Sif's Task

By Christine Stephens

DCI J. Hunter Goram is a charismatic British detective of Indian descent. He and his team endeavor to solve a series of gruesome murders that seem to have connections to Norse mythology. Goram discovers a group of weekend warriors who immerse themselves in Viking history and religion, and practice fighting with authentic weapons and armor for fun. However, their role-play turns deadly when their leader twists the mythology to suit his own plans. One by one, the men submit to ritual sacrifices, leaving their tortured bodies for Goram to analyze. On the eve of Winter Solstice Goram catches up with the killer for the final sacrifice. The explosive surprise ending will have you wondering why you can’t help but empathize with the killer, despite the horrific nature of his crimes, and ask yourself what you might do if faced with the events and decisions leading up to the completion of Sif’s Task.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christine Stephens
• Release date: Dec 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370762507

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Copyright © 2016 by C. R. Stephens

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art Copyright © 2016 by Gerald Lopez

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank my good friends John and Jerry for their enthusiasm, encouragement, and infinite patience.

Dedication

To my husband for putting up with me.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Sif’s Task

C. R. Stephens

Chapter 1

DETECTIVE CHIEF INSPECTOR J. Hunter Goram awoke in a strange place. There was a bright light shining in his eyes, and he felt a sort of floating peacefulness. Then the pain hit, like a tidal wave, surging and ripping through his chest. There was a thing in his throat, pushing air into his lungs. Wires and tubes were everywhere, and machines all around that hissed and beeped. He could hear the sound of clattering metal instruments, and people mumbling. His arms were spread out and strapped to something, like he was being crucified. Sheets, with big red stains, were being removed. Someone lifted his head slightly to pull something out from underneath. It was just enough for a quick glimpse of the top of his chest. There were metal things in a row, something sticking out above his collarbone, big tubes coming out from between his ribs. In the center of all this equipment, Hunter began to panic. He bucked the ventilator, gasping, and gagging. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, and couldn’t breathe. The pain was unreal.

Alarms started to go off, and he heard a strange voice yelling. He’s not supposed to be awake yet. Put him out! Put him out!

The next time he awoke, the breathing tube was gone. Ann was there. Ann? Ann was saying something. She was right up in his face, with her cool hand on his forehead.

You better live because I have to kick your ass all the way back to London!

What? He couldn’t move without that searing pain. What happened? Why am I here? Where is here? His mind was in a drug haze.

Gradually, he started to remember bits and pieces of what was happening. Ann was sitting in a chair next to him, reading. Then she wasn’t. Strange people came in and out, rearranging tubes and wires, moving him, sitting him up, and sometimes talking in a language he didn’t understand. He tried to speak, but his throat was sore. Someone was telling him to cough and breathe deeply. It hurt too much.

You have to do it or else we’ll put the breathing tube back in. Suck in on this thing. Make the little ball go up to this mark.

What kind of torture device is this?

Ann was back. She sat on the edge of the bed and gave him ice chips with a spoon. It made his throat feel better. He tried to speak and his voice cracked.

What? What happened? A whispering rasp was all he could manage.

Hunter, don’t you remember? Tigress. She got you. Put a knife in your chest. A big one.

He tried to remember, but couldn’t. He lay back and closed his eyes.

Dubai.

Yes. You’re in Dubai, luv. You’ve had surgery and now you’re in ICU.

Surgery?

Yes, and you almost didn’t make it.

Didn’t? What— Inhaling fast felt excruciating. How long?

You were under for nearly eight hours. Then eight more here in the ICU.

He made his sluggish arms move. He stretched his fingers to touch his chest. This has got to be a dream, he thought. It can’t be true. But Ann guided his hand to the thick mat of bandages. Proof. He let his arms drop. Realization sank in. He wasn’t indestructible.

Good thing she didn’t finish the job. You’d be lying on a slab if she did.

She gave him another spoonful of ice. He reached for the plastic cup. There was a thing with a wire stuck on his fingertip. She put the cup into his other hand, closed his fingers around it and helped him lift it to his mouth. He couldn’t believe he was that helpless. He looked down at the flimsy hospital gown, the tangle of IVs, and his bare feet sticking out the end of the bed. Pain was still crushing his whole chest.

