“I think this is all connected, and I bet if we dig deep enough, we’ll find ties to Sovereign Resources.”
“I don’t know about that. They’re a legit company with more than one mining site.”
“Doesn’t mean they don’t do shady shit or wouldn’t do whatever it took to push you off your land. We just need to find the connection,” she said. “I know I’m onto something. You need to let me keep digging.’
“Let’s sleep on it, and we can talk more about it in the morning.”
“If you’re not gonna talk to Dawson right away, at least let me read Buddy in on it.”
“I’ll think about it.” He kissed her cheek. “Stay close on the ride home," he said. “I don’t trust Karl.”
"Okay."
He waited until she was in her truck with the engine running before walking to his own. And all the way home, watching her headlights in his rearview mirror, he couldn't shake the feeling that Karl's visit was more than about some stupid illegal poaching deal he had going. Karl always had a way of holding the past over Trent's head.
Trent also couldn't shake the idea that the Hendersons and their offer had something to do with it. Worse, that Sovereign Resources and their mining of limestone were somehow connected.
But for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how it was all related.
And soon, his father’s body would be dug up, and there wasn’t really a damn thing he could do about it.
Chapter Ten
Dove jerked awake, her heart slamming against her ribs before her brain even caught up. Old instincts. The kind that never fully went away, no matter how many years separated her from the battlefield.
Her phone buzzed against the nightstand like an angry wasp, vibrating so hard it threatened to skitter right off the edge.
She reached for the phone, her fingers fumbling against the nightstand.
The room was black. Not the soft gray of approaching dawn, but the thick, velvety darkness that meant the sun was still hours from even thinking about rising. The only light came from the phone screen, a harsh blue-white rectangle that stabbed at her sleep-blurred eyes.
4:10 AM.
Unknown number.
Beside her, Trent stirred. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her back against the warm wall of his chest. His breath was hot against her shoulder, slow and steady, not quite awake but no longer fully asleep.
"Why's your alarm going off at four in the morning?" His voice was a low rumble, rough with sleep and muffled against her skin.
"It's not."
She stared at the screen, watching the phone vibrate in her palm like something alive. Nothing good ever came from unknown numbers at this hour. That was a universal truth, right up there with death and taxes and the fact that the Everglades would eventually reclaim everything humans tried to build.
She declined the call.
The screen went dark, and she set the phone back on the nightstand, screen down, like that would somehow prevent it from ringing again. Like ignoring a problem ever made it go away.
"Wrong number?" Trent asked.
"Probably."
She turned in his arms, fitting herself against him, her leg sliding between his. His skin was warm, almost hot, the way it always was when he slept. Like he ran a few degrees higher than normal humans. She'd teased him about it once, called him a furnace, and he'd just shrugged and said it came from spending too much time with cold-blooded creatures.
"Well," she said, her fingers tracing up his chest, "since we're awake, we might as well have some fun."
His hand slid down her spine, fingers drawing lazy patterns on her lower back that made her skin tingle. "I'm not opposed to?—"
The phone buzzed again—the same angry wasp sound.
