Page 39 of Vital Signs
A guard rounded the corner ahead of us. "Hey! Stop!"
Hunter shoved me sideways through a fire exit. The alarm screamed to life. Emergency lights strobed as we burst into the cold parking lot. The sudden chill against my kiss-swollen lips was a shock. Hunter's taste was still in my mouth—cigarettes and fentanyl and something uniquely him.
We'd crossed a line we couldn't uncross, and security was thirty seconds behind us.
"My van," I gasped, fumbling for the keys.
Behind us, more guards spilled from the building. Radio chatter crackled. Someone shouted coordinates.
We reached the vehicle as police sirens became audible in the distance. Hunter threw himself into the passenger seat while I started the engine.
For a second, our eyes met across the console. His lips were as red as mine probably were. His pupils were still blown wide, and I knew it wasn't just from the drugs anymore.
"Later," he said, reading my expression.
"Later," I agreed, throwing the van into reverse.
But "later" was a promise. An acknowledgment that what had just happened in that clinic office mattered. That we'd talk about it. That this wasn't just adrenaline and convenience.
A security guard rounded the corner of the building, radio to his mouth.
I pulled out of the parking lot, forcing myself to drive normally despite every instinct screaming to flee. In the rearview mirror, the clinic blazed, security protocols activating throughout the building.
The performance continued. Calm driver. Nothing to see here. Just two people leaving a parking lot at midnight.
"Did we get everything?" Hunter asked.
I patted my pocket where the device sat. "Everything. Wright's entire billing system, participant records, and payment patterns. All the evidence shows he targeted homeless people and covered up adverse events."
"Enough to bury him."
The rush was incredible. We'd walked into Wright's domain and stolen his secrets, and I'd made Hunter lose control in the process. Two victories in one night.
But as the adrenaline faded, the implications sank in.
"Where to?" I asked.
"Somewhere safe." Hunter's expression darkened. "Wright knows we have his files. He's going to come after us."
My phone buzzed insistently, text after text from family members. I turned it off without reading them. Let them worry. They'd made their choice at dinner.
"Let him come," I said. "We're not running anymore."
But war had been declared tonight. Wright wasn't just some negligent doctor anymore. He was a man who had resources, connections, and everything to lose.
And we'd just painted targets on our backs.
Good. I'd always looked better being watched.
The clinic disappeared in the rearview mirror, emergency lights still strobing against the night sky. I forced myself to drive normally—calm, collected, just another vehicle on the road. But my hands gripped the steering wheel tight enough to hurt.
We'd kissed.
I'd kissed Hunter Song in Wright's clinic while stealing evidence, and he'd kissed me back like he was drowning and I was air.
"Are we going to talk about what happened?" Hunter asked finally.
"What's there to talk about?"
