Page 87 of Hunter

“What?”

He gasped, twisting in his seat, his hands clamped to the dashboard. “Drugs. Can’t tell . . . you,” he managed, then made a strangled sound of pain that seemed to well up from the depths of his soul.

“Hunter?”

“I . . . love . . . you. Think! Think!” he demanded, turning toward her, his eyes fierce, his face distorted by some inner agony she could only imagine.

Staring into the darkness beyond the headlights, she tried to make sense of what he had been saying since Kolb and Reid had shot each other. She’d thought he was out of his head. What if he was desperately trying to give her a message?

“Drugs. . .Harrison. . . a time to kill. . .”

Suddenly, in a blinding flash, the pieces of the puzzle dropped into place. God, Emerson had told her from the beginning that they’d used drug therapy on Hunter. Apparently, he hadn’t been lying. They used drugs to reinforce his orders. And tonight, Anderson had given him an extra big dose—along with some specific instructions. Instructions to kill her. And instructions not to tell her what had been done to him.

Her gaze slid to the large, dangerous man sitting next to her. The man she had come to trust above all others. She was hoping against hope that her theory was wrong. Yet as she looked at him, she knew the truth. His body was shaking, and his hands were clasped tightly in his lap as if he were trying by brute force to control his actions.

Anderson had given him something all right. A lot of something. And Hunter had been fighting it with every cell of his being, fighting not to follow the directions zapped into his mind. And doing his damnedest to let her know she was in danger—fromhim.

The anguished look on his face and the tension in his strong hands told her he was losing the battle for control.

Fear shot through her. What the hell was she going to do now?

Her foot bounced on the accelerator. If she slowed the car, maybe she could jump out. Run for help to the men who were up ahead.

But it was already too late. Beside her, Hunter made a sound that was part protest, part growl, and lunged across the space between them.

Chapter Fourteen

Hunter’s body twisted. His large hands angled toward her neck, brushed her skin in a parody of a caress. She tried to dodge away from his grasp. But there was nowhere to go in the close confines of the car as it hurtled along the darkened road.

“Don’t. You don’t want to hurt me,” she gasped.

“I don’t,” he sobbed out. Tear tracks ran down his cheeks. The hands in front of her shook, and his face twisted with the force of his resistance as he tried to pull away.

But the compulsion had been too deeply imbedded in his mind. He had been fighting it since she came into the lab, she knew, and now he had all but lost the battle to resist.

“I . . . must,” he gasped as his powerful fingers closed around her flesh. Even as he began to squeeze, he made a moaning sound.

“Hunter, don’t,” she gasped with her last bit of breath. Desperate to free herself, she jerked her foot off the accelerator and slammed it onto the brake pedal.

Her hands on the wheel kept her in place. Unprepared, Hunter was thrown forward. For a few seconds, the pressure on her neck lessened. Then it was back, tighter than before.

The car skidded sideways as she raised her hands, trying to pry his fingers loose, but she might as well have been prying at large metal hinges that had snapped shut. Her fists pounded his chest and shoulder, but it was like pounding against a brick wall.

She could hear his breath rasping in and out of his lungs, even as she struggled to drag in air. But there was no oxygen getting to her brain.

She felt the car dip as the wheels on the right side left the road. Maybe they’d slam into a tree, she thought with some part of her mind while her vision swam, and the blackness of the night closed in around her.

As she felt consciousness slipping away, she dimly heard Hunter make an agonized sound of protest. Then the tension on her neck was suddenly gone—allowing her to drag in a grateful draft of air.

With a mighty effort, Hunter swung away from her and yanked on the door handle beside him. As the door slammed forward, he threw himself from the car and into the darkness.

She screamed, even as her foot found the brake again and mashed down. The car ground to a halt, and she leaned against the wheel, hearing the shrill sound of the horn as she gasped for breath.

“Hunter, Hunter,” she sobbed out as she threw her door open and scrambled from the car into the darkness. Standing made her head spin, and she had to grab the top of the vehicle to stay erect.

Her throat felt like raw meat, and it was agony each time she swallowed.

She had seen a flashlight in back when she’d covered Hunter with the blankets. Opening the back door, she fumbled along the floor, found the light, and switched it on. Then, still gasping in strangled breaths, she turned and began to stagger back down the road, training the light on the shoulder as she searched frantically for Hunter.

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