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When I nodded, her eyes softened, and the downturn of her lips conveyed a deep, unspoken sympathy.
“Tell you what.” Her eyes cast over the blood still smeared across my skin. “How about you let me call them and see what’s going on while you clean up in here?”
“I…” Seeing my father myself would ease the knot of anxiety in my chest, but the Joliet Prison—technically called Stateville Correctional Center and located justoutsideJoliet—was an hour and a half drive from here in good traffic. The allure of uncovering my dad’s situation swiftly tugged at me. While I could pick up the phone and dial myself, a call from a Chicago detective carried a weight that commanded immediate attention and answers.
“That would be great,” I said.
“I’ll see what I can find out.”
“I’ll take her to the ER while you do that.” Hunter casually shoved his hands into his pockets.
“No.” The last thing I was going to do was spend more time with Hunter Lockwood. My head was spinning from this traumatic experience, and having it hijacked with his spell would make it impossible for my mind to clear.
“IfI go, I’ll go with the EMTs.”
“You want to ride in an ambulance?” Hunter asked.
“I can take an Uber.”
“Luna”—Hunter stepped forward—“it’s just a ride. And we’re neighbors.”
He knew that? Had he been as surprised as I had been to discover my little cottage was within walking distance of his mansion?
The Lockwood estate sat on a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan, and surrounding it, on the outskirts of the mainland, a scattering of small cottages remained, once used for the many staff working at the main house. The ones that sat empty, the estate manager evidently rented out—presumably because an occupied cottage was better than a vacant one.
Who knew? The point was, what a shock that had been to find out Hunter Lockwood was not only a neighbor, but also technically my landlord. I knew there was a mansion down the way, of course—you couldn’t miss it. But I didn’t know that it was occupied by Hunter Lockwood until it was too late. I mean, what were the odds? The Chicagoland area had its fair share of affluent areas, and I happened to stumble ontohisproperty.
Yes, Hunter was hot, but the walls between my personal life and work had always been sacred. I was too private of a person to live near a work colleague, let alone a courtroom adversary. Let alone become his tenant—that gave him too much power over my living situation, which could create issues that might carry over into the courtroom.
The night I found out, I’d pored over every line of my rental agreement, the glaring cancellation fee making my stomach churn. Still, I scoured other rentals in the area, but thanks to the economy, the only available rentals were way out of my price range.
I’d reasoned he probably didn’t even know we were neighbors—we’d never bumped into each other before, and surely, a billionaire wasn’t involved with details like tenant agreements. After a while, I concluded I’d never see Hunter in the wild, outside the courthouse.
But now here he was, very much outside the confines of a trial. And, evidently, aware of our neighbor status.
“I’ll make that call while you clean up,” the detective said. “If you’d like, I can have a deputy go with you to the hospital and make sure you get home safely, given Franco’s threat.”
Hunter’s eyes snapped to me. “Franco threatened you?”
“When someone grabs your throat, the threat is implied,” I said.
Hunter’s jaw shifted, his voice a growl. “He put his hands on you?”
What was with the anger radiating from his words? Why would Hunter Lockwood care if Franco tried to suffocate me? I mean, sure. A human caring that another human doesn’t die was natural, but this—this level was something different.
He flexed his fingers and snapped his focus to Rinaldi. “You’d better find him quickly.”
She cocked her head, appearing as confused by Hunter’s anger as I was. “Are you and Luna close?”
Hunter’s eyes, now stormy and dark, met mine briefly, then swung back to Rinaldi.
“Where I come from, a man who strangles a woman doesn’t deserve to exist outside of a jail cell.”
Rinaldi’s eyebrows furrowed, and after a moment, she looked back at me, either waiting for a response to her original question or seeking an explanation as to why this shirtless heartthrob had gone all ferociously protective.
Even if I wasn’t in shock, I wouldn’t have the answer tothat.
“A deputy isn’t necessary,” I assured. The Chicago police were severely short-staffed these days, and I was more than capable of getting inside my home and locking the doors. I’d rather they use that manpower to actively search for the Vigilante and Franco.
