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She scowled at him, but her heart was making a racket against her ribs. “It’s probably just my mother writing back.”
But it wasn’t. It was Hunter.
Are you OK?
She stared at the phone, nibbling at her lip.
Gabriel grabbed it out of her hands and looked at the display. “I should have kicked that kid’s ass in your driveway.”
“It doesn’t mean anything. That could be a coincidence. He could—”
Her phone chimed again. She reached to grab it from Gabriel, but he backpedaled, obviously typing something back.
“This is stupid,” she snapped. “Give me that.”
He stopped and handed it to her. Hunter had sent another inquiry, but Gabriel had already responded. She looked at what he’d sent.
Help. Chris’s brothers won’t let me go.
She glared at him. “Did you spend too much time in the water? Why would you type that? He doesn’t even know where I am. What if he calls my mother, or—”
“Or what if he’s the Guide?” said Gabriel, his voice dark. “And he killed Chris and Nick?”
His words were a fist to the gut. “Gabriel—Hunter isn’t a killer.”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
Becca didn’t like the look in his eyes—it reminded her too much of Chris, when he’d talked about how easy it was to kill someone and make it look accidental.
The hair on her arms was standing up again. “I want to go home,” she said.
“Why?” said Michael. “We already told him we won’t let you go.”
Now she didn’t like the look in his eyes. She took a step back.
But Gabriel put a hand on her arm. “Just wait. Ten minutes. Please.”
She thought of his pain in the woods, so clear now in his expression.
Ten minutes. Ten minutes to prove them wrong, so they could follow real leads, figure out where Chris and Nick were.
Ten minutes to wonder why Hunter would track her, why he’d fill her ears with nonsense about colors and stones and Krav Maga if he was really just here to kill Chris and his brothers.
Ten minutes to figure out what was an accident, and what was very intentional.
It didn’t take ten minutes.
Hunter showed up in five.
He strode across the athletic fields, Casper trotting through the grass beside him. Hunter moved like a panther, all loose joints and casual aggression wrapped up in jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt. Even from thirty feet away, she could see him sizing up the situation, taking in her relaxed posture, the tense brothers by her side.
Hunter stopped before coming much closer, his eyes narrowed.
“You look all right,” he said to her.
“I’ve been better,” she said.
“If this guy’s the Guide,” said Gabriel, low, soft, more for Michael’s ears than her own, “he hides it pretty damn well.”
