Page 50 of When He Hunts

For some odd reason, he just kept staring down at Luna. He had a flash of her the first night, running in New Orleans. Kissing him. And then him lowering her into the trunk of his car. She’d been so still. So pale.

He’d slammed the trunk closed on her supposedly dead body. He’d left her in the dark.

His hand reached out. The back of his knuckles skimmed over her cheek. Her warm, silken cheek. In her sleep, her head turned. Her lips brushed against him.

Probably reflex. The action didn’t mean anything. She liked to sprawl, and she did stuff in her sleep and she?—

“Ronan.” A soft whisper. Her lips curled into a smile as she slumbered.

A smile for him. His body tensed.

Then her smile slid away as she drifted into a deeper sleep.

He pulled his hand back, but Ronan swore he could still feel her. With more effort than it should have taken, he turned away. He hauled on sweats that he’d unpacked earlier and crept from the room. His steps were soundless as he made his way down the stairs. On the first floor, he turned toward the small desk that was nestled under the staircase.

He’d put the laptop on that desk after their arrival. Kane had packed the laptop in the bag he’d had ready for Ronan. After sitting down, it only took a few moments to get the laptop online and then he was accessing the secure email address that he only used when he was communicating with Gray.

No big surprise, Gray had already sent him intel.

On Luna.

He’d read brief background info on her before. Back when Gray had contacted him and demanded that he move fast in New Orleans. Butbriefhad been the keyword. Basic physical description. Her age. Height. Weight. Her job. The interesting fact that somehow an unassuming drama teacher had managed to avoid death for weeks while being on the run and keeping out of sight…

He still needed to ask Luna just how she’d accomplished that vital task.

But this file, hell, this file was like an everything-you-ever-wanted-to-know book about Luna. Including the fact that her father had cut out on her when she was eight years old. At the same time she’d been diagnosed with cancer.

When he read that bit of intel, every muscle in his body locked down. For a moment, he couldn’t seem to breathe. His lungs felt frozen. So did his heart.

Cancer. Luna.

Then he was clicking through the files as fast as he could. Reading old medical reports. Feeling his guts twist and his heart now race too fast as he saw all that young Luna had endured. The tests. The treatments. The pain. Over and over.

Her father had left her when she needed him the most.

Ronan’s teeth ground together.You sonofafucker.

His breath sawed in and out. In and out. Not frozen. Too hard and heavy.

Remission.

His breath exploded. He read through more of the files. Sweet Luna got better. Stronger. There were clippings about her as she grew up. Awards. She’d been some kind of star at her high school. Performing in all the plays. Winning local talent shows for her vocal performances. She’d gotten a scholarship to attend college in New York. Luna had been Broadway bound.

A college yearbook quote—because, sure, whywouldn’tGray have been thorough enough to include that? “I get to be someone else on stage. And I want to be someone else on Broadway. I want to live the biggest life I can.”

But Luna hadn’t gone to Broadway.

Why?

The answer was right there. Thanks to organized Gray.

Her mother had a stroke one month before Luna’s high school graduation. Luna had become her mother’s caregiver. Two years later, her mother passed away.

Luna had been left alone.

She’d earned her degree at a local college. Begun teaching. Barely dated. Recently, she’d opened her new business. A kind of singing telegram side hustle. The side hustle hadn’t lasted long before she’d been put on a kill list.

Pictures were included. Young Luna. Fragile. Small. Dark circles under her eyes. Too pale skin. Thin hair.

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