Her Private Avenger

  Adrenaline surged through Quinn’s body. Tony’s last punch had him seeing stars, but he fought the dizzying rush and launched himself at the other man again. Unfortunately, Tony had already gotten his hands on the pistol. With a quick roll to the side, Quinn dove for his own gun, his hand connecting with it at the same moment Tony lifted his pistol and pointed it at Morgan, who was making a mad dash to the living room doorway.

  Quinn watched in horror as Tony aimed the weapon at his sister, but his hesitation only lasted a split second. As Tony’s finger tightened on the trigger, Quinn unloaded two bullets into the other man’s chest.

  The roar of the gunshots reverberated through the room, leaving a shrill ringing in Quinn’s ears.

  “What…” Tony slowly looked down at his chest, watching in disbelief as two crimson patches bloomed on his pale blue shirt. As the color drained from his face, he let go of the pistol and fell onto his side. Blood poured out of his wounds and stained Morgan’s carpet.

  Quinn immediately went to Tony’s side, tucked the fallen gun in his waistband, but kept his own weapon trained on the injured man. “Call 911,” he barked at Morgan, who stood like a terrified deer in the doorway.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered, her breathing coming out in sharp bursts. “Oh, God, is he okay?”

  “911, Morgan!”

  Her footsteps were frantic as she dashed for the cordless phone on the desk and called the police. Quinn heard her talking to the dispatcher, but he couldn’t focus on what she said. Instead, he looked at Tony, whose entire face was white as a sheet. He was losing blood fast.

  “She left me,” Tony whispered, staring up him in astonishment.

  “Don’t talk,” Quinn said quietly.

  He quickly removed his jacket, balled up the sleeve and pressed it to the gaping wounds on Tony’s chest. But he had a feeling no amount of pressure would make this better. The color continued draining from Tony’s face, as fast as the blood seeping out of the two bullet holes in his chest.

  Morgan rushed over to them and dropped to her knees. Her eyes widened when she saw the unsettling amount of blood on her carpet. “Is he going to be okay?” she said anxiously.

  Quinn shot her a sideways glance. Gave an imperceptible shake of the head.

  Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, God.” Immediately, she added her own hands to her brother’s chest, pressing Quinn’s jacket into the wounds to stanch the bleeding. “Tony, can you hear me?”

  Her brother’s eyelids fluttered. “Mom?” he breathed out.

  Morgan swallowed. “No, it’s—” She gasped as Quinn squeezed her knee hard. She glanced over in confusion, saw his nod, and a glimmer of sorrow lit her blue eyes. She nodded back, then turned to her brother again. “Yes, it’s me.”

  Tony’s eyes were completely out of focus as he looked up at her, but the reverence in his voice was unmistakable. “Are you going to take care of me?”

  “Yes, sweetheart,” Morgan choked out. “I’m going to take care of you.”

  “Mom?”

  “Yes, Tony?”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  The chest that had been rising and falling beneath their fingers became motionless. Quinn stifled a heavy sigh. Damn it. This wasn’t how he’d wanted things to turn out. Tony might have been a murderer, but he was Morgan’s brother. And he had needed professional help, not a death sentence.

  Beside him, Morgan let out an anguished sob. “He’s gone.” She lifted her bloodstained hands and stared at them in dismay.

  Quinn’s heart ached for her. Yet as he glanced at Tony Kerr’s still body, he couldn’t muster up any regret for what he’d done. Tony would have shot Morgan. He would have killed her. And there was nothing more important to Quinn in the world than protecting the woman by his side.

  Because he loved her. God help him, he loved her.

  Sirens shrieked from a distance, getting closer, but neither of them made any move to get up. Quinn slowly drew Morgan into his arms, where she cried over her brother’s body until the police finally arrived and pulled her away.

  “You ready to go?”

