Chapter 22 #2
“No, sir. I’m not. This land is a natural habitat, and we sit on mostly freshwater.
Gators are naturally drawn to this area, and I can’t do much to change that.
All I can do is protect my home. That’s why we have the moat.
” Not entirely a lie, but not completely the truth, either. But they didn't need to know that.
“We’d like to discuss a business opportunity with you,” Dutton said. “Maybe we can come in?”
“Sure.” Trent turned, strolled up to the porch, and held the door.
They settled at the kitchen table, and Dutton looked around the room with appreciation. It almost felt like he was taking inventory of everything he saw.
Courtney set the portfolio on the table and opened it.
Dutton slid a single sheet of paper across the wood toward Trent. "I'll be direct," he said. "I want this property. And I believe in paying fair value for things." He tapped the paper. "That offer is more than fair. I think you'll find it's actually generous."
“Someone else already made an offer, and I refused.”
“Yes, the Hendersons,” Dutton said. “We’re aware.” He tapped his finger on the paper. “I urge you to look at this offer. It’s more than you’ll ever get for this place. Ever.”
Trent looked at the number, but he didn’t dare touch the paper. "My home isn't for sale."
"Everything's for sale at the right price," Dutton said, pleasantly. Like it was a simple fact of the world.
“Mallor’s Landing has been in my family for three generations. And it’s going to stay that way. No amount of money is going to change that.”
Courtney folded her hands on the table, her long nails perfectly manicured. The only reason he knew anything about that was because for half a minute, he’d dated a chick who’d been obsessed with her nails.
"I understand how this being family land could make this emotional. I respect that,” she said in a voice that sounded sweet and kind but had an edge that he didn’t trust.
Or maybe it was the nails that could take his eyes out faster than Dolly could roll him under the water.
"But I also understand you're currently facing some very serious allegations.
Illegal poaching. Evidence of criminal activity found on your property.
" She paused just long enough to take a breath and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.
"Charges like that could put you away for a few years.
Cost you the permits it takes to run this place.
Cost you everything you've built here." She pulled out another piece of paper.
"I'm in a position to make those go away. All you have to do is sign both these agreements, and I, as your lawyer, will make sure you don’t even have to set foot in a courtroom, much less have a stain on your record or reputation.”
“First, I don't know what you're talking about," Trent said. “And second, my record is already questionable, so I’m not worried.”
Dutton smiled. “This goes beyond fishing in unmarked waters or getting in a bar fight.” He leaned back in the chair and looped his arm over the back of Courtney’s.
"These things have a way of moving forward whether we want them to or not.
It's only a matter of time before formal charges are brought. And these aren’t ones you want to snub your nose at.
These are federal. These are the kinds of charges that—“
"Hey, Dutton."
Shit. Trent should’ve known his father wouldn’t stay hidden or quiet.
Trent certainly wouldn’t have if someone had been trying to railroad his son.
He swallowed. Odd thing to think right about now, but it was true.
If Trent ever did have a kid, he wouldn’t let anyone speak to him, or her, that way.
Not without a fight. Didn’t matter if they were grown or not.
His father strolled into the kitchen with the swagger that Trent had always remembered.
Had always admired. Had always wished he had.
His dad stopped at the edge of the table, looking down at the man who’d sold him out twenty years ago with the expression of someone who’d been waiting a very long time for this very moment.
Trent sat up a little taller and puffed out his chest.
"Long time no see,” his dad said.
Dutton stared at him with wide eyes and parted lips.
Courtney wasn’t handling the situation any better as she looked like she’d been frozen in time.
Trent wished he could take out his phone, take a picture, and send it to his friends.
"And really—" He pulled out the chair beside Trent and sat down. "You're resorting to blackmail these days?" He shook his head and made a tsk noise. “With my son, no less."
Dutton stared. Whatever he'd walked in here expecting, it was obvious by the way he looked between father and son, this wasn’t it.
Courtney stiffened, and she cleared her throat. “This is unexpected.”
“Well, they did just dig up my grave the other day.” His father winked.
"You being alive creates potential legal complications for you personally. I'd tread carefully if I were you,” Courtney said.
"I'd be more worried about how my being alive might bring some attention to your father, as well to what you're planning on doing here in Calusa Cove with Sovereign Resources,” Jack said. “You know, history repeating itself and all.”
A phone buzzed. Courtney reached into her bag and pulled it out. She tapped the screen, showed it quickly to Dutton, then set it on the table, face down.
Trent pushed back his chair, stood, and walked to the window.
He stared out at the moat. A couple of gators had climbed up on the grassy section of the yard near the dock to sun themselves.
He contemplated how much he could push Dutton and Courtney.
This wasn’t his wheelhouse. And while his father had known Dutton twenty years ago, he had no real experience with the man in present day.
“Because of you, my girlfriend’s uncle is dead,” Trent said.
“We heard about Slade.” Dutton nodded, like he might actually give a damn. “He was a good marshal. I enjoyed working with him, but we had nothing to do with his murder.”
“That, I don’t believe,” Trent’s dad said. “I’m sure my son and Dove agree with me on that point.”
“And I’m not selling Mallor’s Landing," Trent added.
“Yes, you are.” Dutton picked up the offer from the table and held it out. “You will sign it. Today.” He’d shed any semblance of congeniality and civility. "Or Dove doesn't make it to your driveway."
Dove glanced at the dashboard. It had only been twenty minutes since she’d left Mallor’s Landing, but the fact that she hadn’t heard anything from Trent regarding his visitors spiked her pulse.
She turned down the access road, which curved through a tight row of cypress trees with branches hanging low enough to drag across the truck's roof.
