Page 4 of Only the Hunter

“Damn, girl.” Leo shakes his head. “You want your usual? Tell you what—it’s on the house.”

“You don’t need to do that,” I say, skirting the curious looks.

“Come up here. Let me get a better look at you.”

“Leo—”

“Cathy’s got the customers. Come on.”

I step forward. Early Bird Coffee is a street-level franchise, and Leo manages the corner location just outside my office building. He whistles low.

“Two shiners. When’d this happen?”

“Last night.” I shrug carefully. Everything hurts if I move wrong. “I might’ve totaled my car. When I get the estimate, I’m going to run it by you. You’ll tell me if I’m being ripped off, right?”

“Damn straight. Where’d they tow it?”

“Wherever they felt like.” I sigh. “I have to deal with that today. Any recommendations?”

“Tony’s Auto. He’s a hike from the Metro, but he’ll treat you right.”

“Good to know. The tow yard’s checking it out first, but there’s a decent chance the repairs will cost more than the car’s worth.”

Which sucks, because my Jetta got me through law school and my thirtieth birthday. It was the first thing I bought entirely on my own.

“You’re telling me this happened last night,” Leo says slowly, “and you’re here today?”

I arch a brow. “Like you wouldn’t be.”

He snorts. “You prosecuting today?”

“No. She’s not.”

The voice behind me is firm. Familiar. And irritating.

I inhale slowly, wishing I already had coffee in my hand before turning around.

“You need to go home,” Michael says.

“I’m fine. Leo, can I get my coffee?”

Leo finally moves, casting Michael a look that says, “good luck with that.”

Michael towers over me in his black wool overcoat, somehow managing to look more intimidating than usual. His thick brows draw together, though that’s not really a scowl. That’s just his face. I’ve long suspected aggressive Botox injections have left him permanently displeased.

The shadow along his jaw from his raised coat collar only adds to the effect.

“Evie.”

It’s a warning. Always is.

As Deputy Assistant Attorney General in the Civil Rights Division at Main Justice, he’s technically above my pay grade, but technically not in my chain of command. He’s spent years making sure no one’s entirely certain which of those facts matters more.

“I’m fine, Michael. Seriously.”

He stayed on the phone last night until an officer retrieved my cell from the wreck. Of course, that meant he got the full rundown before I did.

“You should take a day off,” he says. “You have a concussion.”