Return of a Hero Read online

  Morgan lay back beneath her ministrations, feeling the feathery touch of her lips against his chest. He closed his eyes, his hands moving slowly up and down her back, tracing the indentation of her slight but strong spine. Just Laura’s worship of his body had begun to erase so many ugly memories that had haunted him. Her fingers were trembling as she lightly stroked the scars on his chest. He forced his eyes open to slits, watching her innocent features bathed in moonlight and shadow. “How can you take pain away?” he asked hoarsely.

  Laura smiled wistfully and reached up, sliding her fingers down the scar on his face. “Love takes pain away, darling. It always has.”

  Her voice was tremulous, a breeze wafting across a summery, flower-filled meadow. Laura was part goddess, part sweet innocent, part fiery woman. Gathering her in his arms, Morgan guided her to his side. Raising up one elbow, he studied her rapturous features in the moonlight. “I love you,” he whispered, cradling her cheek, holding her simmering gaze. “And when this is all over, I want the time we deserve together.” He brushed a droplet of perspiration from her unmarred brow. “We haven’t had any since we met, Laura. Neither of us. We’ve been on a collision course with life.”

  “Tell me about it,” she said with a laugh, sliding her hands around his neck. His face was completely devoid of tension now, and she realized how boyish he looked in that poignant moment. Sobering, she held his molten gaze. “After this is over, we’ve got all the time the world has to offer us, Morgan.”

  Lazily he smiled. “Don’t get that worried look in your eyes, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be fine tomorrow.”

  Would it? Laura bit back the words. “One day at a time,” she murmured, pushing him down on his back and leaning across him. “Tonight, all I want to do is love you,” she said breathlessly.

  Her silky hair spilled across his face and he inhaled her special feminine scent as he reached up and kissed her cheek. “Come here, my flighty little swan,” he growled, holding her against him, pulling up the sheet. As he closed his eyes and Laura fitted against him, he knew he held his new life, his new world, in his arms.

  Morgan awoke slowly. He felt the exploring touch of Laura’s hand against his chest, trailing down his torso. With a groan he forced open his eyes. It was dawn, and she looked beautiful sitting there, the sheet gathered around her waist. He saw the concern in her eyes. As her hand moved back up across his chest, he brought her into his arms, kissing her slowly, tasting the depths of her mouth.

  “I’m dreaming,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.

  Laughing softly, Laura shook her head, then rested her brow against his. “No, you’re not. I’m sorry I woke you, but I couldn’t resist touching you. You’ve got such a beautiful male body, Morgan Trayhern.”

  He grinned, running his hands down her spine, cupping her hips. “Adore me all you want, sweetheart.”

  She smiled and kissed his strong mouth. “Conceited, brazen animal.”

  The scent of her entered his nostrils, and Morgan nuzzled his face into the strands of her blond hair. “You turn me into an animal, little swan,” he growled. “It’s all your fault.”

  Laura struggled out of his arms and knelt beside him, her hand resting against his chest. She could feel the sledgehammer beat of his heart beneath her palm. “Morgan, I want you to know that no matter what the outcome of all this, I’ll be with you.”

  Her sudden seriousness jolted him. Stroking her arm with his fingers, he said, “You’ve stuck with me through all this.”

  “No,” she said, “you don’t understand.” She chewed on her lower lip, searching for the right words. “No matter what happens, Morgan—whether you prove your innocence or not—I’m going with you. If that means leaving America, then I’ll do it.”

  The tears in her eyes wrenched at his heart. Sitting up, Morgan put his arms around her. “You’d go back to France with me?”

  Laura nodded.

  Sighing, Morgan held her for a long time. “When did you decide this?”

  “Weeks ago,” Laura admitted, her voice choked with tears. “You mean more to me than any country, Morgan. After we made such beautiful love last night, I don’t think I could ever bear to be away from you again.”

  “My sweet woman,” Morgan murmured, kissing her gently. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, he gave her a game smile. “You’ve run the gauntlet with me, haven’t you? And you’d run it again, if you had to.” He saw the vulnerability in her stormy blue eyes, but her inherent strength was also there. “In a few hours, if we’re lucky, this whole thing will be over, and we can plan our life here, in America.“

  Laura stood in the gloomy light of the police van, listening to the last-minute instructions being given to Morgan by Kevin Phillips. The phone call Morgan had placed to General Young’s residence had netted instant results. It was nearly noon, and that was when Morgan was to meet Young and Hadden at the general’s country home.

