Her Private Avenger. Elle Kennedy
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cups and dirty wrappers, he punched in the number for the senator’s private line.
“Did you find her?” came the brisk answer.
As always, he stifled the urge to spit out a nasty reply. “Yes,” he said.
“Thank God. I knew you would. Are you on your way back to the city?” The relief in the senator’s voice was unmistakable. No doubt Kerr considered this another successful triumph.
Tuck Morgan back in the psych ward before she could stir up trouble for dear old dad.
Quinn wished he could see the man’s face when he dropped the next bomb on him, but he could live with hearing the outrage.
“Actually…” He grinned. Couldn’t stop it, couldn’t help it. He’d dreamed of sticking it to the senator for years. “I’m not bringing her back.”
Deafening silence.
Followed by a foul curse, then, “What? Why the hell not?”
“She doesn’t want to come home,” he said simply. “And I don’t feel inclined to take her.”
“You son of a bitch. That wasn’t our deal.”
“We didn’t make a deal. I told you I’d find her, and I did. I never said I would bring her back.”
He’d planned on it, though. When he found her in the cabin, he had every intention of driving her right back to D.C. and depositing her on Edward’s doorstep. But that was before she told him what really happened on the bridge. No matter how badly he wanted—no, needed—to be away from her, he couldn’t abandon her if she was in danger. If he left, who would protect her?
“I swear to God, Quinn, if you don’t get in the car and drive her back to the hospital where she belongs, I’m going to sic every cop in the city on you.”
“Let me guess, you’ll charge me with kidnapping? Yeah, I expected that threat.” Quinn’s grin widened. “You won’t do it, though.”
“I sure as hell will.”
“No,” he answered coolly. “You won’t. Because if you do, I’m going to unleash a media storm on you. I’ll contact the press, tell them all about how you fabricated Morgan’s mental illness in order to keep her in line. I won’t stop there, either. If it strikes my fancy, maybe I’ll spin a few tales of my own, lob a few accusations your way, like, shoot, I don’t know, illegal campaign funds? Bribery? That’ll get them salivating.”
Senator Kerr sounded absolutely livid. “I have done nothing of the sort.”
“Yeah, but the media doesn’t know that, do they? Either way there’ll be a few black spots on your name, no matter what the truth is.”
The line went quiet for a moment. “Why are you doing this?” Kerr finally asked, sounding wary.
“Because someone tried to kill your daughter last week,” Quinn retorted stiffly. “And unlike you, that actually concerns me.”
“Nobody tried to kill her,” Kerr said in frustration. “She was hallucinating—”
“Save the lies for someone else. I don’t give a damn if you believe her or not. I’m just letting you know the reason I’ve agreed to help her. And I’m also giving you a friendly reminder that if you attempt to have me arrested, the results won’t be pretty.”
“You’re a ruthless bastard, Adam.”
“Takes one to know one, doesn’t it, Edward?” he said glibly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Morgan and I have somewhere we need to be.”
The senator hung up.
A rush of exhilaration swept up Quinn’s spine. Oh, yeah. A long time coming, that’s what this confrontation was. And he knew his threat wouldn’t go unheeded. The senator would not call the police. He’d stew about this latest development in private, of course, but risk a possible scandal? Never.
Closing the phone, Quinn headed back to the car, only to pause midstep. A wave of uneasiness washed over him as he spotted Morgan leaning against the back of the SUV, her expression a combination of anger and respect.
“You heard all that?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Well, let’s have it then.” Disgust rose up his throat. “I antagonized your poor, innocent father, right? Overstepped my boundaries?” When she didn’t take the bait, he lifted a sardonic brow. “Huh. Where’s that famous Kerr temper?”
Morgan ran a hand through her silky hair. “I’m not going to tear into you. You did good.”
Though it was rare, Quinn was stunned speechless.
“I can only imagine what he was saying to you,” she added, shaking her head in irritation. “He wants me back in the psych ward, right? Well, I won’t go back. And if keeping me out of there meant you had to launch a few threats in his direction, I can’t fault you for that.”
Again with the bitterness. A part of him wanted to lash out at her, too, demand to know why she was only now opening her eyes to her father’s true colors. Why not two years ago, when it had actually mattered? But he held his tongue. Somewhat. Still, he had to ask, “Where is this coming from?”
Morgan met his inquisitive gaze head-on. “He didn’t believe me,” she said simply, then turned on her heel and headed back to the passenger side.
Quinn had stood up for her. Although it hardly meant he’d forgiven her, and it definitely didn’t mean he’d welcome her back into his life with open arms, Morgan couldn’t fight the small thrill that shot through her body. Her father had the annoying ability to bulldoze any man who came into her life, but not Quinn. He’d threatened a senator. Her father. For her.
Morgan buckled up her seat belt and watched from the corner of her eye as Quinn started the engine. God, she wanted to throw her arms around him. She wanted to thank him again for what he’d done just now, for that unshakable belief he still seemed to have in her, despite the messy way they’d ended things.
The memory of their breakup struck a chord of regret. No, she didn’t want to think about that heartbreaking goodbye. Right now, as she sat next to the man who’d just defended her to her father, she couldn’t stop thinking about the hello.
“Do you remember the day we met?” she burst out, unable to stop the words from leaving her mouth.
Quinn’s head jerked in her direction, surprise etched in his rug ged features. Surprise that soon dissolved into wariness. “Of course I remember,” he said gruffly.
But along with the wariness, there was tenderness in his voice. Tender. When they’d first met she would never have expected a man like Adam Quinn to possess even an ounce of tenderness. He’d been all business that day, clad in camo pants and an olive-green T-shirt that clung to his sweat-soaked chest. He’d marched around that refugee camp, barking orders at his men—and at her.
“I thought you were such a jerk,” she admitted with a grin. “You kept ordering me to get on the ‘damn chopper.’”
“And you kept refusing,” he replied mildly.
She shrugged and leaned back in her seat. “My story wasn’t finished. And the threat didn’t feel real.”
But it had been real, hadn’t it? Quinn’s team was sent in to extract all the relief workers and journalists at the camp, after intel came in that a rebel group planned to raid it. Morgan held on to the end, though, leaving on the last chopper out of the Congo. Twelve hours later, the rebels had massacred half the camp.
“I wish we could have helped them,” she whispered.
“We could only help ourselves.”
Morgan swallowed, blocking the images of the carnage from her mind. She hadn’t seen it firsthand,