She’d have to live with her mother’s death hanging over her forever.
Few people knew the torment of living with the death of an innocent person, a loved one, on your conscience.
Like Eliot.
Eliot’s face, strained with agonizing pain, bloomed in Hunter’s mind. The crashing waves and last seconds when his friend said goodbye, then cut the rope… and fell silently to his death. Nothing would ever erase that.
“Hunter?” Abbie called to him, concern seeping into her voice.
He blinked back the dark fog always waiting to blind him. He didn’t want her concern or for anyone to worry about his well-being ever again. “What?”
Abbie flinched at his sharp answer.
Dammit. He rubbed his neck and waited a couple beats to calm his voice before speaking. “Sit down before you fall.”
“Not until you agree to take me back.” She’d spread her feet, stabilizing her body, and crossed her arms, prepared to wait him out.
Did she really think he could let her go anywhere she could talk to the media?
He hadn’t called Joe yet, but he could only put that off so long. If he didn’t turn her over now, he might not be able to take her in himself later.
Joe watched all his agents for any sign of going rogue or chasing a personal agenda after losing someone close. BAD was unforgiving if an agent broke ranks and bucked the agency. Hunter had proven to all of them that he carried no baggage from Eliot’s death, but he didn’t want a new partner either.
Not a problem. No one wanted to partner with a son of a bitch so cold they believed he blew off his friend’s death as collateral damage.
Hunter hadn’t blown off anything.
He’d bided his time, shielded his grief, and now he had a chance to catch the killer.
If he forced Abbie into the WITSEC program, she’d never see her mother again and would clearly withhold information in retaliation.
If he didn’t force her, she’d end up in worse trouble than she was in now, since BAD would assign their best assets to track and neutralize Hunter.
Fuck.
Talk about sorry choices. “I can’t take you home—”
“Then screw anything you want from me!” She slapped the top of the chair.
“Let. Me. Finish.” He would not lose his patience with her again. She was injured, scared, and afraid for her mother. He had no idea how he was going to fix this, but he wouldn’t make life any more difficult for her while he came up with a plan. “I won’t put you in the WITSEC program, yet, but neither can you go home until I find out who the guy in your apartment is and why he’s trying to kill you.”
Her face fell. “What about my mother?”
“I meant it when I said if you help me, I’ll help you. You could start by explaining how Gwen could help your mother.”
She nibbled on her lip, putting as much thought into her answer as someone negotiating for her life, which she probably figured she was.
“Okay. I’ll work with you if you’re straight with me.” She held her hand out. “Let’s shake.”
Was she serious? “You want to shake?” He wanted to smile at her naïveté but didn’t when he realized she was serious.
She thought he wouldn’t lie to her if they shook hands?
He’d only accepted a handshake deal from one person before. Eliot.
Her gaze didn’t waver when she said, “My father taught me a man is only as good as his word. If you shake then I’m willing to accept your word and trust you.”
He lied with skill that surprised even him sometimes and never lost a minute’s sleep over sidestepping the truth on a mission. But he and Eliot would never have broken a deal they shook on. He wanted to pretend this wasn’t the same, but guilt invaded his thoughts at the idea of looking Abbie in the eye and lying to her about something she considered a matter of life and death. Breaking his word on this would rip out another chunk of his ravaged soul.
Hunter took her hand. Her fingers were cold as ice and trembling.
Hell, he had to be the cause for some of that.
She gripped his hand with resolve and strength. But she was not strong enough to stop a killer.
His heart thumped. How could she place trust in a man she didn’t know based on a handshake? She still hadn’t figured out how they’d met. He wouldn’t put good odds on her being happy once she did.
His palm warmed against her dainty one. His fingers refused to open and release his hold, forcing his compliance.
Abbie lifted her shoulders, making the most of her five and a half feet. The tiny pulse in her neck gave away her fear. Fear of the future, fear of losing her mother, or fear of him? The urge to pull her into his arms and assure her this would all work out pressed on his chest.
But he couldn’t.
Joe might send a team after him by midnight.
A man was only as good as his word. Eliot would have agreed.
Well, hell. Hunter shook. He’d back his word for as long as he had the power to do so.
The only way he’d relinquish that power would be by dying.
She tugged her hand to withdraw it from his, making him feel as though he’d held on too long. He didn’t know what to do with his hands now so he crossed his arms.
“Where do you want to start?” She hooked her hands behind her. But she listed to the left and had to take a half step to keep from losing her balance.
“Sit down and we’ll talk. Please.” He softened his directive and reached for her arm.
She surprised him by not jerking away.
Had she really decided so quickly to trust him?
Just by shaking hands?
She moved toward the sofa instead of the chair. Once she was settled again, the energy drained from her taut shoulders. She curled up on the leather, folding her legs and feet—was that purple toenail polish?—under the bottom of her nightgown.
Her gaze took in the cabin. Wrapping her arms around herself didn’t stop her from shivering. The see-through material probably offered little warmth. “What is this thing? A Learjet?”
“Gulfstream IV.” A Trans Exec SP-3, but he doubted that would make any difference to her. He sunk into the cushy recliner and pressed the call button on the side.
Felicia’s voice came over the intercom. “Yes, sir?”
Abbie looked up at the speaker in the ceiling.
“Tell the pilot to change course. Use the return coordinates.”
“Right away,” Felicia answered. “Anything else?”
“Where’s a blanket in the cabin?” He eyed the bedroom, a likely place to store one.
“Beneath the forward seats,” Felicia answered. “Would you like me to retrieve one?”
“No, thanks.” Hunter flipped off the intercom, then got up and found the blanket stash. He pulled out a lightweight gray one and draped the wool cover over Abbie.