  How could they look so calm, when she felt as if her stomach were tearing apart? Phillips wasn’t happy about the fact that their van was stationed three miles from the manor. But if they got any closer, Young might spot it and become suspicious. The operation could be compromised, and Morgan’s life placed in jeopardy as a result. Morgan would drive to the manor in a rented car. Laura gnawed on her lip, her eyes never leaving him. He wore a white shirt, a tan corduroy blazer and dark-brown slacks. His face was set and hard. There was a gleam in his gray eyes that sent a shiver of dread through her.

  Laura leaned against one of the steel counters, near a policeman, who sat at the console with a set of earphones on his head. Tape machinery, radio gear and video equipment were crowded into every nook and cranny of the van. There was hardly any room to maneuver, except up and down a narrow aisle. Morgan would drive up the long quarter-of-a-mile asphalt road to the manor. He’d have no weapon on him except for a deadly looking military knife, strapped to the inner calf of his right leg and hidden by the trouser.

  Phillips glanced at the watch on his wrist. “It’s time for you to leave. We’ll follow at a safe distance.”

  Morgan nodded his thanks to the agent and moved to where Laura stood. He saw the absolute terror in her eyes. Giving her a smile meant to defuse her worry, he took her into his arms. She came, warming the coldness he carried deep within him. Kissing her hair as she buried her face against his shoulder, Morgan whispered, “Everything’s going to be all right, Laura.”

  Tears gathered unexpectedly in Laura’s eyes. She blinked them away. Morgan didn’t need her weeping right now; he needed her strength. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him longingly. His mouth was hot as it claimed hers with an urgency that ripped the breath from her.

  Tearing his mouth away, Morgan looked deeply into her gray eyes. “I love you,” he rasped. “Never forget that….”

  And he was gone. Laura sat down, her knees wobbly in the aftermath of Morgan’s claiming kiss. Phillips came over and sat down next to her as the van started up, ready to follow Morgan’s car at a safe distance.

  “He’s going to be fine, Laura.”

  “I hope so.”

  Phillips smiled. “Morgan’s a soldier first, and he’s as tough and smart as they come. I don’t think many men can outfox him when the chips are down.”

  The praise for Morgan’s abilities left her cold. “If he’s going up against men carrying weapons, he doesn’t have a chance.”

  “You’re forgetting one thing.”

  Laura chewed on her lower lip. “What?”

  “He’s a Trayhern. That says it all.“

  After parking the car next to a Mercedes-Benz and a BMW, Morgan got out. The manor where Young lived was an impressive three-story brick home with white columns in front, testament to its Southern heritage. Thirty-foot-high rhododendrons blossomed in pink and white profusion around the residence, creating a protective green wall.

  The cries of birds filled the wooded area surrounding the manor, as Morgan sauntered up the brick walk. His senses were screamin
gly alert, and his nostrils flared to catch any unusual or foreign scents. In the large picture window he saw a tall, spare man with black horn-rimmed glasses watching him intently. That was Richard Hadden. Earlier Phillips had shown him pictures of the CIA agent. There was a dangerousness to Hadden. He had the face of a weasel with those dark, deeply set eyes, gleaming with a fanatical light.

  Before Morgan could knock, General Paul Young pulled open the door. His jowly face was set, his hazel eyes narrowed and assessing.

  “Come in, Trayhern,” he growled.

  Morgan entered the spacious, highly polished foyer. Everything about the house bespoke understated wealth. Young was dressed in a gray cardigan, a white shirt and black slacks. His mouth was compressed.

  “In there,” the general ordered gruffly, pointing toward the living room.

  The hair on Morgan’s neck stood on end as he walked into the room filled with antiques and green plants. Hadden waited tensely, his hands knotted. Hatred flowed through Morgan as he studied the thin agent. He swung his attention to Young, who stood by the picture window after closing the drapes.

