Page 46 of Only the Hunter

“Understood.”

She nods once, sharp and decisive, then steps out. I follow, coming around to the passenger side as she opens the back door.

“Let me.” I reach for her coat.

She takes it before I can help her into it.

Fine.

I move for the box instead.

“I’ve got it.” She pulls it back quickly, clutching it to her chest.

Our hands don’t touch. Not even close.

The avoidance is deliberate. Careful. She’s drawing lines because she needs them.

I step back, giving her space. “Okay.”

She looks at me for half a second—something flickers in her expression, acknowledgment maybe, or regret for refusing help with a box—then she turns toward the house.

I wait until she’s at the door before locking the car. Watch the way she shifts the box to her hip to unlock the door, the way her hair has just about fallen completely out of the bun, and notice how she doesn’t look back. Not once.

She’s letting me come to Geneva.

But she’s not letting me get close.

Not yet.

And that’s for the best.

Chapter 12

Evie

“Please prepare for arrival.”

The words greet me as I exit the bathroom, toiletries bag in hand. I scan the aisle of passengers. My father’s travel agent, Marvin, worked miracles and got us on a flight out of LaGuardia with less than twenty-four hours’ notice.

Gabe at first insisted on buying his own ticket, but after I assured him we’re flying free on my father’s miles, he caved. It’s rare for me to take advantage of my father’s standing offer to access Marvin. The corporate plane isn’t an option—it’s wheels up for a shareholder trip to Singapore this week, and even if it weren’t, Dad doesn’t loan it out for personal trips, mine included. The smaller business plane Scott loves to use for short domestic trips wouldn’t work for an international trip—and I wouldn’t feel right using corporate resources.

My rationalization for using my father’s resources, as in his points, this time around, is that the purpose is important. And while my instinct might be to hide my travel from my father, I’m not naive enough to believe I could carry it off. The second I disabled location sharing, he’d get suspicious and have a staff member looking into my whereabouts.

Is it infuriating to have a father like that? Yes.

But accessing a suite at the Four Seasons in Geneva at my father’s pricing, using his points, is an undeniable perk. Marvin worked his usual miracle, but even miracles have limits—there were two business seats left on the flight, not two together. Gabe’s several rows back, on the opposite side of the aisle, which means I have an unobstructed view down the aisle of his pod every time I turn my head to look down the aisle. Not that I spent the flight turning my head, watching him. I spent it attempting to sleep.

Down the aisle, I spot a brunette flight attendant with a bouncy ponytail standing by Gabe’s seat. Her body language shifts—the way women do when they’re interested.

Gabe’s eyes crinkle as he smiles and chats with her. There’s a casual confidence in how he fills the space that’s undeniably appealing. That’s the way I remember him. Maybe that’s why this feels like déjà vu. I used to watch from the sidelines as cheerleaders and classmates gathered around after a game. As the invisible little sister, no one noticed me lurking.

Seems once again, I’m invisible, and observing from a distance. I spent a lot of time watching Gabriel Martin from the sidelines.

I force my attention forward, watching the plane trace the line plotted on the monitor showing our journey to our final destination.

When we land, I exit first as I’m seated farther up and hang back near the jet bridge until he appears and reaches for my luggage handle.

“Did you get any sleep?” He sounds peppy.