Wings of Fear

by Helene Young, Helene Young

Genres: Romance; Action & Adventure

Synopsis

`a thrilling story? Brisbane News

Intrigue, danger and romance in Australia's tropical far north.

Above the crystal waters of North Queensland, Captain Morgan Pentland patrols the vast Australian coastline. When Customs Agent Rafe Daniels joins her crew, she is immediately suspicious. What is he doing around her plane when she isn?t there? And why is he asking so many questions?

What Morgan doesn?t know is that Rafe has her under surveillance. Critical information about their Border Watch operations is being leaked and she is the main suspect, but when Morgan and Rafe are shot down in a tragic midair attack, they realise they have to start working together ? and quickly. One of Australia?s most loved icons is the next target and they have only nine days to stop it.

Will they uncover details of the plot in time, or will the tension that is growing between them jeopardise everything?

Wings of Fear, and Helene Young's second novel, Shattered Sky, have both been awarded the Romantic Book of the Year by Romance Writers of Australia.

Release date: February 1, 2011

Publisher: Hachette Australia

Print pages: 336

Sample

The gun coughed once in the still, humid night. Without even the breath of a cry, the young man dropped where he stood, his
blood a darkening stain seeping into stark white sand that shimmered in the silver moonlight.


With an indifferent shrug, the big man next to him tucked his gun into the waistband of his cargo pants.

Too easy.

Too easy to kill, too easy to take another man’s life. Shouldn’t be, but it was. Always had been for him.

He grabbed the fallen man around the ankles, the leather gloves he wore at odds with the warmth of the night. Sweat soon seeped
into his eyes, burning pinpricks that irritated him as he dragged the body along the waterline, his bare feet leaving footprints
to fill with the incoming waves.


Dark water swirled in deepening eddies round the deserted headland, tiny whirlpools sucking away the traces of the tide. That,
he knew, was going to make it easier to hide his tracks.


It was another fifteen minutes before he was happy with the position of the body. He wiped the trickles of perspiration from
his forehead as he began the long walk back towards the streetlights. With catlike night vision he scanned the dunes and the foreshore. Old melaleucas, with gnarled and ropy feet,
reached high towards the night sky and the glistening jewel of a moon. Stringy leaves hung still and limp. The trees’ tremendous
girths could hide a small gathering, but he sensed a quiet, almost resigned calm in them. No movement anywhere. Another tidy
kill and another step closer to disappearing.


Twenty minutes later, he whistled a tuneless dirge as he dumped the gloves in a rubbish bin by the public barbeques. The bins
would be emptied before the body surfaced again.


The playground equipment stood like dark guardians of the deserted sandpit. He couldn’t resist the childish urge to sit on
the swing. It was a simple joy, something he’d never known as a boy. Something he indulged in as an adult, but only when no
one was looking. It made him smile with unfamiliar delight, a hidden, forbidden pleasure.


In the gloom of the night, the swing flew higher and higher with each rhythmic push of his legs until he was almost horizontal,
the metal brackets squeaking with each pass.


At the very peak, the chain grabbed, the swing jerked. The gun dropped out of his pants, spinning away into the dirt, and
he swore, using his feet as brakes.


‘Shit,’ he cursed. Careless. He fingered the scratches on the snub-nosed weapon. Bloody barrel would be damaged as well now.
The ammunition clip slid in and out easily enough; but he had to get rid of it anyway, he supposed, it had a history.


His four-wheel drive was parked in the shadows and he fumbled getting the key in the ignition. After the rush of adrenalin
that always went with a kill, the lethargy of the long night slowed him down. A lot more still to do before he could hit the
sack, he reminded himself, forcing the fog of tiredness from his brain.


With his seatbelt fastened he drove along the esplanade at a sedate pace. No point in drawing any attention to himself or
the vehicle. Bad enough he had to risk leaving the body unburied.


Still, now was not the time for a mutiny and the troops were getting restless. Death was an excellent motivator – someone
else’s death anyway.


The humidity wrapped warm wet tentacles around Morgan’s lungs, squeezing the air from them as she opened her front gate. The
hiss of automatic sprinklers and the haunting call of a lone curlew were the only other sounds so early in the morning.


She paused for a moment, looking eastward to the early glimmer of sunrise low on the horizon. Dawn on a beautiful day in Trinity
Beach, the start of another hot, languid summer.


