Run Wild (18 page)

Other parents raised their children by themselves.

The little voice in the back of her head usually annoyed the crap out of her. It screamed the brutal truth, demanded she see the reality of being a child not cared about and not loved by the two people who brought her into the world. Yet once again it failed to pull off its mission. Natasha wouldn’t let her father hurt her again. That would require feelings. There was no lust for Trent, worry for her father, pride over her computer and detective skills. Nothing had room to creep back in around the numbness consuming her.

“I don’t blame you for thinking him guilty.” She looked at Trent as he stood in his living room watching her.

Natasha walked over to her laptop, and shut it down.

“I want you to understand why I’m investigating this murder the way I am.”

She smiled when she looked at him, but there wasn’t any happiness inside. The void filling her left her dull, almost lifeless, with an emptiness that would hurt like hell if it weren’t for the fact that her emotions couldn’t get around the black hole taking over her insides.

“Of course.”

“Natasha,” Trent spit out, lunging at her and yanking her laptop from her hands. “Did you think I was such an inept sheriff I would go after a man for a crime simply because he wasn’t from here? You didn’t come up here simply because I demanded it. You believed in your heart, before knowing anything about why he was in trouble, that your father was an innocent man.”

“He’s on the run. There are places my father could go for help. His family has never turned him away, no matter how many years passed without seeing him. He saw me earlier today. I know that was my father. Yet he shot at me. His message was clear. He doesn’t want my help.” Natasha listened to herself talk and managed to register the meaning behind the words she spoke rather mechanically. “If he hasn’t gone to Uncle Greg but has sent me a rather harsh message, I need to face up to the obvious.”

“What’s that?” Trent reached for a single strand of hair bordering her face and brushed it behind her shoulders.

Less than an hour ago, possibly just minutes ago if he’d touched her like that Natasha would have melted; the pressure that continued building the more she was around Trent quite possibly would have erupted. Yet now all she felt were his calloused fingertips that were neither too warm nor too cold. She didn’t blink when he ran his fingers down the side of her face, nor did she look away.

“My father killed that young man. If he hadn’t, he would have let me help him.”

Chapter Eight

The next morning Natasha walked briskly into the shop, with its familiar smells of oil and gasoline. “I’m here to pick up my Avalanche,” she told the man standing behind the counter.

A thin woman with gray, bristly hair sat with her back to the counter, facing a computer. She looked over her shoulder, giving Natasha an appraising look over the rim of her glasses.

“The Avalanche is a charge,” she announced.

Natasha wasn’t in the mood for people to explain or discuss anything. She just wanted the truck and to drive. Drive until the void inside her dissipated, go far enough away from this picturesque town lost in time that the terrible things that had happened here wouldn’t affect her. She wanted to keep going until her father wasn’t on her mind any longer.

“It was,” she explained, even though she just wanted to snap at the woman that she was a bad businesswoman to insist on getting paid next month when she could have the bill settled today. “The sheriff believed he was doing me a favor when he found me stranded at the side of the road.”

The woman turned around farther. “He was doing you a favor, honey. Sheriff Oakley is a good man.” She stood, tugged on the oversized T-shirt she wore that advertised the Powell gas station they were standing in, and moved in next to the man who still stood at the counter. “If he takes care of you it’s because he believes you’re good people.”

“I
am
good people,” Natasha insisted, and realized the urge to knock the woman down a few notches for getting snappy wasn’t there. After a sleepless night on Trent’s couch, she was even more numb. “Which is why I would rather pay cash for your work and quick service in repairing my truck. I don’t want to be in debt to your good sheriff.”

The door opened behind Natasha and a rush of cold hair hit hard enough she hugged herself against its brutal lashing. The woman behind the counter humphed. Then she lifted her hand and slapped an invoice in front of the man at the counter. He’d been looking incredibly busy with paperwork in front of him, more than likely used to the woman giving customers tongue-lashings and wanting no part of it. Natasha didn’t blame him.

“Mary, are you giving Natasha grief?” Trent asked as he entered the shop, and leaned against the end of the counter. Trent had an amused grin on his face as if he knew the moment Natasha had leapt out of the Suburban, anxious to clear the bill before Trent could inform the shop owners he had it covered and she could pay him later, what she’d be in store for once she walked into the shop.

“She wants to pay cash.” Mary shrugged and returned to her computer, turning her back on all of them.

The man took the invoice and looked it over. “Can’t say I ever had a truck, or any vehicle, come in here with all four tires lashed up like yours were, miss.”

“It’s Miss Natasha
King,
” the woman informed him, looking over her shoulder. She shot Natasha a look that could only be described as hateful. “You got any family in town, Miss
King
?” Each time she said Natasha’s name there was emphasis on her last name, as if “King” was a derogatory word in the woman’s mind.

“I did,” Natasha answered truthfully, her tone flat.

Mary humphed again and shot Trent a look as if demanding to know what he would do about Natasha’s presence in town. “Carl never did a soul wrong,” she muttered under her breath. “And her daddy killed him.”

“Mary,” the man at the counter snapped.

“What?” she hurled at him. “What did I say? You know damn good and well who she is. She’s that demented murderer’s kin.”

“That’s enough,” the man warned Mary.

“I can’t believe you put such good tires on that truck. She’ll probably use it to get her daddy across the state line.” Mary pointed a finger at the sheriff. “Don’t let her looks fool you. If she’s in town and she’s his blood, it’s as plain as the nose on my face what she’s doing here.”

“God damn it, Mary!” the man bellowed.

“It’s okay.” Natasha reached over the counter and took the invoice from the man’s hands. Seventeen hundred dollars. She blinked. Then swallowing, she looked at Mary, who was standing behind the man with her arms crossed against her skinny frame and glaring at Natasha. “For the most part, Mary, you’re right.”

