Undercover Texas

Chapter Five



The roar of swamp sounds pelted Erin’s ears. She couldn’t have heard Hunter right.

“Say that again,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry, Erin. You don’t get your life back.” Hunter leaned forward in his chair. “I wish there was some way to make it happen, but—”

Erin had never been more thankful to be sitting down. Her arms weakened. She set Brandon at her feet. He crawled across the floor toward the duffel bag, tugging on the secure straps.

“Why? What did I do?”

“You’re brilliant.”

She leaned back in her chair. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You saw your prototype as a way to affect small groups of cells, deliver radiation directly to cancer tumors and maybe as a way to treat not only cancer, but other types of diseases.”

She nodded and the rush of excitement sent a tingle through her body. She gripped his arm. “It works, Hunter. You don’t understand. All the preliminary tests have worked. The treatment could save lives.”

“Others see your cure as the perfect assassination tool. Efficient, undetectable, untraceable.”

Erin shook her head. No. This was wrong. It couldn’t be true.

Hunter let out a long, slow breath. “There are men out there who have made killing their means to an end. Your invention is the perfect means. They want it.”

Erin sagged in her chair. She could see the truth on Hunter’s face. “Can’t you stop them? You or the CIA or whoever you work for?”

Hunter squirmed. “They know about your research. They won’t stop until they have the technology, understand it and can duplicate it.”

This couldn’t be happening. The flicker of the kerosene lamp in the corner of the room bathed the shack in pale light. She rose and paced back and forth. “It’s not that easy. You need special material, special equipment that’s not at your standard hardware store. I could destroy the prototype. I have it—”

“In your laptop bag. I know.”

Erin whirled to face him. “How—?”

“I’m very good at my job. And there are others who are even better. Unfortunately for you, they’re on the wrong side. Whether or not the prototype exists doesn’t matter. They want your brain—and your skills. And they’ll use anyone to get you.” He stared right at their son.

Insides trembling, Erin picked up Brandon. She snuggled her son closer. He grabbed her nose and she looked into his innocent eyes. There had to be a way out of this. She turned to Hunter. “What can I do?”

“The men who almost kidnapped you today set it up so that the police think you’re dead. Soon enough the news will hit.” Hunter paused, then met her gaze. “I want you both to stay dead. Permanently.”

At the stark words, Erin’s knees trembled. She shook her head. “No. I can’t. I have plans. For me, for Brandon.”

Hunter crossed to her and reached to cup her cheek. She shrank away from his touch.

He backed off and she relaxed just a bit. “I know it’s a lot to take in,” he said. “If I could come up with any other choice, believe me, I would. I want both of you to be safe and happy.”

“Then leave us alone,” she whispered. “Make this go away.”

“That’s not possible.” Hunter paused. “Look, I need to rinse off the grime and change out of these clothes. It’ll give you time to come to terms with what has to happen.”

Erin couldn’t feel anything. How had this happened? How had her dreams turned her world into a nightmare?

Hunter touched her arm. She didn’t even have the energy to pull away.

“I won’t be long,” he said, gathering a shaving kit and a set of clothes from the duffel. He snagged a water bottle from the refrigerator and disappeared into the bathroom.

She couldn’t stop a tear from running down her face.

“Mama?” Brandon’s lip quivered. He patted her cheek.

“Oh, cutie, what have I done to both of us?”

* * *

HUNTER CLOSED THE DOOR TO THE bathroom behind him, leaving a shell-shocked Erin alone with her thoughts. He hated that bewildered expression on her face. The stench of failure soured his mouth, but he couldn’t come up with another option for her. Or for him.

He took several swigs of water, then unzipped the leather pouch. He swallowed three ibuprofens, unbuttoned his pants and slipped them off over his muddy shoes. The movement pulled at his wounds. His body felt disconnected from his head. He guzzled down another drink, then turned his back toward the cheap mirror hanging over the sink.

A small whistle escaped as he surveyed the damage. Erin had done a good job with the dressings, but his back was a mess. He shifted his shoulder, testing it. Sharp pain radiated out. His head spun.

He grabbed hold of the sink to steady himself. That bullet needed to come out. Soon. He looked longingly at the showerhead. What he wouldn’t give to have the water beating down on his back, easing away the tension, not of the pain, but of facing Erin’s palpable disappointment.

