27. Hunter

TWENTY-SEVEN

HUNTER

W hen I get the call from Rio that Winter has run off, shock and rage prevent me from responding for a solid twenty seconds.

In those seconds, I imagine killing Rio and spreading his entrails across the Lincoln Memorial. Then I'd slaughter every one of the guards I assigned to protect her, Veronica, and Ella.

Clearly, they're asleep at the wheel.

However, when Rio says, "But we've got her tracker, and we know where she is. She's safe," my bloodlust cools. But only by a slight margin.

I grip the phone, feeling the plastic strain under my palm, and say with eerie coolness that I do not feel, "It is for that reason alone that I may let you live, Rio."

He is silent on the other line. "Yes, sir," he says with resolve.

"Send me her location," I demand and end the call. The fact that throwing my phone while on the plane would potentially harm one of the flight attendants is the only reason I place it on the side table with care.

Leo looks at me with impassive eyes. "She ran off, huh? "

I don't answer him, but something in my gaze causes him to chuckle.

"This is funny to you, Leonardo?"

"Not at all, H," he says smoothly. "Her running off is dumb as fuck. You in love, though?" He positions the tumbler in front of his mouth. "That's hilarious," he says. He tips the glass and takes a long sip.

I don't validate that statement with a response.

Instead, I tap on my phone, cross-checking Winter's location with the address.

Genevieve Clarke, PhD, PsyD, LPC

She's with her therapist. I let out a deep breath. But what happened to make her seek out her therapist now—and in person? What caused her to run?

Or maybe she didn't run? Maybe someone has her, and they're tricking me into comfort.

The vision of my father's decomposed body flashes behind my eyelids, so I snap them open, blinking up into the overhead light to temporarily blind myself.

The day before yesterday, prior to stepping foot on Isla Cara, I had all kinds of plans for my reunion with Winter. I planned on surprising her by sliding into bed with her and waking her up with a hot kiss to her snatch.

Now, not only do I have to deal with the fact that she's run off, I have to figure out what to do about my father and his death.

Ella will be devastated.

I go to take a sip of my whiskey but end up taking a gulp instead.

"Make sure everything arrives safely at Amelia Manor," I tell Leo. I keep the tracking app up on my phone, making sure it doesn't move at all. Misha's guys wanted to pack up everything in the vault right after I finished puking up my guts into the ocean. I let them do it because what did it matter?

But when they made Leo and I stay on the main island for an additional day so a new crew could come clean up the body in the office and give them a non-putrid space to find whatever the fuck they were looking for, I started feeling a little pissed off.

So instead of letting them roll me over and take everything with them back to Misha, Leo and I decided that everything was going with us. We ditched them at the airport in Martinique after I paid six muscular Martinicans to haul all the stuff into our plane and hold off Misha's goons.

It was a relatively painless process, seeing as there wasn't any bloodshed.

"Heard," he says, not looking at me.

We're both silent for a long while, long enough that I feel the nose of the 767 starting to tilt in its final descent.

"I know someone else who wore one too," Leo says, and my eyes snap to his. I don't have to ask him if he's talking about one of the gold rings.

"When?" I demand.

He inhales deeply, holding his breath in his chest.

"With Isabel. When she was taken—" He picks up his whiskey, finishing it in a large gulp.

"When Isabel was taken, the Sheikh was there. He wore a ring."

"Hm," I say, rubbing my upper lip back and forth with the flat side of my thumbnail. "Morris Winthrope wears one as well."

Now it's Leo's turn to hum.

"So now to figure out what the fuck it means and what it's for," he says.

I raise my glass. "And to that end, I think we'll find a whole lot of shit we want to know nothing about. "

Leo presses his head back on the headrest of his seat, closing his eyes.

My phone beeps, and it's a text from Rio with a picture of the outside of Winter's therapist's door.

Arrived and confirmed she is here.

I don't respond. He sends another pic with all the guards in the frame, and I relax. But only a little bit.

We'll discuss it when I arrive.

I look at the flight map in front of me. We have forty-five minutes until we land in D.C. If we hurry, I can get to Genevieve's office in an hour and a half.

"Shit," Leo hisses, and I turn my face to him. He waves his phone in the air for me to see an incoming call.

Misha.

"Here we go," I mutter, and Leo moves to sit closer to me. He answers the call on speaker phone.

"There were issues at the airport, I hear," Misha says as soon as Leo picks up. Leo and I share a glance, but I speak to the pakhan first.

"No issues, Misha. Your men simply misunderstood that I was taking my family property with me to examine. You'll have it when I'm done."

