Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hunter
Hospitals warp time. Every second drags. Every sound is too loud. The squeak of shoes on polished linoleum floors. The distant beeping of monitors. The murmur of voices behind closed doors.
I sit on a hard plastic chair in the waiting area outside the operating room and try not to come apart. It’s not working. I can’t sit still, feeling helpless and useless in equal parts.
Dylan’s blood is still on my hands. I scrubbed them in the bathroom down the hall until my skin burned, but I can still see it. Still feel it. Sticky and warm, slipping through my fingers as I tried to hold him together.
I press my palms against my thighs, trying to ground myself. I can’t stop the memory from replaying in my mind. The gunshot. The way Dylan’s body jerked. The sound he made when he went down.
I drag in a breath that doesn’t quite fill my lungs. I should have shot Nancy when I had the chance. The first time she took her gun off Dylan, I should have emptied mine into her, instead of letting Dylan try to talk her down.
He was conscious. I keep telling myself that. He was talking to me in the ambulance. Pale as hell, sure, but awake. Aware. Alive.
But he also lost a lot of blood. Too much. I’d overheard a doctor say something about internal bleeding. They needed to operate immediately. Then they took him away from me. How much time had passed since then? An hour? Two? It could be ten minutes or ten years, for all I can tell.
“Hunter.” Linc’s voice cuts through the fog, and I look up.
He’s leaning against the wall across from me, arms crossed, expression tight. Calm on the outside. Always calm. But I can see the tension in his shoulders. He’s worried too.
“Sit back,” he says quietly. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”
I hadn’t even realized I’d stood up and started to pace.
I sink back into the chair.
“Any word?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing yet.”
Colin sits a few chairs down, scrolling on his phone, though I doubt he’s really seeing it. He came as soon as Linc called him. Didn’t even ask questions, just showed up. I should feel steadier with them here, but I don’t.
I scrub a hand over my face and let out a shuddery breath. None of this is something they can fix. My gaze drifts back to the double doors at the end of the hallway.
If I stare hard enough, maybe they’ll open. Maybe someone will come out and tell me he’s okay. Or...
I shut down the thought before it can take root. No. I shut the thought down hard.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, hands clasped together so tightly my knuckles ache. I was so afraid of this. Not this exactly. Not bullets and blood and operating rooms, but losing him.
I spent years convincing myself I was over Dylan. That what we had was something from another lifetime. Something I could file away under what if and move on.
Then he’d walked into my office and back into my life, and everything I felt for him came rushing back as if it had never left.
I tried to fight it. Tried to keep what was growing between us controlled.
Safe. Because loving him meant risking everything all over again.
It meant giving him the power to walk away. To break me.
I thought that was the worst thing that could happen. I was wrong. This is so much worse.
The idea that I could lose him without ever really getting him back. Without telling him everything I should have. Without fixing what we broke.
My voice catches in my chest. “I didn’t even—”
Linc straightens. “What?”
I shake my head, staring at the floor. “I didn’t tell him,” I say quietly.
“Tell him what?”
“That I love him.”
The words feel raw coming out. Linc exhales slowly. He rests his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “He knows.”
“That’s not the same.”
Silence settles between us. I swallow hard. “If something happens to him—”
“Don’t,” Linc’s voice turns hard.
I look up. His gaze is steady, unyielding. “Don’t go there.”
I nod once, but I can’t stop thinking about it. The thought won’t let go. I can’t stand the idea of losing Dylan like this. Not after finally getting him back, even if it was just for a little while. Not after realizing how much he still means to me.
The doors at the end of the hallway slide open, and I’m on my feet before I even realize I’ve moved. A doctor steps out, pulling off his gloves. My heart slams against my ribs.
“Hunter Cade?” he asks.
“That’s me,” I say immediately, stepping forward.
He studies me for a second. “Are you family?”
“I’m his fiancé,” I lie.
The doctor nods, accepting my claim without question.
“Alright,” he says. “We’ve stabilized him.”
