The man must know his planes. The Piper didn’t have a label on it. Morgan filed that bit of information away. “They’re not my planes. Like I said, this is a private airfield.”
“Oh. Yes, you did say that. Okay, then. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
Morgan watched as the man took his time, ambled to his car. He seemed to be simply enjoying the scenery as he walked. The airfield was on a pretty piece of land. Or, Morgan thought, he could be conducting surveillance, casing the joint.
Rogers started his car, then backed up cautiously, before swinging the wheel around and heading back to the state road. The man drove his car like he had all the time in the world.
Morgan stood for a moment, his hands still in his pockets, and tried to figure out what his gut was telling him.
“Trouble?”
He looked over as another relative stranger stood just a few feet away from him, looking at him with a cool, assessing stare.
“I’m not sure.”
He didn’t know how much information Jordan had shared with Peter Alvarez about the circumstances surrounding the Piper. Personally, his instincts told him to just keep all his cards close to the vest for the time being.
Peter shrugged and walked past him, over to the glass enclosed lounge, making a beeline for the soda machine.
“Get you one?” he asked.
“No. Thank you.”
“There was some good-hearted speculation that the tourist would be sent packing in such a way that he’d likely never darken the doorstep again—evidenced, it was decided, by the car fishtailing as it sped off for parts unknown and safety. And I should also confess that money was involved in this speculation.”
Morgan laughed. “My family doesn’t seem to have much faith in my ability to be polite and circumspect when the situation warrants.”
“Well, I don’t know you. I bet you’d be just that. You sure I can’t buy you a can of soda? I kind of feel as if I owe you, since I was the only one who took that bet.”
“You bet against Jordan?” Since there was nothing more to be done with regard to the recently departed Preston Rogers, Morgan turned his attention to Peter Alvarez. Morgan took the few steps necessary to bring him to the lounge. He’d only spoken to Peter one time. It seemed a good opportunity to conduct a subtle interrogation.
Peter shrugged. He fed some coins into the dispenser. The sound of a can dropping echoed loudly in the cavernous hangar. “Jordan isn’t temperamental,” he said. He scooped his can, opened it, and took a good long drink.
“You seem to know him pretty well on such short acquaintance.” Morgan wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“I wouldn’t say I know him that well,” Peter said. “I’ve simply paid attention.”
“Are you trying to placate me?”
Peter gave him a level look. “No, I’m trying to be honest. You’re his brother, and you’re important to him. And I understand your desire to protect him. I’m not a threat, not to him, and not to you.”
Damned if Morgan didn’t feel just like a heavy-handed older sibling. Of course, he couldn’t help it. Of all of them, Jordan had always been the most generous, the most trusting, and the most easily hurt.
He could understand why Jordan would be drawn to a man like Peter. Alvarez seemed to be in tune with his surroundings, sensitive to the emotions of others. That could be a good thing, or a very bad thing, depending.
“We’ll see,” Morgan said. Although he directed those words more at himself than at Peter, the other man nodded.
“I hope so,” Peter said.
Morgan had the sense Alvarez said those words to himself.
“Well, I’d better get back to work. My new boss can be a hard ass when he wants to be,” Peter said.
“Yeah, me, too. Considering it’s my business we’re working on, I guess I should get a move on, as well.”
“Maybe we should close this?” Peter said, pointing to the large bay doors.
“I’ve got it. You go on ahead.” Morgan went over to the control panel and closed the automatic doors, then locked them.
He took a moment to look over at the Piper. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to add a little extra security, just in case. Morgan studied the interior of the doors, both the bay doors and the smaller, regular door. They already had an alarm system that would sound not just here, but trigger an alarm at the Sheriff’s office and the fire hall. But it wouldn’t hurt, for the time being, to put in another, secondary system. One that would notify just him, if the other system was somehow breeched and the hangar entered. He happened to have a few things on hand, and it wouldn’t take much jerry-rigging.
The extra layer of security would certainly help him sleep better, too, because he’d decided his gut was telling him that Preston Rogers was trouble, big time.
* * * *
Tamara had been thinking about this for hours. At the damndest times, she’d look over and catch either Morgan or Henry staring at her, and a wave of heat would swamp her. Or she’d catch a private moment between Penelope and her men, see the glow that practically enveloped them, and know exactly what they were thinking, what they were craving.
Those sudden lust attacks had kept her off balance since morning.
“Tamara?”
The question in Morgan’s voice stoked her fires. She’d burned all day and needed relief. She didn’t doubt the men knew she was wired. She turned to look at them, and the lust that pulsed from them left her in no doubt. They burned, too.
“Yes?” How interesting to play this polite conversational game when what she felt inside her wasn’t polite at all.
“Tell us what you need, Red.”
Even now,
