suddenly became very focused on a spot beyond Hunter’s shoulder.
“What?” Hunter demanded.
“Remember Jenkins?” Grace hissed.
“The guy with the gun?” Hunter fought not to swivel his head.
“He just came out of the stairwell. He’s moving slowly, like he’s pretending he doesn’t want to run like hell.”
Hunter’s body was on full alert. “You got your bud?” The question was almost rhetorical. As far as he knew, even Julia had brought hers, because good thieves were paranoid thieves.
Grace nodded, and Hunter pulled his from a little box in his pocket and fitted it in. “You go up the stairwell and find out what he was doing in there. Be careful. I’m going to follow this Jenkins guy. Deal?”
“Deal,” Grace said, and together, slowly, eyes still on each other, they turned from the elevator and headed for the exit, like two people who had suddenly decided to get dessert or something.
“You text the others and let me know what’s doing,” Hunter said. He reached out and gave Grace’s hand a squeeze. “Careful, thief.”
Grace wrinkled his nose. “Fine. Don’t do anything stupid.”
And then Hunter peeled off and went wandering through the lobby while Grace took the stairwell as they passed it.
Hunter felt the separation physically. God, he’d been looking forward to going back to the room and spending time with Grace. The intimacy they were building, brick by brick, hint by hint, sent shivers to more than Hunter’s groin. The thought of winning a smile, a pert remark, a surprising observation from Grace made Hunter feel like… like the boss, the commander, the mastermind.
Hunter didn’t mind being the enforcer—had never thought of gathering his own crew because the responsibility of other people’s lives was a terrible weight to bear. But Grace…. Hunter didn’t want to trust Grace to anyone else’s decisions but his own.
And that was stupid, because Dylan Li was a grown-assed man and Hunter was the muscle. Hunter shouldn’t have even dreamed of having a say.
But he wanted one.
Hunter caught his breath—shit! He’d almost let Jenkins get out of his sight. The man had left the hotel and turned along the marina, seeming to be searching for someone down by the sailboat berths. Hunter found the same line of trees Grace had used after running up Lucius Broadstone’s body and hid behind one, keeping Jenkins in sight. It was still twilight, even though it was after nine, but the brightness of the mist seemed to absorb the figure who walked with purpose toward a boat near the end.
Fuck. There was no way to stalk the man in this light. Hunter, in his dark clothing, would stick out like a sore thumb, and his footsteps would sound like someone banging on tympani with a squirrel in the marina.
He’d have to stand watch there and see if Jenkins came out of the marina again. If he took off in a boat, well, Hunter couldn’t have followed him anyway.
“Hunter,” Josh snapped out into the earbud. “Where are you?”
“Watching for Jenkins. He’s meeting someone on a boat in the marina—can’t see which one.”
“Great. Okay, keep watch. Check your text.”
Hunter pulled out his phone and saw Moving to Times Square. Will text you rooms.
Hunter blinked. “Goddammit.”
Explain later. Lucius is going to stay in Artur’s room tonight. You and Grace get to room with me and Stirling. The women get their own because girl parts are gross. Sorry about that.
“Goddammit,” Hunter muttered again—and texted it too.
Yeah, life’s a cockblock. You’ll recover.
Hunter let out a sigh. It’s not that. Or not only that. Queen-sized beds, Josh. They’re tiny.
Stirling curls up like a kitten. We’ll be lucky if Grace doesn’t keep us up all night muttering. There’s the real danger. Give it another hour and then bail. I have the feeling Jenkins has an escape planned if he’s in the marina, and we’re not equipped to have you follow. Keep us posted. See you in an hour.
See you.
Hunter huffed out a breath and resumed his post moodily. Josh was probably right. Whatever Jenkins had done back in the hotel—and nobody was talking on coms, which gave Hunter a very bad feeling—odds were good he had his escape well planned.
They needed to see who this guy worked for and what his connections were before they tracked him down. Anyone who’d shoot at an innocent man in a stairwell and chase down the guy he’d been planning to rob was no one to fuck with.
And odds were good they’d be dealing with Jenkins again.
In the Normal
THEY HAD about an hour after situating themselves