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“We’ve got a credible lead…” Trent broke off. He heard shuffling and then Talib’s lightly accented voice was heard before he joined PJ. “Trent?”
“Yo. PJ was just telling me your troublemakers managed to light a fire under you guys.”
“It’s coming faster now. This is the sixth well that has been targeted, but thankfully no one was injured this time.”
“How big is Guardians of the Earth over there? What do you know about the group?” Trent asked, not liking the sound of things.
“They currently have a group in the country, and they’re working with our ministers to help draw up long-range plans for sustainable energy use and conservation of our plant and animal life.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking that’s a cover story. How fast can you get me pictures of the delegation?”
PJ’s voice butted in. “Trent, what are you thinking?”
Before he could speak, Talib said, “I will get the photos and send them to you immediately. I believe they are to have a luncheon with the Sheikh tomorrow.”
Trent leaned forward. “Find a reason for that not to happen. From the looks of things, there’s an element in this organization that’s being paid to do bad things. Until we know if it’s just a few or the whole crew, I recommend you keep Kamal and Khalil and their families away from that delegation.”
“I’ll get with Brock and Keira, and we’ll figure something out,” PJ told him.
“Good. Has Slade been informed of the latest with the wells yet?” Both PJ and Talib shook their heads. “Okay, I’ll make sure he knows.”
“I will leave you two to finish up.” Talib kissed PJ on the cheek and left.
PJ turned her head, probably to watch him go. When she turned back, her voice dropped. “What’s this I hear about you having a contact on the inside? A close contact? I think Travis may have mentioned Brazil?”
Trent swore. Travis just had to go and open his mouth. “She is a contact—a way for me to get information on the people threatening Sheikh Kamal and his family. You got a problem with that?”
“No problem. I’m checking up on you to make sure you don’t have a problem with that.”
“Why is everyone suddenly worried about me?”
“Because, Trent, you start by wrapping a girl around your finger and end up wrapped around hers. One of these days you’re going to meet the girl who doesn’t unwrap—who gets so far under your skin you can’t let go. I want to be there to see that day. You’re going to fall harder than both Brock and Slade did.”
Trent frowned. “You’re one to talk, considering you seem to have fallen pretty hard yourself.”
PJ laughed and Trent paused, realizing that the happiest he’d ever seen her was after she’d gotten together with Talib. “Fair point, Mr. Larson. Hey, have you heard anything about Jason? How’s he doing? I can’t get anything out of Slade.”
It was Trent’s turn to laugh. “You should know better. He’s an iceberg when it comes to his personal life.” Jason Simmons was Slade’s nine-year-old son and was presently undergoing treatment for Russell–Silver syndrome. “However, Bethany is over the moon with how things are going. She said that the doctor has high hopes that it will be a success, but he still has a very long way to go.”
He could hear voices at PJ’s end, and she shifted in her seat. “That’s good news. Send them my best.” She reached to disconnect the call but paused. “Watch yourself, Trent. With the amount of damage these guys are doing, be very careful who you bring into your circle of trust. She might seem like an innocent, but then again, she might just be very good at her job.”
“I can handle it.”
PJ gave a laugh. “Got it. Hope she leads you up the garden path and back down it again. Give Travis a big kiss from me.”
“You’ll have to wait until the next time you see him.” He broke the connection and sat at the table, drinking his water, and thinking about what PJ had said.
Was Chloe getting under his skin? He didn’t think so—they’d only just met, after all. Sure, she was fun to be around. Different. Funny. Kind. Beautiful. He liked her—and the sex was outstanding. You couldn’t beat that kind of chemistry.
Itchy now, he wandered around his place, trying to think about the numbers they’d seen on that document when they’d gone into the Guardian’s network. He yawned and rubbed the back of his neck. It was late—or early. He needed coffee, too. Or sleep. He went into his bedroom and stared at his bed. It looked empty without Chloe there.
Muttering a curse, he headed for Chloe’s place—who cared what Mrs. W. had said or thought. He let himself in, shucked off his shoes, T-shirt, and shorts, and lowered himself into the bed, taking up more than half of the space. He didn’t mind it in the least when Chloe turned and snuggled up close as if he belonged there.
11
She was dying.
Water filled her nose. Water pressed down on her head, pressed on her chest, sat like a weight. A blinding pain behind her eyes told her she couldn’t keep holding her breath. She could see the shadows moving on the ice above her. Arms heavy, legs leaden, she willed them to break through and save her.
