Return of a Hero Read online

  “Get your hand off me,” Rico sputtered.

  “Leave the lady alone.”

  Rico snorted. “Hey! She’s just another piece of meat to sell, buddy. You ain’t movin’ in on my turf!”

  The urge to put his fist right through Rico’s snarling face was tempting. With a grin Morgan shoved Rico away from him. The pimp crashed into another table, then fell to the unswept wooden floor.

  Laura gave a small cry of warning as she saw Rico scramble to his feet, drawing a knife from beneath his gray silk suit coat.

  “She’s mine,” Rico whispered, holding the knife outward.

  Morgan’s eyes glittered. Grabbing a beer bottle, he smashed it against the counter, keeping the jagged remains as a weapon in his hand. He kicked a chair out of the way, then stood in a wide stance for better balance. “No way, punk. The lady’s no hooker, and she isn’t for sale.” The pimp leaped forward, knife hand extended. In one swift motion Morgan lifted his foot, his boot coming into hard contact with Rico’s wrist. The pimp cried out as his weapon sailed out of his hand.

  Breathing harshly, Morgan caught Rico as he fell off balance from the kick he’d delivered. Grabbing the pimp by the collar of his suit, he slammed him headfirst into the counter. With a groan Rico slumped to the floor, holding his bloodied nose.

  “Now get the hell out of here,” Morgan snarled, leaning down and jerking Rico back to his feet.

  Laura watched as Morgan threw Rico out the front door, then slammed it shut after him. Dizziness assaulted her, but she caught herself, gripping the table for support. She heard snickers from the patrons.

  “You all right?” Morgan asked, coming over to her.

  “Y-yes, fine.”

  He cocked his head, studying her darkened eyes and pale skin. “You don’t look very good. Here, sit down.” Pulling out a chair, he guided Laura over to it.

  “Hey, Mac,” the bartender called, waving Morgan back over to the counter. “I think I remember now. They call him ‘Lenny the Rat.’”

  Hesitantly Morgan left Laura’s side. She looked as if she were going to faint. “Tell me what you know about him,” he ordered, wiping his hands on the thighs of his jeans. Everything about this place was seedy and dirty.

  “Not much to tell ya. Lenny’s like most of ’em. He sleeps during the day and gets active at night.”

  “There’s a bunch of flophouses about five blocks from here, but it’s a real rough area. Even the cops don’t go in there unless it’s with a couple of cruisers—and then only after a murder’s been committed.” The bartender rubbed his almost nonexistent chin. He studied Morgan for a moment, then grinned. “But I got a feelin’ you can take care of yourself. Anybody who can take on Rico, can take on Hombre.”

  “The local gang leader?” Morgan guessed.

  “Oh, yeah. But Hombre’s nasty as they come.”

  “And you think Lenny the Rat might be over on his turf?”

  “I’m pretty sure. He’s one of Hombre’s dealers, if I remember right.”

  “Thanks,” Morgan said with feeling. He picked up the photo and put it back in the pocket of his plaid shirt. Turning, he focused his attention on Laura. She was completely out of her environment, while he had spent hours at dives like this, thinking and alone.

  “Hey, Mac,” the bartender called. “You’d better get her outa here. She ain’t gonna make it here. Ya know what I mean?”

  Grimly Morgan nodded. “Yeah, I understand. Thanks.”

  Laura stood as Morgan approached. His tense face softened, and she longed simply to fall into his arms. Fighting all her needs, she stood on her own.

  “I heard what the bartender said.” She heard how strained her voice sounded and she strengthened it. “Wouldn’t it be safer to go over and check out those flophouses in daylight?”

  Looking around, Morgan saw that every patron was watching them with unparalleled interest. He gripped her arm and led her to the door. They’d do their arguing outside. “Come on,” he told her.

  Outside the tavern, the wind tore away the smell hovering around her, and Laura appreciated the cleansing rain. She stood huddled next to the tavern wall, her hands shaking so badly she couldn’t hide it from Morgan.

  Morgan moved behind her to shield her from the driving wind and rain. Water ran in rivulets down his drawn features. “I’m taking you back to the hotel,” he growled. “There’s no way in hell you’re following me into Hombre’s territory.”