‘Sam,’ she whispered over her neighbours’ fence, her voice pitched low. ‘Sam!’ The scurrying of claws on tiles brought a quick
grin to her face. Sam would be sliding as he rounded the corner, scrabbling for purchase on the floor before he crashed into
the gate.


The fence shook under the impact and a rapturous dog leapt at her as she eased the battered gate open.

‘Morning to you too, big fella. Make enough noise or what?’ She scratched the floppy ears, her hands sinking into the red
fur, the dog’s nose nudging her waist.


Having neighbours who were happy for their dog to be walked for them had been a bonus for Morgan when she moved in. She got
all the benefits of having a pet with little or no responsibility. Just why Reg and Elaine had such a large dog she didn’t know, but they’d even installed a swing gate
in their shared back fence so Sam could come and go between the two houses. Part guard dog, part companion, part therapist,
the big dog had heart enough for all of them.


‘Come on.’ She gave him a final pat and straightened her shoulders as she jogged down the hill. Sam barely broke into a trot
to keep pace with her. A defensive curlew, its mottled brown feathers ruffled in outrage, flew at them with wings spread wide
as they turned right for the beach. Like a beautiful Egyptian hieroglyph the bird’s eyes were outlined in a sharp black border,
elongating its already elegant head. Its hissing, spitting defiance made Morgan smile in admiration. The parent bird would
have stashed its chick away from danger before it launched itself at the intruder. It stood its ground. Sam dismissed it with
a sharp snort.


The sea breeze was still a couple of hundred metres offshore, a faint ripple scarring the surface. Sweat already dampened
Morgan’s shirt, gluing it to her back. She waved at the caretaker out hosing the night’s rubbish away from the local snack
bar, cleaning up before the breakfast crowd arrived.


‘Morning, Gus.’

‘Morning, love. That dog’s hardly moving,’ he teased her. ‘You need to ride a bike.’

‘Love you too.’ She wrinkled her nose at him and kept running.

‘Wish you did,’ he called after her, his grin revealing several missing teeth.

‘Ha.’ Morgan tossed her head in mock disdain, her dark ponytail swinging clear of her shoulders as she pushed the pace up
just enough to make the dog break into a jog, trot, jog, trot.


The barbeque cleaner was finishing his work down at the beachfront as Sam took a detour to check out the empty rubbish bins.

‘Nothing for you there, buddy,’ he warned the dog. ‘Morning, Morgan.’

‘Hi, Larry. Beautiful day.’

She shepherded the scrounging dog in front of her, skirting around the playground and onto the beach, drinking in the soft
pinks and purples swathed across the eastern horizon. Rain drifted down from several isolated maritime storms blurring the
rising sun in a shifting film.


Her footprints laid an even path across the smooth expanse of beach, swept clean by the night’s high tide. White sand, right
up to the line of pigface and dune grass, was unblemished. The moon, bright against the dark western sky was just disappearing
behind Saddle Mountain. Its perfect roundness signalled the highest of the month’s tides, its presence in the sky at dawn
a sign that summer was close. A scattering of stars glinted against a backdrop of deepest blue.


As she ran onto the wet sand the cool of the water dropped the air temperature a degree and a light breeze wafted over her,
raising a rash of goose bumps despite the heat.


Morgan extended her stride, revelling in the morning and its promise. Back to work after a month’s holiday, back to the joy
of being airborne, back to the buzz of piloting an aircraft, each machine as individual as the people who flew it. Her passion
for flying was lodged deep in her soul. It gave her a view of the world that made all of life’s troubles seem insignificant.


In the air, she was Captain Morgan Pentland, a senior pilot in the Border Watch fleet of Dash 8 aircraft. High in the vast
blue, it didn’t matter where she came from or who her parents were. Nobody cared whether she came from old money, new money
or no money. Up there they were a tight-knit crew, the guardians who kept Australia’s vast coastline under constant surveillance. Her mouth curved in a satisfied smile. Got to
love them when you live that closely with them.


She slowed to a standstill, picking up a smooth piece of driftwood for the bounding dog.

‘Go, Sam, go.’ She flung the piece of wood out to sea. The dog hit the tiny swell running, leaving white foam in his wake
as he swam to retrieve the bobbing wood.


