Morgan's Chase 9 (Endgame)

By Lucy St. John

THE MOST THRILLING, CHILLING AND PULSE-POUNDING FINALE TO A ROMANTIC SUSPENSE SERIES – EVER!

Morgan has worked so hard and come so far for fate to be this cruel. Could it all have been for naught? Even more troubling, were all her hard-fought efforts misplaced?

Did she neglect the very love and opportunity for happiness that was right in front of her, in the form of noble ex-Navy SEAL Travis Walker for too long? And now, is it too late?

Love and happiness are meant to be had, meant to be grasped – not delayed. Now, unspeakable tragedy has Morgan rethinking all of her choices, reassessing every last one of her priorities.

Can she change her chaotic life in time? Or has the die been cast, condemning Morgan to a lifetime of regret and painful memories of what could have been?

Everyone’s fate is revealed, all mysteries are solved and every question is answered in the towering, titillating conclusion of the Morgan’s Chase Series: Book Nine – Endgame.

This is the book you can’t not read because Morgan’s chase has been leading US here, all along.

Nothing will be held back. Not love. Not lust. Not hate. And not death. It’s all part of this unbelievable ending to Morgan’s epic chase.

So start reading right now. You won’t be able to stop until you turn the last page and discover the final surprise.

AN ENDING THAT SHAKES MORGAN'S CHASE TO THE VERY CORE

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucy St. John
• Release date: Sep 7, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301942145

Lucy St. John

Lucy St. John is the super-secret Nom de Plume of a major league, highly successful female executive. She sticks to what she knows in creating her brand new, breakthrough romantic series, "Morgan's Chase." All the juicy details are ripped right from Lucy's own fast-climbing corporate life.St. John's superheated, highly evocative - and, yes, controversial -- narrative chronicles both the corporate boardroom battles and the behind-the-scenes bedroom tumbles of a corporate climbing female executive out to shatter the glass ceiling. In doing so, St. John's passionate prose is as authentic as it is addictive. Once you begin following Morgan's Chase, you won't be able to stop.Dear Reader,All of my fiction springs from the realities we women face every day in the push-and-pull of our professional and personal lives. So you know as well I that as hard as we work, as much as we try, life shows us that the forces of fate are for more powerful than all of our personal and professional struggles, combined.That's why all along the way, shocking events put Morgan's chase in perspective. At times, we find Morgan as an unlikely loser on both sides of her ongoing chase for balance in her personal and professional life. Her family is thrown for a loss, and so too is her love-life.The blows comes so fast and so furious, Morgan is pushed back on her heels like we've never seen her. There are dark times. But Morgan and her allies eventually pick themselves up and respond. And when they do, there's a new-found fury and purpose to their actions.Morgan hits her stride. She makes all the right moves in both her professional and personal lives. It appears she is on the cusp of achieving everything she ever dreamed - and more. At long last, after many false starts, she's about to reach a new level of intimacy in her romantic relationship with ex-Navy SEAL Travis Walker.Is the elusive finish line for Morgan's chase finally in sight?I welcome you to enjoy the deepest, richest, most exciting and satisfying Morgan's Chase installments yet. Indeed, it has all been leading up to this. And every character, every situation comes alive and plays a part in the wholly unexpected outcome.I just know you're going to love it!Yours,Lucy

Book preview

Chapter 1

The ice-blooded killing machine that was Rocco Hard Drive Worilds exploded violently on the already chaotic scene. Rocco viewed it all through the magnification of a sighting scope on his military-style rifle. He peered down on the populated courthouse steps from high atop another building in Pittsburgh’s downtown canyon.

But to Hard Drive, the souls below were not people. They were prey. More to the point, they were enemies. Sworn enemies. They were foes of his beloved boss, Mrs. B.

Bree Ballentine had vanished without a trace. The star witness in a grand jury proceeding being convened in her arson attack and attempted murder case was a surprise no-show in court. And when the victim, who was to be first to take the stand, doesn’t appear, the entire case falls apart. The case against Big Al Chase. Morgan’s father. Now they were all just walking away.

Not so fast.

Not if Rocco had anything to say about it. He would finish things. He would finish them for Mrs. B.

