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Who helped her? Something tells me Mason is going to find out soon.
I get into the driver’s seat while Griffin rides shotgun and Nat gets comfortable in the back seat. I turn the key and the engine roars to life.
As I pull away from the cabin, an odd feeling overcomes me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my pulse picks up just enough to make me notice.
“Something is off,” I announce. Both Nat and Griffin tense up immediately. I slow down the car, scanning the road and surrounding area carefully.
“There, watch out,” Griffin warns at the same moment I catch sight of the large branch laying across the road.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath. The branch is small enough to be drug on the road by a person but too large to run over without risking getting stuck.
I put the car in park and unbuckle. Reaching for my belt holster, I wrap my hand around the grip of my gun. My thumb slides over the safety, undoing it swiftly.
Griffin pulls his gun out as he opens the passenger door and gets out of the car. I open my door and follow him, careful not to make any unnecessary sounds. My eyes bounce from the ground in front of me to the edge of the tree line, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
I glance over at Griffin. He is crouching down next to the branch. Wrapping his hand around it, he picks it up and starts dragging it off to the side. I keep my gun pointed at the edge of the road where the gravel meets the trees.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement to my left. Spinning around, I raise my gun at the moving figure. I fire off a shot, but the man dressed in black is already hidden by the trunk of a large oak tree.
The shot still echoes around the open space when the man behind the tree yells out, “Damn, Dallas, that wasn’t even close! You need some glasses, old man?”
Immediately, I lower my gun. “What the fuck are you doing here, Trent?”
Trent steps out from behind the tree. Hands shoved in his pockets, he leans casually against the trunk. “Funny, I was about to ask you the same. Is there a reason you visited my cabin unannounced?”
“That’s my fault,” Natalie chimes in, as she gets out of the car. “Hey, Trent!” She greets our friend like we just ran into him at a coffee shop.
“So that’s your cabin, and I’m guessing you were the one who helped Natalie up here.”
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” Trent shrugs. The harsh wind runs through his unruly hair, making him look more like a teenager than the cold-hearted assassin he is. Trent’s always looked much younger than he is, which makes him one of the best hitmen we have. He is thirty-two, but he could easily pass for early to mid twenties. People are much less likely to assume you’re going to kill them when you look like a college frat boy.
“Since you’re already out here and involved, you could help us find Beverly.”
“I have been on her, but she seems to be very good at hiding. Whoever is helping her is a major player.” We knew that much already, but hearing that even Trent can’t track her down only drives home the point. “I don’t have another job right now, so I’m gonna stay on it. You guys get back to the hotel. I’ll stay in touch.”
“Talk soon, Lone wolf,” Griffin calls Trent by his nickname.
Like Natalie, Trent used to work for the CIA, but he has never been much of a team player. He prefers to not only work alone, but to do everything alone. And I mean, everything.
9
NATALIE
I’m home. It’s not exactly the way I planned on returning, but then there really wasn’t much of a plan, was there? This has been one of those one-day-at-a-time situations. Not much room for thinking about tomorrow when you’re trying to get through today.
Now here I am, with no choice but to enter the hotel I fled from in the dead of night. It’s not so much walking back into the lobby that gets my heart pounding and my stomach churning. It’s what I know will be waiting. And how pissed I know he has to be.
It isn’t my brother who I first see. It’s Teagan, rushing to meet me with her arms outstretched, wearing a bright smile. “I am so glad you’re back.” Her hug is tight and fierce, like she’s trying to prove she means it by breaking my ribs. I can’t pretend it isn’t nice to know somebody cared.
“Sorry if I worried you,” I offer in a whisper so the guys won’t hear.
“I get it. I mean, I don’t really get it, but I sort of do.” She shakes her head and waves her hands back and forth, chuckling. “Don’t listen to me.”
