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Not fast enough, they wouldn’t.
Maybe Franco had a getaway vehicle with people who had picked him up.
Hunter had security cameras, I assured myself. And a security team that included bodyguards who could probably race to his mansion in plenty of time to save him. Plus, a police officer would show up shortly and knock on Hunter’s door.
But none of that erased my fears, seeing as how Franco had gotten to me when I was just as heavily guarded. Franco was smart, and he would probably know the Lockwood estate was armed with security.
He would find a way in.
In fact, he might already be there.
When the police filled me in on the location of this warehouse, I learned it was only a fifteen-minute drive from the Lockwood estate.
I couldn’t sit here in the back of an ambulance or in some emergency room while Hunter was in danger. I needed to go to him. I needed to see that he was okay with my own eyes.
“Take me home,” I demanded.
“Luna, you need to go to a hospital. You probably have a concussion, and you need stitches in your arm.”
“That cut is butterflied with tape.” So it wasn’t bleeding profusely.
“You need to get checked out by a doctor for any other injuries you might have—”
But I was no longer listening. I had jumped off the back of the ambulance—against the screaming arguments of pain rippling through my body—and started running.
“Luna!”
Rinaldi’s voice was as loud as my aching body, which also screamed at me to stop.
Rationally, my rushing to Hunter’s house served no purpose. But my heart disagreed. It was cracking open in my chest and bleeding in fear that, right now, Hunter was a sitting duck.
Maybe already tied to a chair of his own, getting tortured, while we just sat here and wondered.
Screw wondering.
I pulled up my rideshare app on my phone and ordered a car. ETA: two minutes.
Was Hunter safe? Was he still alive? A suffocating dread washed over me, and tears blurred my vision as I trembled, staring at the time on my phone, willing it to slow down.
He had to emerge from this unscathed. He had to.
When the Uber finally arrived, I jumped inside and begged him to hurry as he drove me to Hunter’s mansion.
CHAPTER63
Hunter
Shit.
What was a cop car doing, parked out in front of my home? A brief panic flooded my system, making me wonder if, somehow, I had left evidence at the scene of the warehouse that divulged my identity.
I couldn’t imagine what that evidence would be, though. Even if they had cameras, this car had no plates, and I wasn’t stupid enough to register it in my name. As a prosecutor, you learn a thing or two about criminal evasion.
Was I being followed? I thought I had gotten out of the warehouse safely, and had peeled out of the parking lot just before the police piled into the other side of it. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe someone spotted me and followed my car. Maybe they figured out the direction I was heading and sent an officer ahead.
I watched from a distance—from the concealed driveway behind these pine trees—as a cop emerged from his vehicle. Slowly.
You don’t get out of your car like a sloth if you’re here to arrest the most wanted fugitive in the state. And you don’t come here alone.