Cold.

She got him another blanket and tucked it around his feet too.

Why are you here, Ann?

I wanted to come. I know more about the case than anyone, except you.

But—

It’s out of your hands now. Don’t worry. Just try to get better. I heard as soon as they can move you, they’re sending you back to London. Your family is waiting for you, luv.

Tigress?

She got away.

Now, his sense of epic failure was complete. I let her get away! Oh God, I might as well die now!

Then there was Ann. She had been watching him the whole time he was stuck here in bed, completely helpless, in a stupid hospital gown. What she could tell the people at work made him grimace. It was going to be pure hell when he got back. That is, if I still have a job to go back to!

She sat with her hands in her lap, looking at him in complete seriousness, and concern. She reached out and patted his hand gently.

Don’t think about it now, she said. We’ll get back on it when you’re better.

In a couple of days, they trundled him into a plane, and took him back to London. His family was there. His mother was crying. Ann had left.

NOW THE WORK of recovery began. He had to get up and walk. He had to breathe and cough. They pulled the big tubes from between his ribs. It felt like his lungs were being ripped out.

He had to eat hospital food until his family brought him some rice and dahl, and a thermos of hot chai. Comfort food. He’d never tasted anything so good. This made his mother very happy. The nurses didn’t think all that spice would be good for him now. He told them to leave it off.

Bring me vindaloo next time, Mum!

He was moved out of the thoracic unit and onto a noisy ward, where sleep was elusive. Families trooped in and out all day, and a man with Alzheimer’s yelled all night. Hunter willed himself to get better if only to get away from this ward. Then he got a fever that knocked him flat again, a setback that made him despondent and hopeless. They started pumping him full of antibiotics while tapering down his pain medication. All this gave him sweating, shaking, chills, and diarrhea. This was getting to be too much to bear. Now he smelled like armpits and shit too.

The lack of sleep grated on his nerves, and made him grouchy and almost hostile when the nurses bothered him. He ached all over, not just his chest, like he’d had the hell beaten out of him. He couldn’t imagine how terrible he must look, not having had a bath in a week. Or was it weeks? He lost track of time.

At his lowest point of misery and despair, some of his colleagues from work came to visit. They chided him about the woman who got away. The great Hunter lost a case! Was it worth all this? When Ann came in, he was so glad to see her.

Bloody hell! What are all you wankers doing here? Leave off the jesting now. I’d like to see one of you old buggers do what Hunter did. Now sod off, the lot of you!

She looked like a mother hen shooing away the rabble. God, it hurt to laugh! Laugh and cough. Great, uncontrollable hacking seized him, and he brought up nasty green gobs that he almost gagged on. He squeezed a pillow to his chest, like the nurse showed him, so he wouldn’t pop a stitch, or anything else for that matter, and he hoped he wouldn’t shit himself. He was sweating and tears streamed down his face when he was done. He wished Ann didn’t have to see him like this. But she sat there silently, gave him tissues, and waited patiently until he relaxed.

Oh, you look like hell today, she said.

I feel like hell. I don’t think I’ve had a decent night’s sleep in ages. How long’s it been?

Ten days. Oh, here. She handed him a paper cup of chai. I got it from the hospital coffee shop. I doubt it’s as good as your Mum’s.

It’s better than that piss water coffee they give me!

He sipped the spicy, overly sweet tea and lay back, exhausted. But Ann was sitting there like the cat that ate the canary.

OK, what is it? Have you got some info?

On Tigress, no. She knows we know who she is now. She won’t risk showing up any time soon. Actually, there’s another case you might be interested in, and it’s been given to your team.

Don’t do this to me, Ann. They’re not letting me out for at least another week! Then, I can’t drive for a month after that.

It’s a gory one! Look, I’ve got pictures, she said and waved them at him.

Cripes, Ann, is that a crime scene? Don’t let anyone see those!

Blood and guts, Hunter. Your favorite.

All right, all right, give it here!

Blood and guts were right, draped all around the room like decoration.

I heard old Loomis nearly passed out over this, Ann said, snickering under her breath.

Old Loomis passes out over a paper cut!

