15. Hunter

FIFTEEN

HUNTER

T aking the metro is something I've done less than a handful of times. The last time I took it was to dodge whatever tail Morris Winthrope or my father placed on me. I met Leo at a diner right off the orange line.

After I left the diner, instead of taking the train back to where I left my car in Alexandria, I took the green line, heading to Winter's apartment.

That was the night Winter and I made love for the first time. That was the night I crushed her heart.

I close my eyes to sit in the memory. The beautiful parts, her choosing to be with me and choosing to open herself to me, will always be the most humbling, moving experience in my life. At the same time, the look of total and utter devastation on her face will haunt me until my dying breath.

I'd betrayed her trust. The truth of that turns my stomach every time I think of it.

I have a Washington Nationals cap pulled low on my forehead, and my thick black bomber jacket keeps the bitter February chill from seeping into my bones.

It's Valentine's Day. I'm supposed to be in a different country right now, doing a different thing, with Winter in my arms.

Instead, Winter and I haven't talked in days. I've locked myself in my office in the evenings and worked with the security team on the other side of the property during the day.

I've kept the wall up because....

I need to fix all of this, and yet I'm losing control.

I'm ignoring the fact that Winter hasn't sought me out, either. We pass each other in the halls sometimes around the estate, but in general, she's kept her distance too.

So that leads me to being here, on the train platform at 12:30 a.m., waiting for a man to make his appearance.

I don't have to wait long. When the train pulls into the station, I sit with one leg stretched in front of me and my hands in my pockets. I'm the picture of the nonchalant traveler waiting for their next train.

He leaves the coach with a small crush of people leaving the bars and heading into the city.

His greasy blonde hair, which is several weeks overdue for a cut, curls over his ear, and his threadbare tan jacket flops open with every step. From the looks of the ratty fabric, I suspect the zipper is broken. The zipper wouldn't reach over his round stomach anyway, but still.

He doesn't notice when I follow three steps behind him.

Oblivious. So oblivious.

He's so uncaring of leaving a trail—like the trail he left when he went gambling in Atlantic City, blowing nearly a hundred grand at the blackjack table.

Maybe that's why he's still taking the metro rather than riding in one of the cars he's been Googling for the last six weeks.

One would think that a person responsible for managing a few dozen convicted felons' parole terms would be a little tougher, but what do I know?

He turns down a dark side street, and I keep my feet light as I follow, my hands in my pockets. In this part of town, his being a white man with blonde hair makes him an easy target, especially in this particular neighborhood.

He thinks he's invincible.

I count the steps to the front door of his shared townhome.

Three.

Two.

One.

I cover his mouth with a black cloth and drag his tense and flailing body into the catwalk between two abandoned houses. Luckily, this neighborhood is one where someone getting mugged or jumped isn't an unusual occurrence. Everyone minds their business, which is perfect for what I need to do.

He shrieks behind the cloth, turning into dead weight in my arms, so when Leo meets me in the alleyway, I'm grateful for his help. We push him against the side of the abandoned home, and paint chips scatter in the air like snow. I keep him in place with my forearm against his neck.

Pinning him to the wall, Leo pulls his gun from his waistband and points it at the man's head. The silencer is already attached to the barrel.

Staring at Leo's gun, the man stops fighting.

"Buck Fitzgerald, it's good to meet you," I say, showing him all my teeth as I bare them in a smile. "Believe it or not, Buck, I don't plan on hurting you." My tone is conversational, and I can tell it takes him off guard.

Still keeping my hand over his mouth, I tell him, "I'm going to remove my hand because I need some answers from you. But if you scream, I promise you'll really regret that decision. Okay?"

To emphasize my point, Leo racks the chamber. Buck nods quickly.

I test removing my hand and look at him with a raised eyebrow before smiling at him again .

"See? We can play nice," I say.

Buck's eyes are wild.

"What do you want, man? I ain't got no money," he stutters out, his voice trembling with adrenaline and fear.

"I know you don't have any money, Buck. You blew all you had in AC last weekend, yeah?" I shake my head. "You need to learn how to manage your bets, bro."

"What the fuck do you want?" Buck asks, getting testy.