My breath catches. “Is he—?”
“He’s going to be okay,” the doctor says.
The words hit me like a physical force. My knees almost give out.
“We were able to remove the bullet,” he continues. “He was lucky. It missed all the major organs. There was significant blood loss, but we managed to control the bleeding.”
I exhale shakily, tension draining out of me all at once. “He’ll make a full recovery?”
The doctor nods. “He’s young and otherwise healthy. He’ll need time, but he should recover completely.”
I drag a hand over my face, relief so overwhelming it almost hurts. “Thank you. Can I see him?”
“Soon,” the doctor says. “He’s being moved to recovery now. A nurse will come get you.”
I nod. “Okay. Thank you.”
The doctor gives me a brief, reassuring look before heading down the hall.
I turn back to Linc and Colin. “He’s okay.”
Colin nods, and Linc smirks. “Told you.”
The tight knot in my chest loosens. I huff out a weak laugh. “Yeah, you did.”
***
It feels like years before the nurse finally leads me down the hallway to Dylan’s room. Each step is surreal, like I’m walking through a dream. Finally, the nurse stops next to an open door.
The room is quiet when I enter. Dim lighting leaves the small space shadowy. Soft beeping from the monitors fills the room. Dylan lies in the hospital bed, pale but unmistakably alive. An IV runs into his arm. Bandages wrap his side and peek out from his loose hospital gown.
For a moment, I just stand there, taking him in.
A part of me can’t believe he’s real. I move closer, carefully, as if I’m afraid he might disappear.
I clasp my hand in his, hovering over him.
His eyes are closed, purple bruises standing out in the low light, and I swallow down the sudden surge of rage.
His skin, warm against my palm, eases some of the tension gripping me.
His lashes flutter. Slowly, he opens his eyes, and his gaze finds mine immediately.
“Hey,” I say softly.
“Hunter,” he croaks.
Relief hits me all over again. “Try not to move too much. You’re okay.”
He smiles faintly. “Yeah, guess I am.”
I huff out a shaky breath and look down at our joined hands. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry,” he says.
“Don’t apologize,” I mutter.
Silence settles between us, and he squeezes my hand weakly. I almost lost him. The thought cracks something open inside me.
“I love you,” I blurt out, the words rough, unpolished, but real. “I should have said it sooner. I should have...” My voice falters. “I was scared, and I let that ruin everything.”
His eyes soften. “It’s okay.”
“I didn’t want to lose you again,” I continue.
I look down at our joined hands.
“I thought keeping my distance would hurt less in the end.”
I shake my head. “It was stupid. I couldn’t stop myself from loving you if I tried, and not having you at all is so much worse.”
His grip tightens slightly, but I push on. I need him to know what he means to me. “I want this,” I say. “I want us. For real this time. No pretending. No running. If you’re still willing to try.”
For a second, he just looks at me, then a slow smile lights his face. The sight nearly undoes me. “Yeah,” he says. “I want to try again.”
Relief floods through me. My chest feels like it might burst. I lean down, pressing my forehead lightly against his.
“Good,” I whisper. “Because I’m not letting you go. Not again.”
After a moment, I pull back slightly. A faint frown clouds his features. With my free hand, I reach out and smooth away the line between his brows. “What is it?”
“Is Jim dead?”
I nod. “Linc and I found him in the basement at the inn. He had videos of the men he’d taken. He must have been watching them when he died.”
“Nancy said she poisoned him. She found the videos, and I guess was trying to cover up his crimes in case she was implicated.”
I snort. “She should have just called the police and saved us all a lot of trouble.”
“I think I met him years ago, the night I ran away.” Dylan’s voice is still raspy but gaining strength. “My car had broken down at the time, and he stopped and offered me a ride. Instead, he robbed me, then tried to throw me in his trunk. I managed to get away and hide in the woods.”
Cold dread washes through me. Maybe it’s just an overreaction after everything we’d gone through, but the idea that Dylan might have been taken, disappearing from my life forever, made my darkest fears real, stealing my breath.