Without a choice, he stepped into the tub and cleaned himself the best he could. The bandages didn’t need to get wet.

By the time he had dressed, his head had begun pounding again. He stepped into the main room of the darkened shack. Erin stood at the stove, stirring a pot, a now-clean Brandon at her feet. The fragrance of chicken soup wafted through the room, and Hunter’s mouth watered.

She glanced over her shoulder. “You don’t look so good.”

He ran his fingers through his dark, wet hair. “I’m clean.”

“How bad is it?” she asked. “Really.”

“I’ll survive until Doc gets here.”

She set a bowl of steaming chicken and noodles in front of him, then took out a box of crackers. “Maybe this will help,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze.

Hunter sat down. With each spoonful, he studied her stiff back. She set a jar of baby food in a pan of simmering water for several minutes but didn’t turn around. She tested the baby food, then let it heat some more.

He couldn’t take the silence. “What are you thinking?”

She didn’t budge. “That I want to wake up in the morning and have this day to never have happened.”

Brandon crawled over to him and placed his small hands on Hunter’s knee. He touched the baby’s hand. Hunter could understand Erin’s feelings, but he couldn’t agree. While every moment he spent with them made him want more, how could he regret any time spent with his son?

Hunter ruffled the boy’s head. “How you doin’, sport?”

With a grip Hunter could barely fathom, Brandon pressed himself to his feet, arms solid but legs unsteady.

“Brandon stood up. By himself.” An inordinate pride rushed through Hunter. “Isn’t he young for that?”

At his words, Erin turned, her eyes shining with love when she watched their son. She grinned for the first time since Hunter had walked through the front door of her house. “He’s right on track,” Erin said. “According to research, he’ll start walking between eleven and fourteen months.”

“Hear that, sport? You’re doing great.” Hunter took a cracker and downed it.

At the move, Brandon’s eyes widened and he reached his hands up. “Yum. Yum...yum...yum.”

A strange dread clamped around Hunter at his son’s eager expression. “What does he want?”

“Don’t panic. He’s just hungry.” Erin emptied the baby food into a bowl. “Come on, cutie. Ready to eat?”

At his mother’s questions, Brandon tried to whirl around. He almost made it. He wobbled, then sat down. Hard. Hunter bit back a curse and leaned over. “Brandon! Are you okay?”

The boy’s face screwed up, and Hunter’s heart raced. Was his son going to cry? The boy didn’t get the chance. Erin scooped him up and kissed his belly. “Oopsie-daisy. Did you fall down?”

The almost-cry turned into giggles. With an efficient move, she sat down and plopped Brandon in her lap. “Let’s get you a full tummy and put you to bed.”

His meal forgotten, Hunter couldn’t take his eyes off the image of Erin and their son. Her tenderness, her care, the utter devotion on her face tugged at something deep within him he could barely define. He wanted to hold his son; he wanted to take care of them both. He wanted a life. With Erin.

The reality of their situation hurt Hunter’s heart. Maybe Erin had been right in her wish. Would it have been better to never have experienced today?

Brandon spit out some of the horrid-looking puce food. She laughed and wiped his face, then met Hunter’s gaze over Brandon’s head. Her expression softened a bit. “Do you want to feed him?”

Being in the thick of a firefight hadn’t made his heart race as fast as her question. “I don’t—”

She didn’t let him finish, just rose and handed him the baby. Brandon’s lips stuck out, and he reached for his mother.

“He doesn’t want me.” Hunter couldn’t stop the disappointment that shadowed his spirit at the rejection.

“It’s all about dinner,” Erin said. “Be careful. The spoon is bigger than he’s used to.”

Hunter balanced his son on his lap. He took a small amount of the unappetizing dinner and offered it up with a horrified fascination. Shockingly, the baby sucked in the puree and grinned, opening his mouth wide for a disgusting view. “Better you than me, sport.”

With each spoonful, Hunter got a bit more comfortable. Even when Brandon grabbed Hunter’s chin with sticky fingers, he couldn’t stop smiling. He met Erin’s gaze. “Thank you.”

The simple words elicited a tender smile from Erin. Hunter took the gift for what is was, a temporary reprieve. Soon enough reality would set in, but for now the world was good.

Erin studied them both and tugged at her ruined clothes. “Will you be okay with him if I take a shower?”

