Page 32 of The First Hunt (The Final Hunt)

JOHN

H earing the front door close, John set the phone on his bed and moved to the window.

He expected to see his dad’s car headlights pulling out of the driveway.

It wasn’t unusual for him to run to the store in the evening to grab beer or something else they’d run out of.

But instead of headlights, John saw the motion-activated porch lights turn on at the house next door.

When he saw his dad on Holly’s porch, his mouth fell open.

Was that wine in his hand? After a short exchange, she let him inside.

“Shit.” What was his dad doing? He didn’t even like wine.

John watched his father trail Holly into the kitchen and set the bottle on the counter beside the stack of mail. Holly turned and retrieved two wine glasses from the cupboard. From his upstairs window, John narrowed his eyes at his father.

He should’ve left this alone. I already had it handled.

John hadn’t actually spoken with his dad about the ex-crime reporter’s presence next door, but it went without saying that a true crime author obsessed over her sister’s unsolved murder was a problem. They didn’t need her turning over the wrong stone.

Thankfully, John had overheard that loudmouth Laurie talking to his dad the other day about the cryptic note Holly had received from her ex, which had given him an idea.

He’d met Laurie only a few times, but he’d figured out she loved gossiping about other people’s problems. And that she had the hots for his dad.

Holly set the glasses beside the bottle and laughed at something his father said.

John scoffed. Making her fall for him wasn’t going to solve anything.

They needed her to leave, not stay. His father loved the line in The Godfather Part II when Michael Corleone said, “Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.” John disagreed.

Keeping your enemies close was a risk, especially when you had things to hide.

John crossed his arms and watched Holly tuck a wave of hair behind her ear before searching through a kitchen drawer. Was his dad actually falling for this woman? She was pretty, but there were lots of pretty women who didn’t have walls covered with photos of murder victims.

Holly lifted a corkscrew from the drawer. She reached for the bottle when John’s dad extended his hand. John’s pulse spiked as she handed him the corkscrew.

Is he going to kill her? John stared out the window, wanting to scream.

Doesn’t he know how dangerous that would be?

They weren’t the only people living on this cul-de-sac.

What if someone saw his dad go inside her house?

It could be the end of their life together.

His dad would go to prison, and John would go to some godforsaken foster home.

As his father unfolded the bottle opener, John debated whether to sprint downstairs. If he hurried… But then it was too late. His father plunged the corkscrew into the cork, effortlessly opening the bottle before filling the two glasses with wine.

John exhaled the breath he’d been holding as Holly reached for a glass. I should’ve known better. My father isn’t reckless. If he were, we wouldn’t still be living here. A lock of Holly’s dark hair fell in front of her eye again.

His dad closed the distance between them, tucking it behind her ear before she could do it herself. They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, and John didn’t look away until after his father lowered his mouth to hers.

John moved away from the window, hoping his father wasn’t making a mistake. If he was, it would be up to John to fix it.