Chapter 7 Hunter
Hunter
Before Miles comes back inside, I’ve already delivered a bowl of fruit to Olivia and told her to stay in the living room while there are guests.
He looks completely out of place in his black three-piece suit, eyes darting around the room like he’s expecting one of my plants to grow bigger and bite him.
I’ve never wanted a Venus flytrap because of Olivia, but now I have regrets.
It’s been a while since I’ve had someone so well-dressed in my home, outside of myself. The black leather gloves are overdoing it a little, but I understand why he wears them. Lack of fingerprints would be a necessity given his line of work.
“Take your shoes off, put your phone on the bench, and whatever weapons you have on you go in the safe; I won’t have you armed in my daughter’s home.”
“You expect me to believe that you’re not armed?”
He already knows I am since I threatened him with it earlier. However, I don’t generally walk around with one on me when I’m at home. The finger incident, and Xavier sniffing around more than usual with his pet, has me on edge.
“I’m not a threat to her. I’m not convinced you aren’t.” A white lie. No one this closely associated to Xavier would ever harm Olivia, purposely or otherwise. Miles is too deliberate to make those kinds of mistakes. I won’t have him armed in my house, regardless.
Miles holds up his phone with an acknowledged side nod and slides it onto the bench, out of his reach.
Next, he pulls his jacket to the side, his single-breasted vest twisting slightly from the movement, and removes the sleek black handgun from his shoulder holster.
Nothing flashy about it or the outfit he’s wearing. He stands out anyway.
There are two safes near the back door, one locked up tight that’s for my own weapons, along with a stash of emergency money, important documents for both Olivia and me—it once had Jericho’s, but he’s moved them to his new home—and another that’s ajar, ready for guests.
“I said all your weapons.” I’ll become a lot more unpleasant if he doesn’t cooperate.
“That’s all I’m carrying right now.”
One gun? If he was watching me out of some misguided thought to protect me, he should have brought more. “No knives?”
“They aren’t my style.” He slides a thumb over the subtle buckle on his plain black belt. “Would you like me to take my belt off?”
Well, I should have expected that. Of course, he doesn’t murder by conventional means. “And if I say yes?”
He slides the end of the leather from the dark metal frame and then raises an eyebrow at me.
“Keep your pants on.” Though I’m curious if he’s calling my bluff or not.
Would his slacks stay on his hips without it?
He has muscle and a more solid swimmer’s build, roughly the same as me, though if I have to compare, he’s bigger than me.
Those slim hips, though… I doubt it, simply because I can’t see him wearing anything but a perfect fit.
The belt is clearly there for nefarious purposes. I’ll never be able to unknow that.
He places the gun and an extra magazine into the safe and shuts it with a quiet click. I doubt he does anything loudly. “The combination?” he asks, half turning his head towards me.
“Should have asked for that before you closed it.”
No reaction from Miles. I wonder what it would take to get him to show some semblance of emotion. Ever the professional, though I bet the composure doesn’t slip even in his off hours. Interesting to know what a man like him does in his spare time. Or perhaps it wouldn’t be. A mystery.
“You forgot your shoes,” I point out.
“I’m not taking my shoes off.”
Funny that his belt wasn’t a sticking point, but this is. “Don’t like feet?” I get that.
“Shoes stay on.”
“Not in my home, they don’t. Put them over there.
” There’s a rack specifically for people to leave them at the back door.
Barely anyone uses the front door, and all packages go to a PO box—I don’t allow strangers through the gates—but there’s one there for them as well, just in case.
Unless it’s a quick visit, such as picking Olivia up to take her to school, everyone is expected to take them off.
I don’t have a cleaner, for the same reason as the packages, and I’d rather not mop up mud and God knows what else comes off people’s shoes.
Miles gives a clipped nod and then strides over, his dress shoes clicking sharply on the tiles. No surprise that his socks are as dark as the rest of his clothing.
I almost want to laugh at the image he presents. Not because he looks ridiculous, but because this entire situation is. If someone had told me that Miles Whitlock would be standing in my kitchen in socks, I’d have told them to get help. And yet, here we are.
He lifts his arms as if to say good enough?
