Page 3 of Only the Hunter

The door opens. Cold air rushes in.

I lift my hand to my face and stare at the red coating my fingers.

“Ma’am, can you move? Are you hurt?”

A hissing sound cuts through everything—the engine, maybe. Steam.

“I called 911.”

“Is she okay?”

“I’m a doctor.”

“Should we move her?”

The voices overlap, blurring together.

I close my eyes.

But the sensation that won’t leave me—the one that anchors everything—is my foot on the brake.

Pressing.

Sinking.

Nothing there.

That kind of nothing doesn’t happen on its own.

Chapter 2

Evie

The morning after

“You can let me off here.”

It’s not exactly the address I entered into the Uber app, but if I have any hope of staving off the persistent headache and the low-grade fuzziness that’s plagued me since last night’s crash, I need coffee and a buttery bagel—stat.

Sharp, bracing cold air hits my sore skin as I exit the car. As I tap the app to tip my driver, a mud-splattered Toyota 4Runner rolls to a stop a few feet back, idling.

I squint for a better look at the driver. Just hoping, for one ridiculous second, that I’ll recognize the man behind the wheel. That it’ll be a face I haven’t let myself think about in years, not really, not on purpose.

No one I know in DC drives a mud-covered SUV—especially one outfitted with roof racks and a bike mount like it’s just come off a trail instead of out of morning traffic. The Uber pulls away. The SUV follows.

As one would expect. I’m seeing familiarity where none exists. I step into line.

Achy, sore, and exhausted, which is to be expected given I didn’t get home until two a.m. after signing out of the hospital AMA—against medical advice. With coffee and Advil, I’ll be fine.

Leo looks past the three customers ahead of me and does a double-take.

This is going to be a long day.

“Evie. My girl. What happened?”

The man in front of me turns. So does the woman ahead of him.

“Car wreck,” I say. “I’m fine.”