The Right Path Part 13

"A gla.s.s of ouzo wil be fine, Liz," Dorian stated before Liz could fire a retort. His gaze lit on Iona. "I hardly think we can blame Morgan, Iona. We'd have been questioned in any case. As it is, she's had to deal with finding the man as wel as the questions. Thank you, Liz," he added as she placed a gla.s.s in his hand and shot him a grim smile.

"I cannot stay in this house today." Iona prowled the room, her movements as jerky as a nervous finger on a trigger. "Nicky, let's go out in your boat." She stopped and dropped to the arm of his chair.

"The timing's bad, Iona. When I'm finished here, I have paperwork to clear up at home." He sipped his drink and patted her hand. His eyes met Morgan's briefly, but long enough to recognize condemnation. d.a.m.n you, he thought furiously, you have no right to make me feel guilty for doing what I have to do.

"Oh, Nicky." Iona's hand ran up his arm. "I'l go mad if I stay here today. Please, a few hours on the sea?"

Nick sighed in capitulation while inside he fretted against a leash that was too long, and too strong, for him to break.

He had reason to agree, and couldn't let Morgan's blank stare change the course he'd already taken. "Al right, later this afternoon." Iona smiled into her drink.

The endless questioning continued. Liz slipped out as Alex came back in. And the waiting went on. Conversation came in fits and starts, conducted in undertones.

As Andrew left the room for his conference, Nick wandered to Morgan's new station by the window.

"I want to talk to you." His tone was quiet, with the steel under it. When he put his hand over hers, she jerked it away. "I don't want to talk to you."

Deliberately, he slipped his hands into his pockets. She was stil pale. The brandy had steadied her but hadn't brought the color back to her cheeks. "It's necessary, Morgan. At the moment, I haven't the opportunity to argue about it."

"That's your problem."

"We'l go for a drive when the captain's finished. You need to get away from here for a while."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. Don't tel me what I need now." She kept her teeth clamped and spoke without emotion. "I needed you then." "d.a.m.n it, Morgan." His muttered oath had al the power of a shout. She kept her eyes firmly on Liz's garden. Some of the roses, she thought dispa.s.sionately, were overblown now. The hands in his pockets were fists, straining impotently. "Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I-" He cut himself off before he lost control. "I couldn't give you what you needed-not then.

Don't make this any more impossible for me than it is."

She turned to him now, meeting his fury with frost. "I have no intention of doing that." Her voice was as low as his but with none of his vibrating emotion.

"The simple fact is I don't want anything from you now. I don't want anything to do with you."

"Morgan ..." There was something in his eyes now that threatened to crack her resolve. Apology, regret, a plea for understanding where she'd never expected to see one. "Please, I need-"

"I don't care what you need," she said quickly, before he could weaken her again.

"Just stay away from me. Stay completely away from me." "Tonight," he began, but the cold fury in her eyes stopped him.

"Stay away," Morgan repeated.

She turned her back on him and walked across the room to join Dorian. Nick was left with black thoughts and the inability to carry them out.

Chapter Six

Morgan was surprised she'd slept. She hadn't been tired when Liz and Alex had insisted she lie down, but had obeyed simply because her last words with Nick had sapped al of her resistance. Now as she woke she saw it was past noon. She'd slept for two hours.

Groggy, heavy-eyed, Morgan walked into the bath to splash cool water on her face. The shock had pa.s.sed, but the nap had brought her a lingering weariness instead of refreshment. Beneath it al was a deep shame-shame that she had run, terrified, from a dead man. Shame that she had clung helplessly to Nick and been turned away. She could feel even now that sensation of utter dependence-and utter rejection.

Never again, Morgan promised herself. She should have trusted her head instead of her heart. She should have known better than to ask or expect anything from a man like him. A man like him had nothing to give. You'd always find hel if you looked to a devil. And yet ...

And yet it had been Nick she had needed, and trusted-him she had felt safe with the moment his arms had come around her. My mistake, Morgan thought grimly, and studied herself in the mirror over the basin. There were stil some lingering signs of shock-the pale cheeks and too wide eyes, but she felt the strength returning.

"I don't need him," she said aloud, wanting to hear the words. "He doesn't mean anything to me."

But he's hurt you. Someone who doesn't matter can't hurt you.

I won't let him hurt me again, Morgan promised herself. Because I won't ever go to him again, I won't ever ask him again, no matter what. She turned away from her reflection and went downstairs.