Leo shifts and Buck shrinks away from Leo's gun.

"I want to know who gave you the hundred grand you pissed away last weekend," I say much in the same way one might say, "What are you having for dinner?"

Buck sucks his teeth. "Man," he drawls, but it chokes off when I reapply pressure, my forearm compressing his trachea.

"Buck, I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt that you're not a complete idiot. You didn't make it to your level as a parole officer by being stupid," I say as he struggles against the force of my body against his neck.

"But Buck, I need you to give me some answers." I look down at him.

Redness spiders from his bulging eyes.

"Are you going to answer the question so I can go on about my night?"

He gapes for several seconds before he tries to nod in acceptance.

"Wonderful choice, Buck," I reply, lifting off his neck. He coughs, gasping for air.

"Okay, so back to my question. Who gave you the money?" I smile as the seconds tick on. Buck grumbles.

"It was a man. I didn't get his name, and I didn't see what he looked like. He wore a hat and a mask, and he showed up in the parking garage one night almost two months ago."

"Did he say anything to you?" Leo asks, finally chiming in. He cracks his neck from side to side .

"Nope, not a word. He put a manilla envelope on the roof of my assigned car, patted it, and walked away." Buck starts to strain against my hold again. "I swear, man, that's all that happened!"

"And you didn't call after him or try to hold a conversation?" I ask.

"Nope. Plus, the lights were half broken in the garage, so it was dim as fuck. You know how it is. The government runs slow to fix anything."

I hum in reply.

"What was in the envelope?" Leo asks.

"There was fifty thousand in cash and a note. The note didn't say much except to call out of work for the next two weeks and say I was sick. It said when I did that, I'd get the other fifty grand delivered to me in cash."

"Interesting. So all those parolees you were supposed to check on over those two weeks. They just...what? Hung out until you came back?"

Buck swallows before letting out a choked sound.

"When did you get the rest of it?" This comes from Leo.

Buck's chin trembles before he says, "I opened my door one morning and the envelope was there."

I hum. "And no sight of the delivery boy?" I say.

"No," Buck says, sniffing. "I don't think you understand, man. A hundred grand?" He releases a shuddering wail.

"I needed that money, man," Buck says, tears streaming. "I really needed that fucking money." He snorts up the snot clogging his nose.

"Yeah, I guess you thought you could double it at the casino?"

Buck lets out a hiccuping sob.

"Yeah. Tough luck," I say. "Do you still have the envelope or the note? You know, since all the money is gone."

Buck lets out a short wail before hiccuping again and saying a pathetic, "No. "

"Damn, that's too bad." I look over to Leo, who gives me the slightest shrug of his shoulders. "So you don't know who gave you the envelope, what they looked like, or what they sounded like. You no longer have said envelope or note, and you just...did what they told you to do. That's about the size of it?"

Buck nods. "I swear. Please let me go?" He looks up at Leo again, who wears a look of lethal calm; I've only seen it a few times.

"Oh, yeah. Right," I say, taking a big step away from him. Buck groans and tries to readjust himself so he can stand. Before he's in a fully upright position, I stop him with my hand to his chest.

"Except for one thing...can you explain the shit that's on your computer? I have to say, it was shocking."

He pales. "What?"

"Yeah, Buck. Hundreds and hundreds of hours of kiddie porn on your hard drive. What's that about?" I step back from him and cross my arms. Buck slides down to sit on the concrete.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about. That's not mine," he stammers. His eyes shift, admitting his guilt.

"Ah, I see. I guess shit like that does happen. Hackers, I suppose. Right, Leo?"

Leo grunts.

"Well, I did say I would let you leave. So off you go," I say cheerfully. Buck eyes me with suspicion plain in his gaze.

"For real?" He stands up again, slowly grabbing at the splintered siding of the abandoned building for leverage.

"Yeah. I'm a man of my word. I promised I wouldn't hurt you."

Buck nods, standing to his full height and dusting himself off.

"All right, I'm just going to—" He stops talking with a squeak when Leo takes a big step forward and presses his gun to Buck's forehead.

