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But he was. Because he’d wanted her to stop, but he hadn’t wanted her dead. Because he hadn’t been able to stop her himself, and now more people had lost their lives. Because once again, he wasn’t exactly sure where he fell on this continuum of good and evil, or even which end was which.
He wasn’t like Calla. He knew that much.
But if he wasn’t like the Guides, where did that leave his father? Where did it leave the man who’d shot Calla? The same man who’d pointed a gun at Hunter?
Hunter’s first instinct had been to run.
Not to put his hands up and say, “Don’t shoot. I’m one of you.”
And where did it leave Kate, a girl who seemed to have as many secrets as he did himself? She’d climbed down the Ferris wheel more efficiently than he had. She’d called his name when he’d been running from the Guide—causing a hesitation that had probably saved his life. His shoulder wasn’t any great distance from his heart.
She hadn’t been the one with a gun. But what would happen if he told the Merricks that he suspected . . . something about her? About this friend she was texting all the time? He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t even pin it down himself, so how was he going to explain it to them? He had no proof of anything, really. And they already didn’t trust him.
He wasn’t sure he trusted them, either, if they were going to leave him here.
His head hurt.
Seven people missing.
Seven people. All because he couldn’t make himself pull a stupid trigger in the library.
All because he’d made his dad come back for him.
This line of thinking wasn’t going to get him anywhere.
Hunter kept thinking of the kid who’d shown up in his kitchen that night, when Calla had come after him in his bedroom. Where had that guy gone? Why hadn’t Hunter seen him around school?
He needed answers.
We need to talk about last night.
That statement could be about so many things.
Some were pleasant.
Some were not.
And there was only one way to find out which ones she wanted to talk about.
CHAPTER 17
Kate was waiting for him.
Hunter didn’t spot her at first: she wore tight gray jeans and a slim-fitting olive-green tank that blended with the tree line at the edge of the carnival grounds. The sky still hung heavy with clouds, but the rain had stopped, leaving the field nothing but a soggy, charred mess. None of the carnival equipment had been removed. All the bodies sure had.
Almost everything was roped off with yellow crime scene tape.
Thank god his jeep had four-wheel drive—even so, he parked before it got too bad. He had to step through muddy tire ruts to get to her.
The place was deserted, but it felt haunted, as if the carnage from last night had left an impact in the very air.
Casper loped along beside him, happy for the adventure.
She wasn’t armed, unless she had something at the small of her back, but it took everything he had not to let his eyes linger on her form. Her eyes were fierce, her shoulders thrown back, her mouth sexy as hell.
He glanced around. “What’s with the cryptic meeting place?”
She ignored him. “What are you doing with the Merricks?”
