Chapter 4 #2
The figures were forty yards ahead now, heading for the tree line that angled toward the narrow channel that looped through the back edge of the property and into the freshwater table.
He shifted his gaze toward the dock. A small boat was tied at the end. Most people didn't dare come down Mallor's Twist, a reservoir of marsh and reptile.
Dove rushed ahead, closing the gap.
All of a sudden, the men stopped moving and leaned over the waterline.
Trent and Dove froze for a moment, crouching down, holding position.
“What the hell are they doing?” Dove whispered.
“No clue.” Trent squinted and adjusted to the darkness, but all he saw were shadows.
“Jesus, do you see all those eyes in the water?” one of the men asked.
“Yeah. Let’s get the fuck out of here. We did our job, now let's go collect that money before we die.”
Both men turned and headed back toward the old dock, which was right between them and Trent and Dove.
“I guess we’re going into confrontation mode,” Dove whispered. "Stop," she shouted as she stood, legs wide, weapon raised. "Aegis Network. Armed. Don't move."
The figures paused mid-step.
For a frozen heartbeat, everyone stood still—Dove with her gun pointed at the interlopers, Trent coming up behind her with his weapon at the ready, the two strangers caught in the open with the marsh and the moat at their backs. Their boat was tied to the dock in front of them, forty paces away.
Then one of them reached for his waistband.
"Gun." Trent grabbed Dove's arm and yanked her sideways as the night exploded.
The shot cracked past them, close enough that Trent felt the air displacement against his cheek. They hit the ground together, rolling behind a fallen palmetto as a second shot punched into the wood above their heads.
"You okay?" Trent's voice was tight.
"Peachy." Dove was already repositioning, finding a gap in their cover. "You?"
"Ask me later."
A third shot tore through the fronds, inches from Dove's shoulder. She ducked back, cursing.
"They're moving," Trent said. He could hear them—crashing through underbrush, making for the water. "We stay here and they're gone."
"We move—we lose cover.”
“I don’t think I can just let them walk.”
Dove met his eyes in the darkness. "Together," she said. "On three."
"Two's faster."
"One."
They broke cover.
Trent went left, Dove went right, splitting the target zone. Another shot cracked through the night.
The gators were going wild now.
All around the moat, the water churned with their movement—tails slapping, bodies rolling, territorial bellows shaking the air like thunder. The sound was enormous, prehistoric, the kind of noise that reached into your hindbrain and screamed predator.
One of the men stumbled at the water's edge, his flashlight beam swinging wildly. The light caught movement—a gator hauling itself up onto the bank, jaws already open in warning.
Not Dolly. Smaller. Seven feet, maybe eight.
Bonnie.
Trent's heart seized.
Bonnie was young. Curious. She'd wandered into the natural habitat when she’d been barely the size of his arm.
The young alligator, unlike many of the others, rarely left the moat.
She and Dolly were more domesticated than the others.
She didn't have the wariness of wild gators, didn't understand that humans were dangerous.
She probably thought the intruders were Trent, coming to feed her.
The man saw the gator coming and panicked. His gun came up, not aimed at Trent or Dove anymore, but at the animal surging toward him with her mouth open wide.
"Don’t,” Trent shouted.
The first shot was deafening. The second one sounded like thunder. The third one hit the air as if it were coming for Trent’s heart. The fourth and fifth ones barely registered.
Bonnie's head snapped back. Her body twisted, a horrible convulsive movement, and then she went still. She slid backward into the water, leaving a dark smear on the mud where she'd been.
For a moment, Trent couldn't move. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but stare at Bonnie. At the ripples spreading across the black water as she floated across the water, motionless.
"Trent,” Dove's voice was sharp, urgent. “Move.”
A bullet whined past his ear and buried itself in a cypress trunk with a wet thunk. He dove behind a mangrove root on instinct alone, his body operating without input from his brain, which was still stuck on the image of Bonnie's head snapping back.
Dove was beside him now, her hand on his arm, her voice low and fierce. "Stay with me. We can't help her now."
He blinked. Focused. The rage came then, cold and clean, burning away the shock.
"On your right," Dove said.
He rolled just as another shot churned up the ground where he'd been lying. The shooter had circled, trying to flank him.