Morgan’s thoughts were still drifting. Flying had saved her, had defined her, had given her a purpose. Maybe this was as good
as life got? Relationships seemed to be a touch more problematic . . .


Sam distracted her, dropping the stick at her feet. ‘Well done, good boy. No, don’t shake now. No . . .’ She squealed as the
water sprayed from Sam’s thick fur, covering her in cool drops.


‘Okay, big buddy, you can have a run this time.’ The stick landed fifty metres along the beach, bouncing as it sprayed fine
white sand into the air. Morgan squinted, shading her eyes against the prickling glare of the sun still low on the morning
horizon.


‘What’s that ? What the hell . . . ?’ Fear spurred her on as she ran along the water’s edge after the dog, her heart thudding
against her ribcage.


‘Sam, stop,’ she yelled. ‘Stop!’ The usually obedient dog ignored her and nosed over to a large pile of clothes, undulating
in the tiny swell. ‘Stop now, Sam.’


She got to him before he could do more than nuzzle the outstretched leg, its bare toes bloated and pale. Grabbing the dog’s
collar she pulled him away from the body and bent to pat him, aware she was reassuring herself as much as the muscled dog.
‘It’s okay, it’s okay. We’ll be okay.’


Her stomach heaved, threatening to deposit her morning orange juice onto the sand, and she turned her back on the corpse,
swallowing deeply. Common sense told her she needed to move it up the beach to stop it drifting back out to sea, but the superstitious
dread of death curled her fingers, crippled her hands.


She swallowed again, trying to control the nausea that had taken her breath. ‘Relax, it can’t hurt you,’ she muttered. ‘Stop
being so bloody stupid and just do it.’


‘Sit,’ she commanded Sam. ‘Stay.’ He stared up with eyes that managed to look forlorn and she pulled a face as she turned
back to the body. The blue shirt was torn across the back and she could see dark tattoos on the bloodless flesh. For an instant
a design in the middle caught her eye. A familiar image hovered on the edge of her memory, but she blinked it away.


‘Why me?’ she sighed as she got a grip on the sleeve and pulled. A small swell pushed in under the body. The whole corpse
rolled with the momentum and this time she screamed.


Nothing could have prepared her for the shattered face leached clean by the ocean, for the sightless eye sockets already home
to tiny sea creatures, for the horror of death. Nothing, she was sure, would ever completely erase that image.


The hot splatter of vomit drenched her shoes as she swung away. Morgan wiped a shaky hand over her mouth.

‘It’s just a body,’ she tried to comfort herself. ‘No one you know, no one you care about. Don’t look. Just pull it up a bit
further, then get the police.’ She stood with her back to it, sucking in air, then jumped as Sam’s warm tongue licked the
back of her knee.


‘Don’t, Sam. Don’t.’ She shuddered, her eyes scanning the dunes. ‘Where’s Thommo? He’s always loitering down here.’ A local
vagrant who camped among the tall eucalypts that lined the beach, Thommo was usually out fishing for breakfast by now. Logic told her the corpse behind her was too big to be the stringy, half-fed tramp, but where was he?


She frowned as she took a deep breath, thankful the clutching roll of her stomach seemed to be subsiding. She looked back
down the beach towards the barbeques.


Too early for anyone else and if she left him to get Larry, he might wash back into the ocean.

‘Damn it,’ she said, turning back to the body. Keeping her eyes focused on a portion of blue sleeve, she forced her fingers
to grip it. Her muscles strained, shoulders tightening in protest, as she heaved the body until it was out of the water, then
rolled it over to lie face down again. The small wound in the back of his head seemed disproportionate to the horrific injury
the bullet had caused.


Unexpected hot tears stung her eyes. Someone’s father, someone’s husband, someone’s son, shot and dumped into the ocean. She
squatted on the sand, confused by the overwhelming connection she felt with a man she’d never met, her sadness for a life
that had become detritus washed up on a beach.


An irrational urge made her want to pick up the pale lifeless hand and tell him it would be okay. Clearly, it wouldn’t ever
be okay again, but she felt compelled to give comfort. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll get someone to look after you.’


Morgan’s fingers dug into the damp sand as she pushed to her feet. ‘Come on, Sam.’ The urgency finally hit her and she started
to run.


She skidded through the door of the snack bar. ‘Gus? Gus!’

‘Here, love.’ His voice echoed out of the storeroom.

‘Can I use your phone?’

