downed cat and promised the gates would be unlocked. “Call me when you have results.” He ended the call.
Even though Hallie was sitting, her legs shook. Her whole body trembled.
Trent turned toward her. “Baby? What’s wrong?” His thick hair was wet and rain still slid down his face. He wiped it off, focusing on her.
She couldn’t breathe. If she was honest with herself, she had been caught in a silly little daydream involving life with Trent. He’d claimed her, whatever that meant. So yes, she’d been picturing herself in that sweet ranch house living the dream, if she survived the killers after her as well as the possible incriminating evidence against her. “I had no idea ranching was so dangerous,” she whispered.
He set the phone down gently. “That was nothing. Horses get spooked, cattle rampage, and Mother Nature likes to take a bite or two once in a while.” Then he caught her expression, and he sobered. “It’s okay. A little mountain lion can’t hurt me.”
Her stomach lurched. “Little? He was at least a hundred pounds.” Her voice rose as her fantasy faded away. “You had to shoot him.”
“Only because he probably has rabies. Otherwise, he would’ve run when I shot into the air. It happens.”
Rabies? Well, that wasn’t dangerous or anything. She sucked in air. “And you have a wolf who hangs around you. A real, wild, sharp-toothed wolf.” By the last word, she was almost screeching.
The wolf snorted in the back seat.
Trent just studied her, his eyes a soft green while the storm beat around the truck. He reached out and gripped her chin, looking deep. “I’m not sure what’s happening right now, but we have to get to the clubhouse and the meeting. Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”
She swallowed and pulled her face free. Never again would she tie herself to a man with a dangerous job. She’d already faced losing the one person in the world she loved, and she wouldn’t do it again. “There’s nothing to fix,” she said quietly.
After he paid her that night, she’d go.
* * *
Trent kicked back in the conference room of the club with a mug of coffee in hand, his mind still turning over his odd interaction with Hallie in the truck. She’d been so pale, and her eyes had seemed to fill her whole face. Did she have some phobia about mountain lions? Or rabies?
Austin continued the meeting with the eight present members of the lodge. “Wyatt, Levi, Doc, and Boone have checked in, and they’ve secured the woman and already taken her to a military hospital in Germany. One of ours.”
Trent focused. “How badly was she hurt?” The woman was a journalist kidnapped for ransom.
“Not as bad as she could’ve been,” Austin said. “They wanted money, not her.”
Well, that was something. “Is the team wheels up?” Trent asked.
Austin looked at his watch. “In about ten minutes.” Then he looked around the table. “Any other business before we get to the shit show Trent has brought to us?”
“You’re welcome,” Trent drawled.
Zachary snorted and took another deep gulp of his coffee.
Trent nodded and told them about the mountain lion. “I called the vet and she’s headed out to see if it has rabies.” Which was more than a possibility since the animal hadn’t reacted as it should have when he’d shot into the air.
Zeke straightened. “Mills is going out there by herself?”
“Yeah. She’s the vet.” Trent turned toward his brother. “I killed the animal. There’s no more threat.”
Zeke didn’t answer.
Austin’s gray eyes flicked over them, and then he nodded to Jesse. “You’re up. What did you find?”
Jesse leaned over his keyboard and typed rapidly, his thick black hair wavy behind his ears and his light brown eyes reading code faster than most people could think. The screen at the far wall lit up. “Meet Silas, Charles, and Brad Montgomery.”
Photographs of three men appeared on the screen. They looked like accountants. All three wore golf shirts, khaki pants, and earnest expressions. Trent hated them on sight. The elder had thick gray hair and his sons light brown hair. All had blue eyes and fairly fit physiques.
Another picture came up. “Marc Lewis,” Jesse confirmed.
Lewis was younger than Trent would’ve guessed—maybe early forties. He had thinning blond hair, squirrely brown eyes, and a gut.
Then another picture of a man about the same age with darker blue eyes. “John Bixby,” Jesse said. “According to a police report, he’s been missing for three months and there’s been no sign of