For the first time, he could foresee an end to the situation. Until things were settled he’d been hamstrung with Bo, not knowing what he could or couldn’t do, how long the current state of affairs would hold, if he’d ever be tracked down to Hamrickville. Now he didn’t have to wait. They could take the offensive, get this thing settled.
He grabbed her and pulled her across his lap, ignoring her startled yelp to catch her chin and kiss her with all the fire he felt whenever she was in his arms. “You did it,” he murmured, trailing his mouth down her neck to her fragile collarbone. He knew she wasn’t really fragile, but everything about her felt fragile to him; her bone structure was so fine that his wrists were twice as thick as hers. He’d almost been anxious about crawling on top of her—almost, and definitely not enough to stop him. But she always met him with such enthusiasm that in the heat of the moment he’d forget, and the next thing he knew they’d be locked in the down and dirty and she’d be wringing him out. God, it was great.
He loved the honesty of her. There were no games being played, no pretense, just an open giving and taking. He thought she loved him, though getting her to ever admit it to him could take some doing. Given that, and knowing she didn’t expect a future with him despite how she felt, she had still done what she thought was best for him rather than herself when she’d decided to undertake that direction of questioning. Sure, it had been a long shot, but she’d taken that chance.
“I don’t know what was different about how you were asking the questions because Axel asked for every detail too, but you pulled out the one thing I needed.”
“I told him,” she said absently, her fingers moving to the back of his neck. Her tone said she was concentrating on touch, not the conversation. “I asked when you weren’t doped up.”
“Good theory, but I haven’t been doped up for a couple of months now, and I still hadn’t hit on the significance of that shirt. I’ve gone over and over that day plenty of times too. I just missed it.”
He was annoyed, but hell, shit happened. Even if he’d remembered about the shirt on the day he first regained consciousness, as Bo had twice pointed out, they would still have nothing on the congresswoman. Even when they eventually identified the mystery man—and he had no doubt they would—proving something illegal was going on was going to be a bitch. The guy could be the head of Russia’s SVR, but meeting with him on a boat to talk wasn’t a crime—suspicious, but not a crime.
Axel would be looking though. Now that he had a name, he’d be turning over every rock Joan Kingsley had ever stepped on.
But how long would that take? Whatever was going on, they’d already had three months to cover their tracks. Morgan wasn’t inclined to wait.
An idea began turning over in his head, one that would bypass finding any elusive evidence about whatever had been going on that day and provide a whole different crime with which the Kingsleys could be charged. Once investigators had a foot in the door, so to speak, the evidence for the other crime could well turn up.
He’d have to think about it, work out the angles. A lot of things could go wrong, but the advantage of the plan was that he wouldn’t be a sitting duck waiting in Hamrickville and possibly endangering Bo and his other friends.
CHAPTER 24
AT FIVE-THIRTY IN THE MORNING, BO’S CELL PHONE chimed the arrival of a text. The sound woke her out of a deep sleep, and she raised her head to growl, “What the hell!” If there had been an emergency in town she would have been called, not texted.
Morgan snapped on the lamp and reached across her to snag her phone off the bedside table. “It’s from Axel,” he muttered, squinting at the partial text showing on the lock screen. He swiped his thumb across the screen and tapped in her passcode, then went to the full text.
Bo yawned and stretched, reveling in the feel of his naked body stretched across hers. She hadn’t realized he knew her passcode, but she wasn’t surprised—or concerned. He’d seen her use it often enough to know the pattern. “What does it say?”
“He’s sent some photos for me for me to look at,” Morgan replied absently. She knew that tone, and her heart leaped the way it always did. He was looking at her bare breasts as if she were a gazelle and he was a starving tiger. He dropped the phone on the bed and snaked his hand under the sheet to stroke up her thigh, over her belly, then down between her legs at the same time he closed his mouth over her nipple to give it a sharp tug. A low sound hummed in her throat as his big finger pushed into her.
Even after a month, things still went fast between them, as if neither of them wanted to wait. She knew he wasn’t going to leave her behind, and her response to him was fierce enough that he’d have to hurry if he did. The way he fit inside her, big enough for her to feel stretched, long enough to feel deeply penetrated, sent her over the edge. It was perfect, as if their bodies had been made to be together. Logically she knew that was impossible, but when they were making love, logic flew out the window, because “perfect” was how it felt.
“He’ll call any minute now,” she said breathlessly as Morgan settled on top of her. She stroked his ribs, his shoulders, opened her legs to him and latched them around his hips. His entry was careful, but as soon as the head of his penis was inside her he stroked deep the way she liked.
“Won’t be the first time I’ve ignored him.” He rested his weight on his elbows and cupped her face as he moved inside her, watching her with that eagle gaze as if he wanted to catch every flicker of expression. He did that a lot, his focus locked on her as if nothing else was going on in the world.