by Lexi Hart
I type in his password, knowing exactly what he’s doing and who he’s trying to undermine. My lips stay pressed tightly together as he compliments my apartment from everything to the paint I chose, to the location.
When I can’t stand it anymore, I spin around fast enough to spill coffee on my shirt.
“Why are you trying so hard to get me to sleep with you?”
He frowns and puts his coffee on the table. “It’s that obvious?”
“Yes!”
Jed raises his hands. “Okay. I admit it. I guess I’m starting to think I made a mistake letting you go.”
Ice trickles down my spine. All the times he had, all the opportunities I gave him, the times he rejected me, and chose to answer the phone rather than talk or make love to me run on a perpetual loop until I start shaking with anger. “It’s too late.”
He gets to his feet and closes the distance between us, anger flashing at an intensity I’ve never seen before. “Because of him? Because of this thug? He’s worth more than our marriage?”
I yell at him, and he staggers slightly. “We aren’t married anymore. You were the one who ended it. Not me. You were too busy looking after everyone else, you forgot about looking after your own wife!”
He looks stunned. “What is wrong with you?”
Heat blazes across my cheeks at the familiar jab. Even after hearing it every time we argued, his words still cut to the bone. “There is nothing wrong with me.”
He shakes his head, disgust making his face twist into a scowl. “Whatever. You made your bed, go lie in it.”
Jed stalks across the room, yanks open the door and slams it so hard one of my framed photographs falls off the wall and smashes.
I take a couple of breaths, anger fizzling inside me, hands shaking as I stare at the broken glass on a photograph a neighbor took of the cabin a few years back.
It’s one of the last photos we have of the four of us. Before Mom left. Before Dad got diagnosed with cancer. Mom is smiling, Jemma is sitting on a picnic blanket beside the river, grinning with a sandwich in her hand. I’m sitting there, but I’m the only one not looking at the camera. I’m staring at the mountains, a blissful look on my face.
Dad looks healthy and strong. Mom’s red hair is blowing around her face; her cheeks are ruddy. But her smile is forced. There’s something in the way her eyes seem dead, I can see now but didn’t understand or see back then.
I slump against the wall and stare at the place where the photo hung. It looks strangely off-center with the two other photos hanging beside the empty space.
I’m staring at the wall, trying not to think about what Hunter is doing when I hear a ping as an email lands in my inbox.
I groan as I ease myself to standing, the slightest amount of pain in my ankle, giving me warning I shouldn’t be too relaxed about mistreating it so soon.
I don’t know what information I expect to see in the content of Debbie’s email, and Jed obviously didn’t either, but it’s clear she likes him. I tap on the email and push my glasses over my nose before I grab my coffee, and settle down to read it.
Hey sugar,
I got that case for you. It took a little doing because there were all sorts of hoops to jump through, so I expect recompense.
Got that sugar?
Recompense.
I open the files and read through the various case notes and files that make up Hunter’s criminal history until my eyeballs are burning.
As far as I can tell, Hunter has an arrest record going back five years before the bank robbery, mostly petty crimes, including several bar brawls, one act of lewd behavior in a public place and one theft of a bottle of scotch from a liquor store when he was still a minor.
He served a year in a penitentiary and got out a month before the robbery. In his statement, he claimed to have met Falcone’s son, Bobby in prison and agreed to take the job because Eddie Falcone assured him no one would get hurt.
I swallow as I read the crime scene report. A man was shot, wounded but not killed. An innocent bank teller.
I close the email feeling sick to my stomach. Hunter never served any time for his part. But he lost his freedom and his family, just the same.
I don’t have to read anymore to know what happened. Hunter agreed to turn states evidence in exchange for a pardon, in doing so he placed a target on his head, so he faked his death with help from the FBI.
I let that sink in, trying to absorb it, trying to understand what this all means for him. For me. For us.
No matter which way I look at it, it’s impossible. Men like Eddie Falcone don’t just forget. There’s no way Hunter could ever live a normal life again.