Dove fired. Once. Twice. The shots were precise, controlled—covering fire meant to drive them back, not kill.
Part of Trent wished she'd aimed to kill.
Both figures broke for the tree line, abandoning any pretense of fighting.
Trent scrambled up and ran after them, Dove matching his pace. The ground turned soft, treacherous, sucking at his boots with every step. Ahead, he could hear splashing—they'd reached the water.
An engine roared to life.
By the time Trent burst through the mangroves, the boat was already pulling away from the bank. A flat-bottomed skiff, outboard screaming at full throttle, throwing a wake that slapped against the shore. Two dark figures hunched low in the stern.
Trent raised his pistol. His hand was steady. His aim was true.
He could take the shot. At this range, in this light, he might hit one of them. Might put a bullet in the back of the man who'd killed Bonnie.
Dove's hand closed over his wrist. "Don't."
"He killed her."
"I know." Her grip was firm. "And if you shoot him in the back while he's fleeing, you'll go to prison."
The boat disappeared into the darkness.
Trent stood there, chest heaving, pistol still raised at nothing. The rage had nowhere to go. It sat in his chest like a hot coal, burning with no way out.
"Put the gun down,” Dove said softly.
He lowered his arm, but his pulse still soured. “I swear to god, if Karl had anything to do with this, I can’t be held responsible for what I might do.”
“That’s grief talking,” Dove whispered. She stood beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her shoulder.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer. Red and blue lights flickered through the trees as Dawson's cruiser came down the drive.
Trent turned as he sucked in a deep breath. Dove pressed her hand against his back and nudged him forward.
Dawson stepped from his vehicle and immediately shone a light. It found the blood first.
It was smeared across the mud at the water's edge, black in the darkness, leading down to where Bonnie's body floated in the shallows. Her eyes were still open, catching the light like dull marbles.
Dawson stood very still for a long moment. Then he turned to look at Trent, and his expression was different than before. Harder. More focused. "Tell me what happened."
Trent did. His voice was flat, mechanical, reciting facts without emotion because emotion was too dangerous right now.
Dove filled in the gaps he missed, her tone professional and precise.
“What do you think happened here?” Dawson asked.
“I think Karl hired someone to pay me a visit—I just don’t know what the endgame was because whatever they were doing, it doesn’t make sense.
” Trent let out a long breath and stared out into the river.
“I would’ve expected him to go after one of the gators, or to hit the commercial side of the business.
Instead, they were walking the property near the waterline toward the marsh.
That part is all protected by the natural habitat. It’s useless to anyone.”
“I wouldn’t go creeping around the habitat or alligator farm alone at night.” Dawson shivered. “Even my wife would have reservations about that.”
“Are you kidding? Audra loved coming to Mallor's Landing when she was a teenager and she was my hero when I was like six.”
Dawson shook his head. “You mentioned they were carrying a bag but didn’t leave with one. Any idea what that was or what happened to it?”
“No, but it wasn’t very big and obviously not too heavy.” Dove pointed in the direction of where the two men had gone. “We haven’t gone down there yet to investigate.”
“I’ll do that,” Dawson said. “Any other enemies I need to know about?
People you've pissed off over the years. People who might hold a grudge. Someone may have paid them to hurt you or sabotage your business. Because whoever was at Linda’s funeral could've been scoping out all aspects of Mallor's Landing.”
“No one’s ever threatened me. Karl’s the only one who’s ever pushed my buttons.”
“I paid him a visit after the funeral, and his alibi checked out.” Dawson pulled out his phone. “But he doesn’t paint a nice picture of you.”
“Do I want to know what he said?” Trent shouldn’t be surprised that Karl shit-talked him since Karl only cared about Karl.
“Just that he’s heard rumors about you doing things that you’re not supposed to be doing—again.” Dawson arched a brow.
“I’ve been clean since the last time you had me in your office for questioning during the Ring Finger murders.
Swear.” Trent held his hands up. “But I can tell you Karl wasn’t on my property tonight.
If he had anything to do with this, he hired someone.
” Trent rubbed his neck. “He didn’t have that kind of money before, but he did say he had some new potential clients on the hook.
People who would pay top dollar. But Karl is usually full of shit. ”