Page 83 of Hunter

“I’m closing in on her. She’s getting sloppy, and her movements are more chaotic.”

Andrei’s voice comes through the speaker, hollow and numb. Every call he makes with an update chips away at my heart a little more.

It has been nearly a month since Elena ran. That night when we uncovered her betrayal, Andrei drove straight to confront her, but she and the baby were already gone. Since then, he has been tracking her across Europe, always one step behind. She was last spotted in Tuscany two days ago. Now, she vanished again.

Maxim has flown out to help him more than once, but it hasn’t made a difference.

Which only strengthens my belief that she’s innocent.

How could someone like Elena—a sheltered girl who has never left Miami—outmaneuver Andrei and Maxim? She has been groomed her entire life to marry a man her father chose for her, not to be some cunning fugitive. Beyond that, I’ve seen the way she looks at Andrei, the love in her eyes.

Maxim doesn’t see it that way. He argues that if sheisinnocent, she wouldn’t be running. And as much as I hateto admit it, he has a point. Especially now, with everything suddenly quiet—no emails, no threats, no new leaks.

“Keep me posted,” Maxim says, hanging up the call with a press of his thumb.

“This is a fucking mess,” he mutters, leaning back against the headrest. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, his frustration evident. “I’ve got Luca’s IT guy running facial recognition. Her photo’s been flagged with European police. She’s a ghost—there one second, gone the next.”

I bite my tongue, holding back a sharp retort as I merge onto the expressway.

Maxim and I have been at odds about this from the start. He doesn’t understand how terrified she must be. Alone. With a newborn. Is it any wonder she ran? If she’s innocent, she probably thinks they’ll never believe her. Or maybe the real traitor is feeding her lies, manipulating her into staying on the run. She’s still young. Impressionable.

I glance at Maxim, his hand now resting over mine.

“I’ve missed you,” he says softly, his voice gravelly and strained.

I steal another glance at him, taking in the weariness etched into his features—his crumpled clothes, the dark circles under his eyes, his unshaven jaw. He looks utterly drained. Between the fallout with the DEA, stepping back into his role, and rushing to Andrei’s side at all hours, it’s no wonder he’s exhausted. He left for his last trip at three in the morning, calling me at 1:45 a.m. to say he didn’t know when he’d be back. That was over a week ago.

“This might sound ridiculous,” I say, my voice soft, “but when I drop you off, take a shower. And sleep, Maxim. You can’t live on coffee and energy drinks forever.”

His grip tightens over mine. “Stay with me tonight.”

My stomach twists.

“Please,” he adds, his voice raw, his eyes pleading.

God, I want to say yes. I want to stay with him and let myself be pulled into the safety of his arms. But I can’t. Not now. I’m not in the right place mentally—or emotionally—to handle what would come next.

If I stay, I know how it will end. We’ll fall back into old patterns, and I’ll use sex to escape the way I used to. For a fleeting moment, I’ll forget the darkness inside me, forget the phantom touch of that man and the scent of that awful place. But the moment the euphoria fades, the trauma will still be there, waiting to drown me.

As we pull into Maxim’s driveway, I put the car in park and turn to him with a soft smile, hoping he’ll take the hint. Usually, this is where he gives me a kiss, murmurs goodnight, and heads inside. But tonight, he doesn’t move. He stays in his seat, head tipped back against the headrest, arm covering his face, and in seconds he starts snoring, I don’t wake him. I pull out my e-reader and let him sleep.

Tap.

Tap.

The sound pulls me from the book. I blink a few times, trying to adjust to the darkness outside the car after staring at my screen for who knows how long.

I glance to my right. Maxim’s still asleep, his breathing steady.

Tap.

Tap.

There it is again. My heart skips as I turn to my left.

A dark figure looms outside the driver’s side window. My heart races, and I slam my foot on the brake, ready to throw the car into drive and get the hell out of here.

Before I can move, Maxim jerks awake. In a blur, he pulls out his gun, arms extending in front of me, the muzzle pointed directly at the shadowy figure.

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