Page 69 of Hunter or Hunted

Meet me outside

22

SEBASTIAN

Tucked deep in the back of the funeral home parking lot, I found the rental. Gwen sat in the driver’s seat, so I slid into the passenger side. It’d smelled like a new car when we picked it up at the airport. Now, it smelled like the exam rooms at work.

“Holy shit, what’s that smell?” I pulled the door shut, looking around.

“Okay, don’t tell me it was stupid.” Bundling a mound of fabric to her chest—the throw blanket she’d used on the plane, if memory served—her wide eyes met mine. Swollen around the edges, the whites burned bright pink. Like she’d been crying. Or like she was actively fighting back tears. The quiver of her lower lip suggested the latter. “I know you’re gonna say it was, but I had to. I had to, Sebastian. He did it. He killed her, and I had to do it.”

I’d just left the guy, so she hadn’t killed him. Whatever she’d done couldn’t have been too stupid.

And that quiver in her lower lip had vice grips tightening around my ribcage. Tears begged to gather across my eyes too, and I didn’t even know what we were sad about. No way I could call her stupid when she made a face like that.

“What did you have to do?” I asked.

She pulled back the blanket. A furry face poked out. Gorgeous yellow eyes, one glassy with yellow pus at the edge. Matted fur gathered behind the ears. “I took Delilah’s cat.”

“Let me see her.” I held out my hands.

“Him. His name’s Samson,” she said, passing him over. “I think he has an infection or something. He keeps blinking at that eye. And the matted fur is everywhere. His butt’s the worst. He needs a cut.”

Trailing my fingers over his head, I pulled back the black-and-white fur. All over, pink skin stared up at me. Missing patches of fur and splotches of red and brown scabs, suggesting fleas or excessive stress grooming.

When I lifted his paws, overgrown nails curled deep below, almost hitting his pads. Inside his ears, dark spots of muck and dirt tainted all the pink. He looked up at me, letting out a soft, “Mrreooow,” that gusted his sour breath to my nose.

His defined ribs poked my fingers as I stroked him there. Not the worst case of malnutrition I’d seen, probably because it’d started after Delilah left, but enough that I wanted to run to the local grocery store and get him eating now. Small, frequent meals until his weight improved.

He rubbed his head against my stomach, kneading the blanket. When my fingers came back to his head, he rubbed into my palm. Not once or twice, but constantly. Samson wasn’t only starved of nutrients, but also for touch and affection.

“He was locked in a bathroom,” Gwen said, stretching out to run her fingers through his fur. “I didn’t see a food or water bowl in there. His litter box was overflowing with shit. It was all over the floor. The whole house reeked of piss.”

“So you stole him,” I murmured.

“He wasn’t his cat anyway.” There was a bite to her voice, but a tremor too. It intensified as she spoke. “He was Delilah’s. And when she got to the ranch, all she had were the clothes on her back. She didn’t have any other clothes, or any belongings, a-and she didn’t have time. He didn’t give a shit about this cat, but he knew she did, so he kept him. He treated him like he treated her. A-and I know what that feels like.”

When I looked up, that puffiness in her eyes intensified. Blood rushed to her full lips, making them even poutier as they quivered. “That’s why I left my husband. He hurt Honey. And the way it played out, I had the time. I was able to grab her and run.”

A punch soared through the center of my chest.

“But Delilah didn’t have that time. She had to leave her baby with him, and she hated herself for it. She hated herself so much, she named herself Delilah, because Delilah killed Samson. That’s the story, right? It was Delilah’s fault Samson died. Every time we called her Delilah, we were reminding her what she’d done. That pain of leaving this sweet little baby with that monster, and, and⁠—”

A gasping breath cut her off. A few tears glistened on her cheeks. She shut her eyes and blew out slowly, carefully.

Composure regained, she said, “The window was open, so I broke the screen. Evan’ll just think he got out.”

When Gwen had first arrived at the ranch, she came to my office with Rhiannon. Honey had just undergone surgery on her mouth. I’d assumed a broken tooth from chewing on a bone.

Now that punch through my chest became a deep ache.

I thumbed a few of those tears from Gwen’s cheek. “I would’ve stolen him too.”

Letting out a half laugh, she relaxed into my hand. Her fingers slid over the back of mine. We stayed there for a moment, just staring into each other’s eyes while Samson purred in my lap.

Eventually, I took her hand and twined our fingers together. As she lowered them to her thighs, she cleared her throat. “A pair of shoes from his collection were missing. On that shelf, he had this.”

She reached into her pocket and came out with her phone, turning the screen towards me. A cheap little bracelet, like the kinds Lizzie used to make at daycare.