“I didn’t recognize him. Not after all this time, but he still had my watch on his wrist. The one he stole from me that night on the road, and I knew he was the same man.”
“Easy,” I say, rubbing the back of his hand with my thumb. Panic threaded his tone, sending his words tumbling from his lips. “He’s gone now. He can’t hurt you or anyone else.”
His throat jumps, and he nods. “Yeah, but I hate to think how many men he killed over those years.”
“He’s been killing longer than that.” I explain what Linc uncovered about Jim and Matthew, about his documentary, and his certainty that Jim was responsible for men disappearing in the area at the same time.
“How is Matthew?” Dylan frowns again. “I didn’t even think to ask. Everything’s still kind of fuzzy.”
“He’s going to be okay,” I tell him. “You don’t need to feel bad that he wasn’t your first thought after surgery. Hell, the only reason he’s alive right now is because you looked for him, and you wouldn’t give up.”
“You’re sure he’s okay? He looked really bad back in the shed.”
“He will be. Doctors are looking after him, and he’s on antibiotics for the infection. He’ll be all right. Linc even spoke to him earlier.”
“Linc from your agency, that Linc?”
I grin and smooth his hair back from his forehead. “Yeah, that Linc. He wanted to be sure Matthew is okay and fill in a few blank spaces in his story.”
“Like what?”
“Like who chased him out of Coldwater and into your café, and what happened to him the night he vanished from his apartment.”
Dylan tries to sit up a little in his bed and winces, and I push against his shoulder, holding him in place. “Stay still. You just had surgery.”
He nods. “Fine, but what happened?”
The flash of impatience fuels my relief and makes me smile.
“He told Linc that when he first came to stay in Coldwater, he was never sure if Jim remembered him, until he asked Matthew to meet him at the inn. He claimed that Matthew had forgotten some things when he’d stayed there.
Instead, he told Matthew that he knew exactly who he was, then grabbed him by the neck and tried to choke him to death. ”
Dylan nods, his hand drifting to his own neck. “The bruises.”
“The only reason he got away was Nancy coming home. She must have caught Jim by surprise; maybe he hadn’t been expecting her. Anyway, he loosened his grip long enough for Matthew to slip away. He stashed his film equipment in case Jim caught up to him, then ran.”
Dylan’s expression darkens. “Jim must have found him, though, working for me.”
I nod. “Matthew woke up in the middle of the night to find Jim standing over him. He dragged him back to Coldwater, probably would have killed him, but he was afraid Matthew had something in his footage, something that would prove who he was and what he’d done.
Trying to find his equipment is probably what kept Matthew alive for so long. ”
“But how did Matthew know what Jim was doing?”
I explain how Jim had been married to Matthew’s mother, how they both disappeared, and how a fluke social media post had brought Matthew to Coldwater to prove Jim had killed his mother.
“According to Matthew’s footage, he suspects his mother knew Jim had been kidnapping men. Holding them. Torturing them. Killing them.”
Dylan squeezes my hand harder. “She must have found out, somehow, so he killed her.”
“Jesus,” Dylan breathes.
“Then he faked his own death,” I say. “Disappeared. Started over.”
Dylan stares at me in horror.
“With a new identity,” Dylan says slowly. “He marries Nancy and begins a new life.”
“He used one of his victims’ identities,” I say. “Became him.”
“Jesus Christ,” Dylan whispers.
Dylan’s expression tightens. “And he just kept killing?”
“Once a year, approximately,” I say. “Not often for anyone to suspect a predator was in the area.”
“And the recordings?” Dylan asks.
“He kept them,” I say. “Watched them to relive the experience.”
A heavy silence falls between us.
“Until he needed to do it again,” Dylan finishes.
“Yeah.”
Dylan closes his eyes briefly. “God.”
I squeeze his hand gently. “It’s over now.”
He opens his eyes again, looking at me for a long moment before he says quietly, “Yeah, it is. But not for us.”
I shake my head. “We’re just getting started.”