Page 42 of Art of the Hunt
“That didn’t go well,” Artemis said after the door closed behind Hunter.
“What didn’t go well?”
Had her best friend turned into a parrot?
“Nike, he isn’t Orion.”
“No? I mean, he certainly doesn’t look like him. Definitely doesn’t dress like him. Doesn’t really act like him, either, at least not the small bit I witnessed. But that connection you two obviously have. How else do you explain it?”
“I don’t know, and honestly, I was content to simply enjoy it for what it was. But now I’m afraid he will never speak to me again.”
“Because I suggested he might be Orion reincarnated? What, does he not understand our history?”
“He understands better than any human I’ve ever met. Which is the problem. I think he really cares for me, Nike.”
“That’s sweet. I’m happy for you. Although, is this going to interfere with our clubbing weekends?”
Artemis shook her head. “I doubt it’s even an issue now. I don’t know how I’m supposed to convince him that I slept with him because, well, he’shim.”
“He really is quite attractive. I would have slept with him myself.”
“I didn’t sleep with him because he’s attractive. I slept with him because…” Why had she? She needed to figure that out. It might help her convince him to give her a second chance.
Except first things first. “We need to follow him.”
She started for the door. Nike grabbed her arm.
“Not in that outfit.”
Artemis glanced down at Hunter’s shirt and sweats. In truth, it was so comfortable, she’d forgotten that he’d loaned her the outfit. And a little part of her wanted to keep wearing it. It helped her feel closer to him.
Nike, though, had other ideas. With a flick of her wrist, she replaced his worn, comfortable clothes with orange leggings and an orange-and-white striped shirt.
Nike products, of course.
“Much better,” Nike said. “Now we’re practically twinsies.”
“Let’s go,” Artemis said.
“Where are we going?” Nike asked as they strode down the hall.
“There have been two attempts on Hunter’s life since yesterday. He’s not safe by himself.”
“Who’s trying to kill him?” Nike asked.
“We have an idea but nothing concrete to back it up.” She paused on the sidewalk to stare at her bike.
Rather, what was left of her bike.
Her gorgeous 2020 Harley-Davison Breakout 114 with aluminum wheels and a custom orange paint job lay on its side and looked as if it had been run over by a truck. Or maybe a van.
Had the person who’d been stalking Hunter done this?
“Damn,” Nike said with a low whistle. “That’s cold.”
“Where’s your ride?” Artemis barked out.
“Other side of the building.”
