Page 102 of The Hunter

It felt like the couch.

Why the hell was I on the couch? It wasn’t even the couch in the bunker. That I could have understood. But in the living room?

Cato pawed at me with a low whine, his nose nudging under my chin. A sinking feeling formed as I pieced together the events that led me here.

I remembered eating dinner. Chicken marsala with green beans and mashed potatoes. Ariana was even jumpier during our meal than she was earlier. Her laugh was a little too bright. Her smile a little too forced.

And then…nothing. Just fog.

The phone buzzed in my pocket again. I fumbled for it, my hands still sluggish and uncooperative. I blinked at the screen as I struggled to focus on the name.

Salvatore.

I never heard from him twice in one day.

Hell, I rarely heard from him twice in one year.

After everything else going on, I couldn’t shake the unnerving feeling clawing its way through my body.

“What’s going on?” I answered.

“Just heard from a contact in Miami,” Salvatore said, his voice brisk. “That Bratva enforcer you disposed of? Well, his cell phone came back online. The Bratva is tracking it and they dispatched a team.”

I sat up too fast, the world tilting. “Say that again.”

“The Bratva enforcer’s phone… It’s back online.”

“Do you know the location?”

“Not the exact coordinates, but they sent a team to Maine.”

A knot twisted in my gut. I hadn’t touched that burner since I got up here. I kept it powered off, hidden in the duffel bag.

“I have to go,” I said curtly then ended the call.

My body moved before my brain caught up, pain throbbing in my ankle with every step as I bolted up the stairs and into the bedroom. I rushed to the ottoman and unzipped my duffel bag. Everything was as I left it.

Except for one thing.

The phone was nowhere to be found.

I turned to the bed.

Empty.

Ariana was gone.

“No, no, no,” I muttered, panic slamming through me like a freight train.

I tore through the house, my heart pounding, dread thick in my throat. I checked the bathroom. The library. The kitchen. But I knew she wouldn’t be in any of those places. I could feel her absence.

When I yanked the garage door open, my worst fear was realized.

The Wrangler was gone.

Of course she ran.

I should’ve seen the signs. Hell, Ididsee the signs, but I was too trusting to put the pieces together.