Page 118 of Only the Hunter

“A hunch. Nothing more. Evie showed up to meet him at a black site and then there’s a drive-by shooter when she’s exiting the building—it’s suspicious.”

“He’s added,” Quinn says. “But he’s on a different project. Under cover. Likely hard to locate.”

“How do you⁠—”

“We have our sources. If Evie’s touchy about that, best you don’t know.”

Fair.

“We’re working on getting a meeting for Evie and Brie with the senator.”

“Evie needs to go?” We have a team for a reason.

“She’s our best in,” Quinn says. “Her father is a big donor.”

“Copy that.” I suppose you’ve got to use your connections. The senator’s an octogenarian. He’s not going to be dangerous—in a case like that, the danger is in who he hires. “I’m going to change the locks on Evie’s home and install monitoring.”

“Loop me in,” Quinn says.

“Will do.”

The office door opens, and Evie enters, hair towel dried, skin flush, dressed in sweats and a zipped hoodie with frayed edges. Comfort wear.

“You’re installing monitoring?” she asks.

“Quinn, Hudson, Evie just joined us.” I offer her a slight smile, seeking her eyes but she drops her gaze to the phone on the desk.

“Hi guys,” she says.

“Hi, Evie,” Quinn says. “In an abundance of caution, Gabe mentioned he’s going to change your locks, and we’ll do basic outdoor surveillance. Nothing too invasive.”

I admire Quinn, because she can’t even see Evie’s expression, but it’s like she knows this needs some sweetener.

Evie’s gaze drops to my notepad. “I’ll have Gabe catch me up.”

I’m about to suggest I read back everything for confirmation which will also serve to bring her up to speed when her front doorbell rings.

“Are you expecting anyone?”

She shakes her head slightly, like she’s thinking about it.

“We’re going to jump,” I announce to Hudson and Quinn. “I’ll check the portal for updates.”

Evie heads down the stairs and I jog after her, blocking the door from opening as she twists the handle.

“Step back,” I growl.

She obeys.

I crack the door.

A suit in a black overcoat peers into the crack.

I lack a good view of his waist, but he’s white collar. Clean cut. Polished shoes. Soft hands.

I open the door wider, on my toes, on the ready.

“Can I help you?”