You’ve got no back-up and no secondary escape options, which means that what you’re doing is not only not sensible, it is, in any reasonable estimation, stupid.”
I stared up at him. His expression was serious, but not bland. And not passive. He was angry—I saw it in the flash of his eyes, the set of his jaw. I remembered the last time he’d gotten angry with me and swallowed hard. Anger got the juices flowing in more ways than one. I knew the hormonal cascade—cortisol then adrenalin—and I knew what happened with a dose of dopamine in the cocktail. It had happened before, red-eyed fury burning into something equally hot, and maybe even more dangerous.
I bit back the curse. This was getting us nowhere. I had Boone to deal with. The last thing I needed was a lover’s spat with my pissed-off, chemically unstable powder keg of a boyfriend.
I kept my voice calm. “One question.”
“What?”
“When you installed that system, were you being my boyfriend? Or were you being a corporate security agent?”
He looked startled. “What?”
“How about showing up here? Boyfriend or security agent?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. But I’m here. And I’ve presented a valid interpretation of the scenario. You know I have.”
How had we gotten into this mess? Which had come first, the stupid chicken or the overprotective egg?
I rubbed my eyes. “It’s valid based on the facts you have. But there are things you don’t know.”
“Then tell me.”
“I will. On the way.”
“To where?”
“To see Boone.”
He frowned suspiciously. “You’re letting me come?”
“You may as well. You probably slipped some bugging device in my underwear when I wasn’t looking.”
He made a soft noise of affront. “I did not.”
He started to walk around me, but I planted myself in front of him. “One condition—you have to let me talk to Boone alone. You can watch. There’s an observation area. But he wants to see me alone, and I agreed, so that’s the situation.”
“It’s too risky.”
“I’ll be perfectly safe.”
“He’s a convicted felon.”
“Who is also my uncle.”
Trey blinked at me. The forest wove a tapestry of sound around us, including the long piercing cry of a red-tailed hawk, followed by a cacophony of shrieks and harsh calls, like the soundtrack of a Tarzan movie.
“I’ve known him since I was a baby,” I continued. “And he’d sooner cut off his own head than hurt me, but he does not like tardiness any more than you do. So come on. The wolf den is this way.”
***
Trey and I took the path backwards. Normally the trail ran counterclockwise, winding first through the gator pond, then past the bobcats and foxes, the eagles and panthers. But we weren’t sightseeing. We had one goal in mind.
The wolves.
We took the path side by side, and I explained my complicated ties to Boone. “He married my mama’s sister fresh out of high school. They opened a boat servicing business and marina, a very successful one. When I was little, our families used to spend Saturdays together at Boone’s place. I’d play hide and seek with Jefferson and Jasper—Boone’s kids, my cousins—and the grown-ups would drink.”
The memories flooded me as I talked, incandescent and idyllic and almost tangible, like mental postcards. Trey didn’t interrupt. He let me set the pace, our shoes crushing gravel.
I sighed. “But Boone and Aunt Rowena got involved with the KKK. She eventually ran off with another Klansman, dumped the boys on Boone and vanished. Mama said I wasn’t allowed out there anymore, so I didn’t seen any of them until I became a teenager and could sneak out on my own. Jasper and Jefferson were too grown-up to hang around with me then, but Boone always had time