Bracing my hands on the edge of the desk, I lean back. “We’ll let you know when we turn up information on the unfortunate owner.”
“If you didn’t send it, then it has nothing to do with you,” Hunter insists. “Jericho and I will handle it.”
I’m sure they’re perfectly capable. But that’s not how this is going to work. “With our assistance,” I say smoothly. If he thinks that I’m going to stay out of this, clearly his brains are still down in his dick. “Non-negotiable. You either cooperate with us, or we’ll deal with it on our own. It no longer concernsyou.”
Whoever was sick enough to send such a gift to Hunter will be disposed ofmy way.There will be no authorities involved in this one. No room for morals, not when it involves Hunter’s safety.
The man in question scowls at me, like he wishes he could eviscerate me with his gaze alone. “You’re a real piece of work.”
It’s not a compliment. I say, “Thank you,” anyway because in my line of work, it certainly is.
“Stay out of this,” Hunter snarls, stalking towards the door. At my nod, Miles steps out of the way, allowing him to pass and leave the room.
“Should I escort him out?”
I glance at my monitor, where I can see Hunter already waiting for the elevator, his back stiff. Guards well and truly back up. I hate the sight of it.
“No, he can find his way out.” My cock still throbs, aching for the feel of him. A kind of pain that never really eases. “Miles.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Watch him. Protect him like you would me. If you see someone following him or taking any untoward interest in him?” I meet his dangerous dark gaze, one willing to follow any order that I give him. “Kill them.”
Miles
Foramanwholeads a black-ops team, Hunter is surprisingly boring. He goes to his HQ in Mosman, meetings with various politicians—one with a judge I’m keeping my eye on. Then home. Supermarket. To the park with his daughter, though rarely the same park. She has Xavier’s eyes. Most of the school pickups are on a rotation; all of the team does it on various days, but the order is random. No patterns for anyone to follow. Misdirection if someone doesn’t know them. Doing it this way means no one can be sure who the daughter belongs to.
Clever. And paranoid. I’d wager he has more enemies than he lets on. No one who has nothing to fear uses tactics like this.
I watch him almost 24/7, leaving only temporarily to sleep and shower, using a trusted replacement for the duration I’m gone.
Late evening on the sixth day, Hunter leaves the house, outside of his usual routine. He’s barefooted, with a half-open, black, button-down shirt—no undershirt—and jeans that are too loose on him.
What is he doing? Who leaves their house with no shoes on in winter? I hope he’s at least armed himself. I didn’t think he would actively try to make my job harder, regardless of the fact he doesn’t know that I’m here. Safety is part of his job too.
He moves to the kerb and pulls out his phone. Is hewhistling? If he leaves on foot, I’m going to have to get out to follow him. He’ll notice a car in that situation, no matter how stealthy I attempt to be.
Hunter casually pockets his phone and then jogs across the road, his short dark hair rustling from the wind that’s picked up in the last hour. The darkening sky doesn’t bode well even if the chance of rain is only twelve percent. He should be wearing a jacket. Where the fuck is he going?
The second he turns and strides this way with dangerous purpose, I already have my answer. He knows I’m here. For how long? I’m good at keeping myself hidden, these windows are tinted—no one can tell someone’s sitting here—and he doesn’t know the car. I’ve been rotating it with three others that are under the company fleet so that Hunter’s senses don’t pick up that he’s seeing the same one in multiple places. I park in different spots, never within four cars of wherever he is, even further from his home. I don’t need to be close, so long as I have a good view.
The cameras set up on fences around his home help too.
Something set him off. It irritates me that I don’t know where I screwed up. Impossible to rectify the errors if I can’t identify them.
Hunter moves around the car to the driver’s side and raps his knuckles on the window. This close he’ll have more of a visual. The windows are tinted more than the legal limit—with permission, of course—but not so much that standing right beside it means I’m completely invisible.
“Get out of the car.” To emphasise his point, Hunter lifts the bottom of his shirt to reveal a smooth stomach with a dusting of hair and a hint of abs. And a concealed gun, tucked into his waistband. He doesn’t seem like a bluffing kind of guy, so chances are it’s loaded.
He steps back enough for me to slide out of the car and straighten to my full height. I’m closer to Xavier’s height than Hunter’s, forcing the man to look up when I get in his personal space. The wind is blowing in the right direction, and the smell of him hits me, that mix of vanilla and sandalwood. Xavier gets off on it, and I can see why.
Hunter’s eyes flicker as he stares up at me, like he wants to look away and has to force himself not to. He couldn’t look me in the eye when he left Xavier’s office. Is he still embarrassed? He shouldn’t be; he put on quite a show.
His lips flatten, and he clenches a hand on the roof of the car. “Run back to your master, you’re not welcome here.”
I don’t react to the insult. In order for my feelings to get hurt, I would need to first have them. I left my humanity behind a long time ago. Now I live for one man alone.
“Give me your phone,” Hunter says abruptly, sliding his hand from the car to hold it out, expecting me to obey without thought.
