Page 36 of Only the Hunter

He huffs and crosses the street once more to converse with the MPD.

It’s true, they didn’t ask where I’m employed. But I also know that the information won’t change things from their perspective. They believe it’s random.

But I don’t.

It’s not until I’m in Gabe’s car, seat belt secured, and we’ve said goodbye to the cops, that I repeat my question. “How did you know where I was?”

“Your name came across in relation to a shooting.”

“You’re tracking me?” Yesterday, that thought would’ve sent me into a controlled fury. Right now, it barely registers. The adrenaline that should be fueling outrage is nowhere to be found—just a strange, hollowed-out quiet where my anger usually lives. I have no doubt it’ll catch up with me. Just not yet.

“Not me,” he says, checking his rearview. “Rhodes MacMillan. Guy’s got connections.”

“He’s watching me?” That doesn’t make sense.

“I’m not sure watch is the right word. Monitoring. He has a flag on you—any law enforcement contact triggers a notification. You’d have to ask him for details. But word came from him to KOAN.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on Alicia Morgan’s detail?”

“My colleague took over.”

“Not necessary,” I mumble as the traffic increases the closer we get to the B-W Parkway, as does activity along the sidewalks.

“Almost shift change. Not a problem.”

I stare out the window, reminding myself that the annoyance eating at me isn’t directed at Gabe and that I shouldn’t take it out on him.

“You’re aware the chances that this is random are slim, right?”

I could argue. If I were actually angry, I likely would argue, but relief overwhelms any anger. Someone else sees a connection. It’s not just in my head. I’m not being paranoid. My eyes sting with this revelation. The relief is embarrassing in its intensity.

“Evie?”

With a deep inhale, I shift in the seat, giving Gabe my full attention. “Yes. I’m aware.” I bite back my gratitude, the thank you that wants to slip out for him believing me. If he believes I’m scared, he may become unbearable.

We ride in silence, and my mind drifts to what he told me yesterday—that he requested a transfer because he heard I was in over my head.

There was too much to process then. It’s still too much now, but the pieces won’t stop fitting themselves together.

I believe him when he says Dad didn’t put him up to any of this. The move-in request and showing up today, that’s just the way Gabe’s built. He doesn’t have siblings, so maybe I fell into that role—his best friend’s little sister who needs protection. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.

Except my actual brother wouldn’t do any of this. Wouldn’t have requested a transfer. Likely would’ve called instead of jumping in the car when alerted.

I won’t examine that gap too closely.

I steal a glance at him. Both hands on the wheel, textbook driving form as always, checking mirrors and road with the kind of focus that probably makes him good at his job. His demeanor hasn’t changed much since those nights he’d pull up a stool at our kitchen island and hang out with my brother. But he’s older now. Filled out. Broader. The presence that was once noticeable now makes the car feel smaller. Magnetic, even. If he was a stranger, I’d notice him across a crowded room.

Scott’s friends weren’t particularly memorable. Gabe was the standout, and I’d bet he’s still the most handsome of the entire crew. There’s a stillness in him that befits a leader. I always knew he’d make something of himself. If I’d been in his class, I would’ve voted for him as most likely to become president.

Thank god he’s here.

Like so many unbidden thoughts, I shove it aside before it takes root.

It’s not until he turns off the parkway that I realize I don’t know where we are.

“This isn’t my exit.”

“We’re stopping by my place. I’m packing a bag.” He pulls up to a stop sign, and says, “Unless you want to stay with me. But my guest room is used for storage. You have more space.”