Run Wild (25 page)

Even if it was her uncle, what the hell was either one of them doing up here? And with their truck parked hidden intentionally off the side of the road?

“And mighty close to the cabin.”

Trent got out of his truck, flipping up the collar on his coat and squinting against the wind as he walked up to the abandoned truck.

The damn windows were too dark to see inside but the hood was almost cool. It had been parked there at least long enough for the engine to cool off.

Regardless of who had driven the truck, there wasn’t any doubt in Trent’s mind what it was doing here. Someone had left it here and walked the road, trespassing on private property and quite possibly compromising a crime scene. That rush of emotions scattered through his system. Anger, frustration, and an overwhelming amount of determination to capture whoever was in the act of trying to gather evidence behind his back held him fast in his tracks. Then, with him unable to prevent the next round, every inch of his body hardened fiercely as an entire new clustered group of feelings took over.

Lust hit him so hard it demanded a moment to overtake his system all by itself. But there was also pride, which was still injured and tentative, fear, and finally, but not last, excitement and happiness that Natasha might be back.

Trent left his truck running and walked around the Avalanche, aware that his boots were leaving easily noticed footprints in the fresh snow. Snow clung to the driver’s side windows and the windshield, but the passenger side was clear. He moved around the black truck, then pressed his hands and face against the window to better see inside. Natasha’s purse was barely visible sticking out from under the driver’s seat.

She was back.

Returning to his truck, he dragged his boots over his footprints, making them less noticeable. A trained eye would see what he’d done. If Natasha learned he’d been at her truck while she was gone, then so be it. But possibly she didn’t know a lot about snow, in which case wherever she was hoofing it at the moment she was probably freezing that adorable ass of hers off. Also, she wouldn’t notice what was left of his boot prints in the snow.

In the end, none of that mattered. What mattered was learning where she was right now. It hadn’t been the first thought to cross his mind, but the possibility existed that she hadn’t left her truck willingly. Trent was the law in this land and was obliged to investigate. Leaving her truck, he climbed back into his and headed toward the turnoff to the cabin. Ethel Burrows and her great-aunt would have to wait.

It was starting to look as if today might not be as much of a washout as yesterday had been. Sooner or later clues would break loose around this murder. It was how it worked. He’d much prefer it be sooner, because once bits and pieces of the truth started falling into place Trent had a feeling there would be an avalanche of evidence to sort through and make sense out of.

He flipped his headlights on after cutting off the road and making a wide berth around the spikes in the road. To the best of his knowledge, there wasn’t another way to leave the cabin than the road he was on. So he took his time, going slowly and taking the curves, some of which were sharp and others of which were more stretched out. His headlight beams stretched over the barren, rocky hills with each turn, then flashed along the narrow road when he straightened the wheel and drew closer.

The snowflakes were getting bigger. By morning they would have a good half a foot of snow. If temperatures stayed where they were, there would be snow on the ground for a while. He didn’t mind winter weather, especially when the temperatures were still tolerable, as they were now. There was a mean wind out there, but once that tapered off it would be a wonderful evening. What he wouldn’t do to spend it with Natasha, even if it were to hash out and argue over the details around her father’s possible murder conviction. Although after two days of investigating without her Trent didn’t have any solid proof as to where George King was, or anyone else having killed Carl Williams.

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.