It’s good to see you smile again, luv.

What the hell is Loomis doing on my team? I thought he retired.

He’s filling in while you’re gone.

DCI Walter Loomis had been Hunter’s superior, until he’d retired and Hunter had taken his place. Hunter had to laugh again, carefully this time, when he imagined Loomis investigating this crime scene. Loomis hated a bloody mess. He’d routinely shoved those types of cases into Hunter’s lap. ‘Give it to Gory Goram,’ he always said.’ Hunter studied the photos, scanned the autopsy report and the crime scene description.

This looks like a ritual killing. Wasn’t there some kind of ancient torture like that? Celts, or Vikings or something. They wrap some poor guy’s intestines around an evergreen tree like Christmas garland while he’s still alive. Good thing that man was already dead. Um, what was the exact cause of death anyway?

I’ll see what I can find, Ann said. She’d brought her laptop, and got busy digging through her information. When she looked up, Hunter was asleep. She packed up her papers, closed the laptop, and pulled the blanket up under his chin.

See you tomorrow, luv, she said very softly.

THE NEXT DAY, Hunter felt a lot better. He got up by himself and a nurse came running to save the IVs from being ripped out. The thought of being in this hospital much longer made him desperate to get out. He was starting to obsess about the case Ann had shown him. It was time to stop moping around in the hospital, and get back to work! He just knew there were clues that someone might have missed. The nurse walked with him to the bathroom and gave him a washcloth and some towels and clean pajamas. She ordered him not to get those staples wet.

The hot water felt wonderful. What I wouldn’t give for a soak in a tub right now! That and a shave. When he looked in the mirror, he hardly recognized himself. Ann’s right. I look like hell! He soaped up the washcloth and scrubbed his face and scraggly beard. There were dark rings under his eyes. His cheekbones jutted out like he was a starving refugee. His hair was sticking up here, plastered down there, and his scalp felt greasy and itchy.

Then he turned his attention to his chest. What a wreck, he thought as he ran his fingers over all the scars and took inventory. A big puckered, stapled incision went straight down the entire sternum like a zipper. Another line of staples closed the stab wound just below his heart. A little stitch sat just above his collarbone where an IV had been. Then, there were the slashes from the chest tubes. His arms were covered with bruises, like a junkie.

He washed wherever he could reach. Then he was exhausted. He wondered how long it would it take to get back to normal? It still hurt so much. It even hurt to sob.

Later, the nurse took out the staples. The incision flattened out and looked better. Maybe it won’t look as bad when it’s healed, he thought. His mother brought him chana masala and naan for lunch, and chai with jaggery. He sat up in a chair, and she told him all the latest family news. His sister, Shari, and her husband, Josh, stopped in. She’d brought her hair cutting tools. She washed his hair in the sink, and cut it. He’d been told not to use a razor to shave while he was on warfarin, so Shari trimmed his beard to make it neat and rubbed some balm into it.

Thank you, Shari. Now I feel human again! He patted her pregnant belly. How soon?

About six weeks.

He shook Josh’s hand. Pretty soon she won’t be all yours any more, mate.

In the evening Ann arrived. She stood with her hands on her hips and looked him up and down.

Oh, so you’re cute enough to kiss now, aye? Maybe they’ll throw you out soon.

And will you take me home with you, darling? he said, with his best puppy dog look.

She narrowed her eyes. You must be feeling better. You’re reverting into an ass.

You crush me.

Wanker.

He was getting to like Ann and her sharp wit, and the way she looked out for him. She made him think, and not feel sorry for himself, and she didn’t give him any breaks. He looked forward to her visits every day. Right now, though, he was ogling at her round, curvy hips and ass as she bent over to pick up her laptop. There was a delicious little kick pleat in the back of her skirt. How far up did it go? She turned quickly, caught him smirking, and gave him a stern look. She pulled up a chair, set the laptop where he could see the screen and began typing. She had delicate little hands, he noticed, that practically flew over the keyboard. But Hunter wasn’t watching the computer screen. He was looking at Ann and the little freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her shiny, wavy brown hair. He wanted to touch it to find out if it was as soft as it looked. She pushed it behind her ear, and his eyes traced the line of her jaw to the little pearl earring in her earlobe, then down her smooth white neck to the little hollow where her collarbones met, and into the front of her blouse. He could just imagine tracing that same line with his lips. The first tingling of arousal snapped him out of his daydream. He shook his head.

