The choice is yours…
Didn’t the risk of finding out outweigh the risk of losing her?
It was almost one on the morning, but after I finally grew a pair of balls and answered that question, I needed to talk to someone. Reaching for my cell, I scrolled through my contacts until I found the one I needed and hit send.
He answered on the fourth ring with sleep in his voice. “Hunter? Is everything okay?”
I blew out a deep breath. “Yeah, Uncle Joe. Everything’s fine. I’m sorry to call so late. But I need to get blood drawn. Can I come by your office first thing tomorrow?”
“Are you sick?”
“No.” I paused. “But I need to know now.”
No further explanation was required. Uncle Joe took a moment to process what I’d said. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed. I’ll meet you at the office in a half hour.”
“It’s one in the morning.”
“I know. But you didn’t make this call lightly. I want to hear what’s going on. I’ll bring coffee. If you still want to get tested after we hash things out for a while, I know a lab that opens at six. I’ll draw the blood, take it over myself, and ask them to put a rush on it.”
Chapter 37
Hunter
“Turn on your TV—NBC.”
No hello. No how you doing, buddy.
I picked up the remote, flicked the TV on, and turned to the station Derek had said. A commercial for Rogaine played on the screen. I muted it to speak.
“I don’t have much going for me these days, but I have my hair.”
“Just wait.”
“You’re not making me watch a two-hour, B-flick horror movie again just so I can see your name at the end as robotics consultant, are you?”
“Shut up and watch.”
I’d just gotten in from a morning meeting, so I kicked off my shoes and pulled my dress shirt from my slacks. I’d started to unbutton with my cell tucked between my shoulder and ear when the news started to play.
I grabbed the remote to turn up the volume without noticing that my cell had fallen from my hold and landed somewhere on the couch.
What the fuck?
The screen flashed video of a man walking through a gaggle of reporters toward an apartment building. Beneath it read Convicted Ponzi scheme organizer Garrett Lockwood released early. A bunch of reporters shoved microphones in his face, asking questions about restitution to victims as he attempted to walk.
Garrett held up his hand, clearly no stranger to attention, and said, “Guys, I just want to be home with my family. I’ll answer whatever questions you have tomorrow.”
But that wasn’t what had me squeezing the remote so hard I cracked the battery panel cover. It was the building he was walking home to.
Natalia’s apartment building.
The segment didn’t last more than a minute before the news went on to a story about a string of home invasions. I stood staring at the TV, having forgotten all about Derek until I heard a muted voice calling my name in the distance. It was coming from my phone on the couch.
“Shit.” I picked up my cell. “Sorry. I dropped my phone.”
“Did you see it?”
“What the hell is she doing letting him stay at her place?”