"I'm not going to hurt you. But I didn't say anything about him." I smile. I'm sure I look a little insane.

Maybe I am.

"Please!" The strangled cast to his voice, his plain terror, sends a jolt of pleasure down my back. That joy is stamped when the fetid scent of Buck's urine hits my nostrils, and I curl my lip as he pisses his pants.

"Buck, there are consequences for your actions. Not only are you a piece of shit for all the disgusting content on your computer, your participation in this little pass-the-note game resulted in someone I love being hurt badly. So, I don't see any good reason to have you remain on this planet."

Without needing to communicate further, Leo puts a bullet in Buck's brain.

When the silencer goes off with a quiet snick , I inhale and exhale, letting the frigid night air cool my nasal passages. A thought teases the back of my consciousness that maybe I'm just like my father: toying with my prey before ending their life.

But my father kills for fun. For sport. He killed innocent people.

But so have I. Just because it was against my will, does that somehow make it acceptable?

I shake my head to pull myself out of the memory.

Anyone who dies by my hand will have deserved it. They more than deserved it. I'm killing for love. They kill for greed.

I look down at the remnants of Buck's bloody skull, thinking of the deplorable abuse he kept on his computer.

I will hunt them all down for you, Sunbeam.

"Well, that was slightly less dramatic than slitting someone's throat and letting them bleed out like a stuck pig," Leo says. His voice is hard and serious despite his quip.

"Yeah, I guess," I say, pressing my smartwatch to summon Rio and his cleanup crew. Two minutes later, Rio's shaved head comes into view, and I step away from Buck Fitzgerald's body.

"You got this here?" I ask Rio.

He nods and gets to work. I like Rio. He's a man of few words, and he understands why I'm doing what I'm doing—not just for getting rid of the cancer that is my father, but for getting rid of the people who hurt Winter too.

Rio snaps a picture of Buck Fitzgerald's corpse.

Leo and I leave the alley as planned, and a few minutes later, I'm in Leo's new Tahoe. I pull my phone out of my pocket, staring at the picture of Winter on the screen.

I changed my screensaver to the picture of Winter at La Maison. I think I fell over the precipice and into true love with her while sitting at that table outside the small French-themed restaurant. I just couldn't define it then.

I run my thumb over the picture before the screen goes dark again.

"Got plans for today?" Leo asks, cutting through the thick silence of the evening.

I look at him out of the corner of my eye.

"Maybe you should do something with her," Leo adds. I drop my head back to the headrest. Ever since my meltdown over, well, everything, I've been steering clear of Winter.

Not because I don't want to be around her. I need her presence like I need my next breath. But because I don't think I'll be able to manage my emotions. The more threads I pull at with this shit around my father and the Winthropes, the more complicated things become. It feels like I'm nowhere near close to resolving this mess so I can move on with my life.

And that realization fucks with my brain in a serious way.

I want to be able to control myself.

She doesn't need to deal with my bullshit.

"What do you suggest?" I reply, rolling my neck to look at the side of Leo's face .

He gives a half-smile. "Well first, stop avoiding your woman. Everyone can see it and it's awkward and hurtful."

Dread settles in my chest.

"I haven't been?—"

Leo's lifted eyebrow forces me to cut off.

"It's complicated, Leo."

"Well, explain it to me then," he replies.

I open my mouth to respond but snap it shut when the words in my brain coalesce into a ball. "My presence in her life has done nothing but cause her pain. And I'm afraid that—what if we can't..." I run my hand through my hair, gripping the strands in a tight fist at the crown of my head.

"H, we're going to get on the other side of all this. Misha's wife is coming through the trials well, last I heard. He will help us. We'll get rid of them. Then you'll finally be free—free to be with Winter and August and live for the first time in your life."

With a humorless chuckle, I say, "When did you turn into Dr. Phil?"

He gives me a significant look.

"H, here's what it looks like," he begins. "It looks like you're rejecting her, and I don't know if you've noticed, she's starting to get better." Leo's hands tighten on the steering wheel. He came into the diner after Winter collapsed in my arms, and he was the only person to witness my utter devastation and Winter's wrecked body. I shielded her from the view of anyone else, and she didn't leave my arms until we hit the emergency room.