  “I’m going, Morgan.” There was an edge to her voice, and Laura watched him react to it.

  Words were useless and he knew it. Capturing her hand, he pulled her around, heading back toward the hotel. The rain slashed at him, and he lowered his head. Laura tried to jerk out of his grasp. Dammit, he didn’t want to hurt her!

  “Stop fighting!” he growled, throwing his arm around her shoulders and bringing her against him.

  Tears of anger mingled with the cold rain. Her hair wilted around her face, becoming wet ropes. Morgan’s strength was too much for her, and she acquiesced, burying her head against his shoulder.

  Their middle-class hotel sat on the edge of the skid row district. Laura was soaked to the skin by the time they arrived at their rooms. Morgan took her key, opened her door and led her inside.

  “You’re shaking like a leaf,” he muttered, throwing his jacket onto a chair. “Come here.”

  Her teeth were chattering, and Laura allowed him to unbutton her trench coat and peel it off her. She was cold, yes. But fear was making her reaction worse. Grateful for Morgan’s hand on her elbow, she let him guide her to the bed, and she sat down.

  “I-I’m so cold,” she whispered as he knelt to pull the soaked shoes from her feet.

  Morgan shot her a knowing look. “You’re more scared than cold.”

  Gripping her hands in her lap, Laura hung her head. “Weren’t you frightened when Rico pulled that knife on you?” Off came her socks. Then Morgan got to his feet and pulled her upward.

  “No.”

  Laura started to protest when he began to briskly unbutton her yellow blouse. The material clung to her goose-bumped flesh. “Wh-why?” Each time his fingers grazed her, her skin tingled beneath his touch.

  Morgan drew the soaked blouse off her shoulders. His scowl deepened as he threw it on the bed. “Because the punk didn’t even know how to hold a knife properly. Sit down.”

  Numbly Laura obeyed, hotly aware of Morgan’s burning gaze on her breasts. Even the silky bra she wore was wet. He unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, pulling them off her, one leg at a time. Unable to speak because her teeth were chattering, Laura watched as he dragged her chenille robe from her suitcase.

  “Get this on. I’m going to start a hot shower for you. You’re freezing.”

  “N-not a shower. I-I don’t think I can stand up.”

  Morgan nodded. “All right, a hot bath.” He saw her fumble awkwardly with her robe, her hands shaking.

  “Come here,” he said huskily, getting her to stand. He helped her on with the robe, wildly aware of the feminine lingerie she wore. It was the first time he had seen her without clothes, and she was beyond his most heated, passionate dreams. Fighting his desire to drag her into a hot shower with him, he closed the robe with the sash, then forced her to sit back down on the bed.

  Laura closed her eyes and hunched over, trembling, on the bed. Why couldn’t she be more brave? The adrenaline that had shot into her bloodstream when Rico pulled the knife had unhinged her. She had been so frightened for Morgan. Just the mere thought of him getting hurt made her blanch. She hadn’t been frightened for herself but for him. Would he understand that?

  Minutes later, Morgan came out of the bathroom. And with the same brisk efficiency, he led Laura from the bed to a tub that was rapidly filling with steaming hot water. He stood inches from her, his hands resting on her slumped shoulders. Gently he moved aside her tangled wet hair, grazing her pale cheek.

  “Listen, you get a long, hot bath and relax. I’m going to go downs
tairs and order us some lunch. When you’re done soaking, we’ll eat here, in your room. How does that sound?” Morgan felt the heat within him threaten to overwhelm him as she lifted those long, thick lashes, her eyes dark and shadowed with fear. Her lower lip trembled. With a groan he felt his heart dissolve beneath Laura’s look, pleading with him to kiss her.

  Morgan’s breath was warm and moist across her cheek as he leaned down to claim her. Laura trembled as his mouth took hers with hungry abandon. She fell against him, hungrily returning the branding kiss that seemed to devour her with fire. As he ran his hands up and down her back and hips, she felt herself drowning in the glory of his ardor, sweeping through her like liquid heat.

  Tearing his mouth from her lips, Morgan gripped her. Both of them were breathing raggedly. Laura’s lips were wet, inviting. He saw the swell of her breasts outlined by the lavender robe, the nipples pronounced, begging him to touch and tame them. How long could he continue to fight the natural beauty that came straight from her heart? Closing his eyes, Morgan gripped her shoulders hard.

