Run Wild, page 19
Trent straightened, slowing and staring hard when he spotted headlights approaching from around the curve. Hitting his brights, he leaned to the side, willing whatever vehicle was approaching to do so sooner. He reached for his gun, placing it next to him on the seat and patting it once while focusing on the road ahead of him.
As he came upon the curve, an old pickup rumbled in his direction. They slowed, not that the driver had a hell of a lot of choice. He could stop or keep going. Either way, Trent could stop him easily enough.
The truck stopped in the middle of the road, over the line so no one could get around it. Trent could see the outline of two people in the cab but he couldn’t make out faces. Whoever it was would not get past him. They’d been at the cabin. This road led straight to it and ended at it. They hadn’t been out here for any other reason.
Suddenly the passenger door opened. Trent grabbed his gun and rolled his window down halfway.
“Easy, easy,” he whispered to himself, gripping the cold metal in his hand. He wrapped his finger around the trigger without looking. All of his attention was on the scene playing out in front of his Suburban.
Someone hurried out of the truck, slamming the door shut. The truck accelerated, the driver gunning it and causing tires to spin and the passenger to jump to the side. Trent spotted long black hair flying around her when she fought to keep her footing and not slide on her ass off the road. Clouds of snow and dust from the road quickly blocked his view.
He’d only watched her a second, but the driver of the old truck must have guessed he’d do just that. They peeled down the road, building speed fast as they approached. Trent’s Suburban shook hard as the truck flew by.
Trent leapt out of his truck, his gun aimed. He focused on the right-hand side taillights, lowering his gun just a bit as he calculated his target’s location.
“Trent!” Natasha screamed from behind him.
He whirled around, every instinct in his body reacting to her desperate-sounding cry. Something dark and carnal surfaced, eating him alive, taking control of his rational thought. He lowered his gun before he aimed it at her, then started stalking toward her. If anyone had hurt her, even so much as laid a finger on her, Trent would see to it that their punishment was brutal and painful.
“What the hell happened?” he demanded, his tone harsh. At the same time, he reached for her, stared into those captivating, beautiful eyes, and thanked whatever deity might be responsible for bringing her back into his life.
Natasha turned her face into his touch, not stopping him but instead hooding her gaze when he stroked her exposed cheek. She had a scarf wrapped around her neck and bundled up to her chin. The brown coat she wore wasn’t incredibly practical but for this time of year would work. Dark blue jeans hugged her slender legs, and the boots she wore were stylish but somewhat practical. Miss Natasha King learned fast. She’d adapted to his climate by either bringing more clothes from home or doing a quick shopping spree in anticipation of the snow. He watched large flakes of snow land on her hair, show off their unique pattern for just a moment, then melt, vanishing from sight.
“Who was that? What were you doing out here?” Trent let the questions fly when she didn’t answer him immediately.
“I didn’t want you to shoot him.” Natasha looked up at him and tears had welled in her eyes. “Trent, that was my dad.”
Chapter Eleven
Trent had looked at her the way her uncle quite often looked at her aunt. It was a possessive stare, predatory, his expression raw with emotions that possibly had just surfaced during a moment of spiked adrenaline rushes.
She watched it fade when she spoke, and hated the moment with a passion. Trent stared down at her, his warm fingers brushing her cheek, and the look on his face turned into something chiseled out of stone. Fierce, angry, betrayed. Natasha wasn’t sure exactly what emotion surfaced the fastest, but his excitement to see her was masked with another dominating gaze that made her tremble.
Suddenly her legs threatened to shake until she could no longer stand. “Trent, he didn’t kill Carl Williams.”
“He told you that?” His words weren’t exactly flat, but there was enough caution behind them that they sounded almost mean. “And you didn’t think it necessary he share that same sentiment with me?”
The last thing she’d do was repeat what her father had told her verbatim. Her dad was scared, panicked, and unwilling to trust anyone, especially someone with a badge.
“I can get him to talk to you.” She wasn’t at all sure she could do that. But there was enough selfishness inside her, an ache so overwhelming she couldn’t deny it, to bring back the look she’d seen on him when he first approached her. She wouldn’t say just anything to get that possessive fierceness to return in his eyes, but damn close. “He didn’t give me much of a choice right now, though.” She needed to quit lying through her teeth.
Trent was standing very close, too damn close. Natasha didn’t know why, or how, he seemed able to read her so well. But with every word she uttered, his expression hardened even further. It should have struck her as odd that she was reading him so well, too. But she didn’t want to question the reasons behind the quivering in her gut, her trembling body, or her overwhelming urge to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. She wanted him to warm her up and they could discuss all of this later. It would take her time to digest all of it before sharing what her father told her, anyway.
“Not much of a father to throw his own flesh and blood out of a truck and into the snow,” he grumbled, then grabbed her arm.
Natasha bit her lip to keep the immediate retort from flying out of her mouth. Maybe her dad hadn’t always done things the conventional way. But as he’d put it, he had the best daughter on the planet and choices he’d made had helped her turn out that way.