Are you all right, luv? she said.

Sorry Ann. The drugs they give me make it hard to concentrate sometimes.

If you’re too tired, I can come back tomorrow.

No Annie, I’m OK now. Please go on.

All right, Hunter. Look what I found. Check out this web site. Looks like a Viking group right here in London.

Hunter scanned the site. Ann pulled up some more data, with pictures of some of the members. They looked like regular people, all ages, men, women, and children, and even whole families. They did reenactments of battles, had a mock village on summer weekends for tourists, and were building a Viking boat. They had an annual picnic and fund-raiser. It was all up and up for the sake of historical education. Hunter explored the information for a while.

It’s a sacrifice for sure, he said suddenly. But they messed it up and he died before the mutilation. I doubt that group had anything to do with it. It doesn’t seem right. He lay back on the bed and sighed impatiently. I wish I wasn’t stuck in this damn hospital!

Don’t worry, Hunter. You’ll be better soon enough, she said. I think maybe I should let you rest now.

But Annie—

Shhh. You look exhausted Hunter, really. Are you in pain?

He looked at her and bit his lip, unwilling to admit that he was aching terribly. She put a hand on his forehead, and then on his cheek.

Is the fever gone? You still feel warm.

He grabbed her hand, and kissed it.

Thank you Annie, for visiting me every day. I think I would go insane if it wasn’t for you bringing me things to think about.

She just smiled at him.

I’ll have the nurse get you something for the pain. I’ll see you tomorrow, luv.

Promise? To come back, I mean.

She nodded. He watched her walk away, leaning way over to get a glimpse of that tantalizing kick pleat in the back of her skirt. . The man with Alzheimer’s started making catcalls at her, as he did every time a woman walked by.

Behave yourself now, she told the man, or the nurse will give you a shot.

I wouldn’t mind a little poke, he said.

Ann laughed, and shook her finger at him, and kept walking.

Hunter laughed, and almost fell out of the side of the bed.

Chapter 2

THE DOCTOR EXAMINED him a day later.

Well, your lungs sound better, so the pneumonia is clearing up. Incision looks good. EKG is normal. No more fever. The doctor looked him in the eye now. Mr. Goram, do you know how lucky you are to be alive? If that knife had gone a fraction farther, it would have penetrated your left ventricle and you would have bled out within minutes. As it was, it collapsed your lung, and pierced the pericardium.

There was a silent pause. Hunter knew all that. He didn’t need to be reminded about how dumb it was to go out after Tigress alone.

So, may I please get out of here?

Yes, yes. I’ll send the nurse around to give you your discharge instructions. You have to take your antibiotics for the next ten days without fail. Come back in a week for blood work so we can get you off the warfarin. Plus, I want you to talk to this doctor.

He handed Hunter a business card for a psychiatrist.

What do I need this for? he asked, but he already knew the answer.

Near death trauma. Risky behavior. That sort of thing.

Of course, of course, he mumbled. As long as I can get out of this hell hole.

HIS FATHER PICKED him up, and took him home. His mother was delighted to have one of her kids coming home instead of moving out.

It’s just for a short while, he said.

Having her wait on him hand and foot seemed like yet another level of humiliation.

I’m OK Mum. I can go to the loo by myself!

He ran a hot bath, despite instructions not to get the incision wet for another week, and soaked for almost an hour. Of course, his mother knocked on the door a few times to make sure he hadn’t drowned himself.

Lying in the water, he let himself think about Tigress for the first time since, well, the event. Attempted murder! Say it like it is! That woman, who put him in such a sorry state! He got a hard-on when he remembered her amber eyes, her silky skin, rain soaked on that muggy Paris night, his hands stroking her slick wetness. It would have been so easy to just slide in.

What kind of power did she have to make him do the things he did? He was always so careful, methodical, and analytical with every case he’d ever succeeded in solving. This wasn’t the first time he’d done undercover work and had been in grave danger. But it was always under his supervisor’s approval. Tigress had made him ignore all conventional methods and protocol, go out on his own, put his career in jeopardy, put his life on the line, on a whim. For what?