"She's been playing with August, and I heard her laughing with him the other day. Laughing a lot."

I clear my throat, hoping to ease the tightness.

"My point is, if you don't pull your head out of your ass, you're going to lose her when she comes fully out of the fog."

I jolt, rejecting the idea. She can't leave me. She won't. If she tried to, I'd? —

I inhale, calming my racing heart.

Control yourself.

"All of us will need to get together to talk about Buck and his non-information," I say. Leo ignores my attempt to change the subject by maintaining his silence.

I clear my throat.

"I'm not rejecting her," I say through the restriction.

"Well, actions speak louder than words, H."

We're quiet for the rest of the drive.

After showering and stuffing my face with a turkey sandwich, I complete my nightly ritual of walking past Winter's room to smell her rose scent.

I pause when I arrive at her door, only to find it open and Winter not sleeping inside. Moving into her room, I glance inside her bathroom to see it empty as well.

I try to swallow down the panic. She's in the house. Somewhere. She's in the house.

She's safe.

Inhaling to calm myself and grab her scent into my lungs, I pull my phone out of my flannel pants and search through the cameras in the house.

She's not in the kitchen, plus I was just there.

She's not in the living room, game room, or sitting room either.

When I scroll over to view the cameras in the media room, my eyes zero in on Winter's hair piled high on the top of her head in a messy bun and sticking out from the mountain of covers she's under.

There's a bowl of popcorn and what looks like a half-wrapped Hershey's bar on the massive sofa in front of her. Kitty sleeps on his back with his feet up in the air.

She's safe. I can go to sleep now.

But instead of turning to head to my bedroom, I go in the opposite direction, stopping at the media room.

I crack the door open slightly to peek in. Her eyes are fixed on the massive projector screen as she watches that one kids' movie about the rat in Paris.

The animated rodent bounces around on the screen, and Winter watches the scene as if she's going to be tested on her recall of the movie.

I clear my throat to not startle her, but she jumps anyway.

The popcorn topples over, spilling on the floor.

"Shit, sorry," I say, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me.

She sits up. "No, sorry, I just wasn't expecting anyone."

We stare at each other until the cartoon breaks our attention.

"Why are you up so late?" she asks. Winter moves to pick up the popcorn, grabbing the spilled contents of the bowl in fistfuls.

"I wasn't feeling tired." My voice sounds strange in my ears, as if I'm fighting tension in my voice box. I don't tell her that I've just arrived home an hour ago.

Winter hums.

I fidget.

"Do you want to hang out for a little bit?" Winter's voice is smooth and hushed, but she doesn't look at me when she speaks the words.

I want nothing more than to hang out with her, to be in her atmosphere. When I pause for a moment too long, her eyes swing to mine.

I can't deny her a single thing.

"Of course, baby," I say in just as soft a tone.

Her smile could rival the sun.

She pulls back the blanket, and I almost trip when I see her nipples pressing through her flimsy tank top and her smooth thighs only covered at their tops by the soft jersey-knit shorts.

Control yourself .

I sit next to her. The sofa is massive, easily able to sleep at least five people, so I'm close to her but not touching.

"Animated movies, huh?" I settle into my seat, pulling the edge of the blanket over my lap.

"You know I love them," she says, her words a breath above a whisper. And I do know that. She told me how much she loved kids' movies on our all-day date.

"I'm not judging," I tell her. "But what do you love so much about them?"

We're strolling through the indoor mall after having left the crystal shop. She takes a long sip of her boba tea and chews on a tapioca ball before answering.

"I guess you could say I'm a hopeless romantic," she replies. Two spots of pink bloom on her cheeks. I stop her, lacing my fingers between hers.

"There's nothing wrong with that," I say. She looks at me for a long moment, her smile growing wider every second. She pops up and kisses my cheek. I feel the action down to my toes.

"But you really think the rat is romantic?" I tell her, tilting my head to look at her better as she contorts her body into the corner of the sofa. "If I remember correctly, this particular movie didn't even meet your top ten."

She chuckles slightly, but then her soft grin turns sad. She chews on her lip before saying, "Paris."