“Of course. How hard can it be?”

She quirked a brow, but nodded and vanished into the bathroom with the clothes they’d purchased earlier in the day. The shower turned on and Hunter dug into one last spoon of Brandon’s dinner. “We’re all alone, sport. We can handle it, right?”

Brandon smacked his lips and finished up his dinner.

“Your mommy is one tough cookie. Don’t tell her this, but I’d give anything to run away with you guys.” He took the damp rag Erin had left him and wiped Brandon’s face. His son’s forehead crinkled. “I know, I know. But the women like guys without food stuck to their face. Remember that.”

Brandon reached for the crackers and Hunter grabbed one and placed it in his son’s hand. He chewed on the cracker, making a gooey mess, and leaned back against Hunter’s chest.

A thickness closed his throat. “How am I going to let you go, sport? I didn’t have a dad, so I don’t know how to be one, but I’d do my best to teach you right from wrong. And how to throw a football like a guy, not a girl.”

Brandon stuffed his fist in his mouth and burrowed deeper into the crook of Hunter’s arm. The baby’s eyes drooped. Hunter laid his lips on his son’s hair and closed his eyes, taking in the baby scent, committing each touch and smell to memory. This moment would have to last him a very long time.

An irritating ring interrupted Hunter’s bittersweet thoughts. Brandon’s eyelids flew open. His tiny mouth frowned. He sat up and looked around, and gripped Hunter’s hand hard.

With a quick tug, Hunter pulled the phone from his pocket and stared at the screen.

Leona.

He should have known, but after what Doc had said, Hunter didn’t want Leona anywhere near this situation. He had to protect her almost as much as he had to protect his family. He had to cut her off, give her plausible deniability until he discovered exactly what was going on. He powered off the phone and stuffed it back into his pocket.

He just prayed she understood the message and backed off.

Brandon squirmed in Hunter’s lap, frantically searching the room. The baby’s eyes filled with tears. He reached out his arms and clasped Hunter’s fist over and over again. “Mama. Mama...Mama...Mama.”

Hunter jiggled the boy. “It’s okay, sport. I’m here.”

Brandon opened his mouth and let out a high-pitched, eardrum-bursting cry.

Frantic, Hunter stood, ignoring the agony piercing his shoulder. He held his son, bounced him and whispered to him. He tried everything. His goofy face only made Brandon cry louder. Crazy voices scared him. Bribery didn’t work.

He could imagine what his teammates or Leona would say if they’d witnessed his utter incompetence.

Finally, when the hiccups took over and huge tears slid down Brandon’s cheeks, Hunter couldn’t stand it any longer. He knocked on the bathroom door.

The sound of water pounding down didn’t stop, and neither did Brandon’s screams. Out of options, Hunter turned the doorknob slowly and pushed open the bathroom door.

He froze. Erin’s silhouette arched beneath the spray. Through the white curtain he could see the outline of each and every curve. He should have looked away, but he couldn’t. She tilted her neck and let the waterfall of water wash over her head.

She was more beautiful and sensual than he remembered. Her breasts were a bit fuller than they’d been on Santorini, and her curves made his mouth dry with want.

“Your mommy is hot, sport,” he whispered to Brandon, who had quit screaming at least. The baby leaned toward the shower. Clearly, he knew his mother.

Erin bent down, flipped off the water and thrust the shower curtain aside.

Her eyes widened. Hunter’s brain went numb.

She grabbed the towel on the edge of the sink and whipped it around her body. “What are you doing?”

“Brandon wouldn’t stop crying,” Hunter said, barely able to speak. Lame, but his blood had left his brain, pooling low in his belly. His body thrummed with awareness that he shouldn’t feel, couldn’t feel.

He stood his ground when his entire being urged him to pull her into his arms. Silence reigned between them. Seconds passed, and memories slid over Hunter of more than one shared shower in an island paradise.

Erin’s cheeks flushed; her lips parted and her tongue bathed her mouth. She remembered.

Oh, boy.

Just one step, and he could kiss her. He leaned forward.

“Mama.” Brandon tilted his head and looked at Erin with a grin.

The moment was gone.

Erin tucked the towel more tightly around her, unwilling to meet his gaze. “Yeah, he seems very upset.”

“He was crying,” Hunter protested.