She had her chin propped on her hand and her elbow leaned against the end of the sofa, staring out at the black night that swallowed the jet. When he bent down to tuck the blanket around her, she swiveled her head until they faced each other.
Her eyes were more blue than green now. A lingering trace of tear gas clung to her hair, but standing so close to her filled him with the scent of her skin.
Some women smelled like a perfume ad.
Abbie had a pure feminine smell that infiltrated his brain and his groin at the same time.
Why was it a man’s brain never won that battle?
Her eyes shifted, flaring bright as a blue flame and wide with awareness. She nibbled on her upper lip.
Hunter closed his eyes to keep from kissing her. He straightened away from her before opening his eyes again. That was strange. He never confused work and play.
This sure as hell wasn’t the time to start.
Not with a television reporter. How could he contain someone with the media who had seen his face and seen him in action?
One problem at a time.
“Thanks.” Abbie folded the top of her blanket over and pulled her knees up, propping her arms across them. She gave him a nervous smile. “You don’t know where things are on your own airplane?”
“Not my airplane.”
“So this gown doesn’t belong to an old nuisance?”
No, the jet came stocked with everything imaginable since it belonged to his father’s fleet of leased crafts. His brother kept this aircraft at Midway Airport and had loaned the Gulfstream to Hunter without a question.
His brother had a heart of gold.
At least he’d had one until that conniving Pia mined the organ dry.
“Not from an old nuisance.” Hunter sat down on the other half of the sofa. With the change in course for the plane, he might be able to finish this conversation before they landed. If not, he had more time now that he wasn’t handing her over to Joe. “Now, about tonight with Gwen.”
“First I want to know who you are and why you were sneaking around the party and how you got into my apartment…” She stopped talking and cocked her head at him in a cute way if not for the stubborn set of her jaw. “How did you know what was happening in my apartment?”
There was no real benefit in trying to fool her further after what she’d witnessed in her apartment now that he’d made the choice to keep her, but there was a limit to what he could share. That choice meant protecting her, which wouldn’t be easy since he needed unrestrained mobility to function. “I can’t tell you what I do or who I work with, but I’m with the good guys, for lack of a more specific explanation, and I have training for what I did tonight. I stuck a transmitter over a button on your dress so I could hear you.”
Abbie couldn’t decide if she was thrilled he’d heard the killer or appalled he’d invaded her privacy so callously. “Did your thingamabob transmit pictures or just sound?”
“Just sound.”
“So when did you see the mole on my thigh?”
“Before you jump to an unsupported conclusion, I did not take advantage of your being passed out. I covered you with my jacket at your apartment, which protected half of your modesty. Figured you’d want to have more on when you came to. That nightgown was the only thing I found.”
“Where’s my—” Abbie cut herself off when she saw the flight attendant enter the cabin. The woman stopped next to Hunter’s chair and said, “The pilot wanted to let you know we have turbulence ahead. He’d like to take a quick break before that.”
“Tell him I’ll be right up.”
She nodded and left as quietly as she’d arrived.
Abbie processed the brief conversation and added another worry bead to her mental string. “Are you going to fly the airplane?”
“Yes.” Hunter sat forward, preparing to stand.
“Are you qualified?”
“Yes.” But this “yes” was drawn out with a tail of exasperation.
Tough.
“Where’s my cell phone, ID, purse… ?” She wanted to add “dignity” to the list. Heat crept up her neck at the idea of being exposed to Hunter and God knows who else while he toted her around, but she had to admit he hadn’t said anything to make her feel uncomfortable or embarrassed about her seminudity.
“What?” He shook his head at her change of subject. “I didn’t have time to do anything but get you out of there after the flash bomb and tear gas were released.”
So that’s what the flash and blur had been right before she got knocked out.
She took it all in, replaying what came easily to her. Hunter had walked into a volatile situation he knew would be dangerous for him and managed to get her out of there alive, plus arranged for this airplane.
Hard not to overlook his obvious ulterior motives for taking her with him or that he hadn’t explained squat, but she didn’t know another man who would put his life at risk for her now that her father was dead.
On the other hand, she still didn’t know who Hunter was or how he knew her.
He stood to leave.
“Wait. Back to the mole.” She spun her index finger in a rolling motion for him to continue. “You were explaining?”
His eyes took her in from her head to where her toes were hidden under the blanket. He hooked his thumbs in his pants pockets. When he met her gaze again his green eyes crinkled with a sly glint powered by a thought she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear. “I saw the mole when I laid you on the bed. That’s when it all came back to me.”
“What came back to you?”
“How we originally met… when I saw your mole. I remember what you asked me to do.”
The Jack Daniel’s sloshing around in her stomach threatened to whip into a sour tornado. Her mind jumped to the first thought any woman would have about a guy insinuating he’d seen the inside of her thigh before, but she’d remember sleeping with someone like Hunter.
She’d remember just kissing a man like him.
None of the three men she’d been intimate with in her life looked anything like him. If they had she’d still be in bed with one of them.
Maybe he was just jerking her chain and had seen her on a beach or at a pool where she might have been in a bathing suit. Been a long time since she’d worn anything skimpy. What would she have asked him to do? Put sun lotion on her?
The airplane jostled. A streak of bright light fingered through the darkness outside. Lightning.
Hunter didn’t budge from the motion, solid as a mountain standing there. “You can stay on the sofa, but buckle up. We’re headed into turbulence.”
“When are you coming back?”
“When I can.” He started toward the front of the airplane.
“Wait.”
He stopped short of the door leading to the cockpit and turned back with raised eyebrows.
“What did I ask you to do?” The question came out a little more tense than she’d intended.
“You begged me to take you home with me.” He opened the door, stepped through, and snapped it shut.