Hunter stalks around the open plan living area, arching a brow at the half of the room covered in wires and technology as I wait until he gives me the all clear. I mentally catalog everything I can see from the doorway with a grimace. That’s only part of the equipment I need to move into storage to not arouse suspicion should I be tracked here.
He disappears down the short hallway and investigates the bathroom and guest bedroom before spilling into my bedroom. My eyes roll to the ceiling at the sound of drawers opening. I’m pretty sure assassins aren’t hiding in my dresser.
He returns to the hallway and pushes down on the handle to the final room. It doesn’t move. I fold my arms and brace for the argument I feel building within him. His gaze drops to the keypad next to the door, and his body stiffens once he realizes it’s a retinal scanner. A smirk threatens to break my composure. Fingerprints are too easy to fake nowadays. Eyeballs are more difficult. Not impossible, but they need a little more finesse.
“I need to check that room.”
I shake my head. “No, you don’t. No one broke in there. I would have been alerted.”
His forehead crumples. “What the hell do you have in that room?”
“It’s private.”
“Eleanor,” he drawls, his Southern accent doing funny things to my tummy.
Wait. He knows my real name? “How do you know my name?”
He tilts his head like he’s trying to figure me out. “Quid pro quo, Clarice.”
Wonderful. We’ve reached the point of movie quotes in this relationship. Wait, what? No. That sounds romantic. Alliance? Friendship? Forced proximity? I need an expert here.
“I’m not telling you what’s in that room.” I do, however, need to get rid of him so I can deal with it.
“Is it a sex room? Do you have a sex swing in there? St. Andrew’s cross? Show me. You can’t shock me.”
Doubtful. I have a thousand memories that would shock him to his core. Men like Hunter have experienced the horrors of war and know evil lurks in their backyards, but nobody can imagine the world Jonathan created unless they have lived it. Men will sell their souls for a chance to commit unspeakable acts to women without consequences.
“I’ll grab some boxes. Can you pack the computing equipment inside them? I have a company arriving in an hour to take them to storage.”
“After you show me this room.”
“Not happening, Hunter.”
I move to the small pantry off the kitchen and drag out the heavy-duty packing boxes and tape for this exact eventuality. I knew the closer I got to Jonathan, the more likely the need to escape to an off-grid location would be. I spin with them in my arms, trying not to wince at the soreness in my arms. And legs. And other places. My body fucking hurts, and I hate it.
It takes everything in me to not jump or squeak as I bump into Hunter directly behind me. He grabs the boxes and pulls them from my hands.
“I can do that. You need to pack a bag. Once that company collects, we need to get out of here.”
I don’t battle theweportion of his statement. A phone rings, echoing in the large expanse of my apartment. Hunter puts the boxes on the counter and slides his cell out of his pocket.
“I have her,” he says by way of greeting. My shoulders tense, unease slithering through me. I was hoping to avoid the lecture a little longer.He sets his phone on the counter, grabs the boxes, and gives me a challenging look. “On speaker now.”
“Ghost, are you okay?” Fox snaps.
“I am. But you need to learn how to tell time.”
“You triggered a tracker I didn’t even know you had, or I had access to, and you expected me to chill my beans while we figured out if you were in trouble? Fuck off, Ghost. Not happening.”
I’m not used to people giving a shit about me. Uncle Steven loves me in his own way, although I think there’s lingering resentment that Mama died getting me out. Gail is paid to care, even if she tells me her friendship outside our sessions is genuine. Fox, however, I’ve known for a long time. Through work initially, then through the charitable organization he fronts with Honor. It’s important work, often too close to what makes my heart hurt.
“Even if I had left immediately, I never would have made it to you in two hours.”
I figured, but I know they have a vast network of folks helping them. However, I didn’t consider I’d be rescued by the one man I’ve successfully avoided.
“You scared us,” Honor chimes in. My eyes flutter closed. I don’t want to be responsible for scaring anyone. “And if you think we won’t come to your aid immediately, you are undervaluing our friendship. Who else am I going to play online with? Have movie parties with?”
“Your husband is a good bet.”
