Morgan's Hunter (2 page)

“I will. I will.” Hunter was losing him. Life seeped from his best friend, his brother. “I love you, Jake. I’ll take care of them.”

“I love…take care of….” Jake stopped moving; stopped breathing.

Desperately, Hunter started chest compressions. “God, no, no! Don’t you leave me!”

The chopper landed in the distance and gunfire broke out. Heat seared through Hunter’s left shoulder.

Bullets sprayed from Sergeant Smith’s weapon. “I got him, Hunter. I got the fucking bastard.” His brows furrowed as he crouched behind the rocks. “Shit, you’re shot.”

Hunter sat in the sand and dust with Jake, blood dripping down his arm.

After a miserable week in West Germany’s Landstuhl Regional Medical center, followed by four days at Walter Reed, Hunter landed in Los Angeles. If he never saw another doctor again, it would be too soon. The constant poking and prodding had been enough to drive any sane man crazy, and he couldn’t be certain he was sane any longer.

The nightmares he woke from left him in panicked sweats for hours. Loud sounds spooked him, and at the strangest times he swore Jake called out to him. He was a mess—his life a disaster.

The plane taxied to the gate and he reached for his bag, jostling his stiff shoulder. On a sharp intake of breath, Hunter clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, waiting for the twinge to pass.

The nagging throb wouldn’t allow him to forget he had physical therapy the next day. He would’ve preferred another gunshot wound over the twisting and turning, the bending and stretching that left his shoulder radiating with pain and aching worse than the bullet had itself. The sadistic bastards were relentless with their sunny smiles and encouragement. With every agonizing movement, they reminded him his hard work would be well worth the time he’d put in when he achieved full range of motion.

At this point, Hunter didn’t give two fucks about his range of motion—or much of anything else, for that matter. He could’ve sat in the hospital bed indefinitely, letting the morphine drip into his veins, inviting the drug-induced fog to take all of the memories away. He didn’t want to remember anymore, he didn’t really care to live, but he’d made Jake a promise and it was one he intended to keep.

As the cab traveled Highway 1 to the Palisades, Hunter stared at the palm trees flashing by, the waves churning the massive Pacific. He rolled down the window, breathing in the salty sea.

It smelled like home.

He wanted to be happy he was here, to feel
something,
but he couldn’t shake the empty numbness that’d consumed him since the casualty evacuation chopper flew him back to base. He’d stared at five body bags, the remains of his unit—his family—while medics had worked on his arm and his two fellow men.

He came to attention, shaking the images away as the cab pulled up to the curb in the upscale neighborhood. Hunter stepped from the car, handing the cabbie a fifty.

The taxi drove off as a door closed behind him. Hunter peered over his shoulder. Sarah, with her grief-shattered blue eyes, stood on the entryway steps, surrounded by concrete planters thriving with sunny pink pansies. The creamy white of the ranch-style house looked exactly the same, but everything would be forever different.

Despite the heat of the day, Sarah hugged herself tight in one of Jake’s thick gray sweatshirts. Hunter turned, took a step forward, and she ran to him with tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Oh my God, Hunter. Hunter,” she sobbed, collapsing into his arms, holding on tight.

Hunter freed his arm from the sling, picked her up. Dull pain radiated through his shoulder as he brought her inside. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I’m so sorry,” he repeated over and over as he sat down, gripping her against him on the couch.

Twinges of loss and grief attempted to surface as he glanced around the living room. He’d spent countless hours within these walls; watching games with Jake and Ethan, unwrapping presents under a prettily decorated tree. Life had happened here, had been taken for granted. At twenty-eight, time seemed endless—until it unexpectedly ran out.

Jake would never sit in this room again. No more yells of objection at poor referee decisions; no more infectious laughter from one of Ethan’s crude jokes. How would he move past the silence? How would he go on?

His thoughts threatened to overwhelm him. He pressed his cheek against Sarah’s hair, hugged her closer, grabbing hold of something real.

A picture caught his eye—one of many hanging on the wall. Tuxedo clad and grinning, he and Jake gave a thumbs-up. He remembered the flash in time, a special moment he could never have back.

“
I’m getting married, man. The photographer wants one more picture before the I-dos.”

“This is your last chance to escape,” Hunter joked.

“I don’t want to run. When you find someone amazing, you grab them up before they get away.”

Hunter studied the men in the picture: “the twins”, as his mother had always called them. A smile touched his mouth as he scrutinized Jake’s classic Italian features and tall, leanly muscled frame—a stark contrast to his honey blond hair, shocking blue eyes, and tough athletic build. Nothing about the two had ever been twin-like. They’d just been best friends…forever.

As another layer of despair overshadowed life’s light, Sarah looked at him, sniffling, and he once again remembered his promise.

“I can’t believe… I can’t believe he’s really gone, Hunter.”

“I wish it’d been me. I would give anything for him to be here with you.”

Sarah gripped his hand, shaking her head. “No, don’t say that. As much as I want Jake back, I could never wish you gone.”

Breathy whimpers echoed through the baby monitor, turning into lusty cries.

“Can I—can I get her?” Hunter put Sarah on the couch cushion, stood.

“Yes, of course.”

He walked down the hallway to the screaming infant. He turned into her pink and pale yellow room, where another framed photograph of Jake hung next to the crib.