“Since he’s okay now, could you please let me get dressed?”

He couldn’t leave the room fast enough and closed the door behind him. “Thanks a lot, sport. Now she thinks I’m a pervert.”

A few minutes later, Erin reentered dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. She held out her arms. Reluctantly, Hunter handed over Brandon. The baby tucked his head against his mother’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

“Why wouldn’t he do that for me?” Hunter asked.

She stroked her son’s back. “Because I’m his mom.” Her gaze shifted from the bed to Hunter. “He needs sleep.”

“Put him on the bed,” Hunter said. “I’ll sit up tonight. I’m not tired.”

“Liar.”

Hunter quirked a smile. “Maybe, but I need to check the perimeter. Just in case.”

After an uneventful security check around the cabin, and a small salute to the mama gator, Hunter returned to the shack. Erin had curled up with Brandon. He lay passed out with his fist in his mouth.

With a resigned sigh, Hunter grabbed a couple of blankets from the armoire and threw them on the floor.

“Don’t,” Erin whispered. “There’s room for all of us.”

Hunter hesitated.

“You need your rest,” she added, toying with the fine black hair on Brandon’s forehead.

“He’s amazing, Erin. You’re a good mother.”

Could she hear the yearning lacing his voice? God, he hoped not.

“Brandon makes it easy. He has so much joy inside.”

“I wish...” Hunter couldn’t complete the thought. He doused the lamp, and the room turned mostly dark, save small slivers of moonlight filtering through the wooden shutters.

“Me, too.” She tucked Brandon in closer. “I thought we had something special.”

Hunter eased his face down onto the bed. His entire body hurt; his back ached; his throat was scratchy. And yet he couldn’t drift off to sleep. He couldn’t stop from breathing in the scent of both of them. What he wouldn’t give to have them part of his life.

Brandon’s small snores purred, and soon Erin’s soft breathing grew steady. Their lives together could have been special.

Hunter had even considered leaving the organization. He’d thrown out a few hints to the general. The man had been sympathetic but clear. Could Hunter live with the consequences if his past followed him and his family were caught in the cross fire?

Easy answer. Hunter would do anything to keep Erin and Brandon safe. Even let them go.

Trouble was, what had been a lonely future had turned bleaker than he had ever imagined. He let his finger slide down Brandon’s cheek and hover over Erin’s hand.

Now he knew what he’d be missing.

* * *

THEY’D PUT TERENCE IN A private room. Probably so he wouldn’t scare the other patients.

He pressed his hand against the patch over the socket where his eye had been. They’d removed it. The doctors said he could be fitted with a glass eye.

Son of a bitch.

He breathed in. The smell of antiseptic overwhelmed him.

They’d told him how lucky he’d been, that his burns would heal eventually, and so would his body. With enough surgery his appearance would improve.

He might have to get a Phantom of the Opera mask. He didn’t really care about his looks. He’d have to learn to live without an eye, though. He didn’t mind that much, except it made him vulnerable.

“Mr. Mahew,” a quiet voice whispered from his bedside.

Just like that.

Terence hadn’t seen the guy coming. Normally, his peripheral vision would have warned him.

The man wore a long white coat, but when Terence glanced at his shoes—handmade, spit-and-polish black—nausea bubbled in Terence’s belly. His hand reached under his pillow. His weapon wasn’t there.

He felt on the bedside table. A plastic knife. He could make do.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Is that any way to treat your customer?” the man asked.

Terence stared up the man. “You’re not the man I made a deal with. Wrong voice.”

“He doesn’t take out the garbage, Mr. Mahew. You failed to deliver on your assignment. My employer is not pleased.”

Terence could see the next few minutes as surely as if he were watching a movie.

Not a good ending, but Terence Mahew wasn’t a man who would go down without a fight.

Eyeing his enemy, he shifted so he could maneuver better in the bed.

“I’m out of it. I quit,” Terence said, buying as much time as he could.

“Oh, I agree. The money has been removed from your account, but we have unfinished business.”

The man leaned over Terence’s bedside, a cold smile on his face.

Terence clutched the plastic knife. In one thrust he stabbed the weapon at the man’s eye. His opponent dodged in a blinding-fast move. He rested his palm under Terence’s nose.

“You know I can kill you.” he said. “I will kill you. Failure is not an option.”

