Elle Kennedy - Her Private Avenger

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Cover

Title Page Her Private Avenger Elle Kennedy www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author About the Author ELLE KENNEDY grew up in the suburbs of Toronto, Ontario, and holds a BA in English from York University. From an early age, she knew she wanted to be a writer, and actively began pursuing that dream when she was only a teenager. When she’s not writing, she’s reading. And when she’s not reading, she’s making music with her drummer boyfriend, oil painting, or indulging her love for board games. Elle loves to hear from her readers. Visit her at her website www.ellekennedy.com, or stop by her blog, http://sizzlingpens.blogspot.com, to chat with Elle and fellow Harlequin writers.

Dedication To Diana Ventimiglia, for having faith in this story. I’ll miss you, D!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Copyright

ELLE KENNEDYgrew up in the suburbs of Toronto, Ontario, and holds a BA in English from York University. From an early age, she knew she wanted to be a writer, and actively began pursuing that dream when she was only a teenager. When she’s not writing, she’s reading. And when she’s not reading, she’s making music with her drummer boyfriend, oil painting, or indulging her love for board games.

Elle loves to hear from her readers. Visit her at her website www.ellekennedy.com, or stop by her blog, http://sizzlingpens.blogspot.com, to chat with Elle and fellow Harlequin writers.

To Diana Ventimiglia, for having faith in this story. I’ll miss you, D!

“I don’t like being summoned.” Quinn leaned against the wide door frame and directed a withering look at the silver-haired man behind the desk.

“I don’t like summoning you. And I certainly don’t like needing your help.” Edward Kerr’s features grew pained, as if the admission caused him physical torture.

Intrigued, Quinn stepped into the spacious office, his black boots barely making a sound as he crossed the pristine parquet floor toward Kerr. A lone visitor’s chair sat in front of the forbidding mahogany desk but he made no move to sit down. He didn’t plan to stay long. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure why he showed up here to begin with. Two years ago he’d vowed never to lay eyes on this man—or his daughter—again. Why he’d broken that vow still eluded him.

He examined the older man’s face, saw the worry flickering in Kerr’s dark blue eyes, and his intrigue deepened. Revealing his weaknesses was not in Edward Kerr’s character. His entire career could be credited to his ruthless nature, his ability to remain poised and controlled in any situation. Which raised the question—what was causing Kerr’s obvious anxiety?

Or perhaps he should be asking whom.

“Morgan is in trouble,” Kerr said, getting right to the point.

Something that resembled concern tugged at Quinn’s gut. He managed to paste on a mask of indifference and said, “So?”

“That’s your response? So? ” Disbelief washed across the older man’s face. “This doesn’t worry you?”

“Worry suggests I actually give a damn about Morgan’s well-being.” He offered a cool smile. “I don’t.”

“You’re lying.”

Quinn crossed his arms over his chest. “Is this the reason you called me, to inform me that your daughter is in trouble? If so, you’ve wasted both our time.”

A pleading note entered Kerr’s gravelly voice. “I need you to help her.”

He shook his head in irritation before taking two steps back toward the door. “Good night, Edward.”

“Goddamn it, Quinn! She’s in danger!”

Another step to the door. Don’t look back, a little voice warned. He’s playing you. They’re both playing you.

“She’s missing, Quinn.”

A flicker of alarm. Ignore it, keep walking.

Almost at the doorway. One more step and he’d be out of here. Free of Edward Kerr. Free of Morgan. Free of the torna do of memories that assaulted him the moment he’d heard her name.

“She tried to kill herself last week.”

That last revelation made him freeze. Before he could stop it, the image of Morgan’s gorgeous face swept into the forefront of his brain. Her wavy blond hair, always haphazardly falling onto her regal forehead. Those perceptive blue eyes that tilted upward just enough to make her look exotic. The stubborn slant of her chin, the delicate earlobes she refused to pierce. Then he heard her voice in his head, her sassy no-nonsense tone, spoken in a throaty pitch that made her sound as if she walked around with a perpetual cold.

And he remembered her fire, her determination, her will.

Slowly, he turned to face the father of the woman he’d once desperately loved.

“Bull,” he said flatly. “She would never try to take her own life.”

“I’m telling the truth.” Kerr’s eyes became shuttered, but there was genuine conviction in his voice.

Then again, Kerr had always been a convincing liar. He’d manipulated the press for years, making them fall hook, line and sinker for his my-poor-mentally-ill-daughter spiel.

But Morgan wasn’t crazy. Never had been. In fact, she was the strongest woman Quinn had ever met. She valued herself—her life —too damn much to throw it all away by … by what? He was even afraid to ask.

“She drove her car off a bridge,” Kerr elaborated as if reading his mind.

His head jerked up. “Pardon me?” Once again he found himself meeting the other man’s expressionless eyes.

“I know, it sounded unbelievable to me when the police called after they’d pulled her car out of the river. Apparently she was intoxicated. There are half a dozen witnesses who confirm she had several drinks before leaving the pub and get ting into her car. Her brother was there, too. He said she was quite upset.”

“Upset about what?”

“Layla Simms’s body was discovered last week.”

Quinn immediately recognized the name. Layla Simms was the young woman who’d gone missing nearly a decade ago, Morgan’s best friend from high school.

“Where was the body found?” Quinn asked.

“Autumn.” The older man sighed. “That poor family. I’d heard Wendy and Mort Simms never gave up hope that their daughter was alive. This must have been quite a shock for them.”

Quinn absorbed the information. Autumn was Morgan’s hometown, which the Kerr family practically owned before Edward was elected into the United States Senate and moved away for bigger and better things. The Kerrs relocated to D.C. a few years after the Simms girl’s disappearance, Quinn recalled. But Morgan had always been convinced Layla had been killed and that her body lay somewhere in the idyllic town they’d grown up in. She went back there at least twice a year to rustle a few trees and see if any answers fell out, but they never did. Quinn once asked her why she kept going back, kept searching for something she might never find, and she’d always replied with, “She’s there, Quinn. I know it.”