He looked down at the scars on his body, remembering the pain of each one: his chest bone cracked open, and then closed with metal wires, the staples in his skin, those horrible chest tubes, IV lines, blood draws, and his bruised arms. It still hurt a lot to move. Instead of capturing her, as he was supposed to do, he screwed her. Two, almost three times. Ah, it was so good too!

Hunter shook his head. Get that out of your mind, damn it! This cannot be good. What if I lose my perspective on another case? What if I put my colleagues in danger because of my lack of judgment? A good detective doesn’t think with his dick! He worried that he was probably in for a demotion when he got back to work, if he still had a job at all. God, and I’ll never hear the end of it from my team! They were probably joking and talking about it right now, while he was lying here. Did they know the details that Ann knew? Did she tell them? That moment of chagrin got rid of the erection.

He closed his eyes and pictured himself with three knives arranged artistically inside his skull, like her last victim. She would have sliced open his groin and throat, and shoved a machete under his ribs. He would have been victim number six. He had a feeling that stabbing him that night wasn’t what she’d originally planned. It was too desperate, too unprofessional, and too random. She didn’t push it in far enough. Why was that? He wished he could remember more. He sank into the water, and let it cover him. Bang, bang, bang!

His mother was knocking on the door.

Someone’s here to see you!

He blinked and then stared at his wrinkled fingertips a moment.

Bang, bang!

I’ll be right out, Mum!

It was hard to get out of the tub. God, I hate this! Thirty-two years old and moving like a half dead old fart! He gritted his teeth as he dried off. All he had to wear were some old sweatpants and a tee shirt, probably his old clothes Mum had saved for years. Shit! No underwear! The pants were way too short and the elastic was worn out. The shirt barely covered his belly. He should have stopped at his apartment to get his own clothes before coming here. Now, he imagined, he probably looked like an idiot!

Ann was here. She had his suitcase from his trip to Dubai, and his laptop. Oh thank God!

You’re the best, Annie! He hugged her.

Doesn’t that hurt? she said as he squeezed her to his chest. She could feel the lines of the incisions though his shirt. It made her a little squeamish. But she liked how he smelled like lavender soap now, instead of that horrid hospital smell.

Not so bad now. So I haven’t been sacked?

I guess not, luv.

What did Simmons tell you?

He told me to bring your things. But he didn’t say anything else.

Hunter smiled at her. Then something occurred to him.

Ann, how did you know I was here at this address, and not still in the hospital?

It’s a little talent I have, remember?

So, you’ve been tracking my progress.

Well, I—

Like a criminal? Annie!

Ann started to look embarrassed. But he kissed her cheek.

How sweet of you, darling, he said, and tilted his head a little. Did you hack into my hospital records too?

Ann bit her lip. Hunter narrowed his eyes at her. There’s a lot more to Ann that meets the eye, he thought appreciatively. He sat down on the sofa, opened his suitcase, and rummaged through it. He found dirty clothes, his Armani suit, stuff that at least fit. He pulled off that ill-fitting T-shirt and put on one of his own. Ann raised an eyebrow. He took out some shorts, but the look on Ann’s face stopped him.

Cripes, Hunter, she muttered.

What? You’ve probably seen it all by now.

Not quite so much, thank you.

His grandmother came into the room with tea for them. She looked at Ann and rattled off something in Hindi that made Hunter laugh.

What did she say?

She says you are like Ganesha, the remover of obstacles. She likes you very much and wonders if you are my wife to be.

What?

Don’t worry. She doesn’t understand a word of English. She’s getting a little daft in her old age too. Don’t pay it any mind. Be glad she doesn’t call you Hanuman, like my brother-in-law, Josh. Now everyone calls him monkey-boy!

He spoke to the old woman in Hindi, and made a deep namaste. She smiled and left.

What did you tell her?

I thanked her for the blessing. She thinks we make a comical pair, he said with a wink.

Wanker.

Now, ah, to change the subject, do you have any more information about the case?