  “Now what’s this all about?” Young demanded.

  “Not so fast,” Hadden growled, advancing toward Morgan. “Let’s search him. I don’t trust—”

  Morgan gripped Hadden’s hand as he extended it toward him. “And I don’t trust you, Hadden,” he snarled softly, holding the man’s glare. If the agent discovered the wire, the operation was doomed. Morgan tightened his fingers around Hadden’s wrist and pushed him away.

  Rubbing his arm, Hadden backed off. “How do we know you aren’t armed?”

  “How do I know you aren’t?” Morgan shot back. There could be a pistol in a holster beneath the agent’s green wool sport coat.

  “Richard, relax,” Young snapped. He turned his attention to Morgan. “Now what do you want?”

  “I’ve got my full memory back, General.”

  Young’s brows furrowed. “So?”

  “So I know that you and Armstrong lied to me about being a CIA mole in the Legion. I’m not really a mole, am I?”

  The general reached into a humidor, then jammed tobacco into a pipe. “Nonsense. The CIA has a file on you. Legally you’re working for them.”

  Morgan maneuvered around so that his back was to a wall and he could see both entrances to the living room while keeping an eye on the two men. “I want a new assignment. Living in the Legion isn’t exactly rewarding.”

  “Money?” Hadden muttered. “Is that what this is about? You want us to pay you to keep your mouth shut?”

  “What do I have to spill, Hadden?”

  “Plenty!” the agent shot back, going over to a wing chair and sitting down. “Unfortunately, before Armstrong died he admitted he set you up.”

  “You set me up, Hadden.”

  “So what if I did? It was in the best interests of this country.”

  Anger serrated Morgan. He put a clamp on it. “I have to hand it to you,” he told the agent. “That was a pretty creative answer for the way Armstrong and Young screwed up on sending my company to Hill 164.”

  Rolling his eyes, Hadden muttered, “Look, Trayhern, a lot of good officers’ careers were at stake.”

  “It was more than that,” Young growled. “Don’t forget, Richard, it was your decision and plan we reluctantly agreed to in sending Trayhern’s company in there in the first place.”

  The agent waved his hand airily. “I wasn’t the only one who made mistakes on gathered intelligence data, Paul.”

  “No, but your faulty decision making cost my men’s lives,” Morgan whispered, wanting to advance across the room and beat the living hell out of the smug agent.

  “Look, Trayhern, it wasn’t my fault you lived. Word came back that you’d survived with brain damage.” A catlike smile crossed his mouth. “The two tough military geniuses were panicking. Armstrong and Young were ready to throw in the towel, until I came up with the idea of altering your past. And it was pure brilliance on my part to place you on assignment in the French Foreign Legion. You were out of sight, out of mind, and the American public accepted you as the scapegoat.”

  Morgan held on to his disintegrating self-control. “What about Lenny Miles?” he ground out.

  Hadden shrugged. “He was a junkie. I couldn’t pin the rap on him. He was too unstable. So I had the interrogation officers scare the hell out of him and make him sign a confession that you were at fault.” He scowled. “The hophead disappeared stateside three months after we discharged him. He’s probably dead in some back alley by now.”

  “Quick, clean and simple,” Morgan said, hatred vibrating in his voice.

  The general lit his pipe and puffed hard on it. “Look, we’re sorry it had to be you. But that’s the past, Trayhern. What is it you want now? A new billet? More money? Tell us, and we’ll get this settled. I can’t afford to have you loitering around in the U.S. Someone might recognize you.”

  Hadden got to his feet, his hand moving inside his sport coat in one smooth action. “Don’t move, Trayhern,” he snarled as he held out a Walther P-38 pistol with a silencer on it.

  “Richard! What the hell are you doing?” Young exploded.

  The agent grinned. “Hands up, Trayhern. I’m sure Miles is long dead. Now it’s time to get rid of the last survivor of Hill 164. You and I are going for a long walk behind the general’s house.”

  Slowly Morgan raised his hands. His heart thudded hard in his chest. He watched Hadden advance on him, a lethal look in his squinted eyes. “You kill me, and you’ve got murder on your hands,” he whispered.

