She pulled him down until he was stretched out beside her. When she framed his face with her palms, her fingers were wonderfully cool against his hot cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Hunter. I can’t imagine.” This time, the pity in her eyes didn’t sting. In fact, it felt sort of nice. Like a balm to his bruised and battered heart. “You were just a child. And should’ve been able to rely on the adults in your life to take care of you.”
“I was lucky actually.” He hitched a shoulder. “After that much time, it’s not unusual for the testicles to die and need to be removed. Miraculously, I was able to keep mine. And so far…” He rapped his knuckles on the wooden headboard. “The injury hasn’t affected my ability to perform sexually.”
“It just robbed you of any chance of becoming a father.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “It did do that.”
The tears that’d pooled in her eyes slipped over her lower lids to trace down her soft cheeks.
“Don’t cry, Grace.” He used his knuckle to wipe away the warm wetness. “What’s done is done. And I’ve learned the shortest route to unhappiness is not accepting the things we can’t change.”
She shook her head. “I don’t even know if youwantkids, but to be denied the ability because your parents were too drunk or selfish or whatever…” She trailed off, anger on his behalf making her face burn red. “It’s unconscionable.”
“It wasn’t like I was the only one they failed and neglected,” he said philosophically. He’d grown very philosophical about his folks over the years. “They failed and neglected themselves too. Over and over again. Because they didn’t know how to be different. Bert and Susan were products of their own raising, you see.”
When she shook her head, he explained. “My grandparents on both sides were horror shows.” He hooked a thumb toward his chest. “You’re looking at a classic case of how abuse and addiction travel along the branches of family trees. How poverty and ignorance and suffering perpetuate themselves generation after generation. You’d have to go all the way back to my great-grandfather, Walter Jackson, before you’d find anyone in my family who wasn’t the human equivalent of a raging dumpster fire.”
He told her about his great-grandfather’s WWII exploits. Showed her the watch he wore with pride. And explained about the name of his motorcycle.
“You’re wrong,” she declared once he’d finished. “You aren’t a prime example of how poverty, abuse, addiction and neglect can travel along the branches of family trees.” Her voice was as tremulous as her smile. “You’re a prime example of the exception to the rule. The one who refused to perpetuate the cycle. The one who beat all the odds.”
“I don’t know about that.” He’d never been good at receiving accolades. Probably why his medals were stored in the bottom drawer of his nightstand back in his room at BKI instead of displayed on a shelf somewhere, like Dale did with his Vietnam memorabilia. “I just know I saw an alternative and I took it. Or more like I grabbed onto it with both hands and never looked b—”
He was cut off by the sound of his burner phone ringing. Grace’s eyes pinged over to the device on the bedside table, and he watched her expression harden.
For a few hours they’d been able to pretend this day was nothing more than a romantic getaway. They’d gotten so lost in each other that the world outside had disappeared. Now, reality called.
Literally.
“Chin up.” He gave the underside of her soft little chin a bump with his knuckle. “Hopefully this means we’re one step closer to figuring this whole mess out.”
She nodded shakily and he snagged the phone off the nightstand. “What do you know?” he asked without preamble after flipping it open.
The tone of Sam’s voice had the hairs on the back of his neck lifting. “The FBI knows about your property manager.”
Hunter’s mind blanked, the words not making sense. But his body seemed to understand because bile burned up the back of his throat. “Wait. What? How?”
“They found CCTV footage of you and Grace driving north on I-140. They know you’re in Michigan. They also subpoenaed your phone records and Hannah was able to see they flagged a man named Dale Carlson. Dollars to doughnuts they’re headed there now to question him. Which means they’ll know where you and Grace are soon enough.”
“It’s worse than that.” Hannah’s voice came through the receiver, although it sounded far away, as if she were across the room from Sam. “If the double agent has access to the same information, it means they’ve passed that information along to the assassin.”
“Oh, fuck.” Sam hissed at the same time Hunter’s heart grew legs and jumped into his throat. “I hadn’t considered that part.” His voice was diamond hard when he added, “Call your guy, bruh. Tell him to get the hell outta Dodge. And then you and Grace find somewhere else to hide until I call you and tell you it’s safe to come out.”
Click.The line went dead.
Apparently, his face during the call had told Grace all she’d needed to know. She’d already run to the bathroom to yank open the door to his all-in-one washer and dryer. “What is it? What did he say?” she asked while hastily pulling out her clean clothes.
“He says the FBI knows about Dale and Sissy.” Hunter didn’t bother with his own clothes as he bolted toward the kitchen. “Which means Orpheus knows about Dale and Sissy.”
Why the fuck didn’t I think to plug Dale’s number into the burner?He berated himself, while hoping he still had Dale’s business card in the junk drawer.
“Tell me what to do to help.” He barely looked up from his scrounge through loose batteries, paperclips, and tape. But his brief glance was enough to show Grace standing in the doorway to the bedroom and stepping into her panties.
Any other time, he would’ve stopped to enjoy the show. Why was the sight of a woman slipping into her underwear and putting on a bra so sexy? As it stood, he sent a silent prayer of thanks out into the universe when he located the wrinkled, stained business card.
“Finish getting dressed,” he told her even as he punched in Dale’s number. “We need to be on the road before—” He cut himself off. “It’s ringing.”
The thundering of his heart made it hard to hear the jangle on the other end. The first ring had him holding his breath. The second had him muttering, “Come on, Dale.” Apprehension tightened his shoulders on the third ring. And by the fourth and the fifth, he felt like someone was taking a carving knife to his stomach.
