Chapter 4
Hunter
The hospital smelled like antiseptic and bad decisions. The scent clung to my clothes, my skin, worming its way under my nerves like a slow, steady drip of irritation. The low hum of fluorescent lights vibrated in my skull, the steady beep of machines a relentless reminder that I didn’t belong here.
Too many people. Too many eyes. Too much noise.
I exhaled slowly, forcing the tension from my shoulders as I leaned against the cold cinder block wall outside of the room they were holding Jada in. It was an effort, keeping myself loose, staying still when every instinct screamed at me to move. To disappear.
I should’ve done exactly that two days ago.
After dragging her out of that cabin and leaving her at the motel, I should’ve walked away. I had walked away. At least, I told myself I had. Slipping that envelope of cash under her door with that note had been my way of drawing a hard line. This was as far as I went. I wasn’t anyone’s hero. I wasn’t the guy who stuck around. But instead of getting in my truck and leaving the city behind, I’d parked across the street and watched.
Jada had left the room only once, walking to the gas station on the corner, her movements uncertain, hesitant. Like she was afraid of being seen.
I’d told myself I was only watching to make sure she was okay. That the second I saw her get on a bus or bring in someone for help, I’d be gone. But she never did. So when she left for the hospital this morning, I followed.
Blending in was easy. I sat in the waiting room for hours, slouched in a corner, hood pulled low, chin tucked to my chest. No one looked twice at a man who appeared half asleep and in need of a shower. The key was posture, gait, energy. People saw what you wanted them to see.
Jada never noticed me either, although I’d only been a few feet away from her.
When she was taken back to the ER, I adjusted. Ditching my hoodie, I slipped into a side corridor near the staff lockers, eyes scanning the sea of white coats and scrubs. When a young doctor stormed out of the lounge, cursing under his breath about a lost pager, I followed. Five minutes later, I had his coat, ID, and enough swagger to pass as someone who belonged here.
And it worked.
For hours, I kept to the fringes, occasionally glancing at a clipboard as if I had somewhere to be. When I found Jada’s room and heard whispers among the nurses that she’d been locked in there and cops were coming to get her, I knew I actually had to do something. I couldn’t let the cops take her.
Jada had no idea what she’d done. No memory of stalking Kenzie, of kidnapping her, or of Alan Ard, who’d manipulated her. The second those cops got here, none of that would matter. She’d be booked, processed, thrown into a system that wouldn’t care whether she was guilty or not.
A familiar pressure built in my chest, that push-pull of logic and instinct. I wasn’t supposed to get involved. I’d spent the last three years since I’d gotten out of the Army keeping my head down and my distance from everything.
But something about Jada kept me tethered. I couldn’t let them take her.
So I’d shifted my persona again, going from cocky young resident to older, tired doctor nobody would pay much attention to. Hell, Jada hadn’t even recognized me when I first went in the door.
But honestly, that had been the easy part. Now, I had to get us out of here.
We’d been in the hallway less than thirty seconds before an overhead announcement blared through the speakers: Security personnel, report to the emergency ward.
I clenched my jaw. Shit. They were already looking for her. We had seconds before the wrong person spotted us.
I steered her into the nearest empty exam room, my grip firm but not bruising. She followed without resistance, her breath uneven.
“There.” I jerked my chin toward a pile of scrubs folded on a counter. “Put those on.”
She hesitated, but one sharp look had her moving. I turned away, shrugging out of the stolen white coat and dropping it to the floor. Underneath, I was back to my own clothes—jeans, a dark Henley. Nothing that stood out.
When she was ready, I cracked open the door and scanned the hallway. A security guard passed by, his gaze sweeping the corridor. I adjusted my stance, shifting my posture, relaxing my shoulders just enough to appear tired. Preoccupied.
His eyes slid right over me and kept going. I nudged Jada forward, and we moved in the opposite direction. At the elevators, I hit the button, my muscles coiled tight beneath my skin. The ride down was slow, each floor taking a lifetime. When the doors finally opened, we stepped out into the crowded lobby. Security was close.
Too close.
