Page 39 of The Hunter

“You will?”

“Sure. I’ll even drive you to the nearest town. Although, fair warning. It’s over an hour from here.”

“You do realize the first thing I’ll do is go directly to the police and tell them you abducted me. They’ll arrest you.”

Instead of being nervous about spending the next decade or two of his life in prison, he only looked even more amused.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Now do we have a deal, Mrs. Kane?” He extended his hand toward mine, a single brow raised.

I looked between his hand and the knife, my mind spinning. There had to be a catch. There wasalwaysa catch. At least with Victor.

This was exactly the sort of thing he would do. Promise me the one thing in the world I wanted most, then rip it out from my grasp when it was within reach.

But Henry wasn’t Victor.

Granted, I couldn’t say that with any level of certainty. Still, I felt it in my gut.

And for now, I had to trust my instincts… Just like I should have trusted them all those years ago when Victor Kane walked into my life.

“Okay.” I thrust my hand out. “Deal.”

His grip closed around mine — firm, calloused, warm like sunbaked leather. Not soft and pampered like Victor’s. Not cold.

I stared at our joined hands. At the size difference. At the way mine looked like it belonged to someone else wrapped in his. A warmth filled me, and a part of me wanted to stay in this moment. To relish in the feel of his skin against mine. There was something comforting about it.

A strange notion, considering my circumstances.

Regardless, I couldn’t help but feel there was much more to Henry Fontaine than he’d let on.

Then again, he hadn’t exactly told me much. I knew next to nothing about him, apart from the fact he had a dog, was a Navy SEAL at some point in his life, based on his tattoo, and had a log cabin in the mountains.

Oh, and he kidnapped me.

When he released my hand, a chill overtook me from the lack of contact, but I quickly shook it off.

I needed to focus.

“On the count of three,” he said, backing away with slow, measured steps.

Why was he making it easier?

“One,” he counted, taking another step back.

I crouched slightly, my weight on the balls of my feet, eyes fixed on the blade.

“Two.”

His voice echoed in the kitchen, the seconds seeming to stretch.

He parted his lips, about to say three, but I didn’t wait.

I lunged.

I was so close, I could almost taste my victory.

Just as my fingers brushed the handle, an arm wrapped around my biceps, locking me in place. My back hit his chest with surprising force and, in a single breath, everything shattered.

I wasn’t in Henry’s kitchen anymore.