He seemed so content up at the cabin. Was that where he asked to be sent? Do they even let you choose?
I lean forward and tap in Hunter Sloan, Haven Springs. Nothing comes up. So I try a couple of other searches. Haven Springs, Hunter Sloan, Dragon Tattoo.
The search results all come back as tattoo parlors, which I scroll through aimlessly, barely paying attention as I try to think of another search combination to try.
I pull my shoulders back, trying to correct my slumped posture when I see a grainy photo of a tattoo that makes me scroll back and recheck.
I hold my breath as the image centers on the screen. My heart starts to beat a little faster as I click on the tattoo parlor. Tim West, Wild, Wild, West Designs. Est. 2014
I read a little about the company and see why it came up as a valid search. The physical address is in the city, but the P.O. Box is in Haven Springs.
Adrenaline starts to surge through me as I find the owner of the private box. I dig around until I find Timothy West and nearly squeal when I see he has a strong personal online presence. After around ten minutes of stalking, I find a few posts he made around the time Hunter supposedly died.
My heart thuds unevenly in my chest as a photo of Timothy West and Hunter appears on my screen. They’re smiling at the camera, arms around each other and drunk as skunks by the looks of things. I scroll through and find another photo of Hunter, with slighter shorter hair, and a lot less muscle mass, sitting shirtless in a chair, with Tim leaning over him as he works on the tattoo on his chest. My eyes widen as I read the comments underneath it.
Kelly R: OMG Hunter. *drools*
Eric: Hunter. Put your clothes back on you fucking poser.
Rob: Hunter. You drunk were you that night?
Hunter: Fuck you Eric.
Tim: Eric. He screamed like a girl.
Hunter: ???
Tim: Eric. I thought he was going to cry. At one point I had to hug him.
Felicity: Hunter. Tim. Love it. Totally hot.
Hunter: Felicity. Thanks babe.
Tim: Thanks Felicity.
Grace: Hunter. Bro, cover UP already. We already know you’re buff do you HAVE to advertise it?
Tim: Grace. He paid me to put it up.
Hunter: Grace Unfriend Tim. He jerks off to your bikini pics.
Tim: Hunter. You’re such a fucking asshole.
Grace: Tim. I know. I love your bikini shots too. *wink wink*
Hunter: Grace. Tim. Currently vomiting.
Jake: Tim. How gay are you and Hunter right now?
Hunter: Jake. WTF dude? You high again?
Jake: Hunter. Always. But you do look gay as fuck.
Tim: Hunter. I knew I shouldn’t have put this picture up.
Felicity: Aaaw Tim. Are they being mean?
Tim: Yeah. Felicity. My feelings are hurt. Want to come over and make me feel better?
Grace: OH GOOD GRIEF. STAAAAAP. I’m turning my notifications off.
Kelly: Hunter We still on for Friday night?”
Hunter: Kelly. Totally, babe. You can see the tattoo up close and personal.
I give up reading feeling totally confused. Hunter is coming across as a conceited, arrogant jerk. He sounds nothing like the man I met who was so willing to help me.
No wonder he didn’t want to come into t
he valley. Anyone could have seen him. He must still have friends that live here? People that would recognize him even with the beard and extra muscle?
None of this makes any sense to me. Why would the government decide to place Hunter up in the mountains when it’s close to where he grew up? If he’s such a valuable witness, letting him roam free over the mountains seems counterintuitive.
I pick up a pen and start tapping it against my chin. A nagging suspicion is growing, and I can’t put my finger on it. Everything about this feels off somehow.
My phone rings and I jump. When my heart has calmed a few beats, I glance at the caller ID. I don’t recognize the number, but I answer. “Hello?”
A throaty voice breathes down the line. “Ms. Jensen. This is Agent Waters. I handle Hunter Sloan. His life is in danger, and it is very important that you do exactly as I say. Do you understand?”
I whimper my reply.
