Her Private Avenger

“Quinn, please, don’t call my father.” A pleading note entered her husky voice. “Give me some time to figure out what’s going on.”

“You just escaped from a psych ward. The senator’s not going to let you run around and investigate.”

Her blue eyes flashed. “Right, because I’ll tarnish his precious image again. Well, I’m a journalist, Quinn, and I’m going to investigate no matter what my father says.”

He didn’t like the stubborn tilt of her chin. Once Morgan made up her mind about something…well, God help anyone who stood in her way.

Quinn opened his mouth to protest, but she startled him by slamming one hand down on the sofa cushions in an aberrant show of anger. “Someone tried to kill me, damn it!” she burst out.

Quinn’s jaw tightened. “What are you talking about?”

“The night of the accident. Someone ran me off the bridge.”

Cold fury clawed up his spine. The thought of anyone trying to harm her elicited a troubling pang of protectiveness. “Are you certain?”

“Of course,” she said, sounding oddly defensive. “I saw headlights in my rearview mirror, and the next thing I knew, a car slammed into my bumper. The driver was a maniac, Quinn. Kept ramming into me, forced me into the guardrail and knocked me right over the edge.”

“Did you tell the senator this?”

Pain filled her eyes. “He didn’t believe me,” she said flatly. “Said I was imagining it.”

He muttered a soft curse. “That selfish bastard. He’d rather have you look suicidal than be faced with a possible scandal.” He drew in a calming breath. “What do you remember about the other car?”

She glanced at him in surprise. “You believe me?”

“Of course,” he said softly. “You’re many things, Morgan, but suicidal isn’t one of them.”

A wave of relief crashed into Morgan’s chest, making her heart squeeze painfully. He believed her! After days of staring into her dad’s and brother’s pitying eyes, she’d finally found someone who didn’t think she was a nut-job. Not that she ought to be surprised. Quinn had always had the utmost faith in her. When they first met, he’d laughed off all those tabloid stories, telling her he didn’t believe a word of them.

It was incredibly liberating knowing he still held that faith, especially since it was glaringly obvious the last thing he wanted to do was be here with her.

Since they’d sat down, those deep green eyes of his had flickered with so many different emotions she had no clue what to make of it. Bitterness had been prominent. A flash of tenderness. Something that resembled sorrow. And when you threw into the mix the longing, anger and desire she’d also glimpsed, you got one confusing emotional cocktail.

She wanted to ask him if he hated her, but she couldn’t gather up enough courage to do it. Besides, did she really want to know the answer?

“You honestly don’t think I tried to kill myself?” she asked instead, studying his expression.

Conviction laced his gruff voice. “Hell, no.”

“Then don’t tell my father you found me,” she blurted out.

“I can’t do that, Morgan.”

Something coiled in her belly. Irritation. Desperation, maybe. And anger, because she was sick of everyone else making decisions for her. Ever since the car accident—heck, even before that—her father had been calling all the shots.

The only time she’d ever felt an inkling of freedom was when she and Quinn were together, but her father had managed to destroy that, too.

“Why not?” she demanded. “Just get in your car and forget you saw me. Or, here’s a better idea, help me find out what the hell happened in Autumn.”

She had no idea where the spontaneous request for help came from. She was a seasoned journalist, perfectly capable of investigating on her own. But that feeling of danger…it lingered in her gut like a stray animal, hounding at her. Quinn was a mercenary. He could protect her.

She glanced at his broad chest, the ripples of muscle straining against his sweater. A little thrill shot through her. She remembered with perfect clarity how it felt to run her fingers over that chest, the soft sound of pleasure he made when she pressed her lips to his—

No. Not going there.

She couldn’t think about that right now, although from the sparks of heat going off like fireworks in her body, it was evident this man was still capable of eliciting a primal physical response in her. He’d always done that, made her hot and needy, just by being in the same room as her.

Looking oblivious to her painfully aroused state, Quinn’s forehead creased with unease. “You’re planning on going to Autumn.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

“Bad idea,” he said flatly.

She feigned innocence. “Why’s that?”

Disapproval filled his eyes. “Someone ran you off a bridge. You go in asking questions, digging around, and you could end up asking the wrong person or digging in the wrong place.”

“So come with me.” She laughed derisively. “Keep me in line.”

He responded with a laugh of his own, deep and genuine. “Keep you in line? That’s like trying to teach a raging bull to do tricks.” The laughter faded as rapidly as it came. “Forget it, Morgan. I’m not going to Autumn with you.”

“Then I’ll go alone.”

He gave a firm shake of the head. “Only place you’re going is home. Anything else is too dangerous.”

She experienced a pang of disappointment, but rather than arguing, she dropped the issue. She knew the look in Quinn’s eyes too well. He meant business. He wasn’t going to help her. And she got the feeling he’d take her back to the city even if he had to drag her there, kicking and screaming.

“In fact,” he continued, “we’re leaving now.”

“Couldn’t we at least wait until morning?”

Something indefinable flashed across his face. Averting his eyes, he cleared his throat and said, “No. I don’t have time to sit around here all night with you. We’re leaving now.”

She tightened her lips. “Fine.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fine?”

“Yes, fine.” She rose stiffly to her feet, tossing him a glance over her shoulder as she rounded the couch to get her purse. “Isn’t that what you want?”

He stood up, arms crossed over that spectacular chest. “Yes, but it’s not what you want. So why are you giving in so easily?”

She shrugged, and slung her purse over one shoulder. “We both know I’ll be going to Autumn. This is just a small bump in the road. I broke out of the psych ward once. I can do it again.”

“So that’s your plan, dutifully come back with me and then escape again?”

“Yep.”

He let out an exasperated breath. “You are the most stubb—” He stopped abruptly, suddenly frowning. “Forget it. Beggars can’t be choosers. Your thoughtful compliance only makes my job easier. Once you’re home, you’ll be the senator’s problem.”