Her Private Avenger. Elle Kennedy

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 lips tightened. “Let me guess. He’s outside in the car, waiting for you to bring me out so the two of you could take me back to the hospital. Where I won’t be able to harm myself.”

      Hurt and sarcasm dripped from each word. He saw that same hurt flickering on her face, and in that instant Quinn knew he’d been right. No way had Morgan tried to kill herself. He didn’t give a damn what the senator thought. As usual, the man was dead wrong.

      “Your father isn’t outside. I came alone.”

      Morgan went silent for a moment, and then she shot him a shrewd look. “But he asked you to come.”

      “Yes.”

      She rolled her eyes as she drifted over to the couch and sank onto the cushions. “I wish I’d been there to hear him beg you to help.”

      He couldn’t help a chuckle. “It was definitely a Kodak moment.”

      Morgan laughed softly. “I’ll bet.”

      Okay. So this was easier than he thought it would be. They were talking, laughing, no awkward silences, no uncomfor—Oh, for Pete’s sake, who was he kidding? This was difficult as hell, seeing Morgan after two years apart.

      Stifling a sigh, he joined her on the sofa, sitting at the other end, and clasped his hands loosely on his lap. “Tell me about the accident,” he finally said.

      She raised one delicate eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you rather we talk about the enormous pink elephant in the room first?”

      “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

      “We haven’t seen each other in two years, Quinn.” Pain swarmed her eyes. “And the last time we were together, you told me to get out of your life and stay out.”

      He tried not to cringe. Damn, when she said it out loud, it sounded harsher than he remembered. But he’d been hurting like hell when he’d said those words.

      “I probably could’ve been more diplomatic about it,” he admitted ruefully.

      She swallowed. “No. I deserved it.”

      As she’d always done when she was nervous or upset, Morgan nibbled on her bottom lip with her straight white teeth. Last time he’d seen her do it, she was telling him she wanted to postpone their wedding.

      “So—” Morgan cleared her throat “—you’ve been neglecting this old place.” She gestured around the cabin, the change of subject an obvious indication that she’d decided to go back to ignoring the pink elephant.

      “I’ve been out of the country,” he answered with a shrug.

      He tried not to follow the sweep of her hands, not eager to focus too hard on his surroundings. This cabin had been their sanctuary, the place they’d gone to make love, where Morgan could avoid the scrutiny that came with being a senator’s daughter.

      In fact, it had been right here, on this couch, that Morgan first told him she loved him. He’d said it back, no hesitation—God, how he’d loved her—and proceeded to make passionate love to her. All night long.

      The memory caused his gut to tighten. Damn it, he wasn’t allowed to think about those days. He had no business remembering how it felt to kiss her, or make love to her. Or the sleepy smiles she used to give him when she woke up in his arms. Or the way she never backed down when she believed in something.

      He gulped down a lump of bitterness. But she had backed down, hadn’t she? When it really mattered, she’d allowed her father to talk her out of marrying him.

      “Business going well?” she asked quietly.

      “Yeah. Seems like everyone’s getting themselves kidnapped these days. My guys and I did three extractions last month alone.”

      “Ah, the glorious life of a mercenary,” she said wryly.

      A short silence fell, and Quinn used the lull to gather up some courage. He knew what he had to do, and he knew exactly how Morgan would react. And damn, but he was in no shape to face off with her tonight. His chest felt raw, this reunion scraping him open and leaving his insides a mess.

      “Quinn?”

      He met her eyes. “Yeah?”

      “What’s bothering you?”

      Now wasn’t that a loaded question.

      He ran a hand through his hair and steeled himself for a fight. “I’m just trying to decide whether we should head out tonight, or wait until morning.”

      Her hands dropped from her knees, fingers clenching into fists. “And where exactly would we be heading to?”

      “I don’t know. I’m assuming your father’s house, or your apartment, if you’d prefer. Either way, I’m driving you back to the city.”

      Alarm washed over her features. “No! You can’t take me there! My father will send me back to the psych ward.”

      Quinn fought a groan. She was right, of course. The second Edward had Morgan back, he’d commit her again.

      But what was Quinn supposed to do about it? He’d promised Edward he would find Morgan, and he’d kept to his word. Here she was, safe and sound. Which meant it was time to get the hell out of this cabin. The memories were liable to suffocate him.

      “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