Spirit

Then he remembered one person who was “off the grid.”

Someone who’d refused to help.

Hunter didn’t have a phone, so he couldn’t call, but he knew exactly who to go to.

Becca’s father.

CHAPTER 28

Bill Chandler lived in a little gray rental on the water. Hunter had only been here once, the day Bill had asked him to watch Gabriel, but he remembered the way. The clapboard siding needed a new paint job, and the gutters were coming loose along the left side of the roof, but it was secluded, private, and no one knew he was here.

Exactly what Hunter needed.

A green pickup truck sat out front, the DEPARTMENT OF NATURAL RESOURCES logo visible on the side.

Bill was home.

He opened the door when Hunter knocked. “Becca’s not here,” he said.

“Good. I need your help.”

Bill’s gaze sharpened, probably taking in the blood on Hunter’s clothes. “I told you not to bring your mess to me.” He started to close the door.

Hunter put a hand against the wood. “Help me or I’ll tell them all where to find you.” He paused, very aware that Kate could be bleeding to death in the front seat right now. “I’ll tell them about Becca.”

“Don’t you threaten me, kid.”

“Damn it!” snapped Hunter. He was ready to pull his gun and shoot this guy. Or himself. “Help me. Please. Just help me.”

If Bill said no, he didn’t know what he’d do.

He was officially in over his head.

“Fine,” said Bill. He gave Hunter a once-over. “You’re hurt?”

“Not me. Kate. Come on.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Then Bill shut the door in his face.

Swearing, Hunter went back to the car. Her eyes were closed, but she made a small sound when he pulled her into his arms. Her breathing was shallow.

She was so pale.

Hunter started for the front door, but Bill reappeared and gestured for him to walk around to the back of the house. They moved past the porch and down the grassy slope to where the terrain turned to sand.

“Put her in the sand,” Bill said, pointing. “Get her close to the water. I’ll get some logs.”

Hunter sat in the sand with her, holding her against him. He was beginning to think this was stupid, that he should have taken her to the ER anyway, but then the wind kicked up to swirl around them and the tide crawled up the shore to lick at Kate’s feet. Heat from the sun poured down, warming his skin and filling the air with power.

Casper rolled in the sand beside him, basking in it.

No, this had been the right decision. Hunter felt it now.

He pulled at the power, begging for more, begging it to heal her, hoping it would be enough.

“Careful,” said Bill behind him. “Don’t try to force it. The elements are willing; let them work.” He dropped some logs in the sand beside them, then some blankets and sleeping bags. “Get her pants off. I’ll start a fire.”

Hunter just stared at him.

Bill was arranging the logs into a pile and tucking dried brush between them. “Do you want me to take her pants off?” He glanced over. “We need to see how deep that wound is. She might need stitches.”

Hunter had to clear his throat. “I—can you lay out a sleeping bag for her?”

“She’ll do better directly on the sand. Come on, kid, you’ve never undressed a girl before?”

Um. No. Hunter shook himself and laid her down on the sand.

A few hours ago, she’d looked like the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

Now she was so pale, half soaked in blood. The copper scent stung his nose. That stole any hesitation he might have had. He unbuttoned her jeans and undid the zipper.

That hesitation was back. His breathing felt shallow.

God, she was practically dying in front of him, and he couldn’t pull her pants off.

Then Bill was beside him. He had a knife in his hand, and he ripped her jeans straight down from the waistband before Hunter could even think to stop him.

Hunter got a good look at the torn flesh along her hip, and he lost any thoughts of seeing her naked; instead, he almost lost himself to worry.

She’d been right—the bullet had just grazed her, but it had taken a lot of skin with it.

Bill whistled through his teeth. “She’s lucky. Lots of arteries in the leg, but you’d never have made it here if one of those had been hit. Let me get my suture kit.”

“Your suture kit? But—you can’t—”

“Did you want my help or not? There isn’t much difference between stitching up a wild animal and a human being.” He paused. “You can’t leave it all to the elements, Hunter. It’ll take days.”

“Can we use power to heal her?”

“I’m assuming someone is after you?”

“Yeah.”

Bill nodded. “I don’t want a lot of power in the air.”

So Hunter watched while Bill treated the wound, sprayed it with some kind of topical anesthetic, and then began to thread the flesh of her hip back together. For the moment, that’s all his brain could focus on, the steady slip and pull of thread through skin. It should have been horrifying, but he’d been through enough horror in the last week. This was almost hypnotizing, especially with a fire crackling behind them.

“I think you’ve got a lot to tell me,” said Bill.

Hunter shook his head. “I can’t piece it all together.”

“Try me.”

So Hunter talked through the events of the past week, from Silver to the carnival to Calla and Noah Dean and the threats about what would happen Monday. He finished with the Merricks leaving town, how they’d packed up and deserted the house with no notice.

He had a hard time keeping the bitterness out of his voice with that one.

