Hunter tensed as he thought he felt a finger trace a line along the back of his neck. He whirled around to confront the guy, but the stranger stared up at the ceiling when Hunter turned, his hands folded almost demurely in his lap.
Hunter wished he had just walked home. What with waiting for the train at the Davis station, the several stops, and his multi-block walk home after the ride, he probably wasn’t saving any time anyway.
Had the guy really touched him? Or did he just imagine it? Maybe it was a bug or something. He slapped at the back of his neck and then felt stupid for doing it.
None too soon, the train slowed, squealing, and finally stopped at a very deserted South Boulevard station. Hunter prayed the man was heading on to make a connection with the Chicago trains at Howard Street.
He got up quickly and exited the train.
The man did the same.