  Morgan turned at the sound of Quinn’s voice. She’d been leaning against the wall in the lobby of the metropolitan police department, waiting for Quinn’s interrogation to end. Her own questioning had lasted forty-five minutes, during which she’d told the detective in charge about everything she’d discovered. Including the fact that her father helped her brother cover up Layla Simms’s death.

  Quinn was taken into a neighboring room, but the cops kept him for a full hour after she’d been released. Probably because he was the one who pulled the trigger. The one who killed her brother.

  Tears stung her eyes as she watched him approach. His jacket, soaked with Tony’s blood, had been taken into evidence, so he wore only a black button-down over a gray T-shirt that stretched across his broad chest. There were bloodstains on his jeans, but Morgan forced herself not to dwell on those. Instead, she focused on his deep green eyes, the thick stubble sweeping across his jaw, the hesitant expression creasing his handsome face.

  He killed her brother tonight.

  And yet if he hadn’t, Tony would have killed her.

  Grief and relief warred inside her. She had no idea what to feel. She wanted to mourn her brother. But how could she not be relieved? She was safe. Quinn was safe. If Quinn hadn’t gotten there when he did…she forced away the memory of Tony’s feral eyes and the frantic way he’d waved that gun around. She still couldn’t believe her own brother had planned to kill he

  She managed a weak smile. “They didn’t charge you with anything?”

  Quinn shook his head. “They decided it was self-defense.”

  Morgan swallowed a lump of sorrow. “You saved my life.”

  Rather than answering, Quinn shrugged out of his button-down and held it out. “Put this on. It’s cold outside.”

  “Thank you.” She slid her arms into the long sleeves of the shirt, immediately surrounded by the lingering warmth from his body and the heady scent of him. The cops hadn’t given her time to grab a coat when they left the apartment.

  When her brother’s body had been rolled out on a stretcher, covered with a black tarp…

  She pushed away the grisly image and followed Quinn out the front doors. They descended the steps of the police station, pausing on the sidewalk. The sky was inky black, the night breeze carrying with it a chill that made Morgan grateful for Quinn’s shirt. He, on the other hand, wore only a T-shirt.

  “You’ll catch a cold,” she said. “Let’s hail a cab.”

  Despite the late hour—it was nearly midnight—Indiana Avenue was bustling. Cars whizzed past them, brake lights leaving streaks of red as the vehicles sped by. Morgan moved to the edge of the curb, spotted an approaching taxi and prepared to raise her hand.

  A warm hand stopped her from hailing the cab. “Let’s walk for a bit,” came Quinn’s gravelly voice.

  She turned to him in surprise. “Aren’t you cold?”

  “No. I need the fresh air at the moment.”

  She wondered if he could still smell it, too. The coppery scent of Tony’s blood. It was clogged in her nostrils. Made her want to throw up.

  “Good idea,” she murmured.

  They started walking. In silence. Morgan didn’t know how long they walked, how far, and she didn’t particularly care. Tonight had been…devastating. She just wanted to walk, and walk, and walk, until maybe she could eventually forget it all.

  But Quinn didn’t let her forget.

  “They’ll be bringing charges up against your father,” he began softly. “As an accessory to murder.”

  “I know. The detective told me the same thing.” She sighed. “They won’t stick, though. The only thing tying my dad to the crime is my statement. Tony’s—” she swallowed “—dead, so he can’t corroborate it.”

  “He’ll lose his seat, though,” Quinn said.

  “Probably. The senate won’t be thrilled to find out he’s
a suspect in a murder investigation, however old it may be.” She shrugged. “Most likely he’ll be forced to resign. We both know my dad won’t put himself through the expulsion proceedings. He’ll try to sweep the entire mess under the rug.”

  They reached a small park, which consisted of a couple of benches, a dring fountain and some stone statues of people Morgan didn’t recognize. She made a move to keep walking, but Quinn touched her arm. “Let’s sit for a while.”

  With a nod, she trailed after him. They sat on one of the metal benches. Glancing over, she noticed the goose bumps dotting his bare arms, but didn’t comment on it. He obviously wanted to sit, despite the fact that the temperature seemed to be dropping in degrees by the second.