  “Get your bath, Laura.”

  She swayed in his grip, her lips throbbing in the wake of his kiss. “A-all right….”

  Tearing himself away from her, Morgan headed blindly out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He stood for nearly a minute, fighting his desire, fighting his primal need for her. Then, rubbing his face savagely, he forced himself to leave her room, lock the door and go downstairs to order their lunch.

  Laura stared into her own eyes in the mirror. They were a soft powder blue. Her hands no longer shook as she combed through her just-washed hair. There was color back in her cheeks, but she knew it wasn’t so much from the bath as from Morgan’s fiery kiss that had claimed her very soul. Setting the comb aside, she applied lipstick, then dressed in a pale-pink blouse, blue jeans and dark fuchsia sweater.

  There was a knock at the door. Laura answered it to find Morgan with two sacks of food in his hands.

  “Come in,” she said breathlessly. Even now, she could see the pewter flame burning in his eyes. She shut the door, watching him place the sacks on the small desk.

  Morgan stole a look at Laura as she came over to sit down. She looked vulnerable and beautiful in the jeans and sweater. “You look better,” he muttered. Did she hear the desire in his tone? He hoped not.

  Laura opened the first sack and pulled out the contents. “I feel much better.” It was obvious he didn’t want to discuss their torrid kiss. But it was so hard to ignore his powerful masculinity and the desire in his gaze that her heart pounded with a swift staccato beat. She wasn’t hungry, but she knew she’d better have something. Morgan had ordered them turkey sandwiches, French fries and coffee.

  “Here, you eat first,” she said, opening the second sack.

  Morgan took a drink of the coffee, scalding his tongue. Damn! Staying around Laura was throwing his feelings into a tailspin. Frowning, he ate in silence. Just the way she held the sandwich in her slender fingers made him ache for her. There was nothing Laura did that wasn’t sensual in his eyes.

  After lunch, Morgan gathered up the sacks and wrappers. “I’m going back down there.” He shot her a dark glance. “And I want you to stay here and rest.”

  Laura looked out the window of the hotel room. It was pouring. Just the thought of going back into that slashing, freezing rain made her shiver. She watched Morgan put the sacks into the wastebasket near the bed. His shoulders were incredibly broad, his back strong and powerful. The look on his face told her not to argue with him. “When will you be back, Morgan?”

  He picked up his damp leather jacket, shrugging it over his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

  “Please,” she whispered, “don’t get caught out there after dark, Morgan. Don’t….”

  Managing a tight smile, he came over to where she sat. “Did I tell you how pretty you look in that sweater?” He caressed her cheek longingly. “Gives color to your face.”

  Laura cradled his face between her hands. “Morgan, be very careful, do you hear me?” The words I love you were nearly torn from her. She brushed her fingers through his damp hair.

  “Sweet little swan,” he murmured, “I’ve got everything to live for now.” Her lips were soft and pliant beneath his brief, searching kiss. Morgan stood. Laura’s eyes were filled with anxiety and fear. “Stay here and keep the door locked. Don’t open it for anyone but me. Understand?”

  Laura nodded convulsively. Gripping her hands, she watched Morgan leave the room. A coldness swept through her as she sat alone at the desk. Morgan was like warming sunlight to her existence. Uttering a little cry, she pressed her hand to her brow. “I love you, Morgan.” The words met a silent room in the wake of his exit. Would he be safe? What if Hombre found him? Suddenly Laura could not sit still. She got up and began pacing the rectangular expanse. Her heart ached with a new pain—one of fear for Morgan’s life. He’d nearly given his life for his country once, and had been accused of being a traitor. Now he had to face a different kind of war zone to reclaim his innocence. If only he could find Lenny Miles. If only…

  Chapter Ten

  “I’m looking for Lenny the Rat,” Morgan told a young teenager standing just inside the door of a battered old hotel. The red-haired youth shrugged, blowing cigarette smoke out his pinched nostrils.

  “Ain’t here.”

  “Where, then?” Morgan moved inside the hallway, on guard. The boy, who couldn’t be more than sixteen, carried a knife in a scabbard just inside the leather jacket he wore.

