Page 11 of Vital Signs

The barista took the money before he could object further, making change that I waved away.

"What did you order?" I asked.

"Black coffee and a bagel," he said after a moment.

"And a banana," I told the barista, never breaking eye contact with Hunter. "Plus another double espresso."

His jaw worked like he was trying to decide whether to argue or accept. Finally: "Fine."

Victory tasted sweet.

Hunter followed me back to my table reluctantly. He sat beside me rather than across, maintaining clear sightlines to the door.

Our shoulders nearly touched in the crowded space. The heat radiated through the thin barrier of our clothes. Each time he shifted, his arm brushed mine, sending electricity across my skin that had nothing to do with static.

I wanted to lean into it. Into him. Press closer and feel that solid warmth all along my side.

Instead, I focused on peeling my banana. When I glanced up, Hunter was watching my hands, eyes dark and focused.

Got you.

"Couldn't stay away?" I asked, sliding the bagel toward him while placing the banana between us on the table.

His gaze snapped up to mine. "Not really. Limited options for free Wi-Fi and heat when you're homeless."

I took a small bite of banana, letting my tongue catch a bit of fruit that tried to escape. Hunter's eyes tracked the movement before he looked away, throat working on a swallow.

"What do you know about Dr. Wright?"

Hunter frowned. "How do you know about Wright?"

"His name was on Tyler's prescription bottles," I said. "

Hunter took a long drink of his coffee before answering. His throat worked as he swallowed, the dragon tattoo rippling along the movement. When he set down his cup, his finger grazed mine accidentally. He jerked back as if burned, and I fought to keep my expression neutral despite the jolt that raced up my arm.

"Wright runs trials through the university," he finally said. "Recruits from homeless shelters, addiction recovery meetings, anywhere desperate people gather. Offers cash for participation."

"Were you in one of his trials?" I asked carefully.

"No." Hunter's expression hardened. "But I warned Tyler about mixing those meds. Told him the dosages were too high, especially in combination."

"How many others participate in these trials?"

Hunter clenched his jaw. "Why should I tell you anything else?"

I needed information, yes. But more than that, I needed to prove Roche hadn't broken this part of me. That I could still make someone want me, choose me, need me. Not because they could use me, but because I'd chosen to let them see me.

I lifted my cup and let my sleeve slide back, revealing my slender wrist. "Because we both want justice for Tyler. And because you know I have resources you don't."

His eyes tracked the movement as I swallowed the bitter espresso. "Resources don't mean shit if you don't understand the streets."

"Then teach me." I leaned forward, invading his personal space. Under the table, I allowed my knee to brush against his. The contact was fleeting but electric.

Hunter shifted in his seat, his body responding even as his expression remained guarded. "Dozens participate in the trials," he finally said, voice rougher than before. "Maybe more. Most are harmless, I think. Typical side effects, nothing severe. But lately..."

He trailed off, his finger tracing the rim of his coffee cup.

I slid my hand across the table, stopping just short of his. "Lately what?"