  “Will you forgive him?” Quinn asked suddenly.

  “For helping my brother cover up my best friend’s death?” She blinked back tears. “I’m not sure I can.”

  “He’s still your father.”

  Morgan stared at him in surprise. “Since when has that made a difference? You’ve never liked him, and he’s always been my father.”

  His green eyes flickered indefinably. “I…” He cleared his throat. “I never thought about…about what it meant.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The word family.” He gave her a sad look. “I never had any, so I couldn’t understand why you put up with him, in spite of the way he treated you, the crappy things he did. I didn’t get it. Until tonight.”

  Morgan said nothing. She had the feeling they were on the verge of…something. And the last thing she wanted to do was ruin it.

  “You were crying,” he went on, his voice thick with emotion. “When Tony died, you were crying. And that’s when I realized it. No matter what he did, no matter how unforgivable his actions, he was still your brother. Your family.”

  “Yes,” she whispered in agreement.

  “It’s the same with your father, isn’t it? He’s… Damn, Morgan, he’s despicable, but…he’s your family.”

  “Yes.”

  Quinn fell silent again. She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. He just sat there, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his taut biceps covered with gooseflesh, his gaze straight ahead.

  Morgan breathed in, then exhaled, her breath a wispy white cloud that hung in the air. “Are you staying in a hotel tonight?” she finally asked, unable to bear the silence.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “And tomorrow? Are you leaving town?” Another “yeah.”

  She ignored the painful squeeze of her heart. “Where to?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Murphy and the guys probably finished up the Caracas job. Not sure what the next gig will be.” He released a puff of cold air. “Hopefully somewhere warm.”

  “See, you are cold!” she accused. She jumped to her feet. “C’mon, let’s find a cab and get you—”

  “I want you to come with me.”

  Her gaze flew to h“What?”

  “I want you to come with me.” A vulnerable crack trembled in his husky voice. “Will you?”

  She sank right back down, her butt landing on the bench with a thud. Evidently she was more exhausted than she’d thought. Exhaustion caused auditory hallucinations, right? “Morgan?”

  She just stared at him.

  “Will you come with me?”

  Blinking out of whatever trance she’d fallen into, she swallowed down her disbelief. “Am I hearing things, or did you actually ask me to go with you?”

  His lips quirked. “You’re not hearing things.”

  “But…why?” She shook her head, still not understanding where any of this was coming from. “For God’s sake, Quinn, I practically recited an entire scene from Jerry Maguire, told you I loved you, how I’d always put you first, and you…” A stab of pain went through her. “You said you weren’t interested. What the hell changed?”

  Remorse flooded his gaze. “Everything,” he said simply.

  That one word was laced with such passion she had trouble breathing for a moment.

  “Tonight, when I saw that gun aimed at you…” He stared at her in agony. “I imagined it going off, I saw the bullet entering your body, felt your heart stopping, and…and I knew if it actually happened, my heart would stop, too.”

  Tears pricked her eyelids. Her chest suddenly felt tight, her heart expanding, filling with warmth and love and…hope.

  “I can’t live without you, Morgan,” he choked out. “I tried, for two damn years, and it didn’t work. I need you with me, sweetheart.”

  A single tear slid down her cheek. He instantly leaned toward her and brushed it away, his touch so gentle she only began to cry in fervor.

  “You were right,” he added. “I didn’t forgive you.” Through the sheen of tears, she saw the shame in his eyes.

  “I told myself I did, because really, I needed to get over you, and holding on to the anger and resentment would have stopped me from doing that. But I still blamed you. For constantly letting your father interfere with our life. For canceling our wedding. I didn’t understand how you could possibly do any of that, and yet claim to love me.”

  He stroked her cheek, adding, “I forgot what it was like to have a family. And I get it now, why you made the choices you did.”