She thought coming through the north side of the property, past the Alligator Farm, across the walking path, and past the graveyard would be best, since she could hide her vehicle, take cover, and get a good look at what was going on inside the main house.
Only, it was taking longer than she anticipated.
On the side of the dirt road, she could see the iron fence of the family cemetery through the trees, the old stones catching what light filtered through the canopy.
She focused her gaze on the hairpin turn coming up, looking to avoid the big pot hole.
“Shit.” Just as she came around the corner, she had to slam on the brakes. “What the hell?” A dark SUV sat sideways in the road. Three men stood in front. All holding weapons at their side. Not a pleasant greeting from people who didn’t belong.
The engine hummed as she stared at Karl standing between two men she never seen before. Slowly, she lifted her phone off the seat and pulled up Buddy’s contact information.
Buddy: 3 gunman access road, Mallor’s Landing. Need back-up.
“Get out of the car with your hands up,” one of the men yelled.
Yeah, she’d get out, but she was bringing her weapon with her. She shoved the gearshift into park, stuffed her phone into her back pocket, lifted the center armrest, and gripped her Glock.
Fuck. Another SUV eased in behind her.
Slowly, she opened the door and slipped out.
The air was thick and wet, the way it always was this deep into the property, where the mud and standing water and the green smell of cypress baked in the morning heat. A bird cut across the road ahead and disappeared into the tree line.
Karl stepped forward, raising his weapon. “I’ll take that.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, raising hers to match his. She knew she was outnumbered and outgunned. She didn’t stand a chance. She’d get one, maybe two shots off. And they’d be good ones, dropping two dead. But then she’d be dead.
Not going to happen today. But she wasn’t going to make this easy for them.
“Look, lady.” One of the other men inched forward. “We can do this the easy way. Or the hard way. Now hand over the gun.”
Karl took a few more bold steps forward. One hand pointing his gun at her chest. The other, he held palm out. “Come on, Dove. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Now, that made her want to laugh. But she placed her weapon in Karl’s hand. "What are you doing out here?" she asked.
“You’ll find out soon enough.” He curled his nasty little fingers around her biceps. "You're gonna need to come with us."
“If I’m gonna do that, I want to know why.” She resisted the urge to jerk her arm away. Not a good move with two guns pointed in her direction and no clue how far away Buddy was—not to mention if he was coming in hot or with a low profile. She hoped the latter.
“Not for me to tell.” Karl squeezed her arm and yanked her toward the SUV.
She sized up the two men. One of them had opened the rear driver’s side door.
They both wore dark slacks, white shirts, dark sport coats, sunglasses.
They were clean-cut. Reminded her of Secret Service.
But they weren’t. They could be a protection detail.
But if they worked for the government, they were highly stupid to be dressed like that while kidnapping a civilian.
“In you go,” Karl said.
"Make me."
The man who’d opened the door took one step forward, raised his hand, grabbed her hair, and slammed the side of her face into the side of the SUV.
“You fucking asshole.” She lifted her fingers to her cheek and then looked at them. A small amount of blood stained her skin. Her cheek throbbed. Her eyes watered, and stars danced like someone rearranged the sky.
“Get in, or the next one will be worse,” the man said.
She glanced over her shoulder at Karl. “If you think these people are going to take care of you after this is over, you’re crazy,” she said. “You sold out a friend for nothing.”
“You don’t know shit.” Karl pulled a zip tie from his back pocket. “We'd better tie her up. She can’t be trusted.” He grabbed her arms and slapped the plastic around her skin.
The guy who’d made her face bleed lifted her off the ground and shoved her in the SUV, slamming the door behind her.
Karl climbed in next to her while the other two took the front seats.
She twisted her wrists and flexed her fingers.
She wasn’t getting out of the zip tie anytime soon.
Looking out the window, she scanned the area in her sight.
She knew what to search for. Knew the signs of human intrusion in the brush.
No matter how well hidden, there were always signs.
Leaves, or tall grass, moving in the wrong direction.
Animals scurrying because something spooked them. Or in this case, a signal from Buddy.
Only problem, she could only search from one side of the vehicle.
The first scan showed no signs of Buddy.
She kept her breathing slow and controlled and began the pass as the vehicle inched forward, and that’s when she saw it.
A small flat-bottom boat with a two-stroke trolling down the channel that snaked through this part of the property about one hundred and fifty feet out.
The boat was maybe twelve feet, and the engine no more than fifteen horsepower.
From this distance, she couldn’t see any real recognizable markings on the boat.
And it was impossible to see who was in the boat.
Except, the man lifted his hat, ran his hand across the top of his head, and then readjusted his cap.
After that, he lifted his fishing pole and jerked it in a very specific direction and it wasn’t toward him, which would’ve been the proper technique.
The hat adjustment screamed Cullen. He did that all the time. And he’d pointed toward the observation tower, not the house.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, watching the small boat do a loop inside the channel and head toward the bay in front of the main house.
No one in the vehicle answered her.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I’d like to know where—”
"Say one more word, and I'll give you a reason to be quiet." Karl lifted his gun and arched a brow.
Her cheek turned to fire at the thought. She faced the window. The channel curved further away from her, but she could still see the boat. Still see the man sitting on the bench, hand on the throttle, looking forward, as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
The iron fence of the Mallor gravesite slid past. The cypress closed in, swallowing the road behind them.
She pulled her wrists apart—slow, small, testing—and felt the flex cuff hold. She ran the math—the way she always did when everything went sideways. What she had. What they didn't know she had. What she needed to stay alive long enough to use it.
She'd been in worse spots than this—and survived.