‘Only if you’re ringing lover boy to tell him you’re eloping with me.’

‘No, the cops.’

‘What?’ His balding head appeared in the doorway.

‘Body on the beach.’ She jerked her head to the north.

‘Yeah?’ His eyes widened. ‘You’re kidding?’

‘No, ’fraid not.’

‘Ugly?’ He came through to the shop, his gaze locked on Morgan’s face.

‘Very.’ Morgan couldn’t stop the quaver in her voice as the breath hitched in her throat.

‘Here.’ Gus dialled and held the receiver out to her.

‘Hi, my name’s Morgan Pentland, I’m out at Trinity Beach and I’ve just found a body . . . Sure . . . I’ll wait. It’s the northern
end. Phone number? Hang on. Gus, what’s your number?’


She repeated the details to the police call centre and handed the phone back to Gus.

‘They’ll be about fifteen minutes. I can’t just leave him there for someone else to stumble over.’ She shook her head, biting
down on her lip to stop it quivering.


‘Do you want to mind the shop and I’ll go?’ Gus offered.

‘No,’ she said, her voice still unsteady. ‘No, I’ll be fine. I’ll wait on the rock wall near the road. That way I can stop
people from going any further down the beach. Can you send the police along when they arrive?’


Gus peered at her, concern crinkling the corners of his eyes. ‘Seen a body before?’

‘No.’ Morgan shook her head, automatically denying her past. ‘You?’

‘Yeah, did a stint in Vietnam. Saw lots of bodies, lots of body parts. It never quite leaves you.’ He went to the sink and
returned with a glass of water. ‘You need to talk, I’m here.’


‘Thanks, Gus.’ It was only when she tried to raise the glass to her lips that Morgan realised her hands were shaking. She
stiffened her spine, willing her hands to follow suit. If she could cope with any emergency they could throw at her in an aircraft, then she could deal with one lonely body on a beach.


A whisper of memory slid behind her eyes. Her mother’s face, bloodied and bruised, eyes staring unseeing, her hair a dishevelled
halo. Morgan’s stomach contracted, pushing hard against her lungs until she banished the image from her mind.


She sat on the rock wall, her back to the road. The metre drop to the sand gave her a good vantage point to keep an eye out
for the police and anyone going for a morning walk. Sam sat at attention below her on the beach, unwavering eyes trained on
his prize.


Wrapping her arms around her now cooling body, she glanced over at the mound of clothes further along the beach.

Where had he come from?

She guessed his size was more to do with being in the water, his clothes straining to contain the bloated body. Black hair,
swarthy skin and young. A tourist? A visiting sailor who’d been dumped off a boat after a brutal argument? Or something more
sinister?


Morgan brushed loose strands of hair back from her face. A siren wafted in on the breeze and she shook her head wryly. No
point, boys, he’s not going anywhere.


By the time she’d given her story to the police, a small crowd of locals had gathered on the road above the rock wall. The
Scenes of Crime forensic vehicle had to thread its way through them.


Morgan scrambled up to the road and waved at the two police officers in the SOCO car as one of them called out to her.

‘Hey, Morgan, you find the stiff?’

‘Yep, though he’s not looking very stiff at the moment.’ She hoped humour might ward off the aftermath of the horror.

‘Carl home today?’

‘Apparently, though I’ll believe it when he walks in the door. You know what SERT’s like.’

‘Yeah, right. You never know where the Special Emergency Response Team really are.’ The policeman winked at her, cynicism
in his words.


‘Thanks, Uncle Harry. I’ll remember that.’ Morgan grinned at the grizzled, grey-haired man.

‘Don’t uncle me. I’m not that old.’ He wagged a fatherly finger at her. ‘You okay?’

‘Fine.’ She nodded, managing to stretch her lips into a tight smile.

‘Make sure Carl gets you a counsellor if you need one. Might get the odd nightmare or two out of this.’ The concern in his
eyes made her blink at the sudden burn of tears.


‘Thanks. I’ll keep an eye on myself.’

‘You do that. Better go.’ The car drove off, leaving Morgan to run the gauntlet of the curious crowd. Sam trotted to heel
as if enjoying his fame in some way. Did dogs do that?


Reg met her at his gate as she returned Sam home. ‘Bit of action this morning? Heard the siren going through.’