This vengeful motive led directly to the chaotic scene that Rocco had created on the courthouse steps. Up until this hate-motivated man and his rifle rained bullets down on the packed plaza, it had been a different scene. The local, national and international media were in a feeding frenzy. And Morgan Chase and company were about to declare victory over vanquished Bree Ballentine for all the world to see and hear.

Only, Hard Drive was there, high above it all. His would be the final word in the matter. His rifle, that deadly accurate instrument of death, would mete out justice, now that Mrs. B had been abducted and the grand jury process thwarted.

The shrewd enemies who had planted kidnappers in the form of well-endowed male strippers didn’t have the foresight to dispatch Hard Drive. And like his nickname, this killer was pre-programmed. It didn’t matter that Mrs. B might be gone, perhaps never to be seen again – that was if her abductors were as good as Rocco believed they were.

Yet, they made a mistake in trying to clean up the legal mess for Morgan and her family. A big one, at that. They had left him behind.

Hard Drive was still on a mission. And that mission had nothing to do with the law. Morgan’s forces had claimed victory in the short-circuited legal process. But that wasn’t where Hard Drive engaged in battle.

Nowhere close.

Did they just think it would be over the moment a judge gaveled the grand jury into permanent recess? Did they think his kind would be swayed by a manufactured outcome in our corrupt system of legal commerce?

If they did, they were not only naïve. They were wrong. Dead wrong.

And they would rue the day that they left Rocco Hard Drive Worilds drugged and unconscious – but alive. Very much alive.

And lethal as hell.

Stinging sweat streamed into Rocco’s squinted eyes as he perched high above the courthouse square, peering through his scope.

Media were everywhere, infesting the courthouse steps like rats. All of them squirming for position in the feeding frenzy to come. Only, these rats wouldn’t be feasting upon the leavings and crumbs of garbage cans. They would chew through the reputation of his employer, Mrs. B, the burn victim who had the audacity to create a public media sensation on 60 Minutes, then the indifference to be a no-show at the start of her own legal proceeding.

This would not be tolerated. The pathetic press, always under a deadline to serve up new scandal and sensation, could not abide someone fucking with their coverage plans. And Bree Ballentine had done just that.

So, the media would roast her anew. And they would anoint Morgan Chase and her righteous entourage as the victors. There always had to be winners and losers. Because in media circles, especially in ratings-driven cable TV, the mantra was, keep it simple, stupid. Give the audience easy heroes and villains so they never have to bother their brains to comprehend what’s really going on in our complex world. Make the audience think, and you are just begging them to flip the channel. Just ask PBS about this.

Hard Drive’s rifle roved over the thickening crowd. The images in his scope shifted in and out. Faces of the blow-dried TV personalities and the rumpled print press and production assistants came and left his viewfinder. Rocco was indifferent to them. Oh, sure, he detested the press and what they would do to Mrs. B, who through no fault of her own, was missing in action. Disappeared by professionals. It wasn’t Bree’s fault. It was his. And the knowledge was a jagged-edged knife’s blade twisting in Rocco’s gut.

He would make someone pay. Not just anyone. The person with the most to gain by silencing Bree Ballentine and making the legal case related to her attempted murder disappear like so much magic.

Morgan Chase.

Just then, a commotion arose. Well, a bigger commotion than that of all the waiting press jockeying for position. This was something else. It was show time, folks.

At once, the media, with their microphones pointing and their cameras focusing and their notebooks and tape recorders at the ready, rushed to the revolving courthouse doors. Circling the main exit en masse, the media formed a human wall. A barricade that could not be breached. Not until the targets coming to face the firing squad of shouted questions and scrutinizing cameras submitted to the impromptu inquisition.

This was the power of the press, all right. They would call the shots, because they bought ink by the barrel, owned the airwaves and controlled major traffic destinations on the Internet. They held themselves out as the voice of the people. And everyone must answer to the people. Even billionaire CEOs.

The silver-haired attorney barged out first, followed by plain-clothes corporate security, the best money could buy to protect Morgan and her family. Travis Walker was next. But once again, the ex-SEAL was keeping his usually active eyes to himself. The ugly machinations of the media made this highly trained SEAL into a shy boy.

