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“I do not want to wear your skin.” Gritted words. “And I’ll slaughter any bastard who tries.” Hadn’t he asked her about stalkers before? And she’d told him that her notes were mostly harmless.

Harmless, my ass. Someone wants to wear her fucking skin?

Then…

Over my dead body.

But, uh, maybe he shouldn’t have just used the word slaughter. Not like he wanted to terrify her even more. What was wrong with him? “I needed a reason to fucking live,” he bit out. “You were that reason.” He’d told her before that he’d watched her story while he was in the hospital. What he hadn’t told her was that, once he’d left the hospital, he’d kept following the trial. That he’d kept digging. That he’d gotten access to court records, crime scene files. That the case—and Shelby—had always stayed in his mind.

And, yeah, I fucking knew she was in New Orleans even before I moved there. But her presence hadn’t been the reason he’d moved to⁠—

“I’m no one’s reason to live. You didn’t even know me until I walked into your office. And I’m thinking that walk was a mistake. Just…can you take me to the hotel?”

They’d booked one on the drive. Correction, he’d booked it. She is not going to be thrilled when she learns we only have one room.

“I’ll get directions.” She pulled out her phone. “Take me there. Drop me off. Leave.”

Hell, no. “I’m not dropping you off. I’m not leaving you.” He was going to explain. Fast. A glance in his rearview mirror showed him that no one was behind him. “I was trapped in a hospital bed, Shelby. Body battered to hell and back. I had rage. I had pain. That was all I knew. I was wrapped in my own misery. Nothing to do day in and out but stare at the white walls of that hospital or to watch the TV mounted at the foot of the bed. And one day, you were on that TV.”

“The hotel is seven minutes away.” A ragged exhale. “But the directions are taking us past my old sorority house. Dammit. That place isn’t what I want to see now but screw it. Just turn right. Go.”

He checked the road. Turned right. Kept talking. “You were on the TV. You’d survived hell. You were covered in blood, being loaded into the back of an ambulance. A flash of you, that’s all the cameras caught. The night of the attack, when you’d shot Nate, when you’d survived⁠—”

“When I couldn’t hear, when I was shaking, when I was crying non-stop and vomiting because I kept seeing the dead bodies of my friends. I’ve seen the clip. I know what I looked like.” Sharp words. “Go straight. Then turn left at the stop sign.”

They’d seen two different things in that clip. “You were small. Delicate. But a survivor. The reporter talked about how you’d fought back. How you’d survived despite your wounds. I was in fucking bed, feeling sorry for myself, and there you were. Fighting. Living. I followed your story because you were a fighter, and I used to be one, too. I got my ass better. Did all the therapy. Took the pain. Made it my own. But with every step, I kept monitoring your story because I wanted justice for you.” He drove straight. Turned left at the stop sign. “I saw you change from the girl covered in blood to the poised, determined woman who appeared in court each day. You didn’t shrink away. The press came at you, and you’d just lift your chin. You’d walk right past them as you went into the courtroom. You were determined. You were fearless.”

“Bullshit. Fear was all I knew. Just…drive past the sorority house—I mean, the fountain. Drive past it. We’re coming up on the dedication spot.”

Fear might have been all she knew but…“You carried it damn well. You inspired me. I got stronger. I got better. And, yeah, I kept following your story.” Long after he’d left the hospital. “Because even though we’d never met, I respected you.” Strength was something he could always admire. “If you want the full fucking truth, I had a crush on you, too.” How awkward was that to admit? “When you were at my PI office, Declan called you my dream girl and that is⁠—”

“Stop the SUV!”

He slammed on the brakes. “What? What’s wrong?” He checked the rearview mirror again. Luckily, no one had been behind him when he’d decided to stop in the middle of the road. He pulled off the street, onto the grass. His attention jumped to Shelby.

She stared at the fountain. The brightly lit fountain in the middle of the darkness. It shone like a beacon. But…

The fountain hadn’t been running before. When he’d driven them past it earlier, the water had not been flowing. It had been still and silent. Dark. Why the hell was it on now?

“That’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Aisha would have liked it the most. She would always throw coins in fountains and make wishes. She’d get me to do the same thing.” Shelby shoved open the passenger door. Climbed out.

“Wait, Shelby!” Dammit. This wasn’t the best time to take a stroll at a previous murder scene. He killed the engine and chased after her, catching Shelby when she’d just gone a few feet away from the SUV. “What are we doing right now?” A vague question. When he really meant…

Are you still pissed? Are we still a team? And, also, of course, why in the hell are we stopping here?

“I want to get closer.”

He peered over at the fountain. The soft lights illuminating it. The water pouring out. The heavy stone. Beautiful, yes, but…

Hunter surveyed the darkness around the fountain.

Too many places for a predator to hide.

Unease trickled over him. There was something about this scene that he didn’t like. And it wasn’t just the fact that six women had once been brutally murdered in this exact spot.

Why is the fountain on now?

“How about we come back during the day?” He’d like to get Shelby in the vehicle, STAT.