‘Some poor bloke, with what looks like a bullet hole in his head, had washed up on the shore. Sam found him.’

‘Really?’ Reg looked horrified. Morgan leant over to give his shoulder a quick pat.

‘Give him an extra bone.’

‘Right.’ He focused sharp eyes on his young neighbour. ‘You okay?’

‘I’m fine. Got to go to work now.’

‘It’s not easy, Morgan. First time’s the hardest. When do you leave?’

‘Soon. But I’m back the day after tomorrow, all being well.’

‘Drop round then.’

He waved as he shuffled back to his house. A paramedic, he’d been forced into early retirement by a back injury. He and Elaine
had adopted Morgan the day she moved in.


She opened her front door, feeling the wave of air-conditioning chill the sweat on her bare arms. Leaning against the kitchen
bench, she tried to put the morning into perspective.


According to the clock on her kitchen wall, exactly one hour ago she’d left the house with a spring in her step. Now she felt
like a deflated balloon, her stomach churning and tears hovering.


‘Just a body.’ She said the words out loud, hoping they would bring some perspective to the morning.

It didn’t work.

‘Okay, just a corpse then. No one you know, no one you love, no one you care about. Just a stranger.’

She looked around her tidy cottage, a beach house that mirrored the woman she’d become. Its whitewashed walls were cool and
austere, several bright pieces of artwork the only decoration.


Simple furniture, bright cushions, soft billowy curtains. A house with few trimmings, an honest home and it was all hers.
It steadied her.


She straightened up. Yep, her legs weren’t so wobbly. Her stomach was a little less queasy. She glanced at the clock again,
a bright yellow sunflower, a rare relic from her childhood. Time to get moving or she’d be late for work.


As she drove out of Trinity Beach, she saw the local media cars leaving as well. Her stranger was now a news item. An image
of his ravaged face flickered at the edges of her mind and she stamped on it.


‘No you don’t,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘Not today. This is my day.’


The hectic bustle of the crowded office distracted Morgan when she arrived at the Border Watch hangar.

‘Hey, Lauren, how was the end of your holiday?’

The young blond woman swung around from the computer she was peering at. With a wide smile she stood up to hug Morgan. ‘Shopping
in Melbourne was outstanding, you should have come with me.’


‘Only so many clothes a girl can wear,’ Morgan replied as she dumped her bag next to her colleague, hooking a chair with her
foot.


‘Nah, can never have too many clothes,’ Lauren retorted with a throaty laugh, making way for Morgan.

‘Both of you on holidays for a month? How did commerce in Cairns survive?’ The young man who joined them pushed thick glasses
up his nose, changing the magnification of his blue eyes alarmingly.


‘Lauren is the legendary shopper, thank you, Gavin. I just succumb to greed when she’s there to give advice.’ Morgan slid
into the chair. ‘What’s happening?’


Gavin sat on the bench and smiled. ‘Missed you, skip. And,’ he jerked his head in Lauren’s direction, ‘your sidekick. Have you spoken to the boss yet?’


‘No. Why?’ Morgan glanced up at him in surprise.

‘Echo Charlie’s probably unserviceable.’ He nodded towards the Dash 8 aircraft parked near the fence with its registration,
BEC, in large letters along the fuselage.


‘Hasn’t it only just come out of heavy maintenance?’

‘Yeah and the test flight was fine. Found a hydraulic leak in the number-one side this morning when they dragged her out of
the hangar.’


‘Have you seen it yet, Lauren?’

The woman shook her head in answer. ‘No, just finished signing on.’

‘No worries.’ Morgan tapped her codes into the computer. ‘Give me a second. We can go together.’

Lauren flicked her long ponytail behind her and rested back on her hands with a sly grin at Gavin. ‘So,’ she drawled, ‘anything
interesting happen while we were away? New romances, divorces, affairs?’


Gavin shook his head. ‘You can wait for the gossip until we know whether we’re going anywhere.’

Morgan heard the note of panic in his voice and glanced up at Lauren. At twenty-four, the young woman was very aware of her
own good looks and the overpowering effect they had on men. Morgan hid her smile as Lauren moved closer to Gavin and continued
teasing him.


‘You do have some goss. Spill it, Gavin,’ she breathed in his ear, long red-tipped fingers trailing down his arm.

He tensed, clearly flustered by the close contact.

Morgan took pity on him and turned from the computer.

