come in. To find out information about Josh.
Trisha gave Hunter a hard look. “There’s nobody following
you. No spy.”
“Of course,” Hunter said, nodding, his tone indicating just
how much he believed her.
Trisha gave a great sigh. “I’m not supposed to do this. But
you’ve been a decent guy. Let me show you.” She pulled over her computer laptop
and showed Hunter his file.
Did he really look like that? So skinny, so white, with blue
eyes looking so scared?
“Now, you see that?” Trisha asked, pointing to a large DNR
in one corner. “That doesn’t just mean do
not resuscitate. It’s also a huge warning to not engage.”
Hunter nodded. It was brilliantly done, hiding in plain sight.
The letters must be in a different font or something to let the nursing staff
know.
“So no one is following you. No one is engaging you,” Trisha
reassured him. “And if you think someone is, you should talk to one of the
doctors.”
“No, nurse, I was just testing you,” Hunter said, reassuring
her. “There’s no one following me. No one spying on me. I live a regular life
these days. I just miss the excitement sometimes, you know?”
Trisha chuckled. “Oh, I hear you. Now, let me run these
results and I’ll get you out of here.”
“Thank you,” Hunter said sincerely.
The government wasn’t tracking him.
Which meant that Josh was something much, much worse.
A corporate spy.
Chapter Seven
Maybe my luck was changing. I actually got to sleep all the
way through to my alarm. Of course it rang too damned early—I could have
really used another few hours of shut-eye.
Didn’t take me long, though, to get my feet back under me.
My stomach was sore to the touch and bruised—was going to have to lay off
the crunches for a while. Not like I exercised regularly. Or at all. But it
didn’t really hurt to breathe anymore, and as long as I was careful, I wouldn’t
feel it at all.
Of course, after standing all day at the shop I might be
singing a different tune. For now, I told myself to suck it up.
I wasn’t normally the cautious type. Jump in with both feet was generally my motto. However, that
afternoon, I sent a text to Sam, with the single word, “Safe.” Then I promptly
blocked her number so she couldn’t call or text back.
What can I say? Sometimes I was a bitch like that.
My luck continued, and I made it to work without being
hassled by the cops, angry drug dealers, or crazy-ass vets. I knew it was going
to run out sooner or later, I was just thankful for every minute that it seemed
to stick with me.
Amy was working the shift before mine. She wasn’t my
favorite person, though she was generous with her smokes.
I’d always wondered what her deal was. She seemed to be
playing a part. She had a horsey laugh, round cheeks, freaky pale gray eyes,
and if she’d dressed better, could have been mistaken for someone’s cool
grandma.
Instead, she wore leggings that were ten years too young for
her, a red curly wig that would have fit well in a hooker’s closet, and always
tried too hard to be hip.
Customers loved her, though. The shy girls who came into the
shop would ask her for advice, the tough guys would lose their bluster and
laugh with her. Stupid jocks who tried to shock her (or me, for that matter)
would generally find themselves blushing from her bluntness.
“¿ Que pasa , alamasa ? ” Amy said when she saw me come in.
I mean, who said those kinds of things?
The store hadn’t changed since the previous night: light
classic rock played in the background instead of some stupid Christmas songs,
the condoms waved from where they were tied to the table like floppy hands, the
damned lights still buzzed overhead, and the linoleum floor was still that
dingy gray.
But I was feeling all kinds of sentimental that afternoon,
and thought it looked kind of homey.
I figured Amy would say something about the orders that had
piled up from the previous night, but she scooted on out of the store
Trisha gave Hunter a hard look. “There’s nobody following
you. No spy.”
“Of course,” Hunter said, nodding, his tone indicating just
how much he believed her.
Trisha gave a great sigh. “I’m not supposed to do this. But
you’ve been a decent guy. Let me show you.” She pulled over her computer laptop
and showed Hunter his file.
Did he really look like that? So skinny, so white, with blue
eyes looking so scared?
“Now, you see that?” Trisha asked, pointing to a large DNR
in one corner. “That doesn’t just mean do
not resuscitate. It’s also a huge warning to not engage.”
Hunter nodded. It was brilliantly done, hiding in plain sight.
The letters must be in a different font or something to let the nursing staff
know.
“So no one is following you. No one is engaging you,” Trisha
reassured him. “And if you think someone is, you should talk to one of the
doctors.”
“No, nurse, I was just testing you,” Hunter said, reassuring
her. “There’s no one following me. No one spying on me. I live a regular life
these days. I just miss the excitement sometimes, you know?”
Trisha chuckled. “Oh, I hear you. Now, let me run these
results and I’ll get you out of here.”
“Thank you,” Hunter said sincerely.
The government wasn’t tracking him.
Which meant that Josh was something much, much worse.
A corporate spy.
Chapter Seven
Maybe my luck was changing. I actually got to sleep all the
way through to my alarm. Of course it rang too damned early—I could have
really used another few hours of shut-eye.
Didn’t take me long, though, to get my feet back under me.
My stomach was sore to the touch and bruised—was going to have to lay off
the crunches for a while. Not like I exercised regularly. Or at all. But it
didn’t really hurt to breathe anymore, and as long as I was careful, I wouldn’t
feel it at all.
Of course, after standing all day at the shop I might be
singing a different tune. For now, I told myself to suck it up.
I wasn’t normally the cautious type. Jump in with both feet was generally my motto. However, that
afternoon, I sent a text to Sam, with the single word, “Safe.” Then I promptly
blocked her number so she couldn’t call or text back.
What can I say? Sometimes I was a bitch like that.
My luck continued, and I made it to work without being
hassled by the cops, angry drug dealers, or crazy-ass vets. I knew it was going
to run out sooner or later, I was just thankful for every minute that it seemed
to stick with me.
Amy was working the shift before mine. She wasn’t my
favorite person, though she was generous with her smokes.
I’d always wondered what her deal was. She seemed to be
playing a part. She had a horsey laugh, round cheeks, freaky pale gray eyes,
and if she’d dressed better, could have been mistaken for someone’s cool
grandma.
Instead, she wore leggings that were ten years too young for
her, a red curly wig that would have fit well in a hooker’s closet, and always
tried too hard to be hip.
Customers loved her, though. The shy girls who came into the
shop would ask her for advice, the tough guys would lose their bluster and
laugh with her. Stupid jocks who tried to shock her (or me, for that matter)
would generally find themselves blushing from her bluntness.
“¿ Que pasa , alamasa ? ” Amy said when she saw me come in.
I mean, who said those kinds of things?
The store hadn’t changed since the previous night: light
classic rock played in the background instead of some stupid Christmas songs,
the condoms waved from where they were tied to the table like floppy hands, the
damned lights still buzzed overhead, and the linoleum floor was still that
dingy gray.
But I was feeling all kinds of sentimental that afternoon,
and thought it looked kind of homey.
I figured Amy would say something about the orders that had
piled up from the previous night, but she scooted on out of the store
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