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Her
The next morning arrives with me having to claw my way out of the deepest depths of sleep. I sit up, the sheet falling from my chest to expose my nudity as sunlight bathes my room.
“Hey.” Hunter clears his throat from beside me, his eyes closed. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Bad dream, that’s all.”
A nightmare.
I’d been at Dan’s funeral, witnessing the pain I’d inflicted on i
I’d apologized, over and over, but nobody could hear me. The crying grew, building to a cacophony that pounded in my ears, until mourners began walking away. One by one, the crowd had dispersed, leaving a lone man to stand before the open hole in the ground.
Jacob.
“We’re both the same now.” He’d smirked at me. Fucking smirked.
I can’t get the image out of my head. It’s there, stalking me from every corner of my mind.
“Oh, shit,” I whisper. It’s a sign.
“What’s wrong?” Hunter mutters.
“Nothing.” I slide from the bed and tug my nightshirt from under my pillow. “Go back to sleep.”
He groans and turns onto his stomach, planting his face into the mattress.
I pull the shirt over my head and stare vacantly across the apartment.
Jacob could be at the funeral. And yeah, maybe I am clutching at disintegrating straws here, but it is a possibility. One that makes my heart pound and my hands sweaty.
Could it be that easy? Could my actions toward Dan have led to what I’ve been searching for?
Maybe that’s why he died. Dan had to so I could find Jacob. Instead of chasing him for the rest of my life, the asshole will come to me.
Fate and destiny have collided. It all makes sense now.
I could go to the church. No. The enclosed space will be tricky. I’ll go to the cemetery instead and watch as the cars roll in. If I find my mark, I’ll place a tracker on his vehicle and let the retribution begin.
I smile. I almost laugh.
Soon, I’ll be free, and my family can rest in peace.
I rush on my toes to my wardrobe and inch the doors apart. I grab my handbag from the hook on the wall, place it on the floor, then kneel to open the plastic storage container stashed behind my coats.
I scrounge through the contents and pull out anything I might need.
GPS tracker—check.
Cable ties—check.
Silencer—check… Just in case.
I place them in my handbag and double-check my gun is there from yesterday.
Could I even pull the trigger at the funeral of a man I’ve murdered? No. I won’t inflict more pain on these people. But I will arrive prepared.
I grab my black corporate dress off a hanger, then rush back to the bed and pull underwear from my drawer, along with my phone. With my handbag in one hand and clothes in the other, I sneak to the bathroom and close myself inside.
I do an Internet search on the funeral. The church service is at ten. Shit. I only have an hour before it starts, which gives me roughly an additional hour to get to the cemetery, right?
You’d think I’d know more about funerals, having lost my entire family, but I wasn’t involved in pla
My mother had never liked lilies.
Focus.
I dump my stuff on the floor, and have a record-breaking time trial in the shower. I spare five minutes on a rushed makeup attempt, two minutes for my hair, then I’m ready and pulling the bathroom door wide.
Hunter is seated in bed, his back against the headboard, his hands behind his head. I pause, gifting myself with the briefest visual indulgence. I fell asleep in those arms, against that Hulk-like chest, and I can’t deny I want to do it again.
“Good morning.” I grin, unable to hide my appreciation for last night’s orgasm extravaganza. Hunter has a way with me, one that rocks my womb and has probably destroyed me for any other man.
“Morning.” He takes me in with a visual sweep, over the stiff black dress that shadows every inch of my skin, from knees to collarbone to shoulder. It screams sophistication, but I can tell he sees the sex appeal. “You look nice.”
“Thanks.” I’m not a giddy person—at least, I wasn’t until he showed up in my life. Now, I’m not so sure. “You look well rested.”
“I am. For once.” He jerks his chin at me. “Come here.”
I struggle not to comply. My wants and needs wage war. “I can’t. I have to leave.”
His gentle appraisal transforms to tight scrutiny. “Where are you going?”
He flicks back the sheet, exposing his divine lower half before he slides from the mattress. He approaches, entirely naked, completely aroused, and I force myself to hold his gaze. “Where?” he repeats.
“A funeral.”
The hint of fear slides through his features, a brief snap of flaring eyes and parting lips before he masks his concern. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” I lie. “For curiosity. For closure.”
“You’re talking about Dan Roberts, right?”
“Yeah…” I don’t appreciate how intuitive he is. “How do you know him?”
“I knew of him. Everyone does. He was the crooked son of a senator. He had links to drugs and solicitation, among other shady shit.” He stops in front of me, unabashed and unapologetic. “People who associate themselves with men like Dan are dangerous. They aren’t people you want to be around. Even at a funeral.”
“I don’t plan on handing out business cards or networking with those in mourning. I just need to go. For me.”
For my family.
He steps into me, draping his arm around my waist. “I don’t want you there.” He speaks against my lips, gifting me with light butterfly kisses until his words sink in.
I pull back and meet his gaze. There’s no remorse over his dictate, no shame visible in his features. Only determination.
“You’re overstepping,” I whisper.
This thing between us, whatever it is, doesn’t carry a noose. I’m not his woman to leash. I never will be.
“Then let me come with you. Let me drive you there. I don’t even have to get out of the car. I’ll just be close if you need me.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.” I need to lay low. Not draw any attention. Police will be there, looking for the murderer, and I don’t want to ping any radars.
“Let me put it this way, I’m going whether you like it or not.” He steps back and walks for his clothes piled beside the bed. “We can do it the easy way, in the same car. Together.” He snatches his jeans off the floor and tugs them on sans underwear. “Or you can be stubborn and get there on your own.”
I ignore how he has to fold his dick like a full-grown anaconda to shove it inside his pants. I ignore and ignore, because at a time like this I shouldn’t be thinking about him pretzel-ing his dick.
“Whatever you decide,” he growls, “you won’t be there alone.”
No. “I need to do this on my own.”
“And you will.” He pulls his shirt over his head and straightens the material with the repeated brush of a hand. “I’ll wait in the car.”
“Don’t push,” I plead. “This is for me, Hunter. It’s personal.”
He tugs on his boots, rough and full of aggression. “I said I’d wait in the damn car.”
I want to hate him. I probably would if the ride didn’t make the travel component of my plan ten times easier. I’ll have a base to spy from, unlike being left in the open if I catch a cab.
He strides for the door and pulls it wide. “You coming?”