Hard Drive observed all of this through the magnification of his rifle scope. And he smiled down at the targets that were presenting themselves to him – and to the black, hateful eye of his rifle barrel.

He didn’t have a clear shot. Not yet.

The fucking press were in a tizzy. Their heads and raised cameras and microphone booms were everywhere, obscuring Rocco’s line of sight. Obstructing his firing line.

He would get only a couple of shots. And he wanted to begin with his prime target, Morgan, herself. Because once the first bullet hit home, all hell would break loose on those steps. Old military hands like Walker and the ex-Marine, Al Chase, would know instinctively what was going on.

It was an ambush. And a trained sniper had a bead on them from an elevated position. The classic shooter’s nest. Rocco would have about 90 seconds to turn those courthouse steps into his own personal shooting gallery. It wouldn’t be quite as easy as target practice. But it would be close.

Finally, Morgan Chase emerged into view. Rocco shifted his rifle scope. Morgan’s head bounced in and out of the viewfinder. Other heads, along with obstructions like cameras and sound equipment, blocked clear sight lines.

Morgan’s inner circle kept close quarters around their billionaire CEO leader. Al Chase, the barrel-chested ex-Marine was there. Of course, Travis Walker was there. But the real menace was that preening lawyer, who seemed only too happy to take the lead, endeavoring to get his triumphant mug on all the national cable news networks.

Why not? It was great advertising.

Rocco followed his target the best he could under the cold gaze of his rifle scope. Sweat stung at his eyes. He tried to blink it away, even as the rivulets ran deeper from his forehead.

He didn’t want to pull the scope from his eye. He didn’t want to sacrifice the time and opportunity to hone in on his target. But the sweat was a problem. On the rooftop, the summer heat was beating down. And the intensity of the moment had Rocco’s system running in overdrive. His own internal furnace was burning hot. It was the thrill of the chase. The adrenaline of that magical moment when one human being wields the irretrievable and absolute power to wipe another of his kind from the face of the planet.

So Rocco kept blinking. But he kept sweating, too.

The Chase entourage pushed through the media pack toward a make-shift lectern set up at the first landing of the ocean of courthouse steps. Microphones emblazoned with logos from media outlets large and small were clipped, taped or otherwise attached to the podium. It was here that Morgan would declare her victory over Bree. And it was here that Rocco Hard Drive Worilds would settle the scores for his beloved Mrs. B. for all time.

Finally, everyone was in place. But Rocco still had no shot.

The media was still going apeshit, shouting questions, snapping pictures and rolling their videotape. The jockeying press were moving in a close circle all around Morgan and her entourage, such that she was practically shielded by the media circus going on all around her.

Hard Drive would have to wait until she approached the podium. And then he would have his shot.

What the hell were they waiting for? Rocco’s mind raged, as salty, stinging sweat poured into his eyes.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t blink it away. So Rocco removed his hand from the trigger and brought it to his face, wiping at the rivers that were his eye sockets.

Hard Drive endeavored to be quick about this. But by the time he got his hand back on the trigger and his scope refocused on the target, everything had changed.

Morgan had moved to the podium, but the lawyer was right by her side, ready to whisper legal advice into her ear.

The angle was hard. But Rocco could do it. From this vantage, he could lodge a bullet into the CEO’s left ear. She would be dead -- all her wires cut -- before her body ever hit the pavement. He just needed the right spilt-second.

Hard Drive’s thick finger weighed on the resistant trigger. He had calibrated the trigger resistance personally. He wanted a smooth, steady pull to fire his weapon. Not too easy, and not too hard. Just right. So that one, even, gun-steadying squeeze would send his speedy messenger of death to its intended target: Morgan Chase.

Just then, she leaned her head forward toward the bank of microphones, and Rocco had his moment.

His finger, so familiar with the weight of the trigger, pulled back with perfect, even force.

The gun fired and bucked. The bullet went spinning toward Morgan’s left ear.

But in that split-second between life and death, the overzealous, over-protective, over-exposed lawyer leaned into the microphone to once again command the media mob scene.

And this instinct to once again employ his golden gift of gab would prove attorney Nick Timko’s undoing. The linguistic skills that had won so many court cases and filled his bank account with a king’s ransom of attorney’s fees also got him killed.

