Her Private Avenger

Morgan hid another smile, then grew annoyed with herself for even feeling the urge to show mirth after the way he’d spoken to her earlier. So what if Quinn still avoided sweets? So what if she’d teased him mercilessly about it in the past? This wasn’t the past. As he’d so candidly told her, the past was over. And the future held nothing for them.

Tears stung her eyes. She quickly blinked, forcing the traitor ous tears to retreat.

“Turn left at this stop sign coming up,” she said, wincing at the hoarseness of her voice.

Fortunately, Quinn didn’t seem to notice how close to breaking down she actually was. He followed her directions, turning left, then right, then following the dark asphalt road she indicated.

She’d never brought him home before. As they pulled onto the winding driveway leading to the Kerr estate, Morgan wondered how he would react to the house. When they were together, she was always careful not to talk too much about her wealth. Quinn had been carted from foster home to foster home growing up, and his less than luxurious upbringing often made her feel guilty.

A pair of enormous wrought-iron gates greeted them at the end of the drive. Since the gates were always locked tight and required a code on the keypad in order to part, Morgan’s body stiffened when she found the gates gaping open.

“What the…” Her jaw hardened, her eyes suddenly focusing on the car parked on the circular driveway in front of the mansion.

Quinn drove through the open gates and shot her a wry look. “Can you honestly say you’re surprised? Your father’s a smart man—he knew precisely where you wanted to go.”

“I still can’t believe him.” She met Quinn’s gaze with a frown, then glanced back at the police cruiser sitting ominously on the smooth pavement.

Chapter 5

Sheriff Jake Wilkinson looked like a man ready for a fight as he stepped out of the cruiser and approached the SUV. Morgan unbuckled her seat belt, studying the man through the windshield, and, as usual, marveling at the fact that he looked exactly the same as he did in high school. Six feet tall, with a stocky chest and the arms of a bouncer, Jake had been the star linebacker on the high school football team, and his don’t-mess-with-me attitude had followed him to adulthood. Back then, he was always itching for a good fight, often throwing the first punch. According to some acquaintances in town, that hadn’t changed much, only now he had a badge to go along with his fists.

Morgan was not a fan of Jake Wilkinson. Hadn’t liked him back then, didn’t like him now.

“The sheriff, I presume?” Quinn murmured.

“Yep,” she murmured back. “My father must have called him the second you two got off the phone. You’re right, he knew exactly where we would go.”

Quinn paused for a moment. “Sheriff dated her, right?”

“Yep.”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed at the man approaching their vehicle. “Isn’t the person closest to the victim usually the likeliest suspect?”

“Yep.” Morgan sighed. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

She and Quinn got out of the car. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Quinn had squared his shoulders, a sure sign he was geared up for a possible altercation. And if it came to one, she suspected Quinn could take the sheriff easily.

Jake’s wide mouth was creased in a frown as she stepped closer to him. His dark-eyed gaze rested on her briefly before shifting to examine Quinn. The way he studied the other man, there might as well have been a neon sign with the words testosterone overload flashing across Jake’s forehead.

She stifled a sigh. “Hello, Jake.”

“Morgan.” He gave a curt nod of greeting before turning to Quinn. “Adam Quinn, right?”

Quinn offered a nod of his own, along with a cheerless smile. “What can we do for you, Sheriff, at, oh—” he made a show of looking down at his watch “—one thirty-eight in the morning?”

Jake ran a hand through his jet-black hair before lowering it to the gun holstered at his hip. His fingers rested on the weapon ever so casually, yet the entire move screamed intimidation. “Your father informed me you were heading back to town,” he said. “So I decided to come here and see how you’re doing. You know, considering the last time you were here I was pulling your car out of the river.”

Morgan bristled at his words. The night she went over the bridge, she’d told Jake about the other car. Like her father, he hadn’t believed her.

“I’m fully recovered, thank you,” she returned stiffly.

“Uh-huh.” The tone of his voice revealed precisely what he thought of the matter—suicidal chick in denial.

“Let me guess,” she said. “You’ve made no headway in tracking down the car that was behind me that night.”

Jake’s obsidian eyes flashed. “I investigated your claim and found nothing to indicate there had been another car on the bridge.”

“Of course.” Each word dripped with sarcasm.

The sheriff ignored her tone. “How long are you planning on staying?” His gaze shifted from her to Quinn, distrustful.

“Does it matter?” Quinn asked with insincere friendliness. “This is where Morgan grew up.” He gestured to the massive house behind them. “Her family still owns this house. She’s allowed to be here as long as she wants, no?”

“Sure, as long as she doesn’t decide to interfere with my investigation.”

Anger skimmed up Morgan’s spine. “The investigation in to Layla’s death, you mean? The one that poses a serious conflict of interest for you, seeing as you dated Layla?”

Jake’s fingers tightened over the butt of his gun. “Layla and I broke up before she disappeared and you know it, Morgan.”

“That doesn’t mean you didn’t kill her,” she answered sweetly.

She opened her mouth to say more, but Quinn’s hand suddenly dug into her waist. He palmed her hip hard, sending the clear message to cool it. Despite the warning in his touch, she welcomed it. The feel of his long, warm fingers sent a sizzling rush through the material of her sweater and burned her skin.

Ignoring the intense reaction, she focused on the sheriff, whose hard gaze didn’t waver. “I’m a journalist, Jake,” she said, softening her tone. “And Layla was my best friend. I have every reason to want to find out what happened to her.”

“Finding that out is the police’s job. My job,” he clarified.

“Do you have any leads?” she asked.

His jaw twitched. “No.”

“Suspects?”

“No, but—”

She hurried on. “Then what’s the harm in another pair of eyes, another brain trying to solve this puzzle?”

Irritation flashed in his eyes. “I’m warning you, Morgan, don’t stick your nose in my investigation.”

She disregarded the threat and said, “I want access to the crime scene and Layla’s remains.”

“No way,” Jake said flatly. He made a frustrated sound. “Your father told me you’d try to interfere. Well, I’m making it clear right here and now, if you mess around with my case, I’m charging you with obstruction.”

Morgan swallowed back her anger. Antagonizing Jake wouldn’t help the situation, but she was unbelievably tempted to lash out. Instead, she drew in a calming breath. “I’m a good journalist. I could help—”

“You’re mentally unstable,” Jake interrupted, his voice cold er than a glacier. “I read the newspapers, I know about the delusions, the reckless behavior.”

The fury she’d swallowed down rushed up her throat and scorched her cheeks. “I am not—”