“Me too,” Gotthard agreed. Disappointment slumping his shoulders said even more.

Joe rubbed his temple, willing the headache not to turn into a migraine. “Shit, I believed he was over Eliot’s death, too. But I can’t be sure. Hunter didn’t exactly take the bait about the connection between the JC killer and the attack in Kauai. Hard to say for sure what he’s up to right now.”

“If you could have read him that easily over a video monitor, he wouldn’t be working for BAD,” Retter pointed out.

“I know.” Joe gave up on his aching temple and pushed his hand into his front jeans pocket. “We need him if he comes up with a viable plan to get inside the Kore Women’s Center.”

“I’ll second that,” Gotthard interjected. “We don’t have the time to build a profile to get someone in the front door and any agent we sent in wouldn’t have backup.”

Joe asked Retter, “Korbin’s sure he saw Hunter leave with Blanton from her apartment? He’s not letting his dick talk after Hunter punked out Rae in the mission room, right?”

“No.” Retter gave a quick shake of his head. “I questioned Korbin myself. He’s solid. Besides, no one on this team would put a target on an agent who didn’t deserve it.”

“Didn’t say they would.” Joe didn’t pull punches and wouldn’t now, but there was no reason to take the head off one of the men helping him sort through this mess. “We still have to confirm Hunter’s tracking the killer on his own. In the meantime, we’ll give him two hours.” He took in the grim faces of both men. Not a thing any of them could do yet. Not until Hunter made a clear move across the line Joe drew for every agent the day they entered BAD. Elite operatives couldn’t use their skills and intelligence access to fulfill vows of vengeance. “If Hunter has a viable plan, we let him go through with it.”

“If not?” Gotthard asked.

Joe never minced his words. “Then I’ll give him one chance to bring in the girl and turn himself in before I send a team after him.” He never wanted to take down one of his own, but he would give the order to drop a rogue and every agent knew it.

Chapter Nineteen

Abbie picked her way carefully between snow-crusted evergreen bushes and scattered boulders blocking the easiest route off this frozen mountain. She’d traded in her oversized flight suit from last night for a less oversized pair of worn-but-clean jeans, two long-sleeved T-shirts, a dark green cotton sweater, thick socks, and boots a size too large she’d found in a bedroom down the hall from the one she’d slept in.

The bedroom Hunter had shown her to early this morning when they arrived and ordered her to stay put until he came to get her.

Yeah, that always worked well with her.

Did he really think she’d just sit there for a week or more? He might have all kinds of time, but she didn’t.

First, her mother was dying, dammit.

Second, what about her job? Stuart would be foaming at the mouth by now, fielding questions from other media outlets, and the board and slow-but-not-stupid Brittany wouldn’t be far behind wondering why he’d given Abbie an invitation to the Wentworth event.

Third, what if the police wanted to ask more questions about Gwen’s shooting? Would they think Abbie had skipped out or would they think she’d left against her will?

Fourth, fifth, sixth… her mother was dying, dying, dying.

She kicked a loose rock that disappeared in a snowdrift. A beautiful but desolate landscape she could better appreciate with a down coat. She might have hunted for one before leaving if the sun hadn’t been shining outside and she hadn’t been worried over getting caught sneaking around downstairs. If she’d gone to that trouble she’d have left by the front door instead of climbing down a knotted-sheet rope like a teen on a hormone adventure.

No alarm went off when she opened her bedroom window on the second floor. Landing in a pile of snow had been fortunate, except for ending up with wet jeans.

And if she didn’t get out from under these evergreens and back into the sun she was going to turn into a Popsicle.

Suck it up and keep moving before Hunter found her missing.

He wouldn’t be happy, but that was his fault.

When she arrived at his cabin last night, she’d asked when she could get back to her mother. Hunter’s blunt “Not any time soon” had severed her last patient nerve. But, not to go off half-cocked, as her dad would have warned, she’d asked what he intended to do with her. He’d answered, “Depends on how much information you give me.”

She kept coming back to one thing.

He was a trained operative of some sort. He could have been lying to her about everything last night and manipulating her by pretending not to hand her over to WITSEC. She had little information left to trade, so the minute Hunter figured that out, what would he do with her?

He couldn’t let her just walk away after what she’d seen.

Her best bet was to locate the Jeep. Soon.

Pushing a branch out of the way, she dodged the clump of snow that smacked the ground, then she carefully moved forward, stepping on dirt patches and testing snow-covered areas for a hard bottom or ice before she put her weight on her foot.

If Hunter had been reasonable she wouldn’t be out here freezing her bottom off.

She wanted to be angry with him for everything that had happened and blame him for the crazy guy in her apartment, but that guy had called her Abigail. He’d said she did a good job and admitted shooting Gwen, so was he thanking her for getting Gwen outside? That might have been coincidental if he hadn’t known her name. He hadn’t known Hunter by name, though.

She couldn’t figure it all out and Hunter wasn’t sharing a thing. She still couldn’t reconcile this man with the one she’d met six years ago.

He’d looked different back then, but the animal attraction she’d felt for the hairy version of Hunter had been the same as what hit her last night at the Wentworth party. Her first impression of Hunter back then had been rugged and earthy with thick coffee-brown hair to his shoulders, clean but unkempt. He’d reminded her of men she’d grown up around in flannel shirts, brogan boots, and work gloves softened by hard labor.

And God help her, she sort of remembered asking-not begging-him to take her home with him years back. A pathetic memory she’d like to erase. He’d been exactly what she’d gone hunting for when she strutted into the bar looking for a man. Sweet, attentive, sexy in a scruffy way, and so very human. But the somber green eyes hadn’t changed.

She should have realized at the Wentworth party why she recognized Hunter’s eyes.

He’d seemed so free of cares that night long ago.

She couldn’t reconcile today’s suave Hunter with the hairy guy who hadn’t appeared capable of affording a decent hotel.

He’d said very little about himself back then, only that he’d just finished a job she’d assumed was some type of manual labor-hah!-given his beefed-up size and that he wouldn’t be staying a second night in Chicago.

One night. No ties. Perfect.

She’d thought.

She hadn’t been quite so thrilled with her rash decision the next morning when she woke up in a hotel room hungover and lying next to a bohemian wearing Brad Pitt’s naked body from Troy.

Based on waking up in her bra and panties with no indication of any physical activity, she had passed out on him.

She’d slinked from the bed and shimmied into the hooker-red slut dress that had looked sexy hanging in a store twelve hours before when she bought it during a moment of shopping rage. After pulling herself together, she’d tried to sneak out but made the mistake of taking one last look at all that buff body.

He’d been watching her the whole time, not saying a word.