Chapter 14 #2
Like she never wanted to let go.
This ruins everything I've worked for. Everything I need.
The kiss seemed to last forever. Morgan counted the seconds while her nails dug crescents into the leather steering wheel.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them slightly breathless and smiling, Connor said something else, something that made Harper laugh. The kind of laugh that came from real joy, real happiness, real connection.
Then Connor was kissing her again, quick and sweet this time, like he couldn't help himself. Like one kiss wasn't enough.
He never kissed me like that. Not once in the entire year we were together.
The thought came with bitter clarity. During their relationship, Connor had been restrained.
Careful. Had kissed Morgan because it was expected, because that's what boyfriends did, but never with passion.
Never with heat. Never with the kind of desperate need and passion Morgan was witnessing right now.
She hadn't cared at the time. She hadn't wanted passion.
She'd wanted access. She needed Connor compliant, cooperative and blind to what was really happening.
Wanted him invested enough that he wouldn't question Morgan's requests for information about his property, about his schedule, about security measures.
But this was different. This was Connor actually feeling something for someone.
And feelings made people unpredictable. It made them protective. Made them pay attention to things they'd normally overlook.
And especially made them useless for Morgan's purposes.
Watching him kiss Harper like she was the oxygen he needed after drowning made one thing crystal clear.
Morgan had lost her leverage. Whatever hold she'd had on Connor through their casual arrangement was gone.
He wasn't the easy, accommodating man who'd let her show up unannounced anymore.
He was someone who'd choose Harper over convenience. Over old habits.
Over Morgan.
Not that Morgan wanted him. She'd never wanted him, not like that. But she'd needed him cooperative, and this passionate, protective version of Connor glaring at her over Harper's head? This version was a problem.
Harper finally pulled away with visible reluctance, saying something Morgan couldn't hear. She turned toward the boutique, pulling keys from her purse, moving to unlock the door.
Connor watched her go, not immediately getting back in his truck. Just stood there on the sidewalk, hands in his jacket pockets now, watching until Harper had safely unlocked the door and stepped inside. Making sure she was secure before he left.
The protective gesture made Morgan want to scream.
When the boutique lights came on, illuminating the spring dress display, Connor finally climbed back into his truck. But even then he didn't start the engine immediately. Morgan watched him sit there for a long moment, and even from this distance she could see the smile on his face.
Contentment. Satisfaction. The expression of a man who'd just kissed the woman he cared about and was already anticipating the next time he'd see her.
Then he started the engine and pulled away from the curb, his truck disappeared down Main Street toward the feed store, leaving Morgan sitting in her Lexus with rage burning through her chest like acid.
She took him. That bitch actually took the one piece I needed for this to work.
All of Morgan's careful planning. All the time invested in building a relationship with Connor, in positioning herself as essential to his life, in gathering information her father's associates needed, was falling apart because Harper Walsh had moved into Connor's house.
Into his bed, clearly.
Morgan had been following Armand's plan.
Had done everything she was supposed to do by providing financial information that should have been confidential, helping arrange the apartment fire that should have left Harper with nowhere to go, making sure Armand knew exactly how much pressure to apply to force Harper into accepting the deal.
Harper was supposed to lose everything and leave town. Was supposed to sign over her boutique property to Armand's development scheme, which would give Morgan's father's operation another legitimate-looking property to use for their smuggling routes. Another layer of protection.
Getting Harper out of town was supposed to clear the path back to Connor. To leave him vulnerable, lonely and ready to take Morgan back when she showed up offering comfort.
But Harper had gone to Connor instead. Had turned his protective instincts against her, had played the victim so well that Connor had taken her in without question.
Had ruined the access Morgan needed.
This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to be desperate enough to take any way out. Not end up with Connor.
Morgan pulled out her phone with hands that shook slightly from rage, not fear, and scrolled through her contacts to a number with no name attached. Just digits. A 307 area code like any other Wyoming number, completely untraceable to anything legitimate.
She'd been told to use it only when absolutely necessary. Only when the situation required intervention beyond what Armand could provide.
This qualified.
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. Morgan's heart pounded harder with each ring, her throat tight, her palms sweating against the phone's screen.
A man answered on the fourth ring. “Ms. Ashford.” His voice was deep and smooth like expensive bourbon, with an edge underneath that had always made Morgan's skin crawl. “I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon. Has something changed?”
She'd only met her cousin, Silas, once in person. The man who handled the aspects of their operation that required more than financial pressure. The man who'd assured her that Harper's apartment fire would be clean, untraceable, and perfectly executed to apply maximum pressure with minimum risk.
The man her father had sent to make sure this operation proceeded smoothly.
"We have a problem." Morgan said, keeping her voice steady even though fury vibrated beneath every word.
"How bad?" His voice was calm, professional.
"She’s not cooperating. She's not desperate enough."
"I handled the apartment like we discussed." Silas sounded almost amused, like they were discussing the weather rather than arson and extortion. "What's changed?"
Morgan's jaw clenched, her free hand curling into a fist against her thigh. "She's living with Connor now at his ranch. And they're together. Romantically."
"That complicates things." Silas's tone shifted, losing the amusement. "We need to meet. Discuss next steps. This isn't a conversation for the phone."
"Agreed. When and where?”
"Tomorrow. Two PM. You know the place."
She did. The two-story house Silas had been staying in with Armand, the old stash house that they used for shipments going north into Canada. It was far enough from town that no one would see them, no cameras to catch them meeting.
"I'll be there. And Silas?" She kept her voice low. "We need a new approach. The original plan isn't going to work anymore. Not with Connor involved."
"Then we'll adjust. We always do." He paused. "Your father's not going to be happy about the delay."
Morgan's stomach tightened. "My father doesn't need to know about every setback. We handle this, make it work, and he gets his results. That's all that matters."
"If you say so. Tomorrow at two."
The line went dead.
She lowered the phone slowly, staring at the boutique across the street where Harper was probably settling in for her day, arranging displays and checking inventory.
Completely unaware of what was coming. A new approach meant new threats.
And when the last threat ended with her apartment burning down, they would only be worse from there.
Morgan should have felt guilty or horror at the escalation and the possibility of Connor being hurt or killed because of her actions. But all she felt was pragmatic acceptance.
Her father made it clear, she needed to deliver Connor’s property access or face consequences that Morgan didn’t want to imagine. The cartel didn’t accept failure or care about Morgan’s personal feelings or moral reservation. They cared about results.
You should have stayed away from him and taken the deal when it was offered. You should have known you couldn't win against people like us. Now you're going to lose everything. And if Connor gets hurt because of your stubbornness, that's on you.
Morgan started her car, the engine purring to life smoothly. She pulled away from the curb and headed toward the county building on the other end of Main Street, her mind already cataloging what files she needed to access, what information Silas would require.
This was business. This was survival. This was doing what needed to be done to protect herself and deliver what her father's organization required. Harper and Connor both had chances to avoid this. Multiple chances. This was the consequence of their choices.
Not Morgan's fault. Never Morgan's fault.
She grabbed her purse and her cold coffee and headed inside with purpose in her stride, already planning which files to access first, which databases to search, how to pull the information without leaving an obvious trail.
By tonight, she would have everything Silas would need to threaten Connor's life.
And Harper would have a choice to make: save her boutique and leave town, or refuse and watch Connor burn.