Page 40 of Art of the Hunt
“Ugh,” Nike said, rolling her eyes in an impressive impression of Beyonce. “Can we go somewhere then?”
“How about explaining what you’re doing here first,” Hunter said. He snagged his phone from where it had been resting on the coffee table and noted the time, even as he thanked God it still worked after taking a dip in the drink yesterday. Had it only been yesterday? In some ways, it felt like he’d known Artemis for decades.
He needed to get to the station. Needed to talk to his boss about that promotion. Needed to interview the guy he’d arrested at the massage parlor to try to figure out whether he’d taken out a hit on either Artemis or himself.
Nike eyed his outfit like she was picturing him naked again, and, Christ, was this what women felt like around lecherous men?
“I came to visit my bestie,” she announced.
“Why?” Hunter asked, not that it was any of his business. But the fact that the woman—both women—had broken into his apartment and he had no clue how made him a tad snippy.
“I was bored,” Nike said. “Vegas is great, but it gets tedious when you’re doing it alone.”
“So what are you, the party friend?”
Nike placed her hand on her waist and cocked her hip, giving him another I-know-what-you-look-like-naked once-over. “What are you, the latest hot lay?”
If he weren’t so damn flustered, he might appreciate her obvious approval of his physique. He had worked damn hard to look like this, after all.
Except he couldn’t get past the whole breaking into his apartment bit.
Or her lasciviousness.
Or that she knew where to find Artemis. Sure, he could see the woman showing up at Artemis’s hotel, but here? When had Artemis even told her where she was staying for the night?
Hunter didn’t like to be in situations where he did not understand the rules. It would lower his blood pressure to speak directly to Artemis instead of her friend.
“I need to get to the station.”
Maybe Nike showing up would work in his favor. She’d keep Artemis busy, and he could actually get some work done without her being a distraction. A distraction that, honestly, was ten times worse now that they’d hooked up. Besides all the other stuff that didn’t make any sense and her determination to be something of a civilian consultant on his cases, he now held out hope that they’d sleep together again.
A lot more than once.
Distraction was an understatement. He needed to put space between himself and this woman, if only to give himself time to think. And get his job done.
“The station?” Nike asked. “Oh, are you a television newscaster? In that outfit? Or do you change into real clothes when you get there? Because I can totally see you as a weatherman.”
Hunter glanced down at his wrinkled shirt and jeans. “Look, I recognize that I’m not exactly keeping up with the latest fashion, but seriously, what the hell is wrong with jeans and a T-shirt?”
“Nothing,” Artemis said, pressing her palm to his chest. He resisted the urge to cover her hand with his own. Seemed like an intimate gesture, and this moment was anything but.
“Nike, why don’t we go back to my hotel? We can get something to eat and catch up.” She curled her fingers against the fabric of his shirt and stared into his eyes. “Please be careful.”
“Why does he need to be careful?” Nike wanted to know. “Besides the obvious, I mean. Why are you saying it in such an ominous way?”
He gave in to the impulse and covered Artemis’s hand with his own. “I will.”
“Okay, this is all sweet and sappy and all, but there’s definitely an undercurrent,” Nike said. “What am I missing?”
“Someone’s out to get him,” Artemis supplied, even though Hunter would really rather she hadn’t.
“We don’t know that it’s me,” he clarified.
“We spent two hours analyzing the situation,” Artemis said. “That was exactly the conclusion we came to.”
“But you were with me every time something happened,” he said. This standoff was getting very stale. Solving the case would mercifully put a lid on the argument.
“That’s because I’ve been with you almost non-stop for two days.”
