“Hunter?” Abbie called to him, concern seeping into her voice.

He blinked back the dark fog always waiting to blind him. He didn’t want her concern or for anyone to worry about his well-being ever again. “What?”

Abbie flinched at his sharp answer.

Dammit. He rubbed his neck and waited a couple beats to calm his voice before speaking. “Sit down before you fall.”

“Not until you agree to take me back.” She’d spread her feet, stabilizing her body, and crossed her arms, prepared to wait him out.

Did she really think he could let her go anywhere she could talk to the media?

He hadn’t called Joe yet, but he could only put that off so long. If he didn’t turn her over now, he might not be able to take her in himself later.

Joe watched all his agents for any sign of going rogue or chasing a personal agenda after losing someone close. BAD was unforgiving if an agent broke ranks and bucked the agency. Hunter had proven to all of them that he carried no baggage from Eliot’s death, but he didn’t want a new partner either.

Not a problem. No one wanted to partner with a son of a bitch so cold they believed he blew off his friend’s death as collateral damage.

Hunter hadn’t blown off anything.

He’d bided his time, shielded his grief, and now he had a chance to catch the killer.

If he forced Abbie into the WITSEC program, she’d never see her mother again and would clearly withhold information in retaliation.

If he didn’t force her, she’d end up in worse trouble than she was in now, since BAD would assign their best assets to track and neutralize Hunter.

Fuck.

Talk about sorry choices. “I can’t take you home-”

“Then screw anything you want from me!” She slapped the top of the chair.

“Let. Me. Finish.” He would not lose his patience with her again. She was injured, scared, and afraid for her mother. He had no idea how he was going to fix this, but he wouldn’t make life any more difficult for her while he came up with a plan. “I won’t put you in the WITSEC program, yet, but neither can you go home until I find out who the guy in your apartment is and why he’s trying to kill you.”

Her face fell. “What about my mother?”

“I meant it when I said if you help me, I’ll help you. You could start by explaining how Gwen could help your mother.”

She nibbled on her lip, putting as much thought into her answer as someone negotiating for her life, which she probably figured she was.

“Okay. I’ll work with you if you’re straight with me.” She held her hand out. “Let’s shake.”

Was she serious? “You want to shake?” He wanted to smile at her naïveté but didn’t when he realized she was serious.

She thought he wouldn’t lie to her if they shook hands?

He’d only accepted a handshake deal from one person before. Eliot.

Her gaze didn’t waver when she said, “My father taught me a man is only as good as his word. If you shake then I’m willing to accept your word and trust you.”

He lied with skill that surprised even him sometimes and never lost a minute’s sleep over sidestepping the truth on a mission. But he and Eliot would never have broken a deal they shook on. He wanted to pretend this wasn’t the same, but guilt invaded his thoughts at the idea of looking Abbie in the eye and lying to her about something she considered a matter of life and death. Breaking his word on this would rip out another chunk of his ravaged soul.

Hunter took her hand. Her fingers were cold as ice and trembling.

Hell, he had to be the cause for some of that.

She gripped his hand with resolve and strength. But she was not strong enough to stop a killer.

His heart thumped. How could she place trust in a man she didn’t know based on a handshake? She still hadn’t figured out how they’d met. He wouldn’t put good odds on her being happy once she did.

His palm warmed against her dainty one. His fingers refused to open and release his hold, forcing his compliance.

Abbie lifted her shoulders, making the most of her five and a half feet. The tiny pulse in her neck gave away her fear. Fear of the future, fear of losing her mother, or fear of him? The urge to pull her into his arms and assure her this would all work out pressed on his chest.

But he couldn’t.

Joe might send a team after him by midnight.

A man was only as good as his word. Eliot would have agreed.

Well, hell. Hunter shook. He’d back his word for as long as he had the power to do so.

The only way he’d relinquish that power would be by dying.

She tugged her hand to withdraw it from his, making him feel as though he’d held on too long. He didn’t know what to do with his hands now so he crossed his arms.

“Where do you want to start?” She hooked her hands behind her. But she listed to the left and had to take a half step to keep from losing her balance.

“Sit down and we’ll talk. Please.” He softened his directive and reached for her arm.

She surprised him by not jerking away.

Had she really decided so quickly to trust him?

Just by shaking hands?

She moved toward the sofa instead of the chair. Once she was settled again, the energy drained from her taut shoulders. She curled up on the leather, folding her legs and feet-was that purple toenail polish?-under the bottom of her nightgown.

Her gaze took in the cabin. Wrapping her arms around herself didn’t stop her from shivering. The see-through material probably offered little warmth. “What is this thing? A Learjet?”

“Gulfstream IV.” A Trans Exec SP-3, but he doubted that would make any difference to her. He sunk into the cushy recliner and pressed the call button on the side.

Felicia’s voice came over the intercom. “Yes, sir?”

Abbie looked up at the speaker in the ceiling.

“Tell the pilot to change course. Use the return coordinates.”

“Right away,” Felicia answered. “Anything else?”

“Where’s a blanket in the cabin?” He eyed the bedroom, a likely place to store one.

“Beneath the forward seats,” Felicia answered. “Would you like me to retrieve one?”

“No, thanks.” Hunter flipped off the intercom, then got up and found the blanket stash. He pulled out a lightweight gray one and draped the wool cover over Abbie.

She had her chin propped on her hand and her elbow leaned against the end of the sofa, staring out at the black night that swallowed the jet. When he bent down to tuck the blanket around her, she swiveled her head until they faced each other.

Her eyes were more blue than green now. A lingering trace of tear gas clung to her hair, but standing so close to her filled him with the scent of her skin.

Some women smelled like a perfume ad.

Abbie had a pure feminine smell that infiltrated his brain and his groin at the same time.

Why was it a man’s brain never won that battle?

Her eyes shifted, flaring bright as a blue flame and wide with awareness. She nibbled on her upper lip.

Hunter closed his eyes to keep from kissing her. He straightened away from her before opening his eyes again. That was strange. He never confused work and play.

This sure as hell wasn’t the time to start.

Not with a television reporter. How could he contain someone with the media who had seen his face and seen him in action?

One problem at a time.

“Thanks.” Abbie folded the top of her blanket over and pulled her knees up, propping her arms across them. She gave him a nervous smile. “You don’t know where things are on your own airplane?”

“Not my airplane.”

“So this gown doesn’t belong to an old nuisance?”

No, the jet came stocked with everything imaginable since it belonged to his father’s fleet of leased crafts. His brother kept this aircraft at Midway Airport and had loaned the Gulfstream to Hunter without a question.

His brother had a heart of gold.

At least he’d had one until that conniving Pia mined the organ dry.