I steel my spine and Leo's despondent and low, "Fuck," doesn't go unnoticed by me.

"I see," Misha says simply.

Silence drags on the line, and the only sound to break it comes from the dulled engines and the tinkering in the galley as the crew cleans up after our inflight refreshments.

"Give us two days," Leo adds, pasting on the charm and likely saving me from being personally assassinated by Misha Hroshko. "Please," he tacks on .

The nose of the plane tips down in preparation for our final descent right as Misha says, "Fine."

He's gone before either of us could acknowledge his word.

"H?" Leo sounds as tired as I feel. "I can't wait for all this shit to be over with."

I finish off my whiskey. "Me neither."

Once we touch down, I haul ass to get in the driver's seat of the SUV waiting on the tarmac. When Leo tries to get in the passenger seat, I shove him back.

"Get your own ride," I grind out.

His laughter is loud outside the vehicle as I drive off.

Finding parking in the district is a nightmare on any given day, but I had that fucker Rio clear out a spot for me right at the front. When I enter the waiting area outside Genevieve's office, Rio faces me, squaring his shoulders.

I punch him dead in the face.

He stumbles back a step but otherwise doesn't react.

"You put her life at risk ever again, and there won't be a place far enough for you to run."

He stands back up tall, and I have to hand it to him. He takes the consequence like a man.

"Got it, sir," he says. He knows he fucked up, but Winter likes the fucker, and she would not like it if I killed him. And for that, he has his life. Today.

I throw the keys at him, and he catches them.

"Stay with my car. The rest of you, clear this area out, but stay close. My sister and Veronica...?" I ask.

"Back safe at Amelia Manor." Great. Something is going right.

With a sharp nod, I instruct the men to leave the space. I sit in the uncomfortable chair when all is quiet, and the only sound is of the white noise machine on the other side of the door.

The silence forces the past seventy-two hours to push forward into my awareness. My father is dead. The stench of his decomposing body resurfaces. It's a cellular memory now.

Misha's men and the cleanup crew took the remains away and cleaned up the mess in the office. There was talk of sending the remains over for DNA testing, but there's no doubt the remains are my father.

I pull at my hair and look at the closed door.

This is a lot, but I can't drop this news on Winter right now. Later.

In total, Winter spends three hours in her therapist's office. I'm worried. Clearly, something is going on for her to use this much time, but I don't interfere.

Whatever she's going through in her brain, she's with the safest person she can be with to process it.

I breathe through the reality that she needs people besides me.

Still, my leg bounces up and down as I wait.

What if she's sick again? How can I make sure she's safe and she gets the help she needs? What if her therapist tells her to run for the hills?

Like any sane person looking in from the outside would tell her to do.

I run my hand through my hair, pulling at the roots, twisting. My father is dead. Winter is struggling with something….

What if she's having some type of PTSD reaction?

What if?—

The door opening cuts off my thoughts. A tall woman with waist-long salt-and-pepper locs twisted away from her face steps into the waiting room. Her impassive dark eyes narrow slightly when she sees me sitting there, but then it turns into a slight smile. She's not surprised that I'm in her waiting room.

I stand, ready to shake her hand. "I'm Hunter Brigham. You must be Genevieve," I say in what I hope is a kind voice. It's hard for me to assess myself with my heart in my toes .

"I know who you are, Mr.Brigham," she says with a soft accent and a slight laugh. Now that I'm close to her, I see her ebony skin is smooth except for small laugh lines around her eyes.

The bangles on her wrist clink together as she shakes my hand, but then she closes the door behind her, Winter still somewhere behind the barrier.

"Let's have a seat," she says kindly, ushering me back into the chair I just vacated.

I get a head rush.

She's going to tell me that I need to leave Winter alone. She's going to say to me that I'm making her sick—I'm killing her.

She's—

I try to control the shaking in my hands, so I clasp them together.

Genevieve notices, I'm sure.

"First, Winter is fine. I will admit that I was surprised to see her show up at my office today, but I'm so glad she came."

I nod in response, not trusting myself to talk.

"Winter has given me permission to speak with you," she says, assessing me.

I squeeze my hands together in my lap even tighter.

"Winter has told me that she's made you aware of her mental health diagnoses—her obsessive-compulsive disorder and panic disorder."

I nod again because it feels like she's waiting for a response.

"Good. When under stress or major life changes, it's reasonable for her symptoms to get worse. But as one of the closest members of her support system, we all must be on the same page."

Stress. Major life changes. It could be anything we've been dealing with over the last three months. "Yes," I say resolutely.

Good job.

