“I think it would be wise for a man in your predicament to consider my offer.”
“Only thing I’m considering is whether or not I want chocolate or vanilla ice cream tonight.” Trent held his gaze. “My answer will always be no.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He took his wife’s hand, turned, and walked toward the main parking lot.
“That man has balls,” Cullen said, almost admiringly. "He just strolled over here and basically threatened you in a parking lot full of people."
Dove lifted her cell. “Look at this.”
Trent took her phone and stared at Buddy's text. Dawson just leaked a little information to the Hendersons. Consider this your heads up.
Trent shook his head. “That came over a minute too late.”
“It’s a good play, though,” Cullen said as he pulled his phone from his back pocket. “I got a text from Buddy. Time to chat with Karl before he leaves.” He looked up. "You good?"
"Go."
Cullen peeled off, and Trent and Dove stood alone in the gap he left. The lot moved around them. Two women near the steps talking too fast. A man on the phone with his back turned. The Sovereign Resources executives loading into an SUV. Dutton shaking hands near the corner of the building, working the crowd the way men like that always worked crowds—like they were depositing something into each person they touched with a plan to collect the interest later.
Trent watched him.
He'd spent twenty years wondering what the face looked like. The face of the person who'd traded his father's life for…something—a career, money, protection, whatever it was that made one man decide that another man's life was an acceptable currency. He didn't know for certain that face belonged to Dutton. Not yet anyway. He forced himself to look away.
"Come on." He took Dove's hand and guided her toward his Jeep. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I just can’t get it out of my head that my uncle was lying to me the second he set foot into Calusa Cove.” Dove curled her fingers around the handle of the passenger side door and paused. “All these people who have a connection to your father. Dutton. His girlfriend Courtney Kirk, who happens to be Edward’s daughter. Who was the CEO of the company your father was fighting against. And now they’re all swinging back into town, and my uncle gets murdered, and your father’s body gets exhumed because a dead man said he was hired to kill your dad, but didn’t, along with an ME who was paid to change autopsies, but didn’t change your dad’s?”
“You still don’t buy that.” Trent rested his palm against the hood.
“Do you?”
“Not really, but no one will tell us anything, and not even Buddy or Sterling can get any information.”
“Whatever’s going on here goes back twenty years, and my uncle was knee deep in shit.” She pulled open the door and climbed in.
Trent wasn’t about to argue or defend her uncle because, for the last twelve hours, all he could think about was how Slade had rolled into town, and strange things had started to happen. He didn’t blame Slade. Didn’t believe it was Slade’s fault. But he did believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that Slade hadn’t been honest about things both past and present.
Trent climbed up into the truck, pressed the ignition button, and eased out of the parking spot. Mentally, he groaned as he pulled past the local news van, with Stacey Wilkerson standing there, all dolled up, mic in hand, reporting on god only knew what, because it was never the actual news.
He glanced toward Dove as he pulled out onto the main drag and noticed she had her Glock resting on her thigh.
He didn't say anything because it didn’t surprise him. And considering the events of the day, he was happy she was ready for anything.
So was he. He checked the mirrors, and every set of headlights that appeared behind them was looked at hard until they turned off or fell back far enough not to matter. The blown-out rear window let the hot night air pour through—loud, relentless—and every time it gusted, he felt it like a reminder he didn't need.
A vehicle came up behind them on the two-lane. Too close and too fast.
His hands tightened on the wheel.
“Slow down, let's see what he does,” Dove said, raising her weapon a little higher.
“You scare me sometimes.” He eased off the gas. The car behind them slowed too, held for a long moment, then swung left down a side road and disappeared.
He breathed.
She rested the gun on her leg again, but her fingers remained on the trigger.
They drove in silence for a while. The kind that had weight to it. The kind that carried more than one problem. More than one issue.