But Bill nodded. “Becca went with them.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Right now? Yeah, I’m okay with that.” He tied off the last of the sutures. “Your girl here might not even need those by morning. Leave the stuff out here when you go. I’ll burn it.”

Then he turned toward the house.

“That’s it?” said Hunter, dismayed. “That’s all you have to say?”

“That’s it. Like I said, kid: your mess.”

“Jesus. No wonder Becca hates you.”

Bill whirled and hit him so fast that Hunter didn’t even see it coming. Suddenly, he found himself down in the sand, tasting blood in his mouth. His jaw ached like . . . well, like he’d been slugged in the jaw. Casper was standing over him, growling.

But Bill wasn’t afraid of the dog, and he sure wasn’t afraid of Hunter. He stared down at him. “You don’t know what I’ve done to protect Becca. So don’t talk about things you don’t understand. You get me?”

Hunter made it to his knees and spit blood. “Yeah. Fine. Whatever.”

“This is life or death, Hunter.”

“No shit.”

“Your father made the same sacrifices for you, and instead of living up to his expectations, you’re right in the middle of it all. Well, you’re not dragging it to my doorstep. Not if I can help it.”

Hunter couldn’t decide if his head was spinning or if that really didn’t make any sense. He lifted his eyes to find Bill walking away. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your dad. You think it’s an accident that no other Guides came after you when your father died?”

Wait.

Wait.

What?

“Come back here,” said Hunter.

“Move your jeep when you can. I don’t want it sitting in front of the house.” Then Bill disappeared through the back door.

And Hunter heard the click of a lock.

Waiting for Kate to wake up was excruciating.

Hunter didn’t want to leave her, and he had no cell phone, no way to contact anyone. He had two sleeping bags and a head full of heavy thoughts.

Every time he heard the bare snap of a twig in the woods, his gun was in his hand.

Around sundown, his stomach alerted him to the fact that he didn’t have any food, either.

Kate was looking better, though. She’d regained some color, and the stitched wound appeared somewhat closed and scabbed over. Her breathing was deeper, more of a true sleep.

Now that the sun was going down, a chill crept out of the water to cling to the air. Hunter stretched out one of the sleeping bags on the sand and carefully lifted Kate onto it, then covered her with the other one.

One part of him wished she’d wake up so they could get moving.

The other part of him hoped she’d keep sleeping since they had nowhere to go.

This sucked.

He’d moved the jeep to the spot where the grass gave way to sand and then played the radio for a while, trying to catch the news, but he didn’t learn anything he didn’t already know. Eventually, he worried he’d run the battery down, so he turned the car off and returned to Kate’s side.

When the door to the house slid open, Hunter sprang to his feet—but it was just Bill carrying two canvas bags, the kind you get at the grocery store.

“I figured you hadn’t eaten in a while.” Bill paused, cleared his throat. “There are some clothes in there, too. Stuff I had around here for Becca, but . . . well . . .”

“Thanks.” Hunter took the bags and set them beside the blanket, though it was taking everything he had not to tear through them looking for food.

Bill reached out a hand and touched Hunter on the chin. Hunter wondered if he had a new bruise to add to the collection.

“Sorry I hit you,” Bill said.

Hunter was sorry about that, too. It had hurt like a bitch and reminded him a little too thoroughly of the fight with his grandfather that had started this mess.

He didn’t say anything.

“I did a lot to make sure Becca wouldn’t have to deal with this kind of disaster,” Bill said. “I know what she thinks of me, but I had my reason for keeping my distance.” He paused. “It’s just not very nice to have that thrown in my face.”

Hunter wondered how much could be resolved if Bill would just say those same words to Becca.

“I’m sorry,” Hunter said. He didn’t entirely mean it, but he felt like he should offer something in exchange for the food and supplies.

“Did you hate your father?”

The words hit Hunter so hard that he felt like he needed to take a step back. “No,” he said, his voice rough. “No, never. He—I just never knew where I stood with him.”

Bill smiled a little at that: a small smile, a sad one. “Really?”

Hunter couldn’t interpret that expression. “Yeah, really.”

“I’d say you stood in pretty high regard. Your dad went to some lengths to keep you a secret.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I knew your dad. And he never breathed a word about you.”

Hunter scowled—but something about this was meshing with what Silver had said when he came after him and Kate at the Merrick house. Or what Calla Dean had said at the carnival.

Had his father kept him a secret?

But . . . why?

His head was overfull with confusion, and he couldn’t take one more thing to second guess. “Maybe it means he just didn’t give a crap.”

“That’s not how being a father works, kid.” Bill gestured to the bags. “There should be enough food for tonight and tomorrow.”

So Bill expected them to sleep out here, on the beach. It was October, and the night air was already growing cold. Hunter glanced at the back door and deliberated for a long moment before swallowing his pride. “Any way we can crash on your floor?”

“Not an option.” Bill’s voice was hard again.