Page 84 of Hunter

“Yes. Thank you.”

“There’s a pass on the passenger seat that will get you out of this damn place.” He stopped, sucked in a breath. When he spoke again, his voice was weaker. “Keys . . ..” He gestured toward his right pants pocket.

Kathryn reached inside and retrieved the keys.

“Go. Then I can send a message to the media about Stratford Creek.”

She wondered what he was planning.

“Go,” he repeated.

“Thank you,” she said.

He gave her a long look, then sighed and closed his eyes.

She stood, found Hunter leaning against the wall, his arms folded tightly across his chest and his pupils dilated. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. He focused on her as she hurried toward him, but he didn’t change his position.

“Are you all right?” she asked urgently.

“No.”

“What did Anderson do to you?”

“He. . . orders . . . to...” His face contorted and he raised his hands, pressing them to the sides of his head. She could see him fighting to say more, but no words came out. And the pain on his face deepened.

She waited with her heart pounding, wondering what the hell Anderson had done to him. When he lowered his hands, she pressed her fingers against his cheek. “We have to leave. Come on.”

When she gripped his arm, his whole body jerked. “I love . . . you. . .” he said. “I . . . don’t want. . .”

“I love you, too,” she whispered.

“Then . . . leave me . . . here.” The words were torn from him. When he finished speaking, his whole body was shaking.

“I won’t go without you.” She tugged him away from the wall, watching critically as he swayed on his feet. Picking up the cap that had fallen onto the floor, she put it back on his head. Then she felt to make sure her own hat was still in place. Miraculously, it was.

Pausing, she looked at the gun lying beside the doctor. Hunter’s eyes followed her gaze.

“No . . . gun. . .” he said in a hoarse voice, his fingers closing tightly around her arm.

“Okay.” He was obviously in no shape to handle a weapon. And maybe he thought that having the gun would increase their chances of getting shot.

Hunter let her lead him across the lab. At the door to the hall, she paused, listened, then stuck her head out. The corridor was empty, so she hurried them toward the exit. Thank God the building was off by itself. And the lab was deep in the interior. It looked like nobody had heard the shots.

“James Harrison,” Hunter gasped out as he stumbled along beside her. “Remember James Harrison?”

“Of course. The man who tried to kill me.”

“Kathryn,” he said in an agonized voice. “What . . . if someone had given James Harrison drugs that . . . that filled up his mind and made him follow orders.”

“That didn’t happen,” she answered quickly.

“Kathryn. . . listen to me. I can’t . . .”

“Please, Hunter,” she begged as she pulled open the door. “You have to be quiet; someone might hear us.”

He stopped talking, and she led him around the building. To her relief, a silver Honda was waiting where the doctor had said it would be.

Hunter was silent for a little more than a minute. Then he started to mumble again. He was saying the words to the song she’d been singing while she’d fixed breakfast. Only they were all jumbled up. God, had he totally lost his mind, she wondered with a sick shudder.

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