“Are you hungry?” I ask. I need to do something with my hands, and I have no idea how long he plans to stay. Will I need to make up a room for him? How long does Xavier expect him to watch me? Once I ask him, I can find out.
“No.”
Too bad. I’m in the mood for chocolate chip cookies, and he’ll have some even if I have to shove them down his throat. Has he ever eaten sugar in his life?
Before I can start gathering the ingredients, Miles speaks again and halts everything.
“Xavier is on his way.”
My heart skips a beat at the single sentence.
The only time Xavier has ever entered this home is through my bedroom window, deep in the night.
Never like this. Not when he risks meeting Olivia or being seen.
He hasn’t come to me for a long time now, not since the incident with Jericho’s partner.
As if he isn’t sure if he’d be welcomed back or not.
Xavier never does anything unless he already knows the answer to his question.
He has to know that I’ll never be able to turn him away. Even when I try, even when I find a way to shut the door, it’s always open.
“I’ll make some coffee.” I have a feeling I’m going to need it. Too bad the last of the good whiskey was finished off the last time that everyone was here. I could use it. “Tell me what you found.” It’s not a suggestion, and he better pick that up.
The noise from the boiling kettle forces Miles to get closer, almost standing shoulder to shoulder with me as I prepare the mugs.
I should be annoyed that I still remember how Xavier takes his, but I’m resigned to it by now.
There are no memories of Xavier, even the worst of them, that aren’t always at the front of my mind.
“Nothing,” is all Miles says eventually, his eyes tracking my hands. His own are behind his back, spine ramrod straight. The perfect soldier.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I wish that I was. The prints are unidentifiable. Not in any databases, here or overseas. No hospitals have had anyone come in with lost-finger injuries that don’t have the finger accounted for, not in the last twelve months.”
“Twelve months?” I ask, the corner of my mouth twitching.
That finger can’t have been that old, unless they’d been keeping it on ice and biding their time.
That’s somehow more disturbing than the gift itself.
For it to have been that planned. No, I’d prefer to assume it was a recent thing even if that in and of itself is unnerving.
“We’re already widening the search. We’re also scouring missing persons, but you and I both know that plenty of people disappear, and no one cares.”
So many slip through the cracks. Once upon a time, Jericho and I were the ones no one missed.
No one to notice that one day we weren’t there.
Neither of us have any idea what happened to our parents; when we were old enough and had the resources, we looked for them.
They simply vanished from one day to the next, leaving us behind.
Whether by their design or something sinister, they ceased to exist, and there wasn’t a person in the world that cared enough to look for them or us.
It’s why we do what we do now. We care, when no one else does. And we solve problems the way we choose to, without government interference.
“Get the milk for me?”
He’s even more silent now without his shoes on, the socks making no noise on the tiling.
I can’t help but glance down again. He has large feet, his pant legs only covering just below his ankles.
It feels strangely intimate, though I can’t fathom why.
Everyone has to take their shoes off when they spend extended time here.
It’s not as though he’s walking around in his briefs. Those are probably black too.
“Here.”
My fingers glide over the leather of his glove when I take the carton from him. Warm, and softer than I imagined. He moves back a step, retaining his stance, hands behind his back. I wonder if he notices that he does it, or if it’s just ingrained habit at this point?
“What have you found?” he asks me, turning the tables.
The satisfaction of being able to throw something in his face would be immense.
If I in fact had anything to throw. “We’ve hit the same dead ends.
” Even factoring in some of the government contacts we have, that I highly doubt Xavier has access to.
Between the two of us, we have a wide reach, and that none of it has turned up anything is worrying.
“Our next step is to speak to the florist.”
No point keeping that from him or Xavier. They’re not going to keep their noses out of this. The sooner I figure it out and dispose of the threat, the sooner they’ll go back to their corner.
“We already did that,” Miles says dismissively. “Xavier pays extra to ensure the owner themself puts it together, and it gets delivered by a separate courier employed by us. He knows to wait until you retrieve the flowers before leaving. There isn’t an opportunity to tamper with it at any step.”
“Except that they did,” I point out. Unless they’re lying to me, and it really was Xavier’s doing. If not, then something in their carefully planned-out steps went wrong this time.
