Defending Morgan (Mountain Mercenaries #3)(14)

Her teeth flashed white when she smiled.

“Come on. Stay right by me and don’t talk. I’m pretty sure we should be in the clear, but I’m not going to take any chances.”

Morgan nodded and took a deep breath. She looked down at their clasped hands, then he felt her fingers loosening. He was about to protest, but she moved her hand to his waistband once more. Even through his shirt he could feel that her fingers were cool against him. He reached down and moved her hand so it was at the small of his back.

“Hang on, beautiful. There’s a bubble bath calling your name.”

Then, without another word, he set off out of the alley toward the east and safety.



It took two hours, as Arrow was being extremely careful about the route he was taking, but eventually they were standing outside the motel where Rex had made reservations for them. If it was up to Arrow, he would’ve gone the rest of the way to the hotel Black and Ball were staying in, but he could tell Morgan was dead on her feet. She was stumbling more and gripping his pants so tightly he could feel the material digging into his skin.

He was impressed with how well she’d held up as it was. He’d stopped several dozen times simply to listen, to take in his surroundings, and she hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t questioned him. She’d let him do what he needed to do without interruption. He didn’t know many people, other than the men on his team, who could’ve done the same thing.

With every minute that passed, Arrow became more and more intrigued by the woman at his side. But he couldn’t afford to let down his guard until they were back on US soil. There was no telling who was in on the plot to keep Morgan in Santo Domingo.

It was still dark out, but as they walked through the city, it began to stir. It had to be close to sunrise, but when he looked at Morgan, her eyes were wide open, and she didn’t look tired in the least. He knew it was a ruse, though. The dark circles under her eyes and the way her shoulders drooped gave her away.

A rush of feelings swept through him. Anger at whoever had put her in this position in the first place. Remorse at having to push her so hard tonight. And regret that he hadn’t stopped earlier.

“Hold on just a bit longer, beautiful, and you’ll be chin deep in hot water.”

She smiled at him, which made Arrow’s breath hitch. Even covered in grime and smelling like a fish factory, her smile lit up her face and made her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“How are we going to play this? I’m not sure even the stupidest desk clerk will be able to overlook the eau de fish I’m wearing. He’s never going to believe we’re on our honeymoon.”

Arrow had told her the plan while they were walking, about how a room was waiting for them, courtesy of his handler. He’d explained how they were supposed to be Mr. and Mrs. Coldwater from California.

“Trust me?” His words came out more a question than a statement.

She didn’t look away from him as she nodded.

Arrow’s heart constricted once more at her immediate response. He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her into his side. “Keep your eyes down and look defeated,” he told her.

Morgan chuckled. “That won’t be hard.”

He resisted the urge to return her humor. “Come on. Here goes nothin’.”

They walked into the somewhat run-down motel lobby, and a bell tinkled above their heads as the door closed behind them. Morgan’s arm snaked around his waist as she clung to him. She kept her head down, and he felt her stumble as they walked toward the desk.

Arrow tightened his arm around her and ground his teeth together because he knew she wasn’t acting.

A scruffy, sleepy-looking man appeared from a back room. “Hola.”

“Hola,” Arrow said. Then, still speaking in Spanish, he added, “We have a reservation for Mr. and Mrs. Coldwater.”

Without a word, the man turned to the computer and clicked a few times on the mouse sitting next to the keyboard. Then he looked up, and his eyes went from Morgan back to Arrow before he asked in Spanish, “Cash or credit?”

Without letting go of Morgan, Arrow reached into his pocket and pulled out the wad of American dollars he’d stashed there before heading inside. He knew money spoke volumes in this part of the world. “Cash.”

The clerk’s eyes lit up, and he couldn’t take his gaze off the money.

Launching into the story he’d concocted, Arrow told him that he and his newly wedded wife had run into problems on their way to the motel. They’d taken a taxi and gotten more than they’d bargained for when the driver had taken them on a joy ride of Santo Domingo, demanding more and more money. When he finally let them out, he’d taken their suitcases with him and they’d had to walk for miles to the motel. Arrow further explained they’d had to hide behind trash bins to keep away from the roving bands of thugs that came out after dark.

The clerk didn’t seem moved in the least. All he cared about was the money in Arrow’s hand, and Arrow realized his entire spiel was completely unnecessary. The man just didn’t give a shit. Arrow wanted to roll his eyes in disgust, wanted to demand a little compassion for their plight, but instead, he simply handed over the money. It was a hundred dollars more than the room cost, and the clerk took it without a word.

He handed over an old-fashioned key and told them where their room was. “Gracias,” Arrow said with a nod. But the man had already disappeared into the room behind the counter—with the extra cash stashed deep in his pocket.