of looking at Will, dreaming about him, Hunter no longer saw him only as a job or a potential fuck. He’d moved past that, and that scared the shit out of him.
He had to move. Stand up. Get some air and restart his brain.
Wrapping his hand around the railing, he pulled up and stood there. Made sure his legs worked at full strength and his head had cleared. Walking outside would put a target on his back, which was part of the reason he was doing it. Flushing out trouble generally worked better than hiding from it.
That Ed guy had to be skulking around, looking for Will by now. Peter’s men had to be out there, too. And Hunter had no idea who this Gatt guy was. He had to figure that out.
Then there was the big question. The one Hunter didn’t like to think about or analyze. What if, through it all, after he unburied every thought and dissected every conversation, Will was playing him? Hunter had to admit he didn’t have his usual perspective, which meant Will might not be who Hunter thought he was.
The Rivers family bred manipulators. Siblings trying to kill each other? That was one fucked-up gene pool. They produced people who could con and kill without blinking. Hunter wanted to believe Will wasn’t like that, but he couldn’t be sure. Not yet.
That meant waiting, creating a trail to make it look as if Will had left the city to throw off the scent. Getting a little breathing room so he could find out specifics from Will. Then Hunter could take him in and let the BND handle him.
That was the plan anyway. Whether Hunter could get it done, especially the last part, was still unclear.
He just really wanted to know Will’s agenda first, and that meant building trust. Getting closer. Accomplishing that without getting sucked in and pulled under sounded impossible at the moment.
But the goal right in front of him at the moment was food. There was a crepe place on the street level of the building and about a dozen other spots to get food within steps. That was the good thing about a neighborhood loaded with shops and restaurants. It was not hard to find what he needed.
He took the last of the stairs and with his head down walked into the street. At this time of night people milled around, gathered at tables at nearby cafes, and spilled out of bistros and clubs. It was at the far end of weekday dinnertime but people hurried by with bags. A big group walked out of the Pompidou Center, a huge modern structure that housed a library and museum and other things that Hunter would likely never visit.
He slipped down one of the less congested streets and headed for a market. He’d find what he needed there and still be close by. Because he was deadly serious about the threat he’d issued. Will better stay in the apartment. Hunter would tie him to the bed if he had to find him again. Maybe he should have anyway. The idea sounded dirty and worth investigating.
He’d taken a few steps when the noise hit him. Actually, the lack of noise. The buzz of the Paris night faded and he concentrated on footsteps. On picking up any sound, no matter how slight. He focused his breathing, taking in everything around him without ever breaking stride or moving his head.
Nothing.
Tracking and evading came naturally to him. He never ignored his instincts even when the obvious evidence didn’t support his gut. This time the prickling sensation on his skin told him someone was watching. Someone trained, with skills.
He looped around, doing a U-turn in the street and switching to the other side to walk back toward the busier area again. Adrenaline pumped through him as he thought about Will up there, alone. No one should know about the apartment. It wasn’t even his. He’d “borrowed” it and locked it and even jerry-rigged it with an alarm synced to his watch to warn him if anyone breached the perimeter. It hadn’t tripped.
But the phone was a different issue. As Will had been talking about his family something weird happened with
He had to move. Stand up. Get some air and restart his brain.
Wrapping his hand around the railing, he pulled up and stood there. Made sure his legs worked at full strength and his head had cleared. Walking outside would put a target on his back, which was part of the reason he was doing it. Flushing out trouble generally worked better than hiding from it.
That Ed guy had to be skulking around, looking for Will by now. Peter’s men had to be out there, too. And Hunter had no idea who this Gatt guy was. He had to figure that out.
Then there was the big question. The one Hunter didn’t like to think about or analyze. What if, through it all, after he unburied every thought and dissected every conversation, Will was playing him? Hunter had to admit he didn’t have his usual perspective, which meant Will might not be who Hunter thought he was.
The Rivers family bred manipulators. Siblings trying to kill each other? That was one fucked-up gene pool. They produced people who could con and kill without blinking. Hunter wanted to believe Will wasn’t like that, but he couldn’t be sure. Not yet.
That meant waiting, creating a trail to make it look as if Will had left the city to throw off the scent. Getting a little breathing room so he could find out specifics from Will. Then Hunter could take him in and let the BND handle him.
That was the plan anyway. Whether Hunter could get it done, especially the last part, was still unclear.
He just really wanted to know Will’s agenda first, and that meant building trust. Getting closer. Accomplishing that without getting sucked in and pulled under sounded impossible at the moment.
But the goal right in front of him at the moment was food. There was a crepe place on the street level of the building and about a dozen other spots to get food within steps. That was the good thing about a neighborhood loaded with shops and restaurants. It was not hard to find what he needed.
He took the last of the stairs and with his head down walked into the street. At this time of night people milled around, gathered at tables at nearby cafes, and spilled out of bistros and clubs. It was at the far end of weekday dinnertime but people hurried by with bags. A big group walked out of the Pompidou Center, a huge modern structure that housed a library and museum and other things that Hunter would likely never visit.
He slipped down one of the less congested streets and headed for a market. He’d find what he needed there and still be close by. Because he was deadly serious about the threat he’d issued. Will better stay in the apartment. Hunter would tie him to the bed if he had to find him again. Maybe he should have anyway. The idea sounded dirty and worth investigating.
He’d taken a few steps when the noise hit him. Actually, the lack of noise. The buzz of the Paris night faded and he concentrated on footsteps. On picking up any sound, no matter how slight. He focused his breathing, taking in everything around him without ever breaking stride or moving his head.
Nothing.
Tracking and evading came naturally to him. He never ignored his instincts even when the obvious evidence didn’t support his gut. This time the prickling sensation on his skin told him someone was watching. Someone trained, with skills.
He looped around, doing a U-turn in the street and switching to the other side to walk back toward the busier area again. Adrenaline pumped through him as he thought about Will up there, alone. No one should know about the apartment. It wasn’t even his. He’d “borrowed” it and locked it and even jerry-rigged it with an alarm synced to his watch to warn him if anyone breached the perimeter. It hadn’t tripped.
But the phone was a different issue. As Will had been talking about his family something weird happened with
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