tissue. Their heads were turned just enough to see that there wasn’t much left of the faces she once knew. The horrid images intermingled with the life and vitality she remembered on Ian’s handsome face. His roguish grin flashed through her mind and the sharp stab of pain slashed her heart.
The last picture broke her. Tom’s bifocals, spattered with blood, lay next to a bright yellow evidence tag. The thick glass had been shattered in one lens while the other lay untouched. She could see Tom pushing the same pair of black framed glasses up the bridge of his nose as vividly as she saw the pictures in front of her. How many times had she watched him do that, never thinking anything of it?
Oh, God . Look what someone had done to her friends.
Morgan tried to speak, but all she managed was a barely audible sound in her constricted throat.
Hunter stood after checking the second tire, turned at the quick blast of car horn. He saluted Darren as he drove off in the busy flow of traffic. “Sorry about that. You’re eager to what?”
She knew Hunter had spoken, but couldn’t find her words. Morgan was helpless to do more than stare at the ground.
“Morgan, what…” He took a step forward. “Shit, why did you get in my stuff?” He knelt down and picked up the pictures quickly.
“I-I thought…” Unable to hold back the churning nausea, she ran to the trash barrel by the bench, stumbling once on unsteady legs.
Hunter threw the folder in the backseat, walked to her with the bottle of water she’d set down on the trunk.
Morgan gripped the sides of the barrel, taking deep breaths while her stomach heaved.
“Here, take a drink.” Hunter held the water out to her.
She continued to grip the trashcan.
He brought the water to her lips. “Take a sip, Morgan. Get the taste out of your mouth.”
She did as she was told, spitting the first mouthful into the trash, swallowing the second, easing her raw throat.
“Sit down before you fall. You’re sheet-white and glassy-eyed.”
Morgan dropped to the bench, sitting until the sickness passed. She stared at the cracks in the blacktop. “I thought those were the papers you took from me. I was going to read them over on our drive back.”
He knelt down in front of her, taking her hand. “It’s okay. I’m sorry you had to see that. Do you feel like you’re going to get sick again?”
She shook her head, never taking her eyes from the ground, too sick at heart to care that she’d just barfed in front of Hunter.
Hunter pulled her to her feet and put an arm around her shoulders. She gave in, sagging against him, taking the support he was willing to offer as he guided her to the car.
As they made their way back to the station, Morgan sat silently, clutching her elbows, watching the pine trees rush by the window. Somehow the forty minute drive had gone by in what seemed like an instant.
“We’re here, Morgan. Let’s get you to the cabin.”
Hunter startled her out of her deep thoughts. She tore her eyes from the passenger window, met his gaze, nodded.
“You still look a little shaky. Do you want me to carry you?”
Surprised he would offer, she gave him a small smile. “No, I can walk, but thank you.”
The short hike back to the station felt like a major climb. For a moment Morgan wished she’d given in and let Hunter carry her. Her legs trembled as she fought a fog that tried to overtake her racing mind. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. The crisp air and stunning scenery she’d enjoyed hours before no longer held any charm.
When they made it to the small cabin, Morgan walked directly to the bedroom, ignoring Miles and Robert’s friendly greetings. She didn’t have it in her to socialize. She listened to Hunter make excuses when both rangers stopped playing their card game and stood, concerned, commenting on her sickly, pale complexion.
Still shaken and sick to her stomach, Morgan collapsed on the edge of the bed, covering her face with her
The last picture broke her. Tom’s bifocals, spattered with blood, lay next to a bright yellow evidence tag. The thick glass had been shattered in one lens while the other lay untouched. She could see Tom pushing the same pair of black framed glasses up the bridge of his nose as vividly as she saw the pictures in front of her. How many times had she watched him do that, never thinking anything of it?
Oh, God . Look what someone had done to her friends.
Morgan tried to speak, but all she managed was a barely audible sound in her constricted throat.
Hunter stood after checking the second tire, turned at the quick blast of car horn. He saluted Darren as he drove off in the busy flow of traffic. “Sorry about that. You’re eager to what?”
She knew Hunter had spoken, but couldn’t find her words. Morgan was helpless to do more than stare at the ground.
“Morgan, what…” He took a step forward. “Shit, why did you get in my stuff?” He knelt down and picked up the pictures quickly.
“I-I thought…” Unable to hold back the churning nausea, she ran to the trash barrel by the bench, stumbling once on unsteady legs.
Hunter threw the folder in the backseat, walked to her with the bottle of water she’d set down on the trunk.
Morgan gripped the sides of the barrel, taking deep breaths while her stomach heaved.
“Here, take a drink.” Hunter held the water out to her.
She continued to grip the trashcan.
He brought the water to her lips. “Take a sip, Morgan. Get the taste out of your mouth.”
She did as she was told, spitting the first mouthful into the trash, swallowing the second, easing her raw throat.
“Sit down before you fall. You’re sheet-white and glassy-eyed.”
Morgan dropped to the bench, sitting until the sickness passed. She stared at the cracks in the blacktop. “I thought those were the papers you took from me. I was going to read them over on our drive back.”
He knelt down in front of her, taking her hand. “It’s okay. I’m sorry you had to see that. Do you feel like you’re going to get sick again?”
She shook her head, never taking her eyes from the ground, too sick at heart to care that she’d just barfed in front of Hunter.
Hunter pulled her to her feet and put an arm around her shoulders. She gave in, sagging against him, taking the support he was willing to offer as he guided her to the car.
As they made their way back to the station, Morgan sat silently, clutching her elbows, watching the pine trees rush by the window. Somehow the forty minute drive had gone by in what seemed like an instant.
“We’re here, Morgan. Let’s get you to the cabin.”
Hunter startled her out of her deep thoughts. She tore her eyes from the passenger window, met his gaze, nodded.
“You still look a little shaky. Do you want me to carry you?”
Surprised he would offer, she gave him a small smile. “No, I can walk, but thank you.”
The short hike back to the station felt like a major climb. For a moment Morgan wished she’d given in and let Hunter carry her. Her legs trembled as she fought a fog that tried to overtake her racing mind. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. The crisp air and stunning scenery she’d enjoyed hours before no longer held any charm.
When they made it to the small cabin, Morgan walked directly to the bedroom, ignoring Miles and Robert’s friendly greetings. She didn’t have it in her to socialize. She listened to Hunter make excuses when both rangers stopped playing their card game and stood, concerned, commenting on her sickly, pale complexion.
Still shaken and sick to her stomach, Morgan collapsed on the edge of the bed, covering her face with her
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