  The youth sized up Morgan with a disgusted look. “You a cop or somethin’?”

  “No. I knew Lenny a long time ago, and I’m trying to find him.”

  “Try the next flophouse down. The Rat usually sleeps in the basement with the rest of the sleaze.”

  Morgan nodded. “Thanks.” He went back into the rain, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. Miserable weather for a miserable day. But he could remember far worse monsoon rains in Vietnam. This was nothing in comparison. Walking quickly down the concrete sidewalk spiderwebbed with cracks, Morgan kept his gaze on the five-story brick structure with broken windows where Lenny might be staying.

  There was a group of teenage boys huddled in the doorway of the dilapidated hotel. The windows were patched with cardboard and tape, lending to the beaten image. Pulling his hands out of his pockets, Morgan slowly walked up the steps.

  “Hold it right there,” a blond-haired boy warned.

  Morgan halted within six feet of the group. They all wore the same style of black leather jacket with a tiger emblazoned on the back. “I’m looking for Lenny the Rat.”

  “What for?” the blond youth challenged, standing with his feet spread, hands on his thin hips.

  “I’m a friend of Lenny’s. I need to talk with him.”

  “Frankie, he looks like a cop,” a black-haired boy growled.

  The blonde grinned, confident with his cohorts surrounding him. “No cop is stupid enough to walk into Hombre’s territory alone, Mickey. You lookin’ to buy, mister?”

  Morgan shook his head. “Drugs aren’t my style.”

  “Then he’s a cop!” Mickey cried, pointing a finger at him. “Let’s cut ’im up and send ’im back to the precinct.”

  His eyes hardening, Morgan stared at Mickey, then at Frankie. “You start anything and I’ll finish it. I’m not a cop. I’m here to find Lenny.”

  Frankie lifted his chin, weighing Morgan’s growling rejoinder. “It’ll cost ya, mister.”

  “How much?”

  Frankie pursed his thin lips. “Say…a hundred bucks.”

  “Lenny’s not worth more than ten bucks.”

  Laughing sharply, Frankie moved lithely down the stairs, his skinny hand extended. “Deal.”

  Taking a ten-dollar bill from his pocket, Morgan thrust it into the kid’s hand. “Take me to Lenny.”

  “Hey, Mickey, take this dude to the Rat,” Frankie ordered, stepping aside.


  The rest of the gang moved to allow Morgan entrance into the flophouse. The hallways were littered with garbage and bottles. An unpleasant odor stung his nostrils. Keying one ear to the gang members who remained at the door, Morgan followed Mickey deeper into the hotel. He didn’t trust any of them. He could be jumped at any time.

  Mickey stopped and jerked open a door that was hanging by one hinge. “He’s down there with the rest of ’em.”

  Nodding, Morgan moved to the rickety wooden stairs and stood for a minute, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gray light seeping through the pitifully few windows in the basement. Mickey left. Occasionally a snore, or maybe it was a groan, escaped from one of the fifteen or so sleeping figures huddled below him. He was glad Laura hadn’t come along. She couldn’t have handled this kind of scene.

  Quietly Morgan descended into the basement. Most of the men and boys were sleeping, curled up on cardboard, or whatever they could find that was dry, to keep warm. He stopped at each person. Some remained asleep and he could tell they weren’t Lenny. Others awakened as he drew near, their eyes malevolent with warning to stay away. Morgan respected their distance as he moved carefully among them.

  His disappointment grew stronger with each man he checked. Finally there was only one person left, in the far corner, wrapped in a tattered and filthy olive-green wool blanket. Morgan stepped through the clutter on the floor, making his way toward the sleeping figure.

  Leaning over, Morgan gripped the thin shoulder through the damp blanket. Muttering, the man turned his face, his hooded eyes puffy slits.

  “Miles.” The name came grinding out of Morgan. He tightened his grip on the man’s shoulder, forcing him against the wall.

  Lenny looked up, his eyes widening. They were glazed over, indicating he was high on drugs. “No!” he croaked, trying to scramble backward but stopped by the wall.

  “Hold still!” Morgan hissed, kneeling to grab the ex-soldier by his filthy collar.

  Lenny was breathing hard, his voice high and off-key. “Captain Trayhern! No! It can’t be…they…they said you were—”