11. Hunter

ELEVEN

HUNTER

T here's about sixty thousand dollars in cash, the account numbers for a bank account in Switzerland in Winter's name, and weapons—handguns and knives that I didn't own before last week—laid out in the wall safe in front of me. Also in the safe are three passports. Mine, August's, and Winter's, except our names are different.

This is my insurance.

My father got to me once, and I'll be damned if I let it happen again—if I'd let Winter get hurt again.

I pull a handgun out and tuck it in the waist holster I carry now. Securing my suit jacket over it, I turn to the door as Leo knocks to enter. I lock the safe and return to my desk as he walks in.

"Misha Hroshko wants to speak with us," Leo says without preamble. I blow out a breath, running my fingers through my hair.

On top of finding Winter, Misha has let us know that he's still on board with getting rid of my father. It is a tentative commitment.

A commitment that has been made more complicated by the fact that no one has seen my father since that night at the Appleton Country Club.

At first glance, it should be simple for anyone to get rid of my father. He's human, and we all die at some point. But with my father's influence and all the dirt he holds over hundreds of the elite, they'll do whatever they need to protect him—so they can protect themselves.

They don't want their dirt getting out.

But what do animals do when they're cornered? They bite. That's where Misha comes in. As the pakhan of the Ukrainian Mafiya, the ultimate leader of the organized crime unit, Misha has thousands of soldiers and generals at his fingertips. He's ingrained in the government. He's just as influential as my father. But I know what he wants: He wants the leverage my father keeps hidden away in Isla Cara and access to Project Panacea.

I suspect I'll get clarity on the latter point in a few minutes.

"Call him up, then," I say to Leo.

Three minutes later, we're patched through to Misha Hroshko.

"Hunter Brigham, I trust that your woman is healing from her ordeal," he says when he answers.

I startle. Is she healing? I have no clue. On the outside, yes. But on the inside? I don't know where she is in her brain.

"She's getting well. Thank you," I say, closing the topic.

"It was easy to find her, yet you needed help. I'm curious why that is?"

Leo and I exchange a look. I know that Misha Hroshko doesn't ask a question he doesn't already know the answer to.

"Expediency," Leo pipes up. "With Hunter's attention split, we needed reinforcements to bring Winter home. We're grateful."

"Your gratitude is noted," he says. The line goes silent.

"Project Panacea," he says, the words sounding interesting in his accent. "I want access by the end of the week." His tone brooks no argument, no room for negotiation. I feel his deadly, icy seriousness over the phone line.

"Of course, Misha. We're in your debt," I say truthfully. "Can I know more about who we are helping?"

Misha is silent for a moment. "My wife," he says shortly, and I startle. Who would have known that Misha Hroshko would be married? "She was diagnosed with stage IV ovarian cancer two months ago. Those fucks at Johns Hopkins and all those other trash fucking hospitals want to put her on hospice. But your treatment will cure her."

There's so much resolve in his voice. I know that if we fail to do this, he will kill all of us and slaughter the generations after us on principle.

Misha isn't just a pakhan wanting control of an uncontrollable situation. He's a man who has something to lose.

"I understand," I say to him. Because I so, so do. "Our center is in Chevy Chase. It's where all the trials are to be held. The FDA has been a pain in our assholes?—"

"Do not worry about them," Misha says dismissively.

Leo stares hard at his phone. "I'm confident in our treatment, Misha. We will ensure your wife is taken care of," he vows.

After a beat, Misha says, "Hunter, I want you and your woman to come to my home. My wife would like to meet her."

I look at Leo and he shrugs.

"Leo, you come too. Bring your woman," he says.

"Sure," Leo replies with a silent, bewildered expression.

"It'd be my pleasure, Misha," I say. I'd rather run through fire, but I'm indebted to this man.

"Very well," Misha says. "Let's plan on two months from now. By that time, my wife will be much improved." And then the line goes dead. He hung up .

Leo and I both blow out a breath. " Fuck, " Leo says, drawing out the word for several beats.

"Why do I get the feeling that we just sold our souls to the devil?" I ask Leo while staring up at the ceiling.

I don't look back at him when he replies, "It's because we did."

Leo leaves my office sometime later and I throw myself into work. Or, at least, I try to.