  “I was wrong,” she whispered.

  “We both were,” he corrected. His green eyes darkened. “I should have never left you.”

  Her tears ceased, but emotions continued swirling inside of her, gathering, growing, circling her heart. When he walked out of her life, she’d thought it was for good. She’d never been happier to be wrong in her entire life.

  “So, that second chance you mentioned…” He smiled fain. “I’m game. Are you?”

  She smiled back, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of Quinn’s shirt. “Hell, yes.”

  Sliding closer, Quinn wrapped one arm around her waist. His other arm lifted to stroke her hair. He pushed a few wayward strands away from her face, and then his mouth came down on hers. The kiss sent a thrill through her body, sizzling down her spine and settling deep in her core. When his tongue licked at her lips, she whimpered, opening her mouth to grant him access. His tongue slid inside, dueling with hers, exploring every crevice.

  She ran her fingers through his dark hair, pulling him closer to her. Moaning, she rubbed her breasts against the hard ripples of his chest. He gave an answering groan and deepened the kiss, claiming her mouth with urgency.

  When they finally broke apart, they were both panting. Quinn dragged his finger along the line of her jaw, smiling again. “So…will you?”

  It took a second for her brain to function again.

  “Will I what?” she said breathlessly.

  “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  The smile widened, revealing his perfectly straight white teeth. “Anywhere we want. Wherever my job takes us, wherever yours takes us. Just promise me you’ll never leave my side, baby.”

  Her heart did a little jumping jack. “Only if you promise the same.”

  “Oh, I promise.” His voice was thick. “I will never leave your side again, Morgan. In fact, I think we should get married. Right now.”

  She grinned. “Oh, really? Don’t you think you should propose first?”

  “I proposed two years ago.” He shot her a roguish look. “There’s no statute of limitations on proposals. So since you said yes the first time around, it still counts.”

  A laugh tickled her throat. “Okay, so you want me to leave town with you, you want me to marry you…anything else?”

  “Just one more thing.”

  She arched one eyebrow. “Which is?”

  “I want to tell you I love you.”

  A rush of heat seared her entire body. That she was able to breathe normally was nothing short of a miracle. She hadn’t heard those three words leave his sexy mouth in two very long years. Hearing them now infused her with intense joy that left her utterly speechless.

  “I’m
not sure you heard me. Should I say it again?” he teased.

  She nodded.

  “I love you.” He dipped his head and pressed a tender kiss to her lips. Then he pulled back and said those magical words once more. “I love you, Morgan.”

  Finally regaining her capacity for speech, she met his gaze. Saw all the love she felt reflecting back at her in his deep green eyes.

  She opened her mouth, her voice heavy with emotion. “I love you, too…Adam.”

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  “Morgan, are you out here?”

  Quinn strode outside and searched the private stretch of warm, white sand for his wife. He spotted her sitting on an oversize towel a few yards away, shielded by a colorful red-and-green beach umbrella and sipping on a glass of what looked like pink lemonade.

  What the hell?

  He’d just gotten in from Panama, and broken every traffic law in order to get to the beach house they’d been renting for the past month. Morgan had left a cryptic message on his voice mail, something about a change of plans and possible complications. He’d immediately picked up on the note of anxiety in her voice, so he bid goodbye to his team at the airstrip and sped home like a maniac. And what did he find? His wife relaxing on the beach.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded as he reached her tow el.

  The sun sat high in the middle of the clear blue sky. It was bright as hell, and Morgan was squinting as she tilted her head up at him. Her face was tanned and radiant, her body covered by a yellow bikini that rose high on her sleek thighs and barely covered her breasts.

  They’d been living in Costa Rica for six months now, though the beach house in Tamarindo Bay was merely a home base of sorts. They came and went during the past months. To Brazil, where Morgan had chased a story. Johannesburg, where Quinn had another close call—what was with his bad luck in Johannesburg?!—during an extraction. And of course, Fiji, just for fun.