“I got the paperwork. But I don't want to talk about that right now.” He stepped closer, backing her against the driver's door, his hands finding her hips. She looked up at him, her blue eyes dark in the low light, and didn't resist.
"What do you want to talk about?" she asked, her voice dropping.
"Who said anything about talking?"
He kissed her. Not gentle. Not careful. The kind of kiss that said he'd been thinking about this all through dinner, watching her laugh and talk and fit so perfectly into his life that it scared him. The kind of kiss that said he was done being careful.
She kissed him back with equal intensity, her hands fisting in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. He pressed her harder against the truck, felt her arch into him, and for a long moment, there was nothing else—no grief, no worry, no ghosts—just her.
When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard.
"You gonna follow me home?" he asked, his forehead resting against hers.
She smiled, slow and promising. "I was plan?—"
"Well, well. Isn't this cozy."
Trent went rigid.
He knew that voice. Knew the lazy drawl, the undercurrent of mockery, the way it always sounded like the speaker was laughing at a joke no one else understood.
Karl Simpson stepped out of the shadows at the edge of the parking lot, his boots scraping on the pavement, an easy grin plastered across his face like he'd just stopped by to say hello to old friends.
Trent shifted, putting himself between Dove and Karl without thinking about it. His arm wrapped around her waist—protective, possessive.
"Karl." The name came out flat and cold on Trent's tongue.
“Mallor.” Karl's grin widened. He looked at Dove, his eyes dragging over her in a way that made Trent's hands curl into fists. “And who is this? I think I’ve seen you around town. Yeah. With that former FBI guy, right?”
Dove didn't respond. But Trent could feel the tension in her body, the coiled readiness of someone who'd dealt with men like Karl before and knew exactly what they were.
“If you don’t mind, we were just headed out,” Trent said, not bothering to explain who Dove was.
“I think we need to talk.” Karl spread his hands, all innocence. “You never really heard me out the last time, and I’d hate for you to miss an opportunity.”
"We don't have anything to talk about,” Trent said. “And I don’t take too kindly to being threatened.”
Karl held up his hands. “When did I do that?”
“Don’t play dumb with me.” Trent wouldn’t come out and mention the Hendersons, or shit that Karl could use to destroy Trent and his business. That would only add fuel to a fire Trent didn’t want to ignite.
“I really don’t know what you’re rambling about.” Karl's smile didn't waver, but something shifted in his eyes. Something harder. “I just want to discuss a business opportunity that you’re not gonna want to turn down.”
“I’m sure it’s not for me.” Trent kept his voice even, his body still. "But go ahead. Say it. You can speak freely in front of my girlfriend."
Karl chuckled—a low, knowing sound that made Trent want to put his fist through the man's teeth. "Nah. This is a private conversation. The kind that's better had between old friends." He paused. "I'll be in touch."
He gave Dove one more look—measuring, assessing—then turned and walked toward the back entrance of Juniper's, his boots crunching on the gravel until the darkness swallowed him.
The silence he left behind was thick enough to choke on.
“Why didn’t you bring up the Hendersons?” Dove's voice was quiet.
“Because if he’s behind that, it’ll show that I’m running scared.” Trent realized his arm was still tight around her waist and forced himself to relax. “Besides, he’ll just deny it in front of you, and the point of all this was to see how I’d respond.”
“I spoke to Cullen about Karl, but I didn’t bring up the note.”
He turned to look at her, and whatever she saw in his face made her expression sharpen. “Cullen texted me. And I appreciate you looking into things.” Trent glanced toward the door Karl had disappeared through. “Karl is up to something, and it’s definitely no good.”
