Hunter let his hand drop and stumbled for the bathroom, his brain buzzing.
Nobody’s baby? How could that be?
Hunter’s parents, Jim and Susie Rutledge, lived outside of Kansas City, Missouri, in a patch of horse property because Susie liked to ride. Jim ran the cattle farm; Susie was a teacher. They had four sons, and they’d both been so proud of Hunter when he’d signed up for the armed forces after college. He’d done a lot of terrible things since then—and a few decent ones—but even in the middle of the world’s worst hellholes, he’d managed to send them Christmas and birthday cards, because he knew if he was sent home wounded or dead, Jim and Susie Rutledge would care for him… or mourn him.
He was their baby and always had been.
His first boyfriend, during basic training, had been a sweet kid named Miles who was planning to get his teaching degree after the military. He might already have it. Hunter had called him baby every day, and not just in bed.
He’d had a few boyfriends since—many of them like Miles in that they were sweet and a little naïve and a little too pure for the likes of the man Hunter had molded himself into. And of course there had been hookups in between. He wasn’t a monk. Sex was great! Physical, fun, great stress relief—and intimate, if he was leaning that way.
But he’d never shied away, particularly skin-to-skin, from being kind or protective. That was a perk, he thought, of having a lover. You got to call them baby.
How could Dylan Li never have been anybody’s baby?
He got to the bathroom and found Grace sitting on the side of the tub—which looked blessedly uncomfortable because it was a narrow strip of enamel or whatever—probing disconsolately at the feet in the water.
Some of the water swirling around his toes was pink, and Hunter could see that he’d taken the top of one of his toes off when he stubbed it, and peeled the toenail back. Grace had grabbed his ankle and was hauling his foot up so he could inspect the damage when Hunter let out a sigh.
“Sit on the throne,” he said. “Let me do it.”
“If you think I can’t tape my own toes…,” Grace argued, but Hunter held up a hand.
“No, I’m sure you can,” he said, helping Grace up off the tub and onto the toilet. The lid creaked—plastic—and Hunter assisted him to sit up on the sink instead. If it had been anyone else, he’d be afraid the counter would collapse, but there was something delicate about Grace’s build. Muscular, yes, but also fine-boned.
Not the kind of body that could break things with his ass.
“Then why you gotta treat me like a kid?” Grace asked, and for a moment, Hunter saw the sullen loner that Grace liked to project when he was at his most annoying.
Never been anyone’s baby before.
Josh’s voice, harsh and unhappy, kept banging around in his head.
They were important words. They made Grace a totally different creature—when he’d already been fascinating before they were even uttered.
“Not like a kid,” Hunter said gently. “Like a colleague who’s been hurt.” He stood at the sink, ran warm water over a clean washcloth, and looked at the pile of first-aid implements somebody—probably Josh—had dumped on the counter.
Okay. Neosporin with lidocaine and some cloth-covered bandages. They were in business.
He lathered up the washcloth, making sure it was warm and sudsy, and took Grace’s heel in his palm.
Grace sucked in a breath and regarded him with wide eyes.
“I’ll be careful,” he said, keeping his voice mild.
Grace’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. I’m not helpless.”
“No, you’re not,” Hunter reassured him, wiping the toes carefully, being sure to treat the cuts and bruises with gentleness. He smiled a bit at seeing the muted purple, pink, and blue nail polish. “Pedicure much?”
Grace’s guarded expression turned dreamy, and his shoulders rippled in sheer hedonism. “We dancers beat the shit out of our feet,” he admitted, and Hunter could see that. Crooked toes spoke to breaks, and bunions spoke for themselves—all part of a life in service to the beauty of the dance. “Having someone rub my toes twice a month is like my reward for not killing people.”
Hunter chuckled. He could understand that. He’d paid for massages after he’d run ops for the same reason. “And the polish is for fun,” he said with a wink.
The dreaminess faded. Turned sullen. “You think it’s too feminine, right?”
Ouch. “No! Not at all. It’s sort of adorable.” Only stony silence, which told him that Grace didn’t buy it. That was a shame. Hunter was being sincere. Shoes probably hid the nail polish more often than not. This thing Grace did only for himself, because he liked beauty, and Hunter appreciated that. But Grace didn’t want to hear it now. He’d have to try something else. “That move you pulled on Broadstone, that’s pretty damned spectacular.”
Grace’s smile lost the sullenness. “I’m pretty awesome,” he agreed.
“You really are.” Hunter wiped carefully, wincing at some of the rawer places on the balls of Grace’s feet and his heels. “And you knew I was coming for you,” he said, gauging Grace’s reaction carefully.
Grace glanced at him and glanced away quickly.
“You said you were coming.”
“And you trusted that I would get there and not let anything happen to you,” Hunter murmured. In the other room, through their coms, the discussion of exactly what Broadstone and his security guy had been doing in Artur’s bedroom was going on, but Hunter had practice tuning out things on his coms that he didn’t need.
And what he needed right now was for Grace to understand trust.
“You don’t let Josh down,” Grace murmured.
“I won’t let you down.”
Grace shrugged. “Sure. Because I’m Josh’s friend.”
Hunter cocked his head. “Why not because you’re you?”
Grace gave him a bleak, bitter smile. “Only Josh has ever done that. I’m too much of a pain in the ass for anyone else to care about.”
Hunter patted Grace’s foot dry and reached for the gauze, his heart twisting a little. “I’m a trained killer,” he said into the muted silence of the bathroom. “I’m not fun at parties.”
Grace lifted a shoulder. “I’m great at parties,” he said blithely. “People just don’t care where I am afterwards.”
“Except Josh.”
“And his family,” Grace added loyally.
One side of Hunter’s mouth pulled up. “Of course. Maybe, you know, the rest of the crew cares too.”
“They can’t find a better thief,” Grace said, coldly assessing his worth to them in an act of hubris.
“I bet Josh is pretty good,” Hunter told him. “And Danny, for all his talk of being too old.”
“Danny doesn’t age,” Grace said, and Hunter looked into that piquant, young face, trying to gauge whether he was being serious or not. “It’s true!” Grace defended, completely serious. “I used to be the only one who could see Danny. He was sneaking around to see Josh and not run into Felix, and Josh let me see him so I didn’t think he was imaginary.”