Page 4 of Hunted: Season Two

Provide him with a gentle pat of reassurance that I wish were accompanied by words instead of just light laughter.

Although, who the fuck am I kidding?

Hearing her laugh is like having NOS injected directly into my engine.

I’ll take the boost.

Any boost.

Post our laughter dying down, I proceed with searching for the answers we need. “What happened with McAdams?” Bunny resumes her tense nature the instant his name has been spoken a second time. “Is he locked up? In the ER? Buried alive?” It’s impossible to keep mirth out of my begging. “Please, say buried alive, Nolan.”

“Back in Florida.”

In tandem, the two of us present him with curious glares.

“Garcia called in a couple of favors and had him tailed through the city thesecondhe had that information. One team followed him from his business meeting to the lakeside lunch he had, where they were tagged out and another pair in. That pair followed him to a bit of jewelry shopping on Raft Row – thank fuck Garcia had me dressed up, so I didn’t stick the hell out – which is where we took over surveillance. We followed him from there to the private strip where I watched him board his plane while Garcia pretended to arrange his own private airfare shit.” Nolan briefly pauses. “I mean Iassumehe was pretendin’. Hardto say sometimes. That fucker has more money than I realized. My ass should’veneveroffered to pay for brunch.”

Pretty sure himpayingfor brunch just makes the shit sound even more like a date, but I ain’t about to check those fluid levels.

Not when there really is more important shit to focus on.

“You’resurehe got on that plane?” I calmly prod knowing it’s what Bunny would ask if she were speaking.

“I watched that shit with my own two eyes.”

“And you’re sure he landed inFlorida?”

“Garcia had a couple of contacts spot the plane, watch him exit, and then take a few photos for confirmation. I didn’t leave until I got them.”

The softest, sweetest sigh shakes Bunny’s entire frame as she seems to melt into the mattress.

“How does he have so many fuckin’ contacts?”

“He’s a businessman.”

“You said he was an attorney.”

“He is. And thelawis his business. Let’s leave it at that.”

Or we could not.

Or we could dive deeper into all that shit, so I feel a little less threatened by the Jag that randomly pulled into my driveway and started convincing my best friend to get behind the wheel for a fucking joyride.

Swallowing my displeasure over his response is difficult yet necessary. “So…McAdams is gone?”

“Yeah.”

“Gone, gone?”

“Yeah.”

“Gone in 60 Seconds Gone?”

“For now.” My mouth twitches to ask something else when the hand that’s wedged between Bunny and me presses gently against my dick. “Focus on that.”

How the fuck can I focus onanythingwhen his knuckles are lightly kneading my cock?

Hearing me quietly groan encourages him to chortle and rub a little harder. “Or that.”

---