Trent guided her around his Suburban, opened the passenger door, and gave her a slight shove. Natasha didn’t fight him but climbed inside, immediately wishing he had his heat cranked the way her father had in that old truck. She jumped when he slammed her door, then blew out an aggravated breath. If she didn’t get her act together Trent would peel down every layer of her charade within seconds. She’d watched Uncle Greg do it, without mercy, to witnesses who were too distraught to fight him. Trent’s skills were probably at least as good as her uncle’s.
Trent stalked around the front of his truck, sliding his gun inside his coat, where he probably wore a gun holster. She watched him, her eyes glued to his hard, demanding glare as he took a moment to search the area around them. When he didn’t immediately climb into the truck but walked to its rear, Natasha slid around in the seat, never letting him leave her sight, and watched as he walked a short ways past the Suburban.
When she couldn’t tell what he was doing and he squatted, making it impossible to see him, Natasha spun back around, grabbing the door handle, ready to find out. Before she opened it, he was yanking his driver’s side door open and filling the inside with a rush of cold, wintery air.
“Open that glove box.” He pointed, then pulled gloves out of his pocket and donned them as he waited. “Grab that camera. That’s it. Thank you.” He took the large, expensive-looking camera from her, then shut the door hard enough to make it bang.
Natasha cursed under her breath when it made her jump again.
When he finally climbed into the Suburban with the chill and loose flakes of snow scattering around him as he handed her the camera, Natasha finally felt as if she had herself under control once again. It had been nerve-racking enough hiking from the Avalanche to the cabin, running up the hill so fast she damn near gave herself a heart attack, then spotting her father. It was enough to make any person in her situation lose control.
But then talking to her father, getting bits and pieces of half-truths she would have to decipher later once she was warm and composed fully, and arguing with him when he continually repeated how he wouldn’t drag her into this mess, too, had unraveled every last bit of resolve she possessed. It didn’t bother her when Trent remained silent as he turned the Suburban around and drove back to her Avalanche.
“Is this how you knew where to look for me?”
Trent parked at the edge of the road, not too far from where the truck was parked. He stared straight ahead when she turned and looked at him. There was a wall of stubbornness lined against his jawbone. She ached to force that wall to crash to the ground; she wasn’t sure she could handle what simmered behind it.
“Are you okay driving in this weather?”
It wasn’t what she expected him to say. “Yes. Sure,” she answered, stumbling over her words as she continued watching him.
Trent nodded once, glanced toward her truck, but still didn’t look at her. “Follow me back into Weaverville.”
It wasn’t a request but a direct order. She watched him grind his jaw. Raw fury lingered just behind that composed look on his face. Was he that pissed that her father had been right there and Trent hadn’t been able to stop him?
Trent drove just under the speed limit as she followed along the quiet two-lane highway. Her headlights beamed on the back of his Suburban, reflected off the windows, and made it impossible for her to catch a glimpse of him through his mirrors. As she drove, she tried telling herself she’d imagined the shift in his mood in those first few minutes they’d seen each other. Maybe she wanted him to look at her that way. It would be a dream come true to have a man as loyal to her as her uncle was to her aunt. Although there had been times when Natasha worried a man so devoted would make her nuts. She wasn’t sure she could handle a man who read her so well he knew her mood before she did.
By the time she pulled in alongside Trent she’d fully analyzed the pros and cons of having a really good man, which was a serious waste of her time, since she didn’t even have a man, let alone a good one. Not to mention she hadn’t been paying attention to where they’d been driving.
Trent’s boots crunched over the cold ground as he walked around the front of her truck, then paused on the sidewalk leading to his porch. He stood there, waiting for her.
A rush of nerves spiked inside Natasha. She didn’t have a room for the night. So many possibilities as to how the night might play out popped into her head. If she appeared nervous he would interpret it as her hiding something about the Williams murder. And she wasn’t, not really.
Natasha grabbed her purse, glanced around the truck to see if she needed anything else, and took a moment to lecture herself about getting her act together. Good-looking men came on to her all the time. None of them left her flustered or unable to function around them.
So did that mean she was worried about Trent as a man or as a sheriff? Crap! If Trent’s mood changed because he believed she had used him, called out to him, excitement in her voice, intentionally using the attraction he’d proclaimed existed in order to aid her father, she might be walking into a lion’s den, with the lion raging mad.
If that was the case and a bruised ego was at play here, as well as her character, Natasha needed to tread very carefully. Trent would show no mercy in retaliating. She shut off her engine, cut the lights, and engulfed her and her surroundings in darkness blacker than she’d ever seen before.
“Wow,” she murmured as she got out into the crisp, cold night and locked the truck.
“What?” Trent asked, still standing at the edge of the sidewalk.
She wasn’t clear if he was being polite and waiting to walk her inside or making sure she didn’t try running once he was out of his truck. Natasha decided she didn’t care. He’d brought her to his home, which meant nothing. There were no preconceived plans here. She’d go inside with him, and if the conversation went sour she would leave.