Terence couldn’t look away from the man’s deadly gaze. His eyes were cold, soulless.

The truth sucked the energy from Terence. He was dead.

The man smiled.

Then his eyes rolled back into his head.

Blood poured from a small hole on the man’s neck. He sagged to the floor.

Terence gaped at his second visitor.

A man in a perfectly pressed suit tucked a metal skewer into his pocket. Several crew-cut men filed into the hospital room and wrapped the body in plastic, cleaning up the mess with scary precision. “Terence Mahew?”

He nodded, his mouth gaping.

He’d almost wet himself at the efficiency of this man’s move, and after killing over a hundred people in his lifetime, being in combat, watching his buddies die, that said something.

“My name is Padgett. You’re wanted in Virginia. We would like to have a word with you about your—” he glanced at the dead body “—former employers.”

He tossed Terence some sweats. “Get dressed if you want to live another day.”

* * *

ERIN SAT IN THE KITCHEN CHAIR and tucked her knees into her chest. The afternoon sun filtered through the window’s slats. She’d convinced Hunter to lie down with Brandon for his nap on the auspices that he wouldn’t sleep. She’d had an ulterior motive, though. Since this morning, Hunter’s cheeks had grown flushed, and he’d turned an ugly shade of gray when Brandon accidently hit his back.

She glanced at the door for the umpteenth time. It had been twenty-four hours since he’d been shot, and Hunter had refused to let her look under the bandages. He’d said Doc would be here soon.

Unable to sit still a second longer, Erin crossed the room. She studied Hunter’s features. He didn’t look comfortable. A frown line marred his forehead; perspiration had broken through.

She laid a hand on his cheek.

Too hot.

“Oh, Hunter.”

The day had started out surreal. Despite feeling under par, he’d responded to Brandon’s every move. Her son had taken to Hunter faster than a gamma ray. Maybe it was a guy thing to connect at the speed of light, but they seemed to speak the same language.

From the bed, Brandon blinked up at her and smiled. He patted Hunter on the chest. Hunter groaned softly. Brandon frowned at his daddy. Erin could see the intent on her son’s face. She quickly picked him up and carried him to a makeshift playpen in the middle of the living room. “Daddy’s not feeling good. Why don’t you play with Socky?” Kneeling down, she handed him his puppet.

Brandon squealed and threw the sock at her. She squatted down to pick up the toy. He grinned at her, the look in his eyes merry with mischievousness.

So like the man she’d met on Santorini.

“You did that on purpose.”

He grinned wider.

She returned the toy and tousled the hair. “Your daddy’s getting sick. If help doesn’t come soon, we have to get him to the hospital. No matter what he says. He needs antibiotics.”

Brandon patted her face and blew some bubbles at her. She smiled, and then a slight sound wafted from outside—a rumbling she recognized.

Erin stilled. She glanced at the gun Hunter had placed on top of the armoire earlier. She kissed the top of her son’s head. “Be good.”

She chanced a glance out the shack’s window.

Another airboat sped up the narrow waterway. A man with light brown hair and tanned skin drove the boat. No question he knew where he was headed. The vehicle slowed. His body on alert, the man’s intensity reminded her of Hunter. He swerved to the dock.

Erin straightened her shoulders, cracked open the door and gripped the weapon tight. She pointed it directly at the man’s head, telling herself over and over again not to let her hand shake. She couldn’t show vulnerability. Not until she knew his identity. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice calm.

He cocked his head at the handgun.

“Tell me your name,” she ordered again.

“Doc,” he said. “You the mom of the baby I heard laughing on the phone?”

She let out a slow, deep breath and lowered her weapon. Finally. “Erin Jamison. It took you long enough to get here.”

“Erin Jamison? From Pensacola?” His eyes narrowed, and he let out a loud curse. “What the hell has that idiot got himself into this time?” He grabbed a bag and jumped onto the pier. “Where is he?”

“Inside. He’s developed a fever.” Strange. She’d never seen this man. How did he know her name?

An unsettling wave washed through her belly. She kept the gun in her hand and followed Doc inside to Hunter’s bedside. Brandon jabbered at the new intruder. The visitor took one look at her son, then stared down at Hunter. “Dude, when you complicate things, you do a hell of a job.” He turned to Erin. “Where’s he hurt?”