I tugged Jada into the hospital’s tiny gift shop, moving with purpose toward a display of stuffed bears and balloons.
“Pick one,” I muttered.
Her eyes narrowed in confusion. “What?”
“Pick up a damn bear and look like you care about it.”
She grabbed a small brown bear off the shelf, holding it between her hands like she was deciding whether it was the right choice before putting it back. I shifted beside her, pretending to scan the shelves, my head tilted toward the entrance. The guards passed by without looking in, but the tension in my chest didn’t ease. We weren’t out yet.
I guided her back toward the exit, our pace measured, controlled. The doors were in sight. Almost there?—
Then two cops stepped inside.
I didn’t hesitate. Sliding an arm around Jada, I pulled her into me, her body flush against mine.
“Just hold on to me,” I murmured, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. “We’ll research the cancer. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Her breath caught, but she didn’t pull away. I dipped my head, pressing my lips close to her ear. “They’re looking for a woman alone. We’re just another couple in a hospital that got bad news.”
She gave a small nod, her forehead brushing my chest. I ignored the way she fit against me, the warmth of her body against mine.
The cops moved past, and I let go, guiding her to the side exit. We stepped outside, the cool evening air hitting my skin.
“Keep walking,” I murmured, and, to my relief, she did without hesitation. We slipped into the alley. A patrol car turned the corner, its headlights sweeping over the pavement. God damn it, they were really looking for her.
I moved fast, pressing her back into the shadows, my body blocking hers.
“Stay still,” I breathed. She stiffened but didn’t pull away.
Between this embrace and the other, I was closer to Jada than I’d been to a woman in nearly a year. Her breath was warm against my throat, her pulse a rapid beat against my chest. I didn’t let myself think about that.
Yeah, right.
The moment the patrol car turned the corner, I stepped back. “Come on.”
The night was quiet except for the steady sound of our footsteps against the pavement. I led Jada down the alley, along a side street, and another block over before stopping beside my truck. The old Chevy was dented, paint faded, but the engine was solid. It wasn’t registered in my name—not in any name that could be traced, anyway—but it was mine.
She hesitated beside me, eyeing the truck like she expected me to break in. “You going to hot-wire this one too?”
I exhaled sharply, the closest thing to a laugh I’d had in days. “This one’s actually mine.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she climbed in anyway. The silence inside the cab stretched as I started the engine and pulled onto the road, navigating through the traffic in the gathering darkness. I kept my grip loose on the wheel, my focus split between the rearview mirror and the road ahead. No sirens. No headlights gaining on us. We’d gotten out clean.
Still, I didn’t relax.
Jada sat stiff beside me, staring out the windshield, her fingers twisting the hem of the stolen scrub top. The streetlights cast long shadows across her face, making the bruises stand out even more.
Finally, she spoke. “Why do the cops want me?”
My grip tightened on the wheel. I wasn’t surprised by the question. But that didn’t mean I wanted to answer it. How much did she really want to know? I hesitated, the weight of everything pressing against my chest. Then I let out a slow breath. She had a right to know.
“You were involved with a man named Alan Ard. He was a criminal serving time for assault,” I said, keeping my voice even.
I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. Nothing. No recognition. Just the same vacant confusion. The muscles in my jaw flexed.
“You stalked his ex-girlfriend, Kenzie Hurst. Kidnapped her. You were planning to use the same memory-loss drug on her that you were injected with.” My voice was steady, even as my gut twisted. “That drug is the reason you don’t remember anything.”
Her breath hitched. “No.”
It wasn’t a scream. It wasn’t a cry. Just one broken word, small and uncertain.
I didn’t let up. She needed to hear this. “Alan was playing you,” I said. “He was released on parole, and then he talked you into bringing Kenzie to him in the cabin where I found you. He was the one who hurt you. Stun-gunned you. Injected you with the memory-loss drug.”
Jada’s fingers curled into the seat. Her gaze was locked on the window, but I doubted she was seeing anything outside. Her throat worked, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t force it out.
Finally, in a voice so quiet I almost missed it, she whispered, “I don’t even know who I am.”
I clenched my jaw to keep myself from saying anything else.
I might have said too much already.