Even as she entered the main hal , Morgan heard the sound of a door closing and footsteps. Glancing behind her, she saw Dorian. "So, you've rested." He came to her and took her hand. In the gesture was al the comfort and concern she could have asked for. "Yes. I feel like a fool." At his lifted brow, Morgan moved her shoulders restlessly. "Andrew al but carried me back up here."

With a low laugh, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and led her into the salon. "You American women-do you always have to be strong and self- reliant?"

"I always have been." She remembered weeping in Nick's arms-clinging, pleading-and straightened her spine. "I have to depend on myself."

"I admire you for it. But then, you don't make a habit of stumbling over dead bodies." He cast a look at her pale cheeks and gentled his tone. "There, it was foolish of me to remind you. Shal I fix you another drink?"

"No- No, I've enough brandy in me as it is." Morgan managed a thin smile and moved away from him.

Why was it she was offered a supporting arm by everyone but the one who mattered? No, Nick couldn't matter, she reminded herself. She couldn't let him matter, and she didn't need a supporting arm from anyone.

"You seem restless, Morgan. Would you rather be alone?"

"No." She shook her head as she looked up. His eyes were calm. She'd never seen them otherwise. There'd be strength in him, she thought, and wished bleakly it had been Dorian she had run to that morning. Going to the piano, she ran a finger over the keys. "I'm glad the captain's gone. He made me nervous."

"Tripolos?" Dorian drew out his cigarette case. "I doubt he's anything to worry about. I doubt even the kil er need worry," he added with a short laugh. "The Mitilini police force isn't known for its energy or bril iance."

"You sound as if you don't care if the person who kil ed that man is caught."

"Vil age quarrels mean nothing to me," he countered. "I'm concerned more with the people I know. I don't like to think you're worried about Tripolos." "He doesn't worry me," she corrected, frowning as he lit a cigarette. Something was nagging at the back of her mind, struggling to get through. "He just has a way of looking at you while he sits there, comfortable and not quite tidy." She watched the column of smoke curl up from the tip of the long, black cigarette. With an effort, Morgan shook off the feeling of something important, half remembered. "Where is everyone?"

"Liz is with Alex in his office. Iona's gone on her boat ride."

"Oh, yes, with Nicholas." Morgan looked down at her hands, surprised that they had bal ed into fists. Deliberately, she opened them. "It must be difficult for you."

"She needed to escape. The atmosphere of death is hard on her nerves."

"You're very understanding." Disturbed and suddenly headachy, Morgan wandered to the window. "I don't think I would be-if I were in love."

"I'm patient, and I know that Nick means less than nothing to her. A means to an end." He paused for a moment, before he spoke again, thoughtful y. "Some people have no capacity for emotion-love or hate."

"How empty that would be," Morgan murmured.

"Do you think so?" He gave her an odd smile. "Somehow, I think it would be comfortable."

"Yes, comfortable perhaps but ..." Morgan trailed off as she turned back. Dorian was just lifting the cigarette to his lips. As Morgan's eyes focused on it, she remembered, with perfect clarity, seeing the stub of one of those expensive brands in the sand, only a few yards from the body. A chil shot through her as she continued to stare.

"Morgan, is something wrong?" Dorian's voice broke through so that she blinked and focused on him again. "No, I-I suppose I'm not myself yet. Maybe I'l have that drink after al ."

She didn't want it, but needed a moment to pul her thoughts together. The stub of a cigarette didn't have to mean anything, she told herself as Dorian went to the bar. Anyone from the vil a could have wandered through that inlet a dozen times.

But the stub had been fresh, Morgan remembered-half in, half out of the sand, unweathered. The birds hadn't picked at it. Surely if someone had been that close to the body, they would have seen. They would have seen, and they would have gone to the police. Unless ...

No, that was a ridiculous thought, she told herself as she felt a quick tremor. It was absurd to think that Dorian might have had anything to do with a vil ager's murder. Dorian or Alex, she thought as that sweet, foreign smoke drifted over her.

They were both civilized men-civilized men didn't stab other men in the back.

Both of them had such beautiful, manicured hands and careful manners.

Didn't it take something evil, something cold and hard to kil ? She thought of Nick and shook her head. No, she wouldn't think of him now. She'd concentrate on this one smal point and work it through to the end.

It didn't make any sense to consider Dorian or Alex as kil ers. They were businessmen, cultured. What possible dealings could they have had with some local fisherman? It was an absurd thought, Morgan told herself, but couldn't quite shake the unease that was creeping into her. There'd be a logical explanation, she insisted. There was always a logical explanation. She was stil upset, that was al .

Blowing some minor detail out of proportion.