Her confession didn’t cause Mary’s features to relax. Trent quit leaning against the counter. He was by Natasha’s side before she continued speaking. Fortunately, he didn’t touch her. She wasn’t sure she could handle his hands on her right now. She’d never had to defend her family name before, but the words came out anyway.

“I heard my father was in trouble and drove up here. I can’t find him. And although it’s not in his nature to do something so incredibly horrendous as what happened to Carl Williams, I’m sure your sheriff will sort through the evidence and find the killer.”

Mary glared at Natasha a moment longer, then turned on her heels and stormed out of the small office, disappearing into a back room and letting the door she’d gone through slam behind her.

“You know Joanna Williams, Carl’s mama, is a good friend of Mary’s,” the man explained, not looking at Natasha.

“Yup.” Trent took the invoice out of Natasha’s hand. “Are you sure you can cover this right now? I can charge it to my county account and bill KFA for it.”

“I’ve got it.” She took the invoice back from Trent and placed it on the counter in front of her, then pulled her wallet out of her purse. It would max out one of her credit cards, but she didn’t want any ties to this town, or reason for Trent to stay in touch, once she left.

Never knowing what it would be like to have sex with Trent, never knowing if he was truly as perfect as he appeared, would be better than longing for what she gave up. She pulled her credit card from her wallet and placed it on the invoice, then rubbed her suddenly moist fingers down her jeans.

She couldn’t wait to get out of Weaverville. Signing the credit card printout, she then took her receipt, stuffed it in her purse, and mumbled her thanks. She should have shown more gratitude in spite of Mary’s outburst. It wasn’t the older lady’s fault Natasha was George King’s daughter, and Mary had every right to be upset over her friend’s son’s death.

Natasha walked out of the shop to her Avalanche, which had been parked on a narrow one-lane road with no sidewalks. The road was under a canopy of trees, and led into a peaceful looking neighborhood. All the homes in this town were well-kept and of an era gone by. This was definitely not a place where terrible, disturbing crimes ever happened. She’d hauled her luggage out of Trent’s Suburban to her uncle’s truck before paying the bill. Now all she had to do was get behind the wheel and leave.

“Where are you going?” Trent didn’t touch her, kept a few feets’ distance, and squinted in the morning sun that shone against a perfectly blue sky. “You might as well tell me. I’ll find you no matter what.”

“Home.” Natasha started the truck, feeling as numb about returning home as she had since Trent told her that her father’s fingerprints were all over Carl Williams’ body. Trying to release a dead, mutilated body didn’t fit her father’s nature any more than him committing the despicable act. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you.”

Trent studied her a moment. In spite of her insides being null and void of all feelings, she was still aware of how incredibly handsome he was. The slightest twinge of regret rose from deep in her belly, and she looked away, gripping the steering wheel. Her fingers tightened around it when he stepped closer. Trent held on to the top of her car door and leaned forward, his face close enough she smelled the soap he used and his unique, intriguing smell that was all man.

“I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I didn’t think you were a quitter.”

“Who the hell is quitting? I came here to prove my father hadn’t done anything wrong.” She sucked in a breath, unwilling to let go of the black void keeping all emotions at bay. “I’m not quitting. I just lost.”

“So just like that you think he’s guilty?”

“Do you suddenly think he’s innocent?” she countered.

Trent’s green eyes were darker than the tall pines in the mountains and clouded over with thunderous emotions that almost made Natasha shiver. “I’ve never assumed he was guilty,” Trent informed her, barely moving his mouth when he spoke. “I’ve told you the evidence was damning. There are enough clues pointing toward your father that it merits bringing him in. It’s my job to lay out the facts and confirm the accuracy of every minute from the point when Carl was attacked to when he drew his last breath.”

Natasha nodded once, stiffly. “I know,” she muttered, unsure what else to say.

There wasn’t anything else to say. She could reach for the door handle, but not without touching Trent or making one hell of a show of trying not to touch him. Once again she was feeling the air between them singe her skin with charged energy filled with desire. The numbness was going away. The sooner she got out of there, the better. Instead of trying to close the door, she put her hand on the gearshift.

“I’m sure I’ll hear the details in the end.”

“Don’t leave.”

The intensity of his lust slammed up against her. Where was that numb, empty feeling? It was all she had left to help her get out of town.

Suddenly her insides quickened. A swollen, throbbing pressure filled her as her heart began pounding between her legs. If she moved the slightest bit, she would know how soaked she was. She looked at Trent, which was a mistake. His eyes glowed with emotions powerful enough to rob her of her next breath.

“Don’t,” she began.

He pressed his finger over her lips.

“Stay here. Work this case with me.”

“That wouldn’t be—” Her words faltered as she shook her head.

“Why not, Natasha? What’s wrong with taking a bit more time to explore what we’re feeling?”

It was the first time either one of them had voiced what was happening between them. Immediately she was lured into his captivating energy so strong, so powerful, Natasha swore it would drag her to him, physically move her into his arms. The strength barely existed to turn down his invitation.

“Don’t deny it,” he whispered. “You feel it. It’s in your eyes. It’s on your face. I see it with the way you move, with how your nipples harden the moment I’m near and how your breath quickens when I touch you. Is this how you react to any man?”

“What you’re suggesting is pointless. Not to mention casual and cheap.”

Trent opened his mouth and was ready to refute her response, but she kept going, determined to say what needed to be said before he used her lust against her.

“A relationship between us is impossible. You’re the Weaverville sheriff. I’m part of KFA in L.A. That isn’t going to change. All you can offer is a torrid affair, and thank you, but I’m not interested.”