Page 89 of Hunter

She had never met a man like him before. She knew she would never meet another. He hadn’t grown up with all the cultural cues and restraints that hemmed most people in. For better or worse, that made him unique. Although Emerson and the other devils at Stratford Creek could have broken his spirit or turned him into a monster, she was betting that she’d gotten him out of there in time—and that they hadn’t had him long enough to do permanent damage. Her heart told her that must be true. So had her own observations, because every time he’d had real choices, he’d proved his goodness—his moral superiority.

But now she was faced with something she didn’t know how to handle.

Her fingers clenched around his strong hand. “Hunter, I love you. Please, come back to me,” she whispered.

But he lay without moving. And she felt the knot of fear in her stomach tighten. She’d been in a kind of limbo since they’d brought him here. Mostly, she’d sat in the chair beside the bed. Sometimes, she’d talked to the Decorah staff, filling them in on the horrors of Stratford Creek. When she couldn’t sit up anymore, she’d flopped onto a nearby cot. Most of the time, she’d watched Hunter’s pale face, touched him, talked to him. But he’d remained unresponsive, except for the flashes of pain that crossed his features. And from the expression on the face of Dr. Wardman when she came in to check him, she knew that his failure to awaken was a bad sign.

Lifting his hand, she pressed his fingers against her cheek. They were strong and warm. Like the man who lay there unconscious, she thought.

“Hunter,” she whispered softly as she looked at his still face and began to repeat things she’d told him many times since they’d brought him back to her. “Hunter, everything’s all right. You didn’t break any bones when you . . . fell out of the car. You’re only a little banged up. You’re going to be fine.” She gulped, then, and quickly went on with her periodic news bulletins. “Dr. Kolb blew up the lab to stop the Stratford Creek Project. The media swarmed up here like bees to a honeypot. It’s the latest government scandal. The reporters got the whole story—except the part about you.” She paused to draw a shaky breath. Emerson let them think that you were in the lab. Swinton and Anderson are in custody for conducting illegal experiments. Emerson is saying he only followed orders. I think he’s going to end up testifying on Capitol Hill—like Oliver North after the Iran-Contra scandal.”

Hunter didn’t answer. The small, comfortable room at the end of the hall was quiet except for his breathing. Leaning down, she laid her head on his shoulder, watching the rise and fall of his chest, refusing to give in to despair.

Perhaps exhaustion made her doze for a while. But she knew the moment his breathing changed, knew that something was different.

Suspended between heaven and hell, she raised her head and watched his eyes flutter open. For several seconds they were unfocused. Then they found her and filled with panic.

“No!” His whole body jerked as he tried to push himself away from her.

Anguish rose in her throat.

Even as a terrible sense of loss threatened to swamp her, she reached for him, held on for dear life. His fingers squeezed her arm painfully, spasmodically.

“Hunter, it’s all right. Everything’s all right,” she repeated over and over, praying that she spoke the truth.

He went very still as if listening intently for some sound that he couldn’t catch. “It’s gone,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“What’s gone?”

He turned his head, focused on her face, really seeing her. “I—” He sank back against the pillows, sweat glistening on his pale skin.

“Talk to me,” she begged, her heart pounding.

After a long, long time, he raised his hand to his forehead, pressed his fingers against his flesh. “The pain is gone. From the drugs.”

“Was it very bad?” she whispered.

“Yes. I felt like my head was splitting in two, and it got worse when I tried to tell you what Anderson had done.”

“I’m so sorry. Sorry he did that to you.” She wrapped her arms around him, held tight as she dared to hope that he had come through the worst.

“They used to use the drugs when they first started my training. Then Dr. Kolb made them stop. He said they were going to fry my brains. I hadn’t had them in a long time—until Reid brought me to Anderson.”

“They’re out of your system now. Nobody will ever do that to you again.”

He nodded, then looked thoughtful. “Dr. Kolb blew up the lab to end the Stratford Creek project. It’s finished.”

She raised her head, stared at him. “How do you know all that?”

“You told me. Over and over.”

“Yes, but I didn’t think you heard” she managed.

“I heard,” he said with a deep sigh. “I thought it was a dream. I thought if I woke up, I would try to. . .” He gulped. “I tried to stay asleep.”

“You shouldn’t have done that! We were all worried. I was so worried.”

She saw a shadow cross his features.

---