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What?
“Come back here,” said Hunter.
“Move your jeep when you can. I don’t want it sitting in front of the house.” Then Bill disappeared through the back door.
And Hunter heard the click of a lock.
Waiting for Kate to wake up was excruciating.
Hunter didn’t want to leave her, and he had no cell phone, no way to contact anyone. He had two sleeping bags and a head full of heavy thoughts.
Every time he heard the bare snap of a twig in the woods, his gun was in his hand.
Around sundown, his stomach alerted him to the fact that he didn’t have any food, either.
Kate was looking better, though. She’d regained some color, and the stitched wound appeared somewhat closed and scabbed over. Her breathing was deeper, more of a true sleep.
Now that the sun was going down, a chill crept out of the water to cling to the air. Hunter stretched out one of the sleeping bags on the sand and carefully lifted Kate onto it, then covered her with the other one.
One part of him wished she’d wake up so they could get moving.
The other part of him hoped she’d keep sleeping since they had nowhere to go.
This sucked.
He’d moved the jeep to the spot where the grass gave way to sand and then played the radio for a while, trying to catch the news, but he didn’t learn anything he didn’t already know. Eventually, he worried he’d run the battery down, so he turned the car off and returned to Kate’s side.
When the door to the house slid open, Hunter sprang to his feet—but it was just Bill carrying two canvas bags, the kind you get at the grocery store.
“I figured you hadn’t eaten in a while.” Bill paused, cleared his throat. “There are some clothes in there, too. Stuff I had around here for Becca, but . . . well . . .”
“Thanks.” Hunter took the bags and set them beside the blanket, though it was taking everything he had not to tear through them looking for food.
Bill reached out a hand and touched Hunter on the chin. Hunter wondered if he had a new bruise to add to the collection.
“Sorry I hit you,” Bill said.
Hunter was sorry about that, too. It had hurt like a bitch and reminded him a little too thoroughly of the fight with his grandfather that had started this mess.
He didn’t say anything.
“I did a lot to make sure Becca wouldn’t have to deal with this kind of disaster,” Bill said. “I know what she thinks of me, but I had my reason for keeping my distance.” He paused. “It’s just not very nice to have that thrown in my face.”
Hunter wondered how much could be resolved if Bill would just say those same words to Becca.
“I’m sorry,” Hunter said. He didn’t entirely mean it, but he felt like he should offer something in exchange for the food and supplies.
“Did you hate your father?”
The words hit Hunter so hard that he felt like he needed to take a step back. “No,” he said, his voice rough. “No, never. He—I just never knew where I stood with him.”
Bill smiled a little at that: a small smile, a sad one. “Really?”
Hunter couldn’t interpret that expression. “Yeah, really.”
“I’d say you stood in pretty high regard. Your dad went to some lengths to keep you a secret.”
“How do you know?”