Through the scope, Rocco saw the puff of red. An exultant thrill tingled his whole body. He had done it! He had brought down Morgan Chase.

Then, Rocco’s unblinking, unbelieving eye refocused.

The silver-haired lawyer -- now absent his smug face, absent any face at all, in fact -- fell from the frame.

Morgan remained standing, albeit sprayed with blood and brain matter.

The fucking lawyer had stuck his neck out at the last moment.

Immediately, Rocco re-sighted on the dumb-struck, statue-like Morgan. His finger weighed on the trigger, firing as fast as he could without missing the shot.

But just before the rifle cracked and bucked again, Morgan Chase swept from his rifle sight in one swift movement.

He didn’t actually see it, not with his own eye. But Rocco knew.

Travis Walker had covered her with his own body, taking her to the ground.

Hard Drive didn’t know what, or who, he had hit. But he wasn’t done.

In the scrambling scene of chaos below, Rocco swept the rifle sight, scanning for targets. He looked for Morgan, but instinctively knew that Walker would be covering her like a glove.

And then his sights halted on the blonde prosecutor. She was an easy target, standing there in stunned shock, so why not?

Rocco’s trigger finger moved again. But then the broad back of Al Chase filled his sight.

The rifle barked and bucked. And through his scope, Rocco saw a horsetail of blood spew from the ex-Marine’s shoulder, just before he plunged to the ground, covering the pretty assistant district attorney with his massive body.

Rocco exhaled in defeat. But he didn’t bring his rifle down. Not yet.

He scanned the scene, seeing the two detectives, the man and woman partners. Their weapons were drawn as they hunched down, surveying for the sniper’s nest. And calling for back-up.

In seconds, the plaza would be crawling with cops. And Rocco hated cops.

He hunched down, wiped his rifle with a rag, and then placed it under an old, wet piece of plywood on the roof. He would not have time to break it down and carry it out.

But this didn’t mean that Hard Drive was giving up his mission of revenge for Bree Ballentine. Not by a long shot.

He was programmed, after all. Hence, his nickname.

No, there were other targets of opportunity to be taken. He’d been watching them all along. These were other thorns in his boss’s side. And he would right the wrongs. Settle the debts. Even the scores.

And for this, Rocco would not need his rifle.

This work would be close in. It would be personal.

And it would be wet.

In these acts, Hard Drive would wear the hot blood of his targets on his face. He would smell it. He would taste it.

And it would taste and smell like victory.

Chapter 2

Tears fell on the simple, humble ring clutched in Morgan’s shaking hands. She stood numb and statue-like outside the trauma room. All around her, a cacophony of barely controlled chaos ensued. The army of medical professionals were scrambling. All with a job to do, a task to perform.

Hanging in the balance was life and death. These were no longer vague possibilities or abstract concepts. They were immediate realities. And they faced Morgan. The thin line between them was right in front of her tearing eyes, inside that trauma room.

Where Travis Walker lay.

The man Morgan believed to be invincible. The stalwart rock in Morgan’s life that she convinced herself would always be there was mortally wounded and losing blood at an appalling rate.

And the life and death now confronting Morgan was Travis’s life, Travis’s death.

And it stopped her cold. It caused her to reconsider everything. It ended her chase in its very tracks.

How could she have been so stupid all this time? All this wasted time?

How could she think she could go off on her chases of success, of self-worth, of meaning in a multi-dimensional life as a woman in full? Why did she believe that when her race was won, that she could come home to Travis? Why was she so content to delay the start of their lives together? Why did she postpone a tangible and obtainable golden moment of their marriage to some hazy, hard-to-pin-down future that was but a dream?

A dream, because tomorrow is promised to no one.

The moment is all any of us have. It’s all we ever have. And when the final moment comes, all those things that we have chased to the exclusion of those we love become meaningless. It’s a cruel, cold lesson that always seems to arrive too late.

There just isn’t enough time. There never is.

And when the clock stops and the lesson comes, we would trade everything. All those moments frittered away on other things we mistakenly believed were so important. We’d give all of it back for just one more second. One more chance. One final attempt to get it right.

To get our lives right.

To bring our true priorities into focus. To wisely, judiciously allocate the most precious commodity any of us will ever possess.

Our time. Our attention. Our love.