Morgan's Hunter (30 page)

She grinned at Hunter, laid the wood in the stone circle other campers had used before them. She struck a match, held it to the dry pieces of timber. With little effort, flames began to dance, bringing orange-tinted light to the rock walls.

Hunter pulled off his pack, dug through it. “I’m going out to find more wood. I’d like to keep the fire going through the night. I saw a couple of downed trees by an underhang not far from here. The wood might be dry. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to see the cave from there.”

“Okay, whatever you want. Just don’t get struck by lightning. You’ll ruin our crazy night of cave fun.”

He grinned. “I wouldn’t want to go and do that. I shouldn’t be too long.” He pulled his survival knife and miniature ax from a small pouch, dropped them into his waterproof sleeping bag sack.

Morgan checked her bucket, pleased to see it filling quickly. “All joking aside, be careful. That’s a really nasty storm.”

“I’ll be fine. Stay here.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

When Hunter left, Morgan bustled around the cave, humming her favorite John Mayer song, thrilled with the idea of being warm and dry for an entire evening. She had the tent upright in minutes with the sleeping bags unfolded on top of their mats inside.

Morgan poured half the bucket of water into the cooking pot, shoved the pail back into the rain, spotted Hunter hacking away at a downed tree by the smaller cave opening. The underhang was keeping him dry, just barely. His Under Armour t-shirt lay plastered against his muscled back while his biceps bunched with the effort of each whack to the tree.

Her hand covered her heart as it beat hard in her chest. God, did she love him.

Shaking her head, Morgan turned away. It would never work. Sorrow threatened to ruin a night she was determined enjoy. With a deep breath, she pushed the thoughts away, brought the bucket in with her. She added cool rainwater to the steaming pot, took off her clothes, washed with the Campsuds she pulled from her pack.

Morgan sighed, reveling in true indulgence as she took out a razor and shaved her legs and underarms with the dirty bath water. “You’re living the high life now, Morgan Taylor.” She laughed at herself as she toweled off and dressed.

Morgan placed the bucket out to refill for Hunter. Water bubbled in the cook pot as thunder boomed, echoing in the cave. Morgan grabbed the baggie of pasta, the package of creamy yellow cheese. When Hunter returned, she would add their dinner to the water and have the meal ready in no time.

Dressed in her fleece and long johns, she rubbed at her arms, chilled. Hunter would be frozen for sure. The temperature had dropped considerably. She rinsed the pot she’d used for her bath, prepared water for him, grabbed clothes from his pack. She unzipped the tent, laid them on his sleeping bag.

She reached in for his towel next, frowned when her hand brushed a small hardback book. How odd; she’d only seen him with a paperback.

She grabbed hold of its spine for a quick peek at the title—and stared in shock at the white calla lilies decorating Shelly’s journal.

Pain gripped her heart as she opened the cover. Shelly’s perfume wafted from the page. Morgan closed her eyes, breathing in. Oh, she missed that wildflower scent.

Opening her eyes again, she stared down at the pretty, looping handwriting on the first page. She treasured the words, the thoughts that had never been meant for anyone’s eyes, knowing this was all she had left of her friend.

She read about the new feelings simmering between Shelly and Ian, remembering they never got the chance to talk about the big kiss. A tear ran down her cheek; her breath shuddered in and out as she wiped it away.

They’d been in love. Somehow that made everything worse. Shelly and Ian never had the chance to see where it could lead. Would they have married? Shelly had always wanted children.

As the possibilities of what could have been hit her, a new wave of mourning washed over Morgan, flooding her with wrenching grief. “Oh God,” she whispered.

Her thoughts circled back to Shelly’s pretty blond hair, to Ian’s roguish grin, to the whole team laughing and dancing the night away before everything changed. Then she remembered the pictures. Tom’s cracked, blood-spattered glasses. Shelly’s empty eyes. Ian’s black hair caked in matted blood and tissue.

She pressed her fingers to her forehead, willing the images away. She couldn’t stand them, not when she could still smell the cheerful, springtime scent of Shelly’s perfume.

Forcing herself through the rest, Morgan made her way to where the words ended on May 25. Her hands shook as she read the short passage over and over again. It hadn’t been the guards. Shelly never mentioned seeing any guards. It had been Robert and the two cops.

