Page 13 of Vital Signs
"How's that working out for you?" I asked, gesturing to his general state.
His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought he might walk out. Instead, his face transformed with a short, surprised laugh that didn't reach his eyes.
"You think you can manipulate me that easily?" he asked, voice dropping to a near-growl. "I spent years watching peopledie while looking them in the eyes. Your pretty face doesn't intimidate me."
The blunt assessment sent heat rushing through me. Most people either pretended not to notice my calculated movements or fell for them completely. Hunter did neither. He acknowledged the game and called it out directly. The novelty was intoxicating.
"You really want to play this game?" he asked. "Fine. But don't expect me to follow your lead or take your orders. And don't think for a second that I'll let you use Tyler's death for some personal revenge fantasy."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" I challenged, leaning closer. Our faces were inches apart now.
"I think we both have reasons to want Wright exposed," he said carefully. "But our methods might differ."
"My methods get results," I replied, not backing away.
"So do mine," he countered, eyes dropping momentarily to my mouth before snapping back up.
The tension between us shifted, thickened. This was no longer just about Tyler or Wright or whatever partnership we might form. Primal attraction crackled in the narrow space between our bodies. Danger and attraction tangled together until I couldn't separate them.
Hunter's hand moved between us on the table, palm up. An offering. "Partners?"
I stared at his outstretched hand. Large and scarred, trembling slightly from whatever demons chased him.
I placed my hand in his. His grip was warm, strong, calloused. Safe.
"Partners," I agreed, and pretended the contact didn't send heat straight through me.
We shook once, but neither of us pulled away immediately. His thumb brushed across my knuckles, maybe accidentally, maybe not. My breath caught.
Hunter's eyes tracked something over my shoulder, then came back to me. The moment broke. "Campus security does regular sweeps of the coffee shops. They know me." His jaw tightened. "We should split up before they start asking questions about why a homeless guy is sitting with..." He gestured vaguely at my expensive laptop and clothes.
"Meet me at the community clinic on East State," he continued. "By the pharmacy entrance. In an hour."
"The clinic?" I asked, intrigued by his choice.
"Wright sees patients there on Tuesday mornings." His eyes flicked away momentarily. "And I still know some of the nursing staff from my days at O'Bleness. Martinez works at the records desk now."
I raised an eyebrow, suddenly understanding his connection to the medical system ran deeper than he'd let on.
"I was an ER nurse before everything fell apart," he said, gesturing vaguely at himself. "I can get access to his schedule, maybe patient files."
"I need it before seven," I said. "Family meeting tonight."
He nodded once. "Noon. Don't be late."
Hunter stood, gathering the remains of his bagel in a napkin. He hesitated, looking down at me. "You're taking a risk getting involved in this, you know."
"So are you," I pointed out.
"I've got nothing to lose," he replied.
Everyone had something to lose, even those who pretended otherwise.
"Hunter," I called, just loud enough for him to hear. When he glanced back, I added, "Be careful."
An unreadable expression passed across his face. Then he nodded once and walked out.
The community clinic hadn'tchanged much in four years. Same beige walls, same industrial carpet that had probably been installed in the eighties, same smell of disinfectant and desperation. The pharmacy entrance buzzed with activity. Some people were there to pick up prescriptions. Others argued with insurance representatives over the phone. A few more looked like they'd rather be anywhere else.
