Hunting Her Box Set

Her

I startle awake to the sound of a shrill, rhythmic beep coming from another room.

“What the hell is that?” I push from the cage of Hunter’s arms and sit.

“Don’t worry. It’s just the motion detectors at the gate. Decker must be here.”

“How do you know it’s him?”

He slides from the bed and yanks his jeans on. “Nobody else knows where I live.”

I ignore the monumental realization that I’m one of only two people trusted with this man’s address, and glance over my shoulder to the bedside clock. “Why would he be here at three in the morning?”

“I don’t know.” He slides up his zipper and clasps the belt, the peaks and troughs of his abs highlighted with the gentle glow of light coming from the living room. “Stay in here while I deal with him.”

He starts for the door, and my throat tightens at the thought of him leaving.

“Hunter?”

He pauses at the threshold and glances at me. “Yeah?”

“Can I trust Decker?” It’s a stupid question. I can’t even trust Hunter, despite my body being at his mercy. But I need his affirmation. In the quiet hours before I passed out, all I could think about was Brent and who, apart from me, was responsible for his death. “Could he have led Torian to Atomic Buzz?”

“No.” His response is immediate, without contemplation. “You don’t need to worry about him.”

I clutch the sheet to my naked chest. “How can you be so sure?”

“We can talk about it later. When you’re ready.” He gives me a sad smile and closes the door behind him, imprisoning me with rabid contemplation.

If Hunter knows Decker isn’t to blame, then he must also know who is.

I slide from the bed as the beeping stops, pulling my woolen sweater down to cover my ass. I hustle to the door, inch it open, and listen.

I don’t hear anything. Not movement. Not conversation.

“Hunter?”

He doesn’t answer.

My apprehension increases, tickling the back of my neck as I tiptoe down the hall and stop in the shadows before the opening to the living room. He isn’t in sight. He’s not inside.

Something flickers in my peripheral vision. I tilt my head to see him outside, shirtless, striding away from me across the lawn toward Decker, who gets out of the car I’d seen him in weeks ago on the highway.

I creep forward, not hiding, but also not making my presence known by positioning myself in line with one of the porch poles so Decker can’t see my approach. I begin to hear words, some clear, some indecipherable. Nothing makes sense yet, not even when I reach the door and grasp the handle. Slowly, I plunge the lever, opening the door a crack.

“She’s asleep,” Hunter murmurs. “I don’t want her disturbed.”

Decker nods. “How did she take the news?”

“She doesn’t know the half of it yet.”

I inch to the side to see Decker’s profile. He’s frowning. No, it’s a glare. “What half does she know?”

“It was her choice,” Hunter snarls. “I was going to tell her, but she’s been through a lot. It’s her preference to wait until she calms down.”

My cheeks heat at how weak I sound. They heat even more at the possibility of Hunter thinking I’m fragile. I shouldn’t crave his praise, and still I itch to have him infatuated with me, the way I am with him. Mindless, crazed, and emotionally unstable, too.

Decker laughs, the sound caustic. “Do you hear yourself? I fucking know she’s been through a lot. And you’re too much of a chicken shit to tell her why. My God, man, when it comes to women, you’re the dumbest asshole I know.”

I push the door wider and tiptoe onto the porch, the chilled night air drifting under my sweater to touch the nakedness beneath.

“So, when are you going to tell her?”

“When she’s ready.”

“When she’s ready or when you’re ready?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Decker.” Hunter runs a hand through his hair. “I said I would tell her, and I will.”

I move closer, needing to be near him. That’s all I want. I’m stronger when he’s close. Even now, I grow emboldened, ready and capable of listening to whatever I need to hear as the door falls back to click in place.

Hunter stiffens. Decker pins me with a stare.

“You can tell me now.” I walk across the porch, my uncovered feet tingling from the cold. “I’m ready to hear it.”

Decker mutters something under his breath. A curse, maybe. But Hunter remains still, his back to me.

“What is it?” I walk down the three steps to the lawn. “What do I need to know?”

“Nice outfit.” Decker clears his throat and stalks in my direction. “I’ll meet you both inside.”

“Why?” I ask. “Aren’t you a part of this, too?”

“Oh, no.” He raises his hands and shakes his head. “No, no, no. I follow orders. I don’t make the plans. This is all on him.”

I nod, trying to steel myself against the upcoming news. An ominous feeling creeps down my spine as he passes and goes inside.

Hunter doesn’t face me. He stares into the darkness, silent in contemplation, or maybe it’s a

“Hunter?” I take one step, then another. “You can tell me now.”

Finally, he turns, his head lowered, his gaze meeting mine through thick, dark lashes. “Torian wasn’t in the bar with Brent.”

My heart drops, and I force myself to nod. “Okay… Who was?”

His attention flicks toward the house. Toward Decker.

I swallow, coming to the conclusion that a predator is behind me. Inside the house. I move away from the porch, coming closer to my protector, and glance over my shoulder. “He killed Brent?”

“No. He didn’t kill him.”

“Then who did? And why was he there?” My words are garbled in a tangled mess as fear and the need for retribution rush through me.

“He made sure everything ran smoothly.” Hunter straightens his shoulders as if preparing for an onslaught. “He controlled the situation for me from the inside.”

He looks at me as if waiting for my comprehension to dawn, but there’s no dawning here. I don’t understand. I don’t think I want to.

“I organized everything.” His lips are downcast, his eyes grim. Everything about him screams remorse, and yet nothing makes sense.

“You arranged for Brent to be killed?” My tone is strong, belying the fissure cracking right through the heart of me.

He stares for long moments that drag on for an eternity. “Sarah, he’s not dead.”

Not. Dead.

A spark of excited relief bursts to life inside my chest. He’s not dead. He…is not…dead.

I want to fall to my knees in thanks, but Hunter’s unshifting look of stony remorse fizzles my relief. “Is he hurt?”

I retreat a step, needing space to think, only to freeze at the sound of the porch door opening. Decker walks outside, a large bowl cradled in one arm. He leans against the banister, watching me as his hand dives into the bowl, retrieving a pile of popcorn.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” Hunter hisses. “We’re not entertainment. Get the fuck inside.”

Decker smiles, all toothy and wide, then snaps the handful of popcorn into his mouth.

Concentrate. Think.

Hunter arranged for Decker to be inside the bar.

“Is he hurt?” I repeat, standing my ground and squaring my shoulders. “I heard the gunshot. You wanted him dead.”

“No. I wanted you scared. I wanted you vulnerable and in need of my help. When I told you I was messaging Decker, I did. I told him to fire a warning shot.”

I snap my lips closed to stop a gasp escaping.

He wanted me back in Portland. He wanted me here.