The Hunter Who Couldn't Stay Away

Chapter 1

Evie

“Where are you?”

I grit my teeth, holding back the unprofessional response that wants out of me. Anyone listening would assume he’s my boss—which he’s not.

“Rock Creek Parkway.”

“Evie.”

I look away from the oncoming headlights long enough to glare at my phone screen, fixed in place by my trusty black holder. “Michael,” I respond, matching his tone.

“You’ve got to drop it.”

“It’s after eight. You have dinner plans. Why are you calling me?”

“Because you’re not in your office, and we both know that means you’re doing work you can’t do from your desk.”

A warning light flickers on my dashboard, and I clock my speed.

Shit. I’m going to get a ticket.

My foot presses the brake—and the pedal drops straight to the floor.

No resistance. No grab. Just air.

“I’m worried about—”

“Michael. Shit.”

I lean back and press harder, as if pressure alone will convince the car to listen.

No effect.

I pump the brake. Once. Twice.

Nothing.

There’s a faint hiss, soft and wrong, like air being pulled from somewhere it shouldn’t be.

“My brakes aren’t fucking working.”

“What?” His voice sharpens. “Pull over.”

I let out a breath that’s half laugh, half snarl. “There’s a stone wall to my right.”

The speedometer needle climbs past sixty. The road slopes downward, just enough to make everything worse.

Headlights streak past. Red. White. Too close.

“If you have to hit someone,” he says, annoyingly calm, “pick a larger vehicle.”

Excellent advice, Michael.

As if I have time to comparison shop collateral damage.

My hands slip on the worn leather steering wheel. Moisture slicks my palms.

“Stay with me. Talk to me.”

I inhale. Exhale. Scan the bend ahead. Bare branches blur past, skeletal and fast.

“Is it icy?”

The wipers drag across the windshield, collecting a thin mix of rain and sleet.

“The road’s fine.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine.

I pump the brake over and over. My foot sinks uselessly, like I’m pressing into nothing.

No bite. No feedback. Zero function.

“How bad is traffic?”

“Light.”

Ahead, taillights flare red. A slowdown.

I can’t rear-end someone.

Left is oncoming traffic. Beyond that, a low barrier and the river—black water I refuse to consider.

Not options.

The curve opens just enough to reveal a break in the rock wall—a narrow strip of grass leading into a line of trees. A light pole stands at the edge.

“Evie?” Michael asks. “You still with me?”

A pole or a tree.

“There’s a break,” I cut in. “I’m going off the road.”

“Okay. Okay, that’s good.”

The tires hit the shoulder, gravel screaming beneath me.

The car fishtails.

I clip the edge of the embankment, miss the pole by inches, and then the ground drops.

The impact slams me forward.

The airbag explodes into my face. For a split second, there’s nothing but white.

Then pain. Sharp and everywhere.

“Evie?” Michael’s voice is distant now. “Evie, can you hear me?”

I can’t see the phone. My hands shake uncontrollably.

My face throbs. My nose. My mouth tastes like copper.

Time does something strange. A second stretches. Or several pass. I can’t tell.

A shape appears at my window. A knock.

“Ma’am? Are you okay?”

The door opens. Cold air rushes in.

I lift my hand to my face and stare at the red coating my fingers.

“Ma’am, can you move? Are you hurt?”

A hissing sound cuts through everything—the engine, maybe. Steam.

“I called 911.”

“Is she okay?”

“I’m a doctor.”

“Should we move her?”

The voices overlap, blurring together.

I close my eyes.

But the sensation that won’t leave me—the one that anchors everything—is my foot on the brake.

Pressing.

Sinking.

Nothing there.

That kind of nothing doesn’t happen on its own.