Defending Morgan (Mountain Mercenaries #3)(12)
When Arrow chuckled, Morgan was amazed that she felt a hundred percent better. Their situation still wasn’t good, but somehow, laughing in the middle of a run-down alley in the Caribbean made everything better. Laughing with Arrow made it better.
“Deal,” he said. Then he surprised the shit out of her by leaning down and kissing her forehead. Before she could respond, he pulled back and turned to the trash overflowing from the bin. “Let’s see how to make this as bearable as possible for you.”
There wasn’t much to work with, and it only took a few minutes for her to shimmy herself under a trash heap. She was short, so she could easily lie behind the wide plastic bin and hide herself under the newspapers, fish guts, and other miscellaneous trash. Arrow made a cover for her head out of a cardboard box, keeping the trash off her face. She was lying on her back, and she knew as soon as Arrow put the box over her head, it would be pitch-dark, even darker than it had been walking around the back alleys of the city, and she’d be alone. She didn’t want him to leave, but at the same time, she wanted him to go so he could hurry up and come back.
“Do not leave from here, no matter what you hear. Understand? I can’t see you, and I’m wearing night-vision goggles. If you stay quiet and don’t move, anyone walking down this alley will go right by you. So don’t panic.”
Morgan nodded. He made it sound so easy, but she knew if someone did happen to come by her hiding place, it would be extremely difficult to remain still. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll figure it out as I go.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that, so she simply stared up at him.
“You’re killin’ me, beautiful.”
“I’m not doing anything,” she protested, surprised that he’d called her beautiful. She figured he must call every woman that, because she was anything but beautiful right now. She hadn’t seen herself in a mirror in weeks, but she could feel how badly her hair was matted and could see how grimy her skin was. But the fact that Arrow had used the term of endearment still felt good, comforting. It had been a long time since she’d been around a nice man. And Arrow was definitely nice.
“I know,” he said. “You don’t have to do a damn thing. That’s why you’re killin’ me. If you were crying, protesting, or arguing with me, this would somehow be easier.”
Morgan looked up at him and said with a straight face, “I can yell at you, if you want.”
He smiled. “Probably not a good idea. I’m going to cover you up now,” he warned. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t move from here, no matter what. Got it?”
“Yup. I’ll just lie here and dream about eating a huge steak. I’m not sure I’m ever going to want seafood again.”
Arrow stared at her with a look she couldn’t decipher before nodding. He placed the cardboard box over her head, immediately making her feel claustrophobic. She heard the thud of garbage being piled on top of it, burying her completely.
Morgan shut her eyes and thought about anything but where she was and what was happening. She thought about her bees. Wondered, not for the first time, if they were still alive, if anyone had bothered to empty the honey in their hives. She thought about her mom. She had to be so worried about her. Morgan hated that her mother had been put through the agony of her only child being kidnapped.
It had been a surprise to hear that her father was the one who’d urged the press to keep her case active.
Morgan had tried to get her dad’s approval her entire life. Her parents had divorced when she was young, and despite the fact she didn’t live with him, he’d never been satisfied with anything she did. Her grades, her choice of extracurricular activities, her friends, even her current job. He lived in the Atlanta area, so she saw him fairly often, but she still hadn’t figured out how to get his approval.
Her parents were very divorced. She’d learned from an early age not to talk about her father to her mom, and vice versa. She didn’t think they’d said even one word to each other since she was little.
Morgan wondered if her disappearance had brought her parents together enough to at least speak. Wondered if they’d done any press conferences together, pleading for information about her whereabouts.
Shaking her head, Morgan dismissed the idea. She couldn’t see either of her parents bending enough to tolerate being around their ex . . . not even for her.
Changing gears, for the first time in months she thought about the other people who’d been in her life before she’d been kidnapped. She’d been dating a nice guy. Lane Buswell was a few years older than her. He was a mortgage broker and her complete opposite; maybe that’s why they’d hit it off. He had dark-red hair and green eyes and wasn’t too tall for her taste . . . at least, what her taste used to be.
Morgan had thought about the night her life had changed over and over again, examining her actions and trying to decide if she could’ve done anything to cause a different outcome. It was stupid to play the what-if game, but she’d had a lot of time to think about it.
She’d been out with Lane and a group of their friends that night. They’d gone to a nightclub, and she’d left early. She’d walked to her car, which had been parked in a public garage, and someone had snatched her from there.
Morgan figured that by now Lane had probably moved on, assuming she was dead. Not that she could blame him. Even the small house she’d rented was probably home to someone else by now. She’d been thrilled to find it. It was on five acres, perfect for her beehives. But by now, her stuff was probably in storage or had been sold off.