Page 6 of Vital Signs (Wayward Sons #7)

Something flashed in his eyes at 'partner.' Heat, maybe. Or wariness.

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?"

When he didn't immediately respond, I made my move. I ran one finger up the inside of his wrist. His skin erupted in goosebumps, a shiver running through his powerful frame. His pupils dilated, and his lips parted slightly.

This was dangerous. I was playing a game I'd sworn off after Paris, using attraction as a weapon, manipulating desire for information. But the rush of it made my pulse quicken. I was still Misha Vasiliev. I could still make dangerous men weak.

"Three people," he said abruptly, shifting in his seat. A slight flush crept up his neck as he adjusted his position. "Three people from the camp have disappeared in the past month. All in Wright's trials."

My finger continued its slow exploration of his wrist, circling the pulse point where his heartbeat had noticeably accelerated. "Disappeared how?"

Hunter caught my wrist suddenly, his large hand engulfing mine. "I know what you're doing. It won't work."

I didn't pull away. "But it's already working. Here you are holding my hand."

His grip tightened before he released me. "They're just gone. Belongings left behind. No word to anyone."

I pulled out my phone, showing him the photos I'd taken of the pill bottles. As I held out the device, I leaned in unnecessarily close, allowing our shoulders to touch. "These were with Tyler's body. Did you see him take these specifically?"

Hunter stiffened at the contact but didn't pull away.

"Yeah." He cleared his throat before continuing.

"NervEase made him jittery. The AdrenaCore was new, though.

He'd just started that one before winter break.

" Hunter's hands clenched around his coffee cup, knuckles whitening.

"Wright doubled everything for winter break.

Said it was to 'maintain consistent data collection' while they were gone. "

"That sounds deliberately negligent at best."

"And murderous at worst," Hunter finished, meeting my eyes.

We sat in silence. The coffee shop buzzed with normal morning activity. Students laughed. Professors graded papers. Life continued around us, oblivious to the darkness we were uncovering.

"I need to know more about these trials," I said finally. "Official documentation, participant lists, monitoring protocols."

"You won't find that online. You need access to the research files."

"Can you get me the names of the other participants? People who might talk?"

Hunter's hand twitched. "Maybe. Few would trust an outsider, though." He paused, then added quietly, "They barely trust me anymore. I've... not been reliable lately."

The admission cost him something. I could see it in the tension around his eyes, the way his fingers curled into a fist.

"What about you?" I asked, leaning in slightly. "Do you trust me?"

Hunter's eyes locked with mine, searching. The intensity of his gaze made my breath catch. This close, I could see flecks of amber in his dark brown eyes, could count the individual lashes, could imagine what those eyes would look like in a completely different context.

"I don't trust anyone," he said.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I've got." His voice dropped even lower. "Why are you doing this? Tyler was nothing to you."

Why was I doing this? For Tyler? For justice? Or because sitting this close to Hunter made me feel alive in a way I hadn't since before Paris?

"I was held captive once by a man who thought of people as objects to be collected and studied," I said, meeting his eyes. "I won't let another person become someone's specimen. Not Tyler. Not anyone."

Understanding flickered across Hunter's face. "Where?"

"Paris," I said simply. "Another life."

He didn't press, which made me want to tell him more. Want to share the parts I'd buried. Want to let him see the broken pieces.

Dangerous.

"We should work together," I said instead. "Officially. You have connections. I have resources. Together we can—"

"I work alone," Hunter said automatically, jaw set stubbornly.

"How's that working out for you?" I asked, gesturing to his general state.

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought he might walk out. Instead, his face transformed with a short, surprised laugh that didn't reach his eyes.

"You think you can manipulate me that easily?" he asked, voice dropping to a near-growl. "I spent years watching people die while looking them in the eyes. Your pretty face doesn't intimidate me."

The blunt assessment sent heat rushing through me. Most people either pretended not to notice my calculated movements or fell for them completely. Hunter did neither. He acknowledged the game and called it out directly. The novelty was intoxicating.

"You really want to play this game?" he asked. "Fine. But don't expect me to follow your lead or take your orders. And don't think for a second that I'll let you use Tyler's death for some personal revenge fantasy."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" I challenged, leaning closer. Our faces were inches apart now.

"I think we both have reasons to want Wright exposed," he said carefully. "But our methods might differ."

"My methods get results," I replied, not backing away.

"So do mine," he countered, eyes dropping momentarily to my mouth before snapping back up.

The tension between us shifted, thickened. This was no longer just about Tyler or Wright or whatever partnership we might form. Primal attraction crackled in the narrow space between our bodies. Danger and attraction tangled together until I couldn't separate them.

Hunter's hand moved between us on the table, palm up. An offering. "Partners?"

I stared at his outstretched hand. Large and scarred, trembling slightly from whatever demons chased him.

I placed my hand in his. His grip was warm, strong, calloused. Safe.

"Partners," I agreed, and pretended the contact didn't send heat straight through me.

We shook once, but neither of us pulled away immediately. His thumb brushed across my knuckles, maybe accidentally, maybe not. My breath caught.

Hunter's eyes tracked something over my shoulder, then came back to me.

The moment broke. "Campus security does regular sweeps of the coffee shops.

They know me." His jaw tightened. "We should split up before they start asking questions about why a homeless guy is sitting with.

.." He gestured vaguely at my expensive laptop and clothes.

"Meet me at the community clinic on East State," he continued. "By the pharmacy entrance. In an hour."

"The clinic?" I asked, intrigued by his choice.

"Wright sees patients there on Tuesday mornings." His eyes flicked away momentarily. "And I still know some of the nursing staff from my days at O'Bleness. Martinez works at the records desk now."

I raised an eyebrow, suddenly understanding his connection to the medical system ran deeper than he'd let on.

"I was an ER nurse before everything fell apart," he said, gesturing vaguely at himself. "I can get access to his schedule, maybe patient files."

"I need it before seven," I said. "Family meeting tonight."

He nodded once. "Noon. Don't be late."

Hunter stood, gathering the remains of his bagel in a napkin. He hesitated, looking down at me. "You're taking a risk getting involved in this, you know."

"So are you," I pointed out.

"I've got nothing to lose," he replied.

Everyone had something to lose, even those who pretended otherwise.

"Hunter," I called, just loud enough for him to hear. When he glanced back, I added, "Be careful."

An unreadable expression passed across his face. Then he nodded once and walked out.