Ann looked at him slyly. How would she know anything about the case if she hadn’t hacked into it? Hunter waited expectantly now. He wanted to see what else she could do. She opened her laptop and pulled up some information.

They have a suspect, Hunter. They found his fingerprints at the scene.

Who?

His name is Lionel Briggs. He was in the system for some minor offense. From the information we have on him, he’s a loner. He worked in a factory, has no family, and was raised in foster homes.

Alibi?

No.

Did they interrogate him yet? Anything?

He won’t, or can’t talk. They think he’s autistic or something.

Is he psychotic?

I don’t know.

Did they check his place?

Nothing there except a bed, table, chair, lamp, and clothes. It almost looks like a prison cell, she said as she showed the photos of his stark apartment.

There’s something to nothing. No distractions.

No television.

Even fewer distractions. Hmmm. Tell me more about the crime scene.

What do you want to know?

Trace evidence. Was there anything besides Briggs’ fingerprints there?

No.

He scowled impatiently. What kind of case is that? What were his fingerprints on?

Let me see. She scrolled through the case notes. Just the doorknob.

He’ll walk unless they find more. What about the victim? Any connections?

Checking.

The scene was the victim’s flat. Forced entry?

No.

Did they find a weapon?

No.

Any neighbors see or hear anything?

No.

Damn! Not much to go on. Is he still in custody?

No.

Oh, bloody hell! I hope they plan to keep an eye on him.

I don’t know.

Then, go back into the records on him and the victim. See if they have any connection whatsoever. Foster home, sports, hobbies, church, same shrink, anything.

That might take a while.

Hunter yawned as fatigue crept over him. Ann thought he was looking haggard again, like after that coughing spell at the hospital.

You all right, luv?

Sorry. This is terrible, getting so tired over the slightest thing. Send everything to my computer. If I can’t come to work, at least I can study the data. I think my brain is going to ossify with nothing to do around here.

He paused a moment. Ann saw him shudder a bit.

Is it cold in here? he said.

Ann looked at him gravely, and poured some more hot tea. He cradled the cup in both hands to absorb the heat. His hands shook a little. He still had dark rings under his eyes. She worried that maybe she shouldn’t have shown him this case. He wasn’t up for it yet. Two weeks ago, he’d been inches from death.

You know, Hunter, I can’t really do anything about the suspect. That’s your department. I’m only legal research. Maybe you should just forget about it for now.

Hunter looked defeated. He set the cup down and rubbed his eyes, then crossed his arms on his chest, bracing the pain. He was slumping forward little by little. He looked at Ann and bit his lip.

What are they saying about me, the lads, you know? Do I have anything to come back to?

I, um—

Please tell me honestly, Ann.

She looked into his dark eyes. It seemed like a different soul peered out, one who’d been pulled from death’s door. No more indestructible arrogance. No more egotistical, smart-ass Hunter who never lost a case. Here was a man climbing painfully out of a pit of disgrace. She wondered if he’d ever be the same again.

I’m sorry, luv, Ann said. I honestly don’t know what they’re saying.

Hunter hung his head and didn’t say anything for a while. Ann started to feel uncomfortable in this silence. She realized then, that the true wound he struggled with was not from the knife, but from the loss of pride and self-confidence. He almost looked like he was about to cry. Ann couldn’t bear the thought of that.

Suddenly, he took a deep breath and smiled at her. A bit of fire had returned to his eyes.

When I get back, Ann, I want you on my team. You’re wasting your talents down in legal research looking up piddling details for solicitors.

The compliment made her blush and look down. She wasn’t used to praise.

There’s one thing I can tell you, Hunter. All the girls sure miss you! And some of the guys too, if you know what I mean.

Hunter snorted, threw head his back and laughed. It was like he was rising from the ashes. He put his arm around Ann and kissed her on the cheek.

Tell the ladies to get in line! You better look out, Annie. I’m going to make good on my promises.

I’ll believe that when I see it.

You asked for it. You told me I owe you, he said with a lascivious grin.

She’d said that jokingly, once or twice, while working on the Tigress case, but she’d never really expected it, at least from the former Hunter. But this new, reincarnated Hunter was uncharted territory. She didn’t know what