Page 23 of Hunt You Down

André kept me as close as possible through the airport. When the hardware in my jeans set off the detectors, I panicked at being touched by the agent. But André was right there the entire time. The moment he could, he took my hand, stroking his thumb across my skin. “You okay?” he asked, seeming to be able to read me like a book. All it took was a longing glance at the restrooms before he was guiding me in their direction.

After, he tugged me over to a Starbucks next to our gate. Despite still being full from the tacos, he asked if I was hungry. I shook my head, overwhelmed, but he still ordered a cinnamon bun with his black coffee. “What do you want, baby?”

“Can I have a venti iced white chocolate mocha with six pumps of white mocha, three pumps of vanilla, five pumps of caramel, and five pumps of classic with vanilla sweet cream cold foam and extra caramel drizzle?”

The barista kept up with my order like a pro, André being the one to crook a brow at me. “You want some coffee with that sugar?” he teased.

I accepted my drink when it was handed over the counter. “It’s better than that dirty bean water you have there.”

“I’ll keep my dirty bean water, thank you very much.”

“Maybe it’s a reflection of your soul.”

“If that’s true, then your soul is headed for a sugar crash.”

“I like it that way.”

I sat next to André at the gate, busying myself with a book on my phone while we waited. Despite looking over my shoulder at every turn, I was… content. Regan and I were never able to banter like that, and he never let me spend money on such frivolous things as coffee.

I wanted nothing more than to drop my hand down to capture Andre’s and after shifting my drink, I did. He tensed at first, cursing my cold fingers, but relaxed when he realized I wasn’t moving. I went quiet, focused on stirring the syrup that had settled to the bottom of my drink. That was the moment the reality of my situation hit me like a freight train. I sniffled, and André picked his head up from his phone. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want him to find me,” I admitted. “I can’t believe it’s come to me fleeing the state with someone I barely know so he won’t try to kill me again.” Then, realizing what I said, I rushed to add, “I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I do really like you, and I’m grateful you’re letting me stay with you⁠—”

André silenced me by confiscating my drink—maybe it was too much sugar—and pulling me close. “I understand, David. It’s not an ideal situation, I know that. But I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

They called for us to board, and André pulled me to my feet.

I hadn’t even paid any attention to the boarding passes, so when André stopped in front of two seats in business class, I froze. The seats were more spacious, and sat two to a row versus the three that I was used to.

André lifted his suitcase into the overhead bins, then mine before I could protest. I took my seat, trying to take in my surroundings. Relaxing in my chair, I was surprised to find that I could completely stretch my legs out.

André laughed. “You’ve never flown in business class before?”

“I can barely afford economy.”

I tried to sleep, but the flight just wasn’t long enough. Just as I started to doze off, André was reaching over to re-fasten my seatbelt. He apologized profusely for waking me up, sweetening the deal with a kiss to my temple. When we landed, André took both our cases down, wheeling them off the plane and reaching for my hand the first chance he got. “Did you drive here?” I asked.

He nodded. “I’m licensed in quite a few states and travel sometimes for work, so they give me a parking pass whether I use it or not. So I take it and I don’t complain.”

Pausing in front of a row of luxury cars, André dropped my hand and fished his keys from his pocket. When he pressed the button, the trunk of a shiny black Aston Martin popped open.

“Of course,” I chuckled.

“Are you that surprised? I didn’t think me being high maintenance was a secret.” After putting our cases in, André slammed the trunk shut and ducked down for a kiss. “You might die when you see the hot tub.”

I blinked, stunned. “Hot tub? In your apartment?”

“Well, not in it—it’s on the terrace.”

Before I could comment further, he opened the passenger’s door for me. His arm snaked around my waist, and he pulled me close.

“You can enjoy this,” he whispered against my lips. “Just because you’re here hiding doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun.”

André was right: I needed to relax. I was doing everything I could and to a certain point, that had to be enough.

I let him close the door after I sat down, and relaxed in my seat. André climbed in himself, planting his hand on my thigh. I slid further down in the seat and into his touch. I was exhausted, so I didn’t say much as he drove through the streets. This side of New Orleans was completely different than what I’d seen before. Cobblestone gave way to asphalt, and the skyscrapers paled in comparison to the historic buildings of Bourbon Street.

Eventually André pulled into another parking deck, scanning a keycard he’d pulled from his pocket. He wound up a few levels, then found a spot in the corner. By the time I’d gathered the strength to stand up, André was already in front of me with both suitcases in one hand, and ready to take my hand with the other.