and took. Her tongue entered his mouth—testing, teasing.

Hunter traced lazy circles around her nipples. She clutched his forearms, breath quickening, sending shockwaves careening through his body. He gently backed her against a tree, bent down to taste. Her exotic flavor, like her scent, filled his senses and he groaned, unable to get enough. She laced her fingers around the back of his neck, pushing him closer, inviting him to take more.

Hunter’s tongue and teeth played with her until she shuddered, letting out a quiet moan. She tugged his shirt over his head. Heat seared in the look that passed between them. Her small, confident hands trailed down his muscled arms as she left open-mouthed kisses across his chest.

His breath steamed in and out; his stomach muscles quivered as her clever fingers danced toward the snap on his pants. He craved to feel her wrap around him, but he wanted to touch her more. He pressed himself against her, heat to heat, trapping her hands, preventing her from making the first move.

When her palms lay flat against his lower stomach, halting her movements, he unbuttoned her pants, unzipped them. He teased and traced just above the silk of her low panty line. Their tongues danced again as her hips rocked, begging him to make her come alive.

Small throaty moans escaped her throat as her nails dug into his shoulders. He stared into her dark green eyes as his thumbs hooked in her belt loops and began to tug.

Morgan’s pants cleared the top of her hips, continued their journey down, bringing light blue panties with them while Hunter nibbled on her collarbone.

The sexy sounds she made were making him crazy. He had to have her—right now. He strained, muscles taut, vibrating with need. His hands wandered down, caressing smooth skin, ready to fulfill, when the drone of a plane engine finally registered. Breath unsteady, he broke contact with Morgan’s body, glancing up as a single engine plane flew overhead.

He noted the time on his watch—a habit long ingrained—then looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen from his. The moment that passed between them vanished as he watched her eyes follow the small white aircraft through the sky.

She covered her breasts with her arm. “Wow, that was really low.”

Hunter picked up his shirt, yanked it over his head, grunting instead of responding.

Morgan clasped her bra closed, put on the dark green top, pulled on the khaki pants he suggested. “I didn’t realize tourist planes came this far north. I’ve never been in one that flies quite so close to the trees. I thought they focused on the southern part of the park where visitors can see the waterfalls and buffalo population.”

“Yeah, I don’t know.” But he did. He knew they were close now. There was no way in hell that was a tourist plane; that was a security flyover. This had to be a hell of a mine to require flyovers and the murder of three federal employees.

Luck had been on their side when they stopped under the tall pines instead of the wide, open space of the valley surrounding them. There would be very little cover for the next two to three miles, until they hit the heavy forest again.

Morgan changed her socks, damp with sweat, preventing blisters while Hunter picked up the map and scanned it again, focusing on the area he planned to lead Morgan to as safely as possible. Satisfied, he folded the paper, placed it in his pack.

The sound of the airplane came back, flying so low instinct had them both ducking.

“Shit. That was too close.” Hunter stood from his crouched position, looked at his watch. “Eight minutes,” he muttered.

“Why are they flying like that?”

“I’m not sure.”

“But you have an idea. I can tell by your voice.”

“They’re lower than I like. I don’t know if they saw us. Hurry and get your boots on. I want to make it to the next line of trees before they come back.” He jammed her clothes in her pack while she tied her laces.

He hefted her pack for her as she got to her feet. “Can you run with this?”

“I want you to tell—” she cut herself off, shook her head. “Of course I can run with my pack.” She took it from him, settled it on her shoulders.

“Good. If I’m right, this plane should circle by every eight minutes. I’ve only timed them once, so hopefully that’s it. The next tree line is about two hundred-fifty, maybe three hundred yards away. Can you make it?”

“Yes, I can make it. Let’s go.”

They ran hard to the next section of cover. The heat and the weight of their packs left them winded.

Hunter glanced at his watch again. “We should have about two and a half minutes before they come back. I want to get as far away from the first clearing as possible and into the dense woods up and beyond.”

“Hunter, tell me what’s going on.”

Ignoring her, he brushed his upper arm across his sweaty forehead. He didn’t plan to say anything at this point. He wanted Morgan focused on running, on doing what he told her. “The next break is much shorter—about one hundred yards. The one after is going to be a bitch, though. It’ll be about three-quarters of a mile. I think after we get to the next, we should wait awhile, make sure we’re fresh. We can’t afford—” A huge blast cut him off. He felt the vibrations in his feet.