Robert killed her friends, and Hunter knew—had known all along and never said a thing.

Chapter 25

H
UNTER WALKED INTO THE CAVE, leaving puddles with every step. Water coursed down his sopping wet body in sheets. “Now that’s a storm.”

He put the bag of wood next to the dry log pile, crouched by the fire, warming his hands. “It’s starting to hail. I haven’t seen weather like this in a long time. I’m freezing. I think I’ll make coffee. Do you want a cup?”

Morgan didn’t answer.

Hunter glanced over his shoulder. “Hello, Earth to Morgan,” he joked.

Kneeling with her back to him, she didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t move.

The small smile touching his lips disappeared. Puzzled, he stood. He frowned when he saw his pack lying open at her knees. Stepping forward, his stomach sank. Morgan clutched the pink book in her hands.
Shit.

He shoved his bag out of the way, crouched in front of her. Tense seconds passed as he watched her stare at Shelly’s journal, searching for something to say. One lame excuse after another flew through his mind as panic clutched his belly. Her small, elegant hands white-knuckled the book as she sat still as stone. He wanted to reach out, to brush his thumb along her skin, but knew he wouldn’t be welcome.

When she finally spoke, he strained to hear. Her voice was a whisper against the pounding rain. “You knew all along. All this time and you never told me.” It felt like hours before her eyes met his—grief-shattered and swimming with tears.

He clenched his jaw as she undid him with a look. He would’ve preferred another slap over the devastation he saw on her face, knowing he’d caused it.

Guilt threatened to choke him. He battled back with anger, ripping the journal from her hands. “Why were you in my pack? You shouldn’t go through other people’s stuff. Nosy people find things they shouldn’t.”

With skin gone pale and trembling lips, Morgan stared at him as if he’d torn her heart out. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say? You’ve been lying to me for who knows how long and that’s
it
?”

Jesus, he couldn’t stand the disgust, the betrayal radiating in her voice, in her eyes, so he got to his feet and paced. “I didn’t lie to you. I just didn’t tell you.”

She stood. “What’s the difference?”

“There’s a huge difference. I didn’t tell you because you wouldn’t be safe if I did.”

A humorless laugh escaped as Morgan’s gaze zeroed in on the holstered gun resting against his ribs. She shook her head, rubbing her fingers at her temple. “When did you find it?”

He stopped pacing, met her stare, jamming a hand through his hair. She knew everything, but he resisted with the rest. He would lose her after she had it all, and the realization terrified him.

Rushing across the cave, Morgan shoved Hunter’s chest. “When, goddamnit?”

He grabbed her arms. “The night they left to check for washout—after you went to sleep.”

“Days ago, then. You’ve known for days.” She struggled against him, and he tightened his grip. “You knew what we would find when we went north to the river, what we were walking into. You knew Robert killed them, what my team’s last moments were.” Her voice broke on a sob. “And you didn’t tell me.”

She fought as Hunter pinned her against him.

“How could you? How could you do this to me?”

Her hands bunched into fists against his chest as he hugged her to him, desperate to make her understand. “I had to, Morgan. I have to keep you safe. If I’d told you, you would’ve been in more danger than you already are. There’s no way you would’ve been able to look at Robert and not give everything away.”

“Just stop! I don’t want to hear anymore. Let me go.” She struggled. “Let me
go
!” Hunter released his grip, and she turned away, walking toward the mouth of the cave.

“Don’t run, Morgan. I’ll only come after you.”

She went to the tent instead, crawled inside.

He stood helplessly, listening to her ragged breaths as she fought her tears.

He yanked off his sopping shirt, threw it against the cave wall. It landed on the floor with a soggy plop. He took off his hiking boots, pulled off his pants, went to his pack, taking out dry clothes.

Changed, he crawled into the tent. Morgan lay on her side, trembling, rocking herself. Her hands covered her face while her breath heaved in and out.

He lay next to her, pulling her close, and she stiffened, trying to pull away. “Leave me alone.”

“If I could I would…” But he couldn’t. Somewhere along the way, things had changed, gotten complicated, and he couldn’t leave her, didn’t want to. “You can hate me in a minute. Just hold on to me for now. Let it go.”

