Page 108 of Only the Hunter

“Probably for the best,” I say, and instantly tense, wondering if I’ve gone too far. But Evie doesn’t seem to notice.

“How’s your mom?”

“She’s good. Still teaching.”

“She must be so proud that you’re following in your father’s footsteps.”

My hand stills. “But I’m not. Dad was CIA.”

“But, NSA, it’s kind of the same.”

“Hmm.” That’s all I give her. Truth is, it’s not the same, because I’ve determined the best way for me to learn what really happened to my dad is to go in through alternate back channels. We got one story, of course. As much as they’ll share with family without clearance. But I want more.

“My mom loved your mom. Considered her one of her best friends.” Her mother died about ten years ago—an aneurysm. Mom said she was too young, but I’ve always thought Evie was too young to lose her mother, especially to something so sudden and final, the kind of loss that doesn’t give you time to prepare or say goodbye.

“Mom still misses her,” I say, knowing it’s true, even though Mom and I haven’t talked about it in years. There are photos of our moms up all through mom’s house, most of them with cocktail or wine glasses in the frame.

“Me too,” she says, her arm around me tightening ever so slightly. “She’s been gone a long time. I’ve made my peace with it.”

We lie there like that, my thoughts going to Scott. I might need to make that trip up to New York. Something tells me he’ll be more accepting of us in person. I won’t go to that club of his but he’s always loved hanging out—I’m overdue for spending time with him.

“Gabe?”

“Yeah?”

“When we get back—” She pauses. “If something happens to me⁠—”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” I say firmly. “Because I won’t let it.”

She’s quiet for a beat. “You can’t promise that.”

“Watch me.”

She exhales, a soft, shaky sound. “I’m nervous.”

“I know.”

“I’m not scared of dying.” She lifts her head, meeting my eyes. “But I don’t want to lose this. Lose you.”

My chest tightens.

“You’re not losing me. Ever. That’s not negotiable.”

“You say that, but I’m a lot. I’m not easy to date⁠—”

“Bull.” I cup her face. “We’ll figure it out. Trust me.”

“I should make you stay clear of this.” Her eyes go glassy and suddenly I get it. She’s thinking of my dad—the bullet he took. Maybe of others she’s known.

“Listen to me. Whatever happens when we land, whatever they throw at you, at us—we handle it together. You don’t face this alone. Understood? I won’t have it any other way.”

“Understood.”

I kiss her. Slow this time. Gentle.