"Usually, I'd discuss the next steps in a treatment plan with my patients present, but Winter wanted me to give you a baseline of information before she saw you. One thing she's worried about is that you're angry with her. Are you angry with her?"

Her eyes are hard, and I feel about six years old under her maternal gaze.

"No, ma'am. There are very few things Winter could do that would make me upset with her. I do wish she wouldn't have run from her security, though. There are things happening—" I pause, and Genevieve raises her eyebrow. I get the feeling that Winter's filled her in on a lot.

"Mr.Brigham, very little fazes me in my line of work. Sure, I have required reporting for certain documented situations, but," she lifts her hands. "Do you see notes anywhere? I'm sure the battalion of men you had in my waiting room did a sweep for bugs, right?"

She is correct.

"So, there you go." She splays her hands out with a bored yet amused look.

"Right." I swallow. "Things are happening that make it very dangerous for Winter to be out in public. Our home is the safest place for us, but I recognize the need for her to go to other places." I rake a hand down my face.

Genevieve hums but stays silent.

"I love her very much," I say. I feel like she's waiting for me to say something, to land on some critical revelation. "I'll do whatever is needed to make sure she is okay," I vow.

She stares at me for another beat. Then she breaks out into a smile.

"Excellent," she says. "Tomorrow, Winter needs to visit Dr.Greene. I've already contacted her regarding a combined treatment plan."

My head spins. "What's going on?"

She smiles at me and continues as if I said nothing. "She needs to see me three times per week for the next little bit. I'd love for those sessions to be in person, and I'm happy to come to you in light of everything happening. But if that's not feasible, she must attend her virtual visits."

The spinning gets worse.

"I'll let Winter tell you the rest," she says. Then she goes to the door. "She'll be out in a minute."

When the door snicks shut again, I feel like I just got run through by a tornado.

But when the door opens a literal minute later and Winter walks out, it takes one look at her stricken face for me to jolt out of my chair, bringing her to my arms.

"Sunbeam," I say into the riot of curls at the top of her head. Her arms hang loosely around me, tightening as she breathes.

Holding her in my arms, I'm able to release the horrific images from Isla Cara and center myself back into the now—a place where it's just Winter and me.

"I'm really sorry I ran away, H. That was childish of me," she says, with her face pressed into my chest.

I think for a moment, then say, "I'm just glad you're safe, baby."

She finally looks up at me, and I smile at her. Her shoulders drop, the tension in them releasing. "Hi," she whispers.

"Hi," I say back, just as softly. Then I kiss her.

It's sweet, gentle. Comforting for both of us.

"Let's go," I say, grabbing her hand. When we're on the street, she stops short when she sees Rio. In the hours I've been inside, Rio's eye has swelled up and turned a prominent shade of purple.

"Rio!" Winter gasps, walking closer to him. I suppress a growl at her, showing care to another man, but Rio shakes his head and opens the passenger door for her.

Winter looks back at me, her eyes narrowed to slits.

"Fight me about it later?" I say.

She gives me a short sigh and then tries to get into the back.

"No, up front, Sunbeam." She stops and looks at me, confused.

"What? You want me next to Rio?"

"No, I'm driving now." Her eyes roll in the direction of her eyebrows. Without a word, she gets into the passenger seat, and Rio closes the door.

Winter pipes up again when I'm in the driver's seat and pulling into the traffic.

"Where is everyone?" She looks around.

I glance at her. "I told them to give us some space."

"Is that safe?" She brings her hand to her mouth, biting a nail. I pull her hand down, lacing her fingers with mine.

"Of course, baby."

Probably. In any event, I have at least forty men surrounding us, out of sight.

She visibly swallows and gives me a sharp nod.

We're silent for a while, taking the long way to our destination. When we finally pull up to 110UWest, she speaks again.

"My apartment? I haven't been here in months," she says.

"Call it nostalgia," I say, then I kiss her hand.

The guards are close by, but I told them to be invisible to her. I don't know everything that's happening—in fact, I don't know shit.

But I know that what Winter does need is me, and she needs it to be only us, even if it's just for a little while. We can enter our bubble and pretend the world isn't spinning off its axis.

We walk to her door, and before she opens it, I spin her around, bracketing her against it with my arms. She closes her eyes against the intensity of my gaze.

"Look at me, baby," I murmur.

She's slow to open her eyes but does all the same.

"Something's going on with you, and we'll hash it all out later. But when we go inside, I want you to try to push out whatever it is that's got you running scared. When we cross the door, it's just you and me. Hunter and Winter. No one else. Nothing else. Okay?"

She looks into my eyes with as much intensity as I'm sure is in my gaze. Then she says, "Perfect."