Miles nods in agreement. “The courier is missing. That’s our next step.”
I don’t like how they continue to take over, and that they have more of the pieces in this mystery than I do. My team and I can handle this, and the last thing I need is for Xavier and his bodyguard to be involved, for a myriad of reasons.
“Why didn’t you keep me informed about any of this?”
“You’ll have to ask Xavier that.”
I don’t bother trying to control myself and roll my eyes at the statement. “Because you just take orders like a good dog?”
“Precisely.”
Turning away from him, I pull out a teaspoon from the drawer with jerky motions, irritated at his easy acquiescence. “Let me guess, you have yours black?” I ask sarcastically. I can’t see him putting sugar in anything. Perfectly disciplined. No give or softness.
He surprises me by answering with, “I’ll have it how you have it.”
“What if I have ten sugars and two shots of caramel in mine?” I’d do it just to see the look on his face when he takes his first sip.
“You don’t.”
The pure arrogance in the statement irks me.
So sure of himself, so confident. I doubt many have ever knocked him down a peg if it’s happened.
I wouldn’t place a bet on it. Him being Xavier’s lapdog doesn’t make him less formidable or dangerous.
If anything, it makes him more. Xavier isn’t the leash I would put on anyone.
“Well, you’re half wrong.” Reaching up, I open the cupboard above me and pull out the unopened packet of Werther’s Soft Caramels. It lifts my shirt, and I catch Miles looking at the glimpse of revealed skin, an unreadable expression on his face. I’d give a small fortune to know what he’s thinking.
“What are those for?” Miles asks, not revealing any of his cards.
Dropping two into the mug that’s mine, I raise a challenging eyebrow. “Want one like mine now?”
He glances between me and the mug. His eyes look darker than usual under the dim light above the island bench. “Yes.”
Another surprising answer. If he’s trying to call my bluff, he’ll find that I don’t.
He doesn’t say a word when I drop two of them in his mug as well. Only continues to stare at me with that intense gaze. He and Xavier are too much alike and yet completely different at the same time.
The knock at the back door isn’t wholly unexpected. I wasn’t expecting Xavier to wait at the front gate for me to let him in, and it doesn’t surprise me that he knows which door I use more frequently.
“Finish these for me,” I tell Miles and walk away without waiting for a response.
The sight of Xavier at the door takes my breath away.
Where Miles’ outfit is meant to avoid attention, Xavier’s entices it.
The deep-burgundy three-piece suit is eye-catching.
And if that wasn’t enough, the fact that the top three buttons are undone, showing tantalising flesh, would be enough.
Thick belt with an intricately designed silver buckle and a tie clip of the same metal—the tie matches the suit.
Dark mussed hair and a thick five o’clock shadow.
“Hunter.”
The way he says my name is like a physical caress, deliberately used to stroke my insides. I wordlessly open the door wide enough to let him in, unable to manage a response without giving away everything.
He immediately bends to unlace his dress shoes—a glossy burgundy to finish the outfit, of course—and places them directly beside Miles’.
I wish I was strong enough not to take advantage and stare at the way his pants tighten around his ass, but I’m not.
He’s facing this way on purpose, knows exactly what to do to increase my blood pressure.
The smirk he shoots me when he stands is knowing, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a response. “Put your gun in the safe.” Punching in the code, I swing the door open and wait for him to comply.
His socks are white. I don’t know why that surprises me.
Probably because the rest of him is designed to draw attention. White is so mundane next to the rest of his outfit. And yet somehow, they’re the one thing I’m drawn to. Something about him that says he’s touchable. Reachable.
“We’re having a coffee,” I say, instead of the thousand other things I want to say to him. “Would you like to have a sweet one like us?”
“A sweet one?” Xavier asks, lips twitching in amusement. “Miles?”
“Oh, yeah. I didn’t know your man has a sweet tooth.”
“When in Rome,” is all Miles replies, not rising to the bait. Can’t imagine what I could say that would change that.
“By all means, put me down for a sweet one,” Xavier says, sliding a hand across the small of Miles’ back. “I’d hate to be the odd one out.”
He can never avoid that. Just by being himself he stands out in a crowd. He’s always been a beacon to me.