Looking down, Hunter stared at Jake’s newborn daughter. Grief invaded, choking him, consuming.

The night before Jake died, they’d sat before a computer screen, watching Sarah push Kylee into the world via Skype.

Hunter picked her up carefully, awkwardly, tucking her into the crook of his good arm. Kylee’s crying turned to whimpers as her baby blues stared up at him. She had Jake’s ears, his long, graceful fingers. She was so tiny, so soft. He kissed her forehead, hugged her gently against him.

“Your dad couldn’t be here. He asked me to do that. I’m supposed to—” His voice broke. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. “He wanted me to tell you he loves you and he’ll always be with you. I’m going to say that a lot.” Tears raced down his cheeks as he glanced up. Sarah stood in the doorway.

Kylee fussed, started crying again.

“She’s hungry, Hunter. Let’s bring her out to the living room.”

He nodded, wiped his damp face, wincing when he wrenched his aching shoulder.

They huddled on the couch while Sarah fed Kylee. Hunter draped an arm around her, holding on, taking comfort as he gave it. This was supposed to be Jake’s moment. He would have it for him.

Hunter told them both what Jake had wanted them to hear, choking on his sobs.

When the baby fell back to sleep, he and Sarah cried together, holding each other close.

Chapter 2

May 2012

M
ORGAN TAYLOR WALKED THROUGH THE parking garage as fast as her legs would carry her. She whipped out her cell phone, dialed Shelly’s number, eager to give her the news.

Waiting for her friend to pick up, Morgan pushed the button on her key fob, unlocking her silver sports convertible.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Shell, we got the assignment.” She sat behind the wheel, started the sweet little Mercedes, backed out of her spot with a squeal.

“We did?”

“Yup, we leave Friday.” Morgan pressed the accelerator, gunning her way out of the garage and into D.C’s rush hour traffic.

“What? This Friday?”

“Afraid so. We’re on the first flight out. Do you want to call the guys and tell them?”

“Sure, I can do that.”

“Great.” She shifted into third, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder. The man in the Lexus behind her laid on his horn when she cut him off. “Oops. Sorry, mister,” she murmured.

“Morgan, are you
driving
right now? Your driving sucks when you give it your
full
attention.”

She grinned, more than used to the jokes about her less than stellar skills behind the wheel. “I should’ve waited until I got home, but we don’t have a lot of time. I’ll be quick. This assignment will be a little different. Half of us are going to Yellowstone and the rest to Maine.”

“Aw, but this is my final stint in the field. I wanted one last hurrah before I leave. Can’t your dad arrange it?”

“No, he can’t,” she scolded, breezing through a yellow light. “It’ll be weird not having the six of us together, but that’s how the Bureau’s handling it. Are you sure you want to head up research in smog-choked L.A?”

“Yes, Morgan, I do.”

The warning tone rang through in her friend’s voice, and Morgan blew out a breath. “I know this is something you’ve wanted for a long time. I’m happy for you, Shell. Let’s see if everyone wants to get together tomorrow and we’ll figure out who’s going where. How about we meet at your place? We can help you pack.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

Morgan ignored the hesitation. Shelly had barely begun to get her apartment together. “I’ll grab a bunch of food—that’ll keep the guys happy. If everything’s in order before we go on assignment, we’ll be able to concentrate on your goodbye party when we get back. I’ll book us a day at Claude’s—the works—and we’ll plan away.”

Shelly’s voice brightened. “What an excellent idea. I’ll make the calls now. Oh, by the way, I’m officially electing you to decide who’s going where. I have too much to do already without worrying about that.”

“Fine,” Morgan said with a playful huff. “I’m always the heavy.”

“Yes, and you do it so well. I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning. Crap, my relaxing week just got extremely hectic.”

Morgan turned on Connecticut Avenue, heading northwest toward her parents’ home in Chevy Chase. “Better get packing, Shell. Talk to you later.” She pressed end as her speedometer hit sixty-five in a fifty.

The team of six rested on the floor of Shelly’s one-bedroom apartment. A dozen pizza boxes lay on taped cardboard stacked and scattered about the room.

“Well, Shell, I can’t technically call you a hoarder, but it’s close.” Ian Letterbeck sat leaned against the wall, his paper plate heaped with pizza.

“Hey, I don’t have that much stuff.” She nibbled her veggie-loaded slice.

“Damn, girl, are you
kidding
? I mean, look at all this shit.” Dave Andrews dabbed at the sweat on his handsome ebony face as he gave the box closest to his foot a slight nudge.

Dave’s identical twin, Jim, laughed and Morgan grinned, elbowing him.

“Leave her alone, guys.” Tom Smithson pushed his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have a lot of stuff, Shelly.”

“You say that tomorrow, Skinny Man, when your muscles are screaming,” Jim said as he laughed again.

Morgan wadded her napkin, put it on her plate. “All right, now that we’ve had fun at Shelly’s expense, let’s talk about this assignment and figure out who’s going where.”

“We’re tagging and tracking a lynx. We don’t have to make this into a big thing.” Ian stood, took more pizza. “Tom, Shelly and I’ll take Yellowstone, and the Bobbsey twins will go with you to Maine. Now, let’s grab a drink at Club Rave.”