Page 12 of Only the Hunter

“Hey Dad, tell me something about you.”

“What would you like to know?”

Hair pulled back, smoothed, as good as it’s going to get, I grab my phone and head downstairs.

“I don’t know. What’re you doing this weekend?”

“We have symphony tickets.”

“We?”

An audible sigh crosses the speaker and I roll my eyes at the drama. “Eliza. She’s a lady friend.”

Downstairs, I automatically check the bowl for my keys and remember I don’t have a car to drive.

That’s when I flick the phone screen and see the time.

Shit, I’m late.

“Dad, I’ve got to run.”

“Evie.”

Ugh. “Dad, I’m thrilled you’re seeing someone.” He’s been single as long as I can remember, and getting any information about his personal life out of him is like cross-examining a witness who’s memorized his Fifth Amendment rights. Some combination of old-world privacy and the conviction that his children don’t need to know his business—even when his children are adults. “Really. I’ve just gotta go. I’m late.”

I swing open the front door, and scan the street, hoping for a cab.

But four cars down, there’s a Toyota 4Runner. No mud, but could it be…

“Please consider replacing your car. If you won’t let me buy you a replacement⁠—”

“Chances are I’ll have to buy a new one.” In truth, I owe the towing company a call. It’s on my to-do list for today. “Love you, Dad.”

I’ve got my thumb on the Uber app icon as I stride toward the car…and sure enough, it’s Gabe, with his gray-blue eyes and trimmed, orderly brown hair. He lowers the passenger window.

“What’re you doing here?” We’re not meeting for dinner until seven.

“Was in the area. Thought I’d stop by.”

“Really?”

“You going somewhere?”

I glance down at my phone, and back up at him. “Rhodes told you I’m meeting him for lunch, didn’t he?”

I swear, if it turns out Dad hired Gabe for security… My grip on my phone tightens.

“He mentioned it. Thought you might need a ride.”

I don’t need a ride. I’m perfectly capable of making it to Georgetown for lunch on my own. But given the Uber app is showing eight minutes for the nearest driver and I’m already late… I pull on the door handle and climb in. The interior smells faintly of clean leather and winter—cold air trapped in fabric. It’s grounding in a way I can’t explain.

Today he’s wearing a crewneck sweater and a sports jacket paired with his slacks. He looks broader somehow. Harder. Maybe it’s the jacket.

After pulling the seat belt on, I shift to face him. “Do you know where I’m going for lunch or should I enter the address into the nav?”

He has the decency—or the discipline—to avoid my gaze, clocking his side and rear views before pulling into traffic. “I’ve got the address.”

Right. And something tells me he didn’t actually need me to enter my home address in his nav after work this week.