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“Can you collect them here?” Hunter pressed.
“Don’t have another outfit on hand,” she said.
“I’ll take care of that. Got evidence bags?”
After a moment, Rinaldi snapped her fingers toward one of the officers, who brought clear bags with bright red labels on them.
Good. I wanted to get out of here as fast as possible so I could check on my father at the prison infirmary, and changing here was a lot faster than driving to the station.
“Come on.” She motioned for me to follow her through the door, where I was met with a gust of air-conditioning that skated over my skin and made the hairs on my arms stand on end as we walked down the hallway and into the women’s restroom.
To my surprise, Hunter followed us into the white-tiled room, which housed three stalls and two sinks—one of them leaking with slow drops that echoed in the space.
With a deliberateness that seemed to contrast the chaos outside, he gently placed his laptop bag on the pristine floor with a muted thud. Carefully, he peeled off his suit jacket, followed by his tie, the silk slipping through his fingers like water, pooling on the top of his leather satchel.
And then he began to unbutton his shirt.
Never taking his eyes off me.
“What are you doing?” I managed.
“You’re shorter than me. My shirt will be like a dress on you.”
As the last button came undone and he slid the fabric off, the sight of his bare torso caught me off guard. Didn’t most men wear undershirts beneath their suits? Maybe when you have high-end fabric, you don’t need them.
His muscles were exquisite. He probably hired the best chefs, who cooked food packed with vitamins and antioxidants. Probably had a personal trainer, too, working out each muscle into perfection.
He handed his shirt to the officer, flashing me one last concerned gaze before he turned around and faced the wall.
Giving me privacy, evidently.
“Okay,” she said. “Take your jacket off, place it carefully in this bag.”
I did as she said and repeated it with my shirt and skirt.
Then slid my arms into the sleeves of Hunter’s white button-down, which came to my mid-thighs. The silky fabric was going to get ruined with blood. Even though Hunter was a billionaire, it had to cost a thousand dollars, and that was a lot of money he was sacrificing, simply to help me get out of these bloody clothes faster.
“She’s done,” Rinaldi said.
Hunter, with the slightest hesitation, turned to face me once again, studying me as the detective had me sign each sealed evidence bag.
“EMTs will take you to the hospital now,” she said.
“I can’t go to the hospital. I have a…personal emergency to deal with.”
She arched a brow. “More urgent than a wound that won’t stop bleeding?”
Hunter shifted slightly, a flicker of a question evident in the slight tilt of his head.
“Yes.”
Her face fell into concern. “Is everything okay?”
“I…I’m not sure. I need to go to Joliet to find out.”
Rinaldi blinked. “Your father?”
Many people in law enforcement knew about my father, and evidently, Rinaldi was one of them.