Natasha glanced at him and was unable to see his face clearly from where he stood in the darkest part of his yard. She adjusted her purse under her arm and gestured with her free hand. “It’s so dark. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it this dark outside.”
Trent snorted with either disgust or amusement. It wasn’t clear. “City girl,” he grumbled, and turned toward the house.
Once inside, Trent slid out of his coat, draped it over a wooden chair in the corner of his living room by his door, then waited for her to slide out of hers before reaching for it. She glanced at him, sensing the awkward moment stretching out between them.
“Scarf,” he said once he had her coat.
“Yes, it is,” she said, studying him as she unwrapped her scarf from around her neck. “Why are you acting like this?”
“Like what?” When she’d freed herself from the scarf, Trent took it from her, then walked out of the living room without waiting for an answer.
She sighed, exasperated. If he behaved like an ass because she’d kept him from stopping her father, he would do it alone.
“Wait a minute,” she said, looking around the living room where she stood alone, then at the doorway leading into the rest of the house. “Where did you go with my coat?” she called out, then hurried after him.
The hallway led into the kitchen, where Trent stood, messing with his coffeemaker. There was no sign of her coat and scarf anywhere. She looked behind her, down the hallway where they’d both just come. There was one door, closed, before the living room. It was probably a hall closet and where he’d hung her coat. Which didn’t mean he was trying to prevent her from leaving, only that he had manners and didn’t throw her coat over a chair as he did his own. She returned her attention to Trent.
“Personally I’m inclined to have a beer. I figured you might want coffee.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Unless you want something stronger to warm up.” His gaze traveled down her body before returning to capture her gaze.
“What do you have?” For a moment she saw the same look in his eyes she’d seen when he first saw her on the road by the cabin. She forced herself to relax, reminding herself she controlled the shots here, as well as the delivery of information. There wasn’t any reason to be nervous around Trent, no matter how he looked at her.
Trent set the coffeepot, full of water, down next to the maker and turned to face her. “Beer,” he started, then moved across his kitchen, his agility and relaxed movements as distracting as the different moods that flashed in his eyes when he looked at her. “Or, if you prefer, wine,” he added, opening one of his cabinets and pulling out an unopened bottle. It wasn’t high dollar but not the cheapest wine a person could buy, either. He looked at the label, then showed it to her. “There’s also coffee,” he finished, nodding toward the coffeemaker.
Natasha got the impression he didn’t know a lot about wine. A closer look revealed the dust covering the bottle. Trent wasn’t a wine drinker. Had someone given him the bottle? Had he purchased it for a date that hadn’t worked out how he’d envisioned?
“The wine sounds good.” If she continued to stand there her nerves would rattle out of control again. “Where are the glasses?”
“Up there.” He left her to find them and opened a drawer, pulled out a corkscrew, then muscles flexed in his arm when he pulled the cork from the bottle.
Natasha was glad the wineglasses were easy to find as she leaned against his counter and watched the ultimate view of the perfect man displaying his perfect body. A memory of that body pressed against hers, hard as stone everywhere he touched her, helped raise the temperature in the room. Hell, all she had to do was watch Trent and she wouldn’t need anything else to fog her brain or raise her body temperature.
Trent poured her a glass, put the opened bottle on the counter, grabbed a beer out of his refrigerator, then twisted the lid off the longneck bottle. The full coffeepot of water remained on the counter, untouched.
Natasha sipped, closed her eyes, and allowed the wine to do its magic as it trailed down her insides, relaxing and warming her with its smooth taste.
“Tell me why you were at the cabin.” Trent leaned against the opposite counter, one booted foot crossed over the other, and took a long, slow drink as he watched her over the length of his bottle.
So much for enjoying the powers of a decent wine. She decided to enjoy another drink before engaging in battle.
“My father called my uncle,” she began, remembering Uncle Greg saying he had no problem with her telling the sheriff about the phone call. I can handle that sheriff, her uncle had said when she’d been home overnight. “He told my uncle to tell me it wasn’t him at the cabin.”
“Really?” Trent uncrossed his legs and straightened, his interest showing. “And how did he know we were at the cabin?”
It was the same question she’d asked. “And how did you know I was at the cabin?” she countered, making her move to lead the conversation while she had the chance. She gave Trent a knowing look. “The tracking device you had the owner of the bed-and-breakfast plant on me isn’t on me anymore.”
Trent’s expression didn’t change. “I had business out that way,” he offered with a shrug. “When I was heading back I saw the Avalanche. It wasn’t hard to figure out where you’d gone. How did you arrange to meet your father out there? Do you have his number?” he asked, the look on his face giving the impression he might leap and attack at any moment.
“I didn’t arrange to meet him. I knew he wouldn’t have left that message unless he knew we were out there. There was only one way he could have known. Why did you plant a tracking device on me, Trent?”
He drank a good portion of the beer, then put the bottle on the counter. When he walked to her, Natasha jumped out of the way, keeping a safe distance. Trent looked at her, his eyes sparking triumphantly, before focusing on the cabinets behind where she’d been standing and opening them. He took down a box of crackers and a package of beef jerky.