  Young cursed. “Don’t do this, Richard! Dammit, I don’t want any more blood spilled!”

  “Shut up, Paul. You’ve always been the squeamish one about Operation Eagle.” He waved the pistol to the right. “Down that hall, Trayhern. Keep those hands above your head. Any dumb moves, and I’ll shoot. Move!”

  “Tell me something,” Morgan snarled, “you ever been to Brazil?” He knew the code word for help would bring Phillips and his people on the run. But would it be soon enough?

  Startled by the question, Hadden laughed. “Pal, I’m not interested in discussing travel plans with you. Get moving!”

  How long before Phillips and his people could arrive? Morgan slowly turned, in no hurry to leave the house. Even if they did get here in time, that was no guarantee they could save his neck. As he walked down the shadowy hall toward the rear door, his mind swung sharply to Laura. My God, she had heard this conversation—she was in the van with Phillips and his team. All her fears had come true.

  “Open the door,” Hadden growled. “And hurry up!”

  Sunlight poured through the trees bordering the well-kept backyard. The beauty of the daffodils, tulips and hyacinths contrasted starkly with the terror Morgan felt. The lawn sloped toward a dirt path that went through a heavily wooded area. Hadden jabbed the barrel of the Walther into his back as they headed toward it.

  “Get moving or I’ll blow your head off right here!”

  Increasing his pace, Morgan entered the woods. By the time Phillips arrived, it would be too late.

  “Why are you doing this?” Morgan asked.

  “I don’t want any loose ends. I’ve got my pension coming in two years. I’m not jeopardizing my neck for yours. No one will know the real story behind Hill 164. You’ll die the traitor the public thinks you are, Trayhern.”

  Hatred twined with anger, and the word traitor grated across Morgan. In one swift motion he turned, lifting his right leg and aiming the toe of his shoe at the pistol Hadden held. He saw the agent’s eyes widen, but it was too late. The tip of his shoe met Hadden’s arm. The Walther discharged, the shot muted by the silencer.

  “Sonofabitch!” Hadden screamed as the pistol flew high into the air. He lurched after it.

  Morgan tripped Hadden, throwing himself on top of him. They landed hard on the path. Hadden struck upward, the punch connecting solidly with Morgan’s jaw. He tasted the salt of blo
od in his mouth. Parrying a second blow, he doubled his fist and smashed it into Hadden’s sneering face. Pain soared up his wrist and into his arm. There was a sharp crack. Hadden screamed, blood flowing heavily from his broken nose.

  Breathing hard, Morgan threw the agent onto his belly and pinned one arm behind his back. The Walther lay only a few feet away from them, to the left of the path. Hitching up Hadden’s arm until he screamed in pain, Morgan eased off the agent, using his foot to bring the pistol within reach. Gripping it, he loosened his hold on Hadden’s arm.

  “Get up,” Morgan rasped, straightening and backing away. “Hands behind your head, Hadden.”

  The agent crawled slowly to his knees. Glaring at Morgan, he staggered to his feet, doing as he was instructed.

  Morgan wiped the blood from his lip and chin, and jerked his thumb in the direction of the manor. “Let’s go back. The Justice Department is waiting for you.” He grinned, even though it hurt like hell.

  “Wh-what are you talking about?” Hadden stumbled up the path, weaving unsteadily.

  “Our entire conversation was taped, Hadden. I’m wearing a wire.” Elation soared through Morgan at the agent’s gasp of disbelief. They made their way out of the woods and climbed up the expanse of lawn.

  Just as Morgan stepped onto the patio, he saw Phillips and two of his men, dressed in flak jackets and armed with M-16 rifles, come bursting through the rear door. Relief showed on Phillips’s face as he gestured to the men to halt.

  “You okay?” he asked Morgan, surveying Hadden grimly.

  “Yeah, just a split lip and some loose teeth.” Morgan pushed the agent toward the men with the rifles. “Take him into custody.” Glancing at Phillips, he said, “I think we got enough on tape to throw the book at them.”

  Grinning, Phillips gave orders to have Hadden handcuffed and read his Miranda rights. “You did a damn fine job, Morgan. With this evidence I believe the senator will be able to make a public press statement about your innocence.”