I hum. Paris.

My palms itch with the need to hold her hand, to touch her.

"Yeah," I say, clearing my throat. The silence between us is heavy.

"Next year," she says with a clear, determined tone. I shift my body to face hers, and she stares at the screen. Tears rest at the edge of her lower lids.

"Next year," I say with just as much resolve.

I gaze at the side of her beautiful face.

"Hunter," she begins. She clears her throat again. "I've missed you." She finally turns to face me, and I prop my elbow on the back of the sofa to rest my cheek on my knuckles.

"Me too, Sunbeam," I say with a rough voice. She reaches her hand out toward me but stops short of actually touching. She drops it on the sofa near mine.

"I've been talking with Genevieve," she says.

"Good. That's great. How do you feel about that?"

"I mean, I've been sending her emails, and I respond most times. We haven't had an actual session, but..." She puts her hand on top of mine, and I feel the action in every nerve ending. "I've been getting a lot of stuff out, and I can now say that I miss you. A lot."

She looks at me from under her eyelashes, and there's so much vulnerability in her gaze. I flip my hand over so our palms touch.

She bites her lip, and by the flicker of her eyelids in the dim glow of the screen, I can tell she's holding back a sob.

Just like I'm holding myself together too.

The fractured parts of my soul burst apart when she collapsed into my arms, terrified and tormented, inside that diner. I have tried to put them back together, but they're all disjointed, like a Picasso painting.

"I'm still not ready to be one hundred percent back to where we were, but..." She brings her other hand to her mouth and starts to chew her thumbnail. When she drops her hand, resisting biting her nails, I notice her nail beds are starting to heal from the attack and her persistent picking.

"But I was hoping we could—I could—try something." She looks at me square in my face, her back straight, stiff.

Sunbeam.

Goddamnit, I need her. I need her so fucking badly.

"Do whatever you need to do, Sunbeam," I whisper. I will myself to stay completely still.

She moves, and her face is so close to mine that her chocolaty breath fans across my cheeks. She's very still for several long moments, but with a trembling hand, she reaches for my face and places her palm flat on my cheek.

When she inhales, closing her eyes, I take the moment to revel in the feeling of her coming to me.

Mine.

"I want to be held, Hunter," she whispers, her body still and her eyes closed.

I swallow and ask, "How do you want me to hold you?"

Rubbing her thumb against my stubbled jaw, she says, "I want you to hold me like you used to hold me in bed." Her whispered confession guts me, and when I take hold of her wrist, she opens her eyes again.

"Okay, Sunbeam."

She spreads her body down on the sofa with her back to the screen, scooting to make room for my body in front of her. I lay down, letting my muscles relax into the cushions and against the heat of her form. I slowly slide my arm beneath her head.

"What next?" I whisper close to her ear.

She shivers.

"Please put your hand around my waist," she says. She pulls her hands in front of her chest, and their placement acts as a shield between us.

I place my palm just above the swell of her hip, and I resist rubbing my thumb over her silky skin.

She closes her eyes, so I allow her the moment to just be.

While studying her face, I stop breathing when she inches closer to me in small movements until her body presses against mine from chest to foot. I slide my hand up her back with my fingertips, teasing the curls at the base of her neck.

"Anything else?" I murmur.

When she opens her eyes, her body relaxes. She lets her head drop to my biceps. "Yes," she says .

I hear the movie coming to a dramatic end, but I don't give the screen my attention.

"Whatever you need," I reply. My fingers toy with a single curl.

"Okay," she says on a breath.

She brings her lips to mine.

I can't control the punch of emotion the action brings any more than I can control the trembling in my hands. Her lips—her supple, soft lips—press against mine with shy caution. With a throaty sigh, she presses her still mouth against mine even harder and brings her arm around to rest against my spine.

She pulls her head back, her eyelids fluttering as she opens them to look at me. There's no way I can hide the love I have for her.

"H," she says with a trembling voice.

"Sunbeam," I reply, just as moved.

"Will you hold me while I sleep?" She rubs her face against my chest, and I lean down to kiss her hairline.

"Always," I reply with peace.