‘Righto, that’s done. Let’s go, Lauren. Keep you posted, Gav. Did we have much on task today?’

He managed to move fast enough to put a desk between himself and Lauren, but still looked nervous. ‘A full day today and tomorrow.
The rest of the week depends on what we find. I reckon there’s something big going down up the Cape. I’ll keep setting the
gear up. Let me know.’


Even the backs of his ears were pink as he left the room in a hurry.

‘You really shouldn’t wind him up so much,’ Morgan chided Lauren as they headed for the hangar floor.

‘I know, but it’s so much fun. He’s my best friend. He can’t hold out on me. Gossip is gossip and we’re meant to share.’

Morgan grinned at her. ‘Not every man has a best friend nicknamed Bacall because she’s drop-dead gorgeous.’

‘The gods gave me these gifts. It’s my duty to share them. So . . . Oh my god.’ She emphasised each of the last three words.
‘Look who it is. The Latin lover himself, over talking to the chief engineer.’


Morgan turned a stony gaze in the direction Lauren pointed, her mouth tightening in disapproval. Rafe Daniels. ‘And look which
aircraft he’s loitering around.’ She resisted the urge to curse.


The first and only time they’d flown together, he’d been auditing the flight for the Customs department, and that trip had
proved to be a battle of wills from the moment he’d boarded the aircraft.


‘Maybe you two can kiss and make up,’ suggested Lauren, her grin showing white, even teeth. ‘I always reckoned he thought
you were hot last trip.’


‘Hot?’ Morgan snorted. ‘On fire more like it. Just because he’s up the top of the food chain in some secretive branch of Customs,
he doesn’t have the right to jeopardise the flight.’


‘So try charming him next time, instead of sitting him on his arse.’

‘Ah yes. The wisdom of youth.’ Morgan’s nod was sage. ‘How would you suggest I do that, Lauren?’

‘Easy.’ The younger woman reached across and flipped open Morgan’s top buttons. ‘Use some of your god-given beauty to pacify
him. And before he gets wound up,’ she added, messing with Morgan’s collar.


‘Lauren.’ Morgan grabbed her hand to prevent any more damage just as the grey-haired chief engineer got to them.

‘Hey, ladies, she’s broken, I’m sorry.’ He nodded at the aircraft. ‘And we’re waiting on a part. Trying to see if we can borrow
one from the other operator on the airfield, but if that doesn’t work, it’ll have to come from Sydney. Won’t make it until
tonight.’


‘Okay, Chief,’ Morgan nodded, her buttons forgotten.

‘Operations are champing at the bit. There’s some unusual activity up in the Gulf, but we can’t send you out like this.’

Lauren interrupted. ‘Who’s the mission commander?’

The chief jerked his head at the tall figure standing by the disabled Dash. ‘Rafe. He’s not auditing this one, he’s running
it for real. Been here for a couple of hours already. If it is tomorrow, I think he wants an early start.’


‘That’d be right,’ Morgan grumbled, feeling the muscles in her neck tighten up in rebellion. ‘Calling the shots before we’ve
even left the ground.’


The chief grinned at her. ‘Morgan Pentland, I do believe the big guy makes you nervous.’

He left Lauren laughing and Morgan fuming, but before she could think of a suitable retort Rafe was heading towards them.
She crossed her arms and relaxed her face into a polite smile. He was a colleague not the enemy, really he was.


‘Rafe.’

‘Ladies.’ He nodded at the two of them.

‘Hey, Rafe, heard you were mission commander with us today. That’ll be cool,’ Lauren drawled in her smoky voice, nudging Morgan
with her foot. ‘We’re both fresh back from holidays today, so we’re ready for action.’


‘Really?’ The quiver in the deep voice had Morgan wincing. The look in his eyes said clearly he’d gone where Lauren had intended
with her innuendo.


‘Looks like we’re hanging round for a bit till they fix the aircraft. Got time for a coffee?’ Lauren twisted her silky ponytail
over her shoulder.


‘Thanks, Lauren, but I’ve got some phone calls to make. See how the day goes.’

‘Okay, no worries.’ Lauren pouted her red lips just enough to look sexy, her long lashes fluttering just enough to draw attention
to her vivid blue eyes.


Rafe looked unmoved. His dark gaze ran over Morgan, stopped on her cleavage for a moment, then met her eyes with. . .