Page 3 of Hunted

He stood still, looked into her eyes, and his were filled with impatience, anger, and no small amount of dislike. These were not new. He’d always looked at her pretty much that way. And despite the apparent confusion suggested by his actions, he was clear-eyed.

“I’m leaving,” he said. “I have everything set up, and I’m leaving. Your time off begins today. You told me so, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.” She’d told him she’d resigned to care for him. She’d told him several times, and as recently as this morning. His dementia was worsening at an alarming rate. She was determined he not go into a facility. She’d keep it quiet. She wouldn’t let the memory of her father be tainted by a sad and sudden decline. He was a hero. He was adored and respected the world over, by anyone who knew anything about infectious disease. His reputation was responsible for most of his team’s research funding. They were making strides against multiple, deadly diseases.

She and her dad had plenty of money, and her career could wait. It was more important take care of him. To preserve his legacy.

“You’re free to come with me if you want,” he said. “God knows I’m going to need help, as much as it galls me to admit it. Bad enough I had to move in with you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I wanted you here.”

“You can stay behind if that’s what you want. I’ll hire a nurse when I get there. If that’s your choice, fine, but you should know that you will never see me again.”

She frowned hard, a trill of alarm skittering up her spine. “Dad, what the hell is going on? What do you mean, I’ll never see you again?”

He looked past her, up and down the street. “I can’t tell you that. They could be listening.”

God, this was far worse than she’d thought. He was completely delusional. Okay, okay, she needed to just keep him calm.

“Everything’s taken care off,” he said again. “The heat’s turned down, and a discreet friend will check on the place once a week. I’ve set up timers for the lights so it’ll look like we’re still here. I’ve withdrawn a large amount of cash. Our mail will be forwarded to a service that will forward it to a lawyer who’ll keep it for us to pick up. I paid top dollar. We won’t be traced.”

“Why would anyone want to trace us?”

“We have to go now. We have—we have to go—we have to—” He started gasping in between his words, and then he pressed one hand to his chest.

Lexi swore. “Where’s your nitro, Dad?”

He reached for his pocket and missed. “Not gonna help. Have to go. House is all locked up. Everything’s … taken care of.”

She dug the pill bottle from his pocket, shook out a tablet and pushed it between his lips. “I’ll drive, okay? You just calm down. Don’t kill yourself over this. All right?”

Panting, he nodded and shuffled around the van to the passenger side. She opened the door and helped him get in. He seemed calmer, but not enough.

She watched him buckle his seatbelt, then glanced back at the house. “Where’s Jax?”

“In the back with the other boxes.”

“Ah, hell, Dad.” Lexi closed his door, ran around to the driver’s side and got in. There was an open path to the back where it looked like everything they owned had been tossed in, some boxed, some bagged, some just loose. Shoes were scattered everywhere. A mountain, apparently made out of every outfit she owned, blocked the rear windows, and their toaster lay across the top of it.

“Jax? Kitty? Where are you, boy?”

A plaintive and far too muffled “meow” guided her to a box that was taped shut and jiggling fiercely.

Right. Her father had thrown her clothes in loose, but boxed up her cat. Rolling her eyes, Lexi peeled off the tape and her oversized goofball of a yellow cat shot out like snakes from a fake peanut can.

“Will you hurry it up, girl? I am not playing games here. We have to go, now.”

She wasn’t going to calm Jax at this point, so she let him be, and got herself into the seat behind the wheel again. “Okay, we’re going.” She started the van, and turned to her father. “Which way?”

“We’re heading north.”

She almost smiled when he said that. The only place she could think of in that direction was her mother’s cabin. Well, hers now, she supposed. It was still in her mother’s name, though she’d been dead for twenty-four years. She’d willed it to her daughter when she’d received her terminal diagnosis and had died before Lexi had started kindergarten. Lexi and her father hadn’t been back there since.

Lexi had no idea what kind of shape the log home was in. But it was the place that held her fondest memories of her mother for her.

She backed out of the driveway and headed down the street. “How long are we staying?”

“Not very long,” he told her. “Just ’til I’m dead. Now step on it, will you?”

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