Chapter 9 #2
"Everyone's a critic." Trent finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the table.
But he was smiling. This—the teasing, the laughter, the easy comfort of people who'd known each other long enough to mock each other with love—this was what he'd been missing.
What grief had stolen from him for the past few weeks.
It felt good to have it back.
"We should settle up," Buddy said, pulling out his wallet. "Fallon's got an early shift, and I promised I'd make her breakfast."
“Wow, look at you all domesticated.” Trent raised an eyebrow.
“Love will do that to a man,” Buddy said with a wide grin. "Also, she does this thing where she—"
"Nope." Fallon clamped her hand over his mouth. "We are not sharing that with the table."
"I wasn't going to say anything bad." Buddy kissed her palm.
"You were going to say something that would make me murder you in your sleep." She removed her hand and kissed him quickly. "Let's go, Romeo. Before you get yourself killed."
They settled the bill liked they'd done a million times. No one argued about who should pay what. It all evened itself out eventually.
Harley pushed back from the table. "Alright, I need to get going. Early morning tomorrow—those mangroves aren't going to trim themselves."
“Right behind you,” Cullen said, standing and stretching. "Walk you to your truck?"
"It's fifty feet away."
"Fifty feet of dangerous parking lot. You never know what's lurking."
"Possums, mostly." But Harley smiled as she stood, and she didn't object when Cullen fell into step beside her.
“We’re gonna head out the front,” Buddy said. “We walked.”
“See you later.” Trent nodded before taking Dove’s hand and guiding her through the maze of people and out to the parking lot.
The night had turned soft and warm, the kind of evening that made Dove want to drive slow with the windows down and nowhere particular to be. Cullen and Harley were already gone, their trucks no longer in the side lot.
"Just us," Dove said, bumping her shoulder against his.
"Just us."
They walked around to the back lot where they'd both parked, the gravel crunching under their boots. Trent reached for her hand, her fingers threading through his like they belonged there.
Her truck was parked under the single light in the lot, a cone of yellow illumination in the darkness. He walked her to the driver's side door and didn't let go of her hand.
"Where's your uncle tonight?" he asked.
"Went to see a friend." She met his eyes. “He asked if you’d been notified about the exhumation?”
“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.”
“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.