Page 27 of Hunted to Be Mine

I grabbed the phone again, my fingers hovering over the keys. Should I send a reply?

In the end, I deleted the email, cleared the browser history, and powered down the phone. Ten minutes. I’d used six. Time to return it to its hiding place.

As I knelt by the loose floorboard, the metallic click of the door lock engaged. My body moved before my mind processed, diving for the hidden compartment in the floor where Specter had stashed his handgun. My fingers closed around cold metal just as the door swung open.

Specter stood framed in the doorway, a paper bag in one hand, two coffee cups balanced in the other. His eyes locked on the handgun in my hand, then traveled up to my face with a flat, unreadable look.

“Going to shoot me before breakfast? That’s cold, Doc.” Specter kicked the door shut behind him, not a hint of concern crossing his face despite the weapon in my hand. “Especially since I brought you coffee.”

I lowered the gun, heat creeping up my neck. “You could have knocked.”

“At my own safehouse?” He lifted a brow as he set the paper bag and cups on the small table. “Besides, anyone trying to break in wouldn’t politely announce themselves.”

My fingers still gripped the weapon, the weight unfamiliar and awkward. “I read an email from Mattie. She and Damon are alive, but SENTINEL’s systems were breached.”

“Of course, they were.” He unpacked the bag as if nothing were wrong. “You should put that down before you accidentally shoot something important. Like me.”

I set the pistol on the rickety table, irritation prickling. “This isn’t a joke, Specter. If Oblivion accessed SENTINEL’s database—”

“They’ll know everything about you, me, and this little therapy experiment.” He pushed a cup toward me. “They’ll have your file, your history, your vulnerabilities. Everything you told them about me. Everything I’ve told you.”

The brew smelled rich and warm against the apartment’s chill. “Then why aren’t you more concerned?”

“Who says I’m not?” His mouth curved a fraction. “But concern and panic are different things. One keeps you alive, the other gets you killed.”

I wrapped my hands around the drink, letting the heat seep into my palms. “So what’s our next move?”

Specter didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pulled out a chair and sat down, arranging the food. The pastries, croissants and something with cinnamon, were placed in the center of the table, flanked by small containers of jam and butter. From the bottom of the bag came sealed packets of what looked like dried fruit and nuts.

“Eat first.” He tore open one of the croissants. “Strategy second.”

I remained standing, cup in hand. “Are you serious right now?”

“Completely.” He took a bite, chewing without hurry. “The human brain functions better with glucose. Basic science, Doc.”

The normalcy of it struck me as off. This calm breakfast ritual while killers hunted us. We should be moving, planning, doing something other than… whatever this was.

“We don’t have time for a leisurely breakfast,” I declared, but my gut betrayed me with an audible growl.

A brief smile touched his lips. “Your body disagrees.”

Reluctantly, I sat across from him, reaching for one of the pastries. The first bite hit me hard: buttery, flaky, still warm. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until food was in front of me.

Steam rose from our mugs, creating a hazy barrier between us. Through it, I studied him. Despite the casual posture, his body remained coiled with potential energy. His chair was positioned so he could see both the door and window without turning his head. One hand remained free even as he ate, resting on the table within easy reach of the sidearm.

Even in this mundane activity, he remained a predator aware of his surroundings.

“You’re staring.” He didn’t look up.

“I’m observing.” I kept my tone even. “There’s a difference.”

“Not much of one.” He pushed the dried meat sticks toward me. “Protein. You’ll need it.”

I took a handful, rolling the leathery tubes between my fingers. “This feels wrong.”

“Eating?”

“Sitting here like we’re on some vacation while Oblivion is hunting us.” I set the fruit down. “While people may have died yesterday because of us.”