Page 53 of Hunt You Down

“Of course I will.” André grabbed his phone from the nightstand and left me alone once more.

It had taken hours for them to get everything they needed. Clothes, pictures, security footage from the hospital. They took down the number that Regan had been using, but it likely wouldn’t lead anywhere. He knew better.

By the time everyone left, André and I were both yawning.

“I managed to convince Dylan that he didn’t need to fly out here,” André said, stumbling across the room. He set his phone down and undressed for bed. “He said he’d call your parents. Can I do anything for you?”

My mouth nearly twitched into a smile. That was the only thing André had asked me all day: “Can I do anything for you?” He didn’t ask me if I was okay, because we both knew that I wasn’t. I blew out a breath, determined not to let my emotions take control.

“Hold me?” I choked. I’d intended to ask properly, but my body had other ideas.

André slid into bed, reclining onto the headboard and opening his arms to invite me in. I molded into his side, curling my leg around his and settling right in like I belonged plastered to his side. My head rested on his chest, and I let the beat of his heart soothe me to sleep like a soft, thumping lullaby.

The next morning, the thought of getting out of bed brought tears to my eyes again. At least I was graced with soft kisses on my cheek. I had my doctor’s appointment, and we needed to be up early to get there on time. I didn’t find out until after that he’d opened the office an hour early just for me.

After a diagnosis of a kidney infection, and a trip to the pharmacy for antibiotics and painkillers, I begrudgingly went to the police station. They wanted me to sit down with a sketch artist. André positioned himself in the corner of the room, but I had no doubt that he was watching closely. The sketch artist stayed across the table, sliding the sketchpad over to me each time he needed me to look. If he moved, I would flinch and shut down.

On the last slide across the table, I couldn’t bring myself to pick up the pad. I kept my arms crossed defensively over my stomach. I had to fight the urge to push the chair away from the table and walk out.

“That’s it,” I whispered. “That’s him.”

“We’ll get this out,” the artist said softly, letting himself out of the room.

I stayed in my chair until he was out the door, and André laid a hand on my shoulder. “Do you need anything?” he asked quietly.

It took every ounce of energy I had left in my body to nod my head, but I wasn’t entirely sure how he would receive what I was about to ask for. “But I also need you to be okay with it.”

Andre’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed was the only indicator of nerves. “Okay.”

“I need you to call Mitchell. Can you see if he can meet with me today?”

André’s eyes widened slightly and he took a deep breath, but he didn’t say anything right away. We hadn’t talked about the argument that we’d had. Both of us were clearly avoiding the situation. I needed to talk it out with someone—someone who wasn’t André.

“You look exhausted,” he finally said. “I’ll call him, but can you promise me you’ll go home and nap before we do anything else?”

I definitely wouldn’t say no to a nap. “Deal.”

When André offered me a hand and helped me to my feet, I let out the breath that I’d seemingly been holding for days. The feeling I got when I slid my palm into his was one that I never wanted to forget. I’d never felt safer.

The moment we stepped into the coffee shop, I regretted it. The smell of freshly-brewed espresso was nothing more than a tease—I wasn’t allowed caffeine until the infection cleared.

I found Mitchell right away, sitting in the corner on his phone. Judging by the way André pressed into my back and possessively gripped my hips, so did he. His sudden jealousy was surprising, and one of the things I intended to ask Mitchell about.

I took a step away and took André’s hand, signaling him to walk.

Fresh from the office, Mitchell was wearing a polished and pressed suit. He’d taken his black jacket off and tossed it over the back of the chair. The Dolce & Gabbana tag faced upward.

“Mitch,” André said, capturing the man’s attention. “Hey, you two.” Mitchell locked his phone and slid it into his pocket. “How are you feeling? André mentioned that you’d been sick.”

“I’ll be fine, it’s just an infection,” I dismissed, sitting across from him at the table. I put on my best puppy dog eyes, taking André’s hand in mine. “Can I have⁠—”

“No coffee,” he interjected, eliciting a laugh from his friend.

“Fine,” I groused. “A smoothie, I guess.”

André then turned his attention to Mitchell. “Do you want anything?” I could practically see the wheels turning in André’s head.

Mitchell shook his head and ran a hand through his messy black hair. “No, I’ve already had one. I wouldn’t want to tease the poor kid.”