For a flash, he was back in Afghanistan. Jake’s voice echoed through his mind.
“I’m hit, Hunt, I’m hit!”
Jake’s blood dripped from his hands as he looked down at his dying friend. His mind jumped to the next instant, where he sat in the dust and dirt with excruciating heat radiating through his shoulder while blood oozed down his arm. Then, somehow, he was in the chopper, staring at the white sheets flapping in the wind, covering six dead soldiers—his men.

Wide-eyed, Morgan grabbed for his hand. “What was that? What the hell was that?”

Pale, Hunter turned away as if he hadn’t seen her. He couldn’t answer; it barely registered she’d spoken. He closed his eyes, took long, slow breaths trying to fight off the full-blown panic attack brewing deep down in his belly. He wasn’t in Afghanistan. He was in Montana.

“Are you okay?”

Still he didn’t answer. Sweat dribbled down his forehead while he concentrated on taking air in through his nose, blowing it out through his mouth.

Morgan reached for the white-knuckled fist at his side, holding it, covering it with her other hand, gently caressing. “Hunter, what’s wrong? Are you all right?”

He was tempted to hang on to her and the comfort she offered, to pull her into a hug and just hold on as the images shook him to the core, bringing back all of the pain. It was as fresh and raw as it had been the day he was ambushed. But he opened his eyes, looked into the concern in hers, yanked his hand free. “I’m fine. Just leave me alone for two fucking seconds.”

Eyes full of surprise, Morgan dropped his hand, stepped back. “Fine.” She walked over to her pack, sat down, stared out into the endless, open land just outside the shelter of trees. The plane flew over and she flinched.

Still shaken but in control, Hunter watched her. He’d been harsh but couldn’t make himself apologize. She glanced up, made eye contact, looked away. She made him feel like a piece of shit with one wounded look. It was all the more potent because she tried to disguise the hurt with disinterest.

Morgan sipped her water, continued to stare out into the vastness surrounding them. She spoke, voice dull: “We should probably go after the next flyover. I can run all of it.”

Hunter shook his head. “No, we’re going back. We’ve seen and heard enough to know something sketchy’s going on up here. We’ll head for the ranger’s station tomorrow, go to the airport and call your father.”

When the plane flew over the last time, Hunter spotted a man sitting in the passenger seat with an M-4. This wasn’t worth it anymore. This was the big time and they were getting the hell out why they still could.

Morgan put on her pack, stood. “Like hell we will. Something sketchy
is
going on and I want to know what it is. It’s clear my friends died for whatever it is. I don’t know the how or why behind it, but I will. I’m not leaving until I do.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her, but she would be safer if she knew as little as possible until they were back to D.C. They’d gotten close enough for him to give her father and the Bureau an accurate location to find and bust up the mining operation.

They stood in tense silence, eyeing each other. Moments later, the plane flew over again. As the sound of the engine faded in the distance, Morgan turned, taking off at a sprint.

“Goddamn it, Morgan!” Hunter grabbed his pack and ran after her. She was fast. Her powerful, petite body could move. She made it to the next grouping of pines in just over a minute with Hunter close at her heel.

He slowed a bit under the trees, gearing up to give her a verbal ass kicking. Anger boiled through him. What right did she have to put them both in danger?

Sure, they’d made it easily enough, but they were moving in the wrong direction. He wanted her out of here. That meant going back the way they came. They were getting too close.

Morgan didn’t belong out here just miles from danger. He wanted her back in D.C. where she belonged, living her pretty, safe, privileged life.

Fear, hot and ripe, slid greasily in Hunter’s belly as she ducked and dodged the trees and kept going. She broke cover, ran into the wide-open valley. They would never make it to the next shelter before the plane came back.

Hunter broke into a dead sprint to catch and bring her back before it was too late. He gained on her quickly, made a grab for her, but Morgan looked back and dodged. Hunter swore. Now, too far from the last shelter, they had no choice but to keep going.

With an eighth of a mile left to go, Morgan began to slow. The plane’s engine droned in the distance, coming closer with every step. Hunter calculated they had less than a minute before they were dead meat. He grabbed Morgan’s arm, pulling to help her along.

They met the shelter of the mighty pines with barely a moment to spare. The plane passed over the initial tree line they’d run from, over the second, third, and finally the one they were under now. The breeze from the plane rustled the treetops overhead.

Hunter paced back and forth with his hands laced behind his head, sucking in huge gulps of air. “As soon… as I catch… my breath…I’m going… to kick… your ass.”

Morgan threw her pack to the dirt, put her hands on her thighs as her breath heaved in and out. She flicked a glance at him before her gaze returned to the ground. Moments later, she took her water from the mesh pocket of the pack and gulped.