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The familiar feeling of betrayal, the boil of resentment, left him battering the stuffed leather bag with a one-two punch that jarred him all the way to his soul.
“I find this situation very interesting,” Booker said. “I’m usually the one who sees a conspiracy at every turn.”
Hunter raised a wry eyebrow at Booker. “Are you saying I’m being paranoid, like you?”
His shaggy brown hair was in need of a trim, and Booker’s smile was wide as he brushed his bangs back. “Your suspicions don’t involve whole nations and large governmental agencies. So, compared to me, you’re small-time.” His voice changed to a more serious note. “But you are skeptical of everything that moves, Hunt.” He paused before going on. “And I think you’re wrong about Carly.”
Pushing aside the crushing doubt made worse by Booker’s chastising expression, Hunter shot his partner a doubtful look. “Of course you’d say that. You married her best friend,” Hunter said. He was still trying to adjust to that particular turn of events.
“Abby and I decided it would be better for our relationship if we didn’t discuss you two.”
“Smart move. Still, you might be biased.”
“Or I might be right.”
Hunter’s chest clamped hard, squeezing with a grip so tight it made breathing and circulating his blood a mammoth chore. His heart still managed to pump the lingering fear to the far reaches of his body. Fear that he’d learn he’d screwed up the one good thing to happen to him in so long that he hadn’t recognized it for what it was...
Real. Genuine. And built to last.
With a silent curse, Hunter closed his eyes. The last time he’d made love to Carly his heart had claimed it was legit. That she was on the up and up. But he’d taken one look at her talking to Terry and his heart had taken a sharp U-turn. All the old suspicions, the duplicities of the past, had come screaming back. The avalanche of anger, humiliation, the need for self-preservation had plowed into him with a force that had swept him up in its wake.
If Carly hadn’t run the story he’d accused her of going after, what then?
He opened his eyes and began punching the bag again, the lingering question feeding the massive knot growing in his chest.
Hunter was saved from dwelling on the unbearable thought when his friend spoke.
“Is it back to business as usual, then?” Booker said.
Hunter stopped punching and turned to face his friend and business partner. Regardless of the outcome tonight, the status quo had changed. He couldn’t continue to pretend his life was enjoyable. Actually, it wasn’t even tolerable. Making money hand over clenched fist wasn’t good enough anymore. It was time to come clean about his plans.
“I had a long talk with the special agent in charge of the Miami division of the FBI,” Hunter said. With a look of surprise, Booker crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, clearly settling in to hear more. “They’re very interested in help with their caseload,” Hunter said, steadily meeting Booker’s gaze as he went on. “I signed on to become a part-time consultant.”
A few moments passed, and then a smile slowly crept up Booker’s face. “Catching the criminals was always your specialty.”
Relieved Booker understood, Hunter delivered the rest of his news as matter-of-factly as he could. “Which means I’m going to need more help in the day-to-day running of the business.”
Booker didn’t hesitate. “Not a problem.”
Narrowing his eyes, he wondered if his friend understood exactly what he was asking. “I thought you hated dealing with the clients.”
The pause lasted long enough for his partner’s face to take on a guarded look. His words were cautious. “You set some pretty high standards, Hunt,” Booker said.
Hunter stared at his friend, the implication of the statement washing over him as Booker swiped a hand through his shaggy hair again and went on.
“I hate feeling as if I’m not doing a good enough job.”
Stunned, Hunter stared at his friend. “Did I give you that impression?”
“Not directly. But you’re a hard act to follow,” he said. “And you’re fairly demanding when it comes to your expectations.”
The possibility that Booker had been avoiding clients for a reason outside his social discomfort had never occurred to Hunter. Booker’s voice dropped, and Hunter got a disturbing feeling the topic had widened to include more than just work.
“Sometimes you hold the people in your life to pretty impossible standards,” Booker said.
Hunter’s throat constricted so tight swallowing was impossible. He glanced at the clock on the wall.