Seconds later, Morgan’s sobbing echoed off the walls of the cave. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her body shook with the power of her grief. Hunter turned her to him, looking down into her devastated face. He stroked her hair as he cradled her close to his chest.

“I’m sorry, Morgan. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wanted to keep you safe.”

She moved closer against him, put her arm around his waist, clung. He rubbed her back until her helpless weeping turned to shaky breaths. Easing away, he dabbed the tears from her face with his shirt. Her eyes, red and swollen, stared into his. He ran his thumb over her cheek, kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry, Morgan. I really am.”

Morgan dropped her gaze from his. Minutes passed before she spoke. “I-I know you did what you thought was best, and I can’t change that. Shelly, Ian and Tom are still dead because of the choices I made, and I can’t change that either.” She sat up, scooted toward the opening in the tent.

“Whoa, wait a minute.” Hunter snagged her hand before she got any further.

She shook her head. “Not right now. I need to be busy. I’m going to take care of dinner and get to bed.”

He let her go, sat up. “If that’s what you want.” Still needing to touch her, he slid a strand of hair behind her ear. “We can talk while you keep busy.”

“I don’t want to talk.” She picked at a thread on the hem of her pants, glanced at him before looking down. “There’s hot water in one of the pots for you to clean up with.”

He noticed the sleeve of his thermal top peeking out from under the tangle at the foot of the sleeping bags. Reaching forward, he grabbed hold of the shirt, pulled the matching bottoms free. Realization struck and he closed his eyes, blowing out a deep breath. She hadn’t been snooping when she found the journal; she’d been doing something nice for him. Goddamn, could he be any more of a dick? “Morgan…thanks.”

Voice flat, she responded, “Yeah, no problem.” And crawled from the tent.

Muttering a curse, he followed.

The worst of the storm passed, but the rain still poured as they emerged.

Morgan walked to the fire, tore open the package of shells, dumped them into the boiling water.

Hunter grabbed the other pot, brought it over by their packs, took off his shirt. He dipped his washcloth into the warm water, wrung it out and began to wash his arms. “I know you’re pretty upset with me right now.” And he couldn’t stand it. The way she cried, knowing he’d caused her pain, ripped him apart.

She shook her head as she stirred the pasta. “Let’s forget the whole thing.”

“I can’t.”

She glanced at him, eyes still damp. “I’m not angry with you, Hunter. I’d really rather drop it.”

“Okay, fine.” Guilt ate at him as he dried off his upper body and set the towel down. “No, let’s not drop it. You can’t look over here with those big, sad eyes and tell me to forget it. I might be able to let it go if you were pissed, but you’re not.”

“All right, I’m upset, but I’m not angry. I was at first, but what’s the point?” She walked to her pack, taking the bowls, compact strainer, and silverware sets from their pouch. She stood, faced him. “And you’re right. I wouldn’t’ve been able to hide that I knew about Robert, but we left Robert behind two days ago.”

She fidgeted with the silverware as she continued, “I’ve been desperate for answers, and you’ve had them. You keep talking about trust. You want me to trust you—and I do—but it hurts to know you don’t trust me. You don’t seem to think much of me at all.”

Taking her by the shoulders, Hunter squeezed gently. “That’s not true, Morgan. We’re a team. I’m depending on you as much as you’re depending on me.”

She nodded, started to turn away. He tightened his grip against her arms. “I don’t have the right to ask, but I’m going to anyway. Why do you feel responsible for your team’s deaths?”

“Because I am.”

His eyebrow arched. “Dig a little deeper.” He thought of the crime scene photos, of the police reports he’d read, trying to find the connection between the murders and her statement. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t one.

Morgan’s eyes watered. “I knew the teams were mismatched, and I didn’t change them. It was my responsibility to do so but I didn’t. Now they’re dead.”

“Wait a minute,” Hunter interrupted, brushing loose strands of hair behind her ear. “I don’t see how that makes any of this your fault.” He ran his hands down her arms, lacing his fingers with hers.

In a moment of surrender, she rested her forehead against his chest. “You’re being nice to me, Hunter. It makes this so much harder to get through without crying again.”

He winced. “Am I that big of an asshole?”

She glanced up, meeting his gaze. “You certainly can be.”

“I’ll have to work on that.”