Page 44 of Dolls & Daggers
I tug up my pale pink turtleneck—the only one I own because they look awful on me—until it sits just beneath my chin. The last thing I need is for Hunter to see the bruises his friend left and start asking questions.
This is the ultimate betrayal.I can hear Bunny screeching as if she’s standing right beside me.
No, a betrayal would be actually fucking around with Hunter. This is harmless. It’s Sunday, and this is a conversation I need to have in private.
I clutch a box of mini Merveilleux from Aux Merveilleux de Fred as I stroll down the street to Hunter’s West Village brownstone. A good guest always brings a gift, and since Bunny talks aboutHunter more than she realizes, I happen to know these are some of his favorite treats.
His narrowed, whiskey-colored gaze greets me as he opens the door. “You know that kiss was just to force Wren to get his act together, right? I’m sorry, Dove, but I’m too obsessed with your friend to make room for you here.” He clutches his chest, sarcasm dripping from his tone.
I roll my eyes and walk past him as he moves aside to let me in, shoving the box into his stomach. “Good afternoon to you too, Detective Remington.”
“How’d you know I like these?” He wastes no time digging into the box, plucking out a coffee-flavored mini meringue. They really are good. I sampled two flavors while waiting in line and even placed an order to pick up on my way home.
Ignoring him, I take in his renovated space. It’s cleaner than I expected—white and navy walls, gray-toned furniture, and light oak flooring giving it a crisp, balanced feel. “Nice digs.”
“Thanks. So, tell me, Dove. What brings you here? You know if Bunny finds out, she’ll skin us both, right?” He pauses and frowns, then nods for me to follow him into the kitchen. “Doesshe know you’re here?”
“No,” I sigh. “But I promise, I’m not here todeclare my undying love for you. Dark hair and jawlines that can cut glass just aren’t my cup of tea.”
He laughs. “I think that was a compliment, so thank you? Bet you prefer blonds, huh?” He winks before shoving another meringue in his mouth—the chocolate one this time. Around a mouthful, he asks, “Do you want a drink? It’s too early for tequila… or is it?” He swallows, smirking. “I swear, sometimes I think you and Bunny run on the stuff. You guzzle it like it’s fuel.”
“Water is fine.” I climb onto a tall stool at the far end of the white granite island, staring at the gray-marbled detailing. “Look, I know it seems weird that I called. I probably could have just asked over the phone, but…” I trail off, second-guessing myself. Wren is still ignoring me, and if he has any suspicions after I went to see him as the Doll last night, Hunter will be the first person he turns to.
But still… Hunter is also the only person who might have the answers I need. “I have some questions… about Wren.”
He slides a glass of water and a small bowl of lemon wedges my way, then leans his elbows on the counter, fixing me with a wary look. “What type of questions?”
Averting my gaze, I squeeze two wedges into my water. “About Wren’s past.”
Hunter sighs softly, rounding the island to take the stool catty-corner from mine. “What happened?”
“Nothing in particular.” I lie with a shrug. “There are just some things I’ve… noticed, and I wondered if you’d have some insight.”
“Like?” I realize Hunter won’t make this easy. If I want answers, I’ll have to ask directly.
“Did something happen to Wren when he was younger?”There. That wasn’t so bad.
Hunter’s shoulders tense.
Or maybe it is.
He grabs the lemon bowl, spinning it idly on the granite. “Something like what?”
“Jesus Christ, Hunter.” I push my water away, the liquid sloshing over the rim, dripping down the side to create a ring around the glass. “Stop avoiding my question. I’m not asking as a member of the press. I’m asking because I’m worried about him.”
“I’ll ask you again, Dove. What. Happened?” He won’t look at me, but his tone has hardened, allowing me to believe my assumptions aren’t unfounded.
“Nothing,” I stress. I almost say it takes one to know one. But I’m not close enough with Hunter to share my deep, dark secrets. I’m still annoyed I spilled them to Wren in an attempt to connect with him.
Silence stretches between us. When he finallyspeaks, it’s so quiet I barely hear him. “You look like his mother. The resemblance is uncanny.”
My heart pounds, a slow, sickening thud against my ribs. An uncomfortable sensation rolls through me, like the first thawed drops of a frozen spring. “His mother?”
“Yeah. They always had a… close relationship.” Hunter sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “His dad left when he was young. Said he wouldn’t take part in raising a ‘sissy boy’ and complained that his mother babied him. Little did he know, Wren would have given anything for his father to take him away from her.”
Tears prick my eyes, but I hold them back. If this is going where I think it is… why did Wren sit there and let me spill my past without sharing his own?
“Did… did she…”
