Hunted (Riley Cray) Read Online Free

back for God knows how long we might as well be on a first name basis, right?”
    “Darius,” Holbrook offered with a faint smile, while Johnson just rolled his eyes and sighed.
    “Now that the introductions are over, can we move this along?” Johnson said.
    Holbrook ran a hand through his hair. “Give it a rest, Harry.”
    Apparently Agent Johnson’s gruff demeanor wasn’t just for my benefit.
    “Harry Johnson?” I asked, my mouth twitching with the beginnings of a grin that I saw reflected on Holbrook’s face.
    “Yes?” Johnson asked, his white brows knitting together in question.
    “As in, Hairy Johnson?” I snickered, hysterical laughter once again bubbling at the back of my throat.
    Johnson’s face darkened, his lips compressing into a thin, humorless line.
    “Yes. Hilarious. Are you done, Ms. Cray?”
    Clearing my throat in an attempt to swallow my laughter I began to nod my head, and then shook it as I broke down into a fit of giggles. Tears of laughter began to slide down my cheeks, soon shifting into heaving sobs of frustration and anger.
    “Oh for heaven’s sake!” Johnson fumed. “Pull yourself together, woman! There’s a deranged were on the loose and you’ve got a bulls-eye painted on your back.”
    Rather than helping me to reign in my rampaging emotions, his words worked instead to incite more tears and wracking sobs.
    “Why don’t you give us a minute?” Holbrook asked, stepping between us, shielding me from Johnson’s view as fat, angry tears tracked down my face.
    “Fine. I’ll be outside.” He strode from the room, his no-nonsense shoes thumping on the wooden floor. I distantly heard the snick of a lighter, and a moment later smelled the choking scent of cigarette smoke drifting in through the open door.
    “Is he always such an asshat?” I asked, sniffing as I swiped at my tears with the cuff of my shirt.
    “Unfortunately, yes,” Holbrook replied with a wry grin that brought a weak smile to my lips.
    “So, protective custody huh?” I asked.
    “I’m afraid so. It really is the safest thing for you.”
    “I get it,” I said, nodding as I valiantly held back another wave of tears.
     
    * * *
     
    Twenty minutes later I stood in the middle of my living room, adrift in a sea of emotions as I looked around at my cozy and familiar home, a lifetime of memories embedded in the time worn floors, the sagging couch cushions, and intricate lace curtains hanging in the window above the kitchen sink. Absently, my fingers trailed over the afghan on the back of the couch, the rough, knobby wool familiar under my fingertips.
    Looking down at the bags at my feet my heart constricted in sadness. The meager contents of my life had been crammed into my dad’s old army duffel bag and a backpack. It was all too reminiscent of the trial, being cloistered away in a hotel room and living out of a suitcase.
    “It’s not forever. I promise,” Holbrook said at my shoulder, his voice pitched low and soft.
    Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Agent.
    Swallowing against the tears that rose unbidden and hot at the edges of my eyes I nodded stiffly, not trusting myself to speak. I hated crying in front of others. My tears had been broadcast across the nation, and around the globe, during the trial that had sentenced Samson to serve eight consecutive life sentences. My pain was laid bare, flayed open for the world to see as ruthlessly as he had torn open my body. I never wanted anyone to see me hurting and weak, ever again.
    “What the hell is that?” Johnson demanded, cutting through the emotion wrought silence. Following the direction of his accusing finger I looked down to the cat carrier at my feet as it began to ominously rock from side to side, emitting a very loud and grating noise that could only be described as someone trying to the choke the life out of a rabid weasel. And losing.
    “Loki. My cat.”
    “This is not a vacation, Ms. Cray. You are not bringing that thing with