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“Whatever you want, I can give you.”
Didn’t she know it.
“But, Erin, you’ve got to trust me.”
Easier said than done.
And Jude knew it.
She crossed her legs, fought to ignore the growing tension in her body, and stared out her window at the pine trees. The silence in the car wasn’t comfortable, and it wasn’t easy.
Just like her relationship with Jude.
* * *
Loose ends were a bitch.
He paced down the shining white hospital corridor, the green scrubs rustling softly as he walked.
If Lee Givens had been an accommodating bastard, he would have already been dead. But no, he was still alive. Still fighting to survive as he clung to life.
And why?
There was no reason for that piece of garbage to keep living.
A woman brushed by him, pretty, but scrawny. Her thin arms were around a kid, some little freckle-faced brat who had thick tears sliding down his cheeks.
“It’s gonna be okay, Tommy,” she whispered, clutching the boy. “It’s gonna be?—”
He rounded the corner and caught sight of the room he wanted. 409.
But a guard stood outside.What the hell?He stumbled to a stop. Why was a cop there?
Loose ends were a bitch.
He’d learned that back in Lillian when one of those loose ends had tried to confront him one night. Better to just cut them off before they could do any harm.
Givens hadn’t seen his face. Well, he didn’tthinkthe lawyer had. The road had been dark. Too dark for a human to see, surely and?—
“Something I can help you with?” The drawling voice came from behind him and was followed by a tap on his shoulder. One that was a little too hard.
He spun around, his clipboard up and ready. “Uh, what—” He let his eyes widen, then narrow as he studied the man before him.
A Night Watch hunter.He’d seen the guy with Donovan. Tall, dark, with eyes that seemed too sharp for a human’s. Probably because the guy wasn’t.
His nostrils flared, just a bit, as he caught the hunter’s scent. Not shifter.
But that still left at least a dozenOtherpossibilities.
He forced a smile. “Just making my rounds.” He shifted the clipboard, a light move to draw attention to it.
“Room 409isn’ton your rounds, Doctor”—the green gaze dropped to his name tag—“Walters.”
Smug jerk. “No.” He bit back the rage and kept his voice flat. “But room 407 is.” And he was standing right in front of that door then. “So if you’ll excuse me—ah, sorry,who are you?”
“I’m one of the babysitters for room 409.” A grim smile. “Since you don’t know my patient, there’s no need to know me.”
Ripping him apart would be fun. One fast swipe with his claws. He could slash the jerk’s throat. Let the blood spray and soak the too-white tiles and walls. Or he could cut down the guy’s chest. Catch the bastard’s heart and tear it out.
