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“Try me.”
So Hunter talked through the events of the past week, from Silver to the carnival to Calla and Noah Dean and the threats about what would happen Monday. He finished with the Merricks leaving town, how they’d packed up and deserted the house with no notice.
He had a hard time keeping the bitterness out of his voice with that one.
But Bill nodded. “Becca went with them.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Right now? Yeah, I’m okay with that.” He tied off the last of the sutures. “Your girl here might not even need those by morning. Leave the stuff out here when you go. I’ll burn it.”
Then he turned toward the house.
“That’s it?” said Hunter, dismayed. “That’s all you have to say?”
“That’s it. Like I said, kid: your mess.”
“Jesus. No wonder Becca hates you.”
Bill whirled and hit him so fast that Hunter didn’t even see it coming. Suddenly, he found himself down in the sand, tasting blood in his mouth. His jaw ached like . . . well, like he’d been slugged in the jaw. Casper was standing over him, growling.
But Bill wasn’t afraid of the dog, and he sure wasn’t afraid of Hunter. He stared down at him. “You don’t know what I’ve done to protect Becca. So don’t talk about things you don’t understand. You get me?”
Hunter made it to his knees and spit blood. “Yeah. Fine. Whatever.”
“This is life or death, Hunter.”
“No shit.”
“Your father made the same sacrifices for you, and instead of living up to his expectations, you’re right in the middle of it all. Well, you’re not dragging it to my doorstep. Not if I can help it.”
Hunter couldn’t decide if his head was spinning or if that really didn’t make any sense. He lifted his eyes to find Bill walking away. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about your dad. You think it’s an accident that no other Guides came after you when your father died?”
Wait.
Wait.
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.