“Get in your truck and drive to the hotel in Haven Springs you stayed at. I’ll meet you in the parking lot. You tell no one we spoke. You tell no one where you are going. Is that clear?”
I swallow. “Yes. I understand.”
The line goes dead.
Panic starts to surge through my body as thoughts batter in from all directions. I have no way of knowing whether the caller was really Hunter’s handler.
I close my eyes and picture lying in bed with Hunter on the morning he left and try to remember what Hunter saying his handler’s name was. He said his handler was pissed at him. I remember that much. But everything else he said is lost in a collection of hazy memories involving his lips, his muscles and him placing a gun in my hand.
I get to my feet, still unsure of what to do. My paranoia is spinning out of control, but the idea that Hunter really might be in danger because of me is enough to make me fire off a text and an email before grabbing my purse and keys.
I pause at the door, my fingers on the lock when I turn on my heel and stalk back to my nightstand and grab the weapon my father gave me when I moved here.
I have no idea if I’m being led into a trap, but if Hunter really does need me, and I can help in some way, I’ll do whatever I can.
Chapter 9.
Monday 4.34pm
Hunter
I’m up on the roof of Jack’s hut, fixing a slate tile that has come lose when I smell smoke. I adjust my footing and look down to see if Jack is clearing off some overgrowth, but I can’t see anything.
I shove the hammer back in Jack’s worn tool belt and climb back down the ladder, ready to ask Jack if anyone else is still around for the coming winter.
I find him on the edge of his property, shading his eyes as he looks at the horizon. He turns as I approach. I start to tell him the roof is fixed when he gestures to the sky. “My eyes playing tricks on me, or you see that smoke too?”
I squint against the sun and follow his arm to where smoke is spiraling into the sky. “Yeah. I see it. Hikers?”
“Hmm. That’s a lot of smoke for a campfire. Could be them stupid city hikers have set the trees on fire.”
I frown at the smoke. “I haven’t seen any out this close to winter?”
He shrugs his bony shoulders. “People are dumb. City folks dumber. Wouldn’t be the first time some idiot went hiking and did something stupid.”
I nod vaguely as I remove my tool belt. He turns to go back to his cabin when his mouth twists into a thoughtful scowl. “Looks pretty near the Jensen cabin though.”
All the blood in my body runs cold. “You think?”
He shrugs again. “It’s near enough. If the wind shifts, the cabin could—”
I turn around and hurry back to where I dropped my pack earlier on in the day. I snatch it up and unzip the bag as quickly as I can.
I’m muttering to myself and yanking out my binoculars when Jack comes hobbling towards me. “What’s got you all hot and bothered?”
Bothered. That’s exactly what I am right now. Very.
I yank my gun out from where I placed it between a pair of socks and shove it down the back of my jeans. Jack gives me a gummy smile as he starts to laugh. “Whoa boy. Slow down. Hikers ain't that bad.”
I try to smile, but my insides are twisting into knots. “I’ll go take a closer look.”
I jog back and raise the glasses to my eyes. It takes me a couple seconds to zoom in to the cabin. Flames are licking the windows, smoke pouring out where the heat has cracked the glass. “Shit. Shit.”
There is no feasible reason for the cabin to suddenly catch fire now.
There’s only one logical explanation. One that I’ve dreaded for two years.
Someone from the Falcone family has finally found me. And if they’re burning Natalie’s cabin...they probably found her too.
NATALIE
I drive into the valley under a strange muted sense of calm. It doesn’t feel real. None of this does.
My body is covered in cold sweats, and my mouth is so dry it hurts to swallow. All my bravado, all my courage is disappearing as I drive past the hotel I stayed at.
I pull into the lot, just like Agent Waters said to and leave the engine running. I use my rear view to check behind me and try not to look conspicuous when I glance out both front doors. I sit, engine idling, my purse within reach when I see a man approaching from out of one of the hotel rooms.
I glance around, hoping there are witnesses. I see a few locals out, but none seem to pay the man approaching any mind. He gets to the passenger door and smiles at me.
