Her Private Avenger. Elle KennedyЧитать онлайн книгу.
a long calming breath and lifted her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She didn’t care what her father or Tony or those doctors said. She hadn’t purposely driven her car off a bridge.
Someone had run her off the road.
Pain seized her insides as she remembered what her father had said when she told him what really happened. You were just imagining things. You were drunk and upset and not thinking clearly. Nobody tried to kill you, Morgan.
The pain transformed into anger when she thought about the staff at the psychiatric hospital her dad had her committed to. The nurses’ sympathetic stares. The doctor’s patronizing words. And her father’s voice, drifting in from the hallway as he spoke to the doctor.
My daughter is…ill. She’s suffered with delusions and mood swings all her life.
Delusions and mood swings, her ass. Sure, she’d been rebellious as a teenager, but that didn’t make her nuts. And was it her fault the press had decided to paint her with the troublemaker brush? Senator’s Wild Child. Senator’s Daughter Caught with Cocaine. Senator’s Loony Daughter.
The memory of all those newspaper headlines had her clenching her fists in fury. She’d never deserved all those labels, and yet somehow she’d gotten stuck with them, and she’d been spending the past ten years trying to rid herself of the stigma.
She’d been doing so well, too. Out of the tabloids for years, landed a legitimate job at a respectable magazine, used a pseudonym to build her writing reputation.
And now…now she was back to square one.
A wave of frustration crashed into her, causing her to stand abruptly. A plan. She needed a plan. She couldn’t hide out in this cabin forever, no matter how safe she felt here. No matter how close it made her feel to Quinn.
If she was going to find the answers, then she needed to return to the scene of the crime.
Autumn. It started in Autumn.
And that’s where she needed to be.
The frustration eased, replaced with a rush of determination that coursed through her blood and got her adrenaline going. She was not suicidal or crazy.
There had been another car on the bridge that night. She’d seen the headlights in her rearview mirror, felt the impact of the other vehicle’s front bumper smashing into her car.
Which meant someone had tried to kill her.
And the only reason someone would’ve done that was because of Layla’s disappearance. She’d been investigating her best friend’s vanishing act for almost ten years, and the moment Layla’s remains were found, someone pushed her car off a bridge? It was too much of a coincidence. In fact, it screamed cover-up.
Lifting her chin in resolve, she headed for the little table next to the front door, where she’d left the purse she’d retrieved from the drawer next to her hospital bed. The small leather bag contained her wallet, ID and credits cards, but she was loath to use anything other than cash in case her father had someone watching her accounts. Which he probably did. She knew he wanted her back in that psych ward, where the doctors could monitor her and make sure she didn’t try to harm herself.
Her cell phone was mysteriously absent from her purse, but she could walk back to the gas station on the main road and call a taxi from there.
In the morning, she decided. She wasn’t particularly keen on the idea of walking around in the dark, no matter how well she remembered these woods.
She dropped her purse on the table and headed back to the sofa. Then she froze.
Were those footsteps she’d just heard?
She swallowed hard, then focused on the soft noises coming from outside the cabin. Snap, snap, snap. Twigs snapping.
Probably an animal. A squirrel scurrying across the clearing, maybe a coyote in search of a midnight snack.
The noise grew louder, the distinct sound of footsteps climbing up the steps. The creak of the porch as the intruder approached the front door.
Her heart pounded against her rib cage, making it difficult to breathe, let alone think.
She needed a weapon. Her gaze darted wildly around the dark room, looking for anything she might be able to use in self-defense. She spotted the fireplace poker at the same time the doorknob began to turn.
Drawing in a breath, Morgan took a desperate step toward the fireplace but she was too late. The door swung open, more footsteps, and then someone grabbed her from behind.
“Let me go,” she squeaked out, struggling to pry herself from the powerful arms restraining her. She attacked with her elbow, eliciting a grunt from her attacker.
“Damn it, Morgan. It’s me.”
She froze at the familiar gruff voice.
No.
No, it couldn’t be him. Maybe she really had gone crazy. Because no way could he actually be here.
Heart pounding, she slowly turned to face the intruder, expecting to see a stranger, or hell, even air. Maybe she was hallucinating this entire exchange.
But nope, there he was, all six feet, three inches of him. The familiar broad shoulders, the muscles rippling beneath his hunter-green sweater. The scent of spice and aftershave she knew so well.
She blinked wildly, then studied his classically handsome features and piercing green eyes.
Oh, God, it was really him.
He was here.
Releasing a heavy sigh, Quinn crossed his arms over his firm chest and said, “I knew I’d find you here.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Her pulse was drumming too loudly in her ears to formulate a sentence, her brain still trying to register the sight of him. After a few seconds of silence, Morgan finally gave up on attempting speech.
Instead, she let out a shaky breath and threw her arms around the only man she’d ever truly loved.
Chapter 2
Oh, lord, it felt good having her in his arms again. Heat coursed through Quinn’s body, his pulse speeding up at the feel of Morgan’s warm body against his, her soft hands clinging to his shoulders. Before he could stop himself, he inhaled the scent of her, the aroma of lavender he remembered far too well.
“Thank God you’re here,” she whispered, her breath tickling his neck.
It was the sound of her voice that snapped him out of the insanity. His body went stiff. Hands dropped from her waist. He took a step back, but waves of heat continued pulsing through his blood.
Quinn quelled the traitorous response and focused on Morgan’s face. On those gorgeous eyes flickering with relief.
He wished she didn’t look so good, but he hadn’t expected anything less. Morgan had always been drop-dead gorgeous. Even now, looking a tad thin and more than a little pale, her beauty made his breath hitch. Her honey-blond hair was tied back in a ponytail that made her appear much younger than her twenty-eight years. She wore baggy jeans and a shapeless knit sweater, but Quinn knew underneath the clothing lay an endless supply of curves. The memory of her soft, womanly form was enough to send his pulse racing again, a reaction he neither appreciated nor welcomed.
“Are you okay?” he asked roughly, meeting her gaze.
“No.” She emphasized the word by slowly shaking her head.
Obviously she was still honest to a fault, and her candid reply brought a reluctant smile to his lips. “I heard about the accident.”
A flash of anger lit her eyes. “From my father?”
Quinn nodded.
Her