And as an investigator, it was worse, with at least a dozen hiding places. Playing chase with Royer out here wasn’t the ideal scenario.
He needed solid intel before diving headfirst into a fight. Holding his position, Trent raised his night-vision monocular, scanning the shadows for signs of Royer. He had to be using this site. It was too irresistible for a criminal lying low.
Tense, he kept searching, all his senses on alert for the slightest sound or movement. Minutes ticked by one after the other until he lost count. Hearing the dry rustle of sea oats behind him, he pressed himself deeper into the shadows and waited.
Cold, ready, Trent slipped the monocular into his pocket and silently pivoted into a defensive crouch, his right hand finding the grip of the gun holstered at his thigh. His gaze scanned the dunes, expecting Royer, a sentry, or an ally. Instead, his heart did a strange, violent kick against his ribs.
Natalie.
She walked along the edge of the dunes, her silhouette instantly recognizable even in the low light. Her long, blonde hair was loose, waving around her face in the strong ocean breeze. Head down, she clutched a heavy cardigan over a pale skirt that billowed like a sail around her ankles.
What was she doing out here?
His stomach dropped, afraid for a moment she had duped him after all and was somehow helping Royer. Then she turned on her heel, retracing her steps. Just when he thought it was all clear, she did another one-eighty. She stalked closer, clearly aiming for the construction site. What the hell was going on?
Trent crept closer, a silent shadow closing the distance between them.
“Jackson, you selfish jerk,” she muttered. “You’re neck deep in this. I’ll prove it. I’ll prove it.”
He could sympathize with her intent, but he couldn’t let her wander into what was likely Royer’s hideout. Before she could break through the tree line into the construction zone, he reached out, caught her by the waist, and pulled her flush against his chest, dragging her back into the safety of the forest shadows.
Natalie gasped, a sharp inhale that he cut off with the gentle press of his palm over her mouth. “Shh. You’re safe. It’s Trent.” She relaxed, her body softening against his. “Don’t make a sound." Under his palm, she gave a quick nod. The scent of her—something like sweet vanilla, lavender, and the sharp tang of the sea—instantly invaded his senses, threatening to scramble his focus. Slowly, she drew his hand away from her mouth, her fingers curling tightly over his. “Why?”
He tapped his lips, signaling her to hush, but he couldn’t seem to unwind his arm from her waist. The proximity was dangerously intimate, he could feel her lungs working, as he walked her back toward the Hargrave beach. Just out of reach of the surf, he eased back.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Why are you hiding in the trees?”
Their questions clashed as they stared at each other. “You first,” Trent said, folding his arms.
She shook her head. “I was…” She caught her lip between her teeth. “Being foolish. Again. But you.” She stepped in close. “You look like something out of a war movie.”
He scoffed. “Hardly.”
She arched one eyebrow and mirrored him, arms crossed. "You scared me," she accused.
“Because you were trespassing.”
“And you were invited?” she shot back.
“It’s not safe for you over there.”
“Then it can’t be safe for you either.” A gust of wind tugged at her hair and she pulled her sweater tighter around her waist.
“You have a point, but I have the training.” He spotted a spool of wire in one of her pockets and thought about the mumbling he’d overheard. “What’s this?” He reached for her pocket.
“I couldn’t sleep.” She pushed the wire out of sight. “My hands refused to stay idle.”
Parts of that might be true, but it wasn’t the whole story, not tonight. “Your feet too, since you’re all the way out here,” he pressed. She’d been so open in their previous conversations, why hedge the truth now?
“The house was dark. I figured you wouldn’t notice if I spent some time near the water.”
That he believed. And no, he didn’t have a problem with her taking time on her personal beach. “But you were stomping through the trees,” he reminded her gently. Something in the set of her chin, the slight tremor in her hands worried him. He reached out, his large, calloused hands closing over her smaller, softer ones. “You can tell me anything, Natalie.”
“I know.” She sounded irritated more than grateful. “Why are you so easy to talk to?” She tugged her windblown hair back from her face. “Probably the training?”
“Wrong. Well, mostly wrong.” He guided her back, away from the water, to sit on dry sand. “I do have some communications training,” he explained. “When it comes to talking with you, I find it way too easy to share. Does it help to know that it goes both ways?”