A scar stretches across his cheek as he climbs in. He’s fair-haired, blue-eyed, around forty, dressed in jeans, boots and a thick jacket that all the hunters around here wear.
His voice is pleasantly calm. “Perhaps we could talk while we drive?”
He asks so politely I find myself nodding. “Have you spoken to Hunter?”
I put the truck in drive as he shakes his head. “Unfortunately, I’m limited to how many times I can contact him.”
I pull out from the lot and drive down the main street towards the mountain track. “Then how did you know he was in trouble? Um, I’m sorry I forget your name, Agent...”
“Waters. Agent Waters. And I know he’s in trouble because we received a tip Eddie Falcone has been looking in the area. Our only chance is to reach Hunter before he does.”
He shakes his head. “I warned him not to leave the safety of the mountains.”
I gulp. “That was my fault. I was injured and upset.”
“Hmm. Well, his cover has been compromised. If we can get him out, there’s a chance we can relocate him in time.”
I glance at my purse as we reach the mountain track entrance. “But why do you need my help to do this?
He doesn’t answer right away, which makes my anxiety creep even higher. “Falcone’s men watch for unusual activity. You going back to your cabin it to show a prospective buyer isn’t unusual.”
I slow as we start the winding drive up to the cabin. “Maybe not. But isn’t it unusual to send a man into such a dangerous place on his own?”
He looks at me. “Hunter was surviving in dangerous places long before he moved to the mountains.”
It’s such an odd answer that I can’t help asking him another one. “How are you going to find Hunter? He won’t be at the cabin.”
He keeps staring out the windshield with such a bland expression it somehow seems out of place given the stakes.
The track is slippery, so I grip the wheel and keep my eyes in front. I’m concentrating so hard I should probably be glad he isn’t speaking.
I pull out into the clearing half expecting to see an army of mobsters waiting. But what I see is somehow worse. Smoke is pouring out of the front door of the cabin. Flames are bursting out the windows.
Fear curls around my body as I move to get out of the truck. Waters grabs my arm, and I gape at him, realization shocking me like a lightning bolt. “Did you do this?”
He doesn’t deny it. Just sits calmly staring at the flam
es as though he’s watching TV. “It was a necessary evil, I’m afraid.”
Fear trickles like ice down my back as I sit mute, staring at the agent I was right not to trust wholly.
His eyes narrow as he pulls out a gun and rams it into my middle. “We’re getting out of the truck now. Nice and slow.”
He smiles then. And somehow watching the scar twist his face is more terrifying than anything he could say right now. He tugs me towards him; gun still pressed into my belly button. My purse slides to the floor, and with it, my hope of getting my gun out.
He opens the door, and I stumble out in his footsteps to smoke and the sound of wood splintering.
His voice is still eerily calm as he releases me and steps away. “Hunter has three locations he sleeps at this time of year. And he doesn’t deviate from those which means wherever he is; he’s seen the smoke by now.”
He smiles pleasantly. “I should be thanking you. I’ve been waiting two years for this opportunity.”
I take a step back, and he shakes his head. “I need you to stay where he can see you.”
My hip hits the hood of my truck. My eyes start to water from fear, from the smoke from frustration at not knowing what to do. “What if he doesn’t come?”
The smile disappears. “Oh, he’ll come. He’s infatuated by you.”
I shake my head though a part of me is terrified to consider I’m right. “It was just a casual thing.”
His chin dips as he narrows his eyes. “No. It wasn’t. He was back here moping around hoping you’d come back. Your cabin was the closest thing to a home he had.”
I swallow hard, my mouth running dry. “What are you going to do to Hunter?”
His eyes shift to the trees surrounding us. “That depends on whether he’s smart.”
His posture switches and he turns the gun on me again. My heart is flip-flopping in my chest. Palms slick with sweat.
He moves so quickly I have no time to react when he grabs me and jams the gun against my temple. Cold steel pressed against my skin, he wraps his arm around my chest and starts walking me towards the edge of the trees.
