She wished Hunter would just stop and talk to her. “Why?”
“Because Calla always had the upper hand, and that meant people got hurt. I need time to figure out what else they’re planning.” He shoved a key into the door of his jeep. “To figure out where she might be hiding.”
“Damn it, Hunter, if you’re going to work with me, then you need to work with me. You need to tell me what you’re doing. We don’t work like—”
He turned and caught her arms. She tensed to retaliate—but then she realized she didn’t need to fight him off.
Because he was kissing her.
She lost a moment to sheer surprise. His hands were strong and gentle at the same time, sliding under her jacket to trap her waist—not that there was any danger of her going anywhere right this second. She couldn’t read him at all today. First, she’d thought he hated her, then he was brutalizing that kid, and now . . . now . . .
Her back hit the side of his jeep before she even realized he’d turned her. The heat of the sunlight became a living thing, tracing power down her skin to match the sparks from his lips against hers. He was pressed against her, almost full length, his hands creeping up her sides to send heat through her body in a way that had nothing to do with sunlight or power. Silver could have had a gun trained on her right that instant, and she wouldn’t have cared.
Hunter tasted like cinnamon and smelled like the woods, pine and bark and something very male. His mouth was so sure, and when his tongue brushed hers, a sound escaped her lips. He did it again, letting his thumbs trace over her breasts so lightly that she found herself arching into him. Suddenly she wished they were somewhere else, somewhere private, with curtains and less clothing and—
Hunter broke the kiss. Her breathing was quick, loud and desperate in the space between them.
He closed his hands on her waist again, and turned her away from his car.
Her brain was spinning its wheels, trying to find traction.
Hunter leaned close. “Just to be clear: I’d know exactly what to do if you threw yourself at me.”
Then he was in his car, starting the ignition, leaving her in the parking lot, nothing more than a melted puddle of hot, bothered, and seriously pissed off.
Hunter waited at the end of the cul-de-sac and watched the two-story house from the cover of a maple tree. Someone around here was having a Friday-night party; his car blended with a dozen others without any trouble. A basketball hoop hung over the garage door of the house he watched, and someone needed to attack the yard with a lawn mower. A tricycle with pink streamers sat in the driveway, next to about sixteen different chalk-drawn rainbows. It was too dark to see the rainbows now, of course, but Hunter had watched the sun trace shadows across the lawn until darkness crept over the neighborhood, and he knew the layout of the yard so well that he could make a diorama.
The house next door had been destroyed by a fire and was now surrounded by construction fencing.
The first house Calla had burned to the ground.
According to the file, Noah Dean, that kid with the dark hair, the one with the not-broken arm, lived in the house with the rainbowed driveway.
Hunter was waiting for everyone to go to bed so he could break in and continue the interrogation.
He was waiting here, instead of somewhere else, in case Noah decided to leave.
Hunter’s cell phone buzzed, and he sighed.
So far, he’d ignored five text messages.
Two from Becca.
And three from Michael.
He hadn’t read any of them.
He glanced at his phone now, just out of idle curiosity. Another from Michael.
Where are you?
Hunter rolled his eyes and shoved the phone back in his pocket. Like Michael gave a crap. He probably wanted to know when Hunter was going to get his stuff out of the house so they could move on to the next city. Hunter had only one reason to go back to the Merrick house tonight: Casper.
Lights in the Dean house were slowly ticking off. Only a matter of time now.
But then the front door opened, and Hunter straightened.
Moonlight reflected on dark hair, a trash bag crinkled, and Hunter recognized his mark. He was out of the car in a heartbeat, creeping along the sidewalk.