[center][h1][color=DodgerBlue]Nathan Hunter[/color][/h1][/center][hr][hr]

This was giving him a headache.

No it wasn't. It couldn't be. Getting a stress headache was too much like his father and he definitely didn't want that. No, this had to be something else. Maybe he was getting a tumor. Yeah, a big, fat tumor pressing against his prefrontal cortex. That would be great.

As he sat staring at the TV screen, Nate narrowed his eyes and prayed for a tumor. But he knew there was no tumor. It was the god damn stress. The past few weeks had been weird, even by his standards. The cute news anchor was currently informing the world about a night that Nathan would sooner forget about. He had barely made it out of that charity gala with his life. And that life had been insane ever since. Sure, he had dragged the client he had been hired to protect out of the rubble alive, albeit minus a couple of feet, and on any other occasion he would have considered that night a win. But given that the police were now looking for him and he was going slowly insane from post traumatic stress disorder and a possible tumor surely meant that he should mark it in the loss column.

And that wasn't even mentioning...[i]them[/i].

Sure, they were cool, smart, charming and sexy as hell but they were still weird.

He slumped back into the couch, almost sinking into the cushions and sighed. When he heard a clatter and the sound of garbled communication coming from the kitchen, he slowly turned his head in the direction of the door. What would happen if he left right now? Would they follow? Would they find him? Part of him wanted to find out, if only to test a theory. But a larger and probably smarter part told him to stay. For now anyway.

His attention was quickly drawn elsewhere though when he heard the bedroom door being attacked from the other side. Oh right...Almost forget about her. He shifted slightly to look over his shoulder at the bedroom door behind him as Jennifer yelled to be released. This raised one of Nate's eyebrows in confusion and he yelled back “It's not locked. You just have to jiggle the handle. It sticks sometimes.”

He made a mental not to make some improvements. Or maybe just find a better safehouse.