“I’m not invisible,” Hunter groused.

“Clay, your favorite teammate is here.”

Hunter opened his eyes and frowned. “Don’t bother, she knows my real name.”

Doc lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Long story.” Hunter shifted and winced.

“I’d guess so after seeing that little miniature you. You look like you’ve been dragged through the swamp by an alligator. Let’s have a gander at the damage.”

“I’ll make it simple,” Hunter said, and flipped onto his stomach. “Bullet under my shoulder blade, a few burns. Just patch me up, give me some antibiotics and forget you ever saw us.”

Doc removed the bandage under Hunter’s scapula. His mouth screwed up. “So glad you’ve got a medical degree now. You dress this?” he asked Erin.

She bit her lip and nodded.

“Good job, but the bullet needs to come out.”

“Didn’t I just say that?” Hunter groused.

The medic pulled a sealed surgical kit out of a small bag. He dug inside. “Shut up and swallow this pill.”

Hunter downed it. “What did you give me?”

“Pain pill. You’re going to need it.”

“Damn it, Doc. I need to be alert.”

“You need sleep more.” Doc laid out a sterile pack, complete with a scalpel, forceps and sutures. “Have you got a strong stomach, Dr. Jamison? I could use a second set of hands if your baby is occupied.”

She couldn’t let Hunter down. No matter what he’d done in the past, he’d taken that bullet to save them. “Whatever you need.”

He gave her an approving nod. “Let’s wash up.”

They scrubbed and slipped on surgical gloves. Doc took a syringe and filled it. She couldn’t help the shiver.

“Lidocaine. It’ll numb the area.” He placed his hand on Hunter’s back. “You ready, bud?”

“Just get it done,” Hunter said.

After Doc plunged the anesthetic just under Hunter’s skin, he pressed on the area. “You feel anything?”

“Just pressure.”

“Good.” Using a scalpel, Doc made a quick incision on either side of the bullet hole.

Erin didn’t have time to think. She followed Doc’s orders and within seconds the medic explored the hole with forceps. A low moan escaped Hunter. Erin bit her lip and shifted her back in sympathy.

“Almost there. Hang on.” Doc maneuvered the instrument, then smiled. “Got it.” He pulled out a slug and dropped it into the kit. “Round one accomplished. Now we have to clean these wounds.”

They worked to cleanse the rest of Hunter’s back, treat the wounds with silver nitrate cream and reapply the bandages.

“Okay. We’re done.”

“Thank God,” Hunter said with a groan.

Erin’s knees shook. She glanced over at Brandon. Her son had quiet tears rolling down his face, his thumb stuffed in his mouth as he looked at his daddy.

“I know how you feel, cutie,” Erin said softly, blinking back the burning in her eyes. She glanced at Doc. “Is he going to be okay?”

“I’m fine,” Hunter interjected.

Doc smiled and pulled out another syringe. He pushed down Hunter’s pants, revealing a very muscular butt, then stabbed him. “This should jump-start the healing. I’ll leave a week’s worth of pills. Take them or you’ll ruin my good work.”

Relief filtered through Erin. She liked Doc’s tone. Hunter really was going to be okay.

Their patient glared at Doc, though. “You enjoyed showing my bare hind end way too much.”

“Yeah, I did.” The smile creased, then left Doc’s face. “I’m glad it wasn’t worse. It could have been.”

“Are you a doctor?” she asked.

“Hardly. I learned the skill out of necessity, and not always with a good outcome.”

Something about Doc’s tense shoulders made her nervous. The two men met gazes, and the communication between them made Erin quiver. Doc might be a healer, but he had Hunter’s edge. That indefinable quality that said he would do whatever it took, no matter the cost.

“Protect them,” Hunter said, his voice slurring just a bit, and then he closed his eyes.

Erin knelt beside the bed and pushed away the hair from Hunter’s forehead. Something she might never have done when he was awake. It was safer to her heart without his knowing brown eyes searing through her. “He’s really going to be okay?”

She lifted her lashes, ignoring the slight dampness on their tips.

The medic’s expression gentled. “By tomorrow he’ll be a new man. You’ll never know this happened.”

Erin bit her lip. “And you’re staying?”

“Oh, yeah. You have at least three groups of people looking for you. Until Hunter regains consciousness, Dr. Jamison, I’m your bodyguard.”