Page 32 of Hunter

Again, she made herself think about what that meant—from his point of view. “I mean you should not tell anyone about the things we said tonight. Or that you and I are friends. Emerson and Swinton might not like it.”

He nodded slowly. “I will keep the things between the two of us private. What we said to each other—and the touching and kissing.”

She managed a neutral nod. “Good.”

“I do not want to share this with the others.” His hand turned upward. “Even . . . even after they came with the tranquilizer gun, I wanted to believe you were my friend.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, unable to speak without a hitch in her voice. Perhaps he didn’t know it, but he had just given her what she wanted most—his trust. It took all her willpower not to reach for him again. Instead, she took one last breath of the cold night air and stepped through the doorway.

He followed her inside, and she stood for several seconds gathering her composure. When she turned, she saw the dark hair plastered to his head and the strong lines of his body through the clinging fabric of his sweat clothes. He had kept her dry, but he was soaked.

“You should take a shower. Put on dry clothes,” she said.

His lips quirked. She wanted to see him smile, but she contented herself with what he could give.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“That I will not walk out of the bathroom naked.”

“So, I’ve already taught you something,” she said, keeping her tone light.

“Yes. You should shower, too.” He paused, thought for a moment. “You can go first.”

“I’m all right. I don’t need to. You protected me.”

“It felt like the right thing to do.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I do not always know the right thing.”

She reached to brush back a lock of wet hair that had fallen across his forehead. “You have good instincts.” She wanted to tell him that he might be subconsciously remembering things from his past. Yet she was aware that what she said now might be overheard. She hadn’t been hired to stir up his memories.

“What does that mean—good instincts?” he asked.

She drew her hand back. “It means you don’t necessarily know in advance, but when the situation presents itself, you do the right thing.”

“That sounds dangerous—not knowing in advance.” He stopped short, and she wondered if he was thinking about the way he’d reacted when she’d first come into the room.

“Trust your instincts,” she said.

To her surprise, he nodded. Then his face hardened. Pulling away from her, he knelt beside the bed. She watched as he began to search the floor. Reaching far under the bed, he pulled out an automatic pistol and held it up for her to see. The barrel was elongated, and she decided there must be a silencer attached, although she’d never seen one before except in a movie or on TV.

She’d forgotten he’d said his attacker had a gun. Now she reached out a hand to steady herself against the bureau as she wondered what they were going to do with the weapon.

He stood and reached for her free arm, holding her as he brought his lips close to her ear, the way she’d spoken outside. “My instincts tell me something . . . bad.”

She waited, feeling the hold on her arm tighten.

“I thought the man who came into the house wanted to kill me,” he said in a harsh whisper. “Perhaps I was mistaken about the target.”

She wasn’t following him. When she gave him a questioning look, he continued in a low, urgent voice. “In my training, we do scenarios.”

Still mystified, she shrugged elaborately and turned her palms up.

“Hypothetical situations,” he murmured, so low she could barely catch the words and had to lean toward his mouth. “They put me into circumstances where I must respond—to danger. Suppose the man who dropped the gun attacked me because he wanted to set up a scenario where he would escape, and I would be on guard against attack—and kill the next person who came into the room. You.”

Chapter Six

Kathryn felt an involuntary shiver go through her. He’d given her an elaborate theory—perhaps a combination of instinct, logic and recent experience, she thought with as much detachment as she could muster. She wanted to dismiss the idea as far-fetched. Instead, she absorbed it with a kind of sick awareness. He could be right.

She saw he was watching her, watching her reaction.

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