Since the accident and Winter's return, I've been forcing myself to care at all about BwP, which makes me feel horrible. So many people are going to live because of the technology BwP releases. So many people rely on BwP staying afloat. Solvent. Engaged.

And I can't make myself give a fuck about it.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and unlock it. My home screen is a candid picture of Winter and August in the game room. They're on opposing teams in some zombie game, and it was difficult for me to know who was winning. But August was effervescent with his amusement, and Winter radiated happiness.

My Sunbeam.

So when Winter peeks her head into my office, I jump up on high alert.

"Are you all right? What's wrong," I ask, rushing over to her. My instinct is to cradle her face, to touch her in some way, but I keep my hands firmly at my side.

"Am I interrupting?" she replies, not answering my question.

"There isn't a scenario in which you could interrupt me. Are you all right?" I pull her from behind the door she uses as a shield and close it behind her.

"I'm fine, H. Are you all right?" Her eyes search my face.

"Winter." I resist growling her name. "This is the first time you've ever sought me out and the first time you've ever been in my office. There has to be a reason besides you telling me you're fine."

The side of her mouth kicks up. "You're right." She moves to rub the skin between her eyebrows. "I need a favor." She looks nervous.

"Anything, Sunbeam."

"It's a little stupid," she says.

"Nothing you do is stupid. What do you need?" She avoids my gaze. With a short sigh, she asks, "Can you please take me to the doctor?"

My eyebrows shoot up. "Yes, of course. Are you sick?" I grab my phone, prepared to call her doctor to come to our house immediately—I don't care what they're doing.

"No, I'm fine. It's a scheduled checkup. It's just that... Um." She stops talking again.

I grab her hand. "Talk to me, baby," I say in a low voice.

"I haven't left the house since coming home. I don't—I can't—I…" she blinks and swallows. "I don't want to be alone with Rio. Could you bring me?"

Then she looks me in the eye and my heart breaks for the hundredth time since we left that diner outside Asheville. She is asking me for something of her own free will. This has to be progress, right?

"Of course I will."

The lights are too damn bright in here. The harsh and cold fluorescents overhead highlight the dated décor—an unexpected sight, seeing as this is one of the best doctors in the nation.

I question whether the heat is on because I shiver.

Or maybe it's the coldness I haven't been able to shake since learning that my father was the conductor behind Winter's abduction.

I should tell her. I should give her the choice to choose me after she knows what pain I've brought her.

But I'm not a good man. And I can't let that info slip.

Because I cannot lose Winter again.

I tasked Ella with finding Winter the best care with the most empathetic doctor on the Atlantic seaboard. When Ella told me we wouldn't have to go far, just to their office in DuPont Circle, that made life easier.

Winter didn't object to seeing a new doctor.

Her leg shakes as she flips through a year-old home and garden magazine. Kitty wears his service animal harness and whimpers as she jerks him up and down in a rapid staccato from his position on her lap.

He looks at me with his naturally wide eyes even wider, as if saying Dude, do something!

I run my hand over my mouth before bending over and resting my elbows on my knees.

When Winter flips a page, I notice she's bitten her nails so short that crusty scabs run from her nail beds.

The sight makes me sad, which then morphs into fury.

Adam Collins. My father. Morris Winthrope. Uvalde, the commissioner. I'm glad her abuser is dead. I'm glad Uvalde is dead. Now every other person who played a role in putting her in this situation is next.

Her leg shakes, jostling the magazine pages so a constant rustle sounds out. I put my hand on her knee, hoping the presence will help ground her and stop her nervous fidgeting. Selfishly, I hope she'll let me soak in her warmth.

Two seconds after my palm hits her thigh, the medical assistant opens the door.

"Mrs.Winter Brigham?" she calls out. Winter's head snaps from her magazine and to the bubbly nurse. Her mouth gapes open when she turns to me with narrowed eyes .

"Mrs.Brigham?" Winter asks. Her eyebrow quirks up.

My mouth twists. "Fight me about it later?" I'm unsure if it was the wrong thing to say or not. She blinks at me for a heavy beat before standing, ushering Kitty to the ground.

I stand to go with her, but her soft hand on my arm stops me.

"Alone, please." There's no anger or aggression in her voice.

"I don't want to leave you alone, Winter," I reply.

"I don't want—" she breaks off, looking back at the attendant and raising her finger to let her know she'll need just a second. "I don't know what I'm walking into here," she murmurs.

Understanding dawns. She doesn't want me to be there if something comes back wrong.

"I can be there to support you through whatever, Winter."

She shakes her head. "Not this time, Hunter."

I don't know if she means I can't give her support this time or not to go into the office this time, but I'm not given clarification as she spins on her heel and walks through the door.

I settle back into the seat and drop my head in my hands, running my fingers through my hair.

We're not making progress. We're not moving forward. Sure, she's welcomed a few platonic touches, but those instances are few and far between now. Those first few days, she needed me. She wanted to be around me. But now, I don't know if I'm pushing too much or not enough; I don't know if I'm saying the right things or completely wrong things.

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.

I don't know how to help Winter come back from this tragedy. I drop my head even further.

My phone buzzes, and I glance at the screen.

"Talk," I say sharply, and Leo blows a breath on the other side of the phone .

"The guys in New York came up with nada. Isla Cara is deserted—not a single soul in sight. And the houses in London, Paris, and Thailand are empty. Your father has officially gone ghost."

The phone protests as I squeeze it in my palm.

"As much fucking money and time as we spend on technology, we can't catch this one motherfucker?" My voice is raspy and low. I'm the only person in the waiting room, and that's by design. I didn't want Winter's anxiety to get triggered, so I made sure they cleared their calendar for any other patients except Winter for the entire afternoon.

The receptionist moves from her spot behind the closed glass window.

"I'm getting creative. Who else would protect your father and hide him?"

"I don't know, Leo. I've given you a list. Ella has given you a list. Short of knocking off everyone who has had interactions with Father over the last decade?—"

Leo's beleaguered sigh stops my tirade.

"Just—fuck," I say.

The need to make my father pay for his sins, to make him beg for mercy at the end of my gun before I blow his brains out, sits sharp and metallic on my tongue.

He can't hide forever.

"We'll keep looking, H." Leo goes silent, and the soundlessness feels heavy.

"What else?"

"Panacea is DOA at this point."

I pinch the skin between my eyebrows. "The fuck, Leo?"

"The FDA wants to come in and get access to our proprietary tech."

"Well, obviously, they can fuck right off with that."

"That's what I told them."

I blow out a breath. "To be completely fucking honest, I don't care. "

"Hunter," Leo begins.

"I don't, Leo! I don't care what happens with it at this point. Later, maybe. But right now?"

Right now, BwP could completely implode, and I would not give a singular fuck.

"We'll revisit this later," he says finally. "But no one is getting the tech."

"Sure," I mumble.

"God-fucking-damnit," Leo snaps, and then he hangs up.

I run my fingers through my hair again, taking a moment to press at the corded muscles in my shoulders when my phone vibrates again, drawing my attention away from the sterile waiting room.

Glancing at the screen, I find a message from an unknown number.

A Scar.

A Liar.

The coldness in the room seems to intensify, mirroring the chill that now grips my insides.

Who the fuck is this?

I stare at the screen for several long moments, and the unknown number doesn't respond. I look around the waiting room. No one is here, even the receptionist hasn't returned to her station.

I take a screenshot of the conversation and send it to Max.

Figure out who the fuck this is.

Trying to shake off the unsettling feeling, I pocket my phone just as Winter reappears, her expression guarded. I stand, my eyes searching hers for clues about what happened behind the closed door.

"Everything okay?" I ask, my words slow.

She nods, but the tightness in her features suggests otherwise. "Just a checkup," she replies. The small smile she gives me appears peaceful, but the faint muscle tick in her cheek betrays her vulnerability. "Nothing to worry about."

The loops on Kitty's harness jingle as he moves to stand against her leg.

I take Winter's hand, offering silent support and shoving away the fuckery with BwP and the unknown number.

As we leave the clinic, clouds roll in, promising freezing rain.

"Let's go back home," Winter says. Exhaustion laces her tone. She squeezes my hand, a small gesture of connection amidst the fucked-up menagerie of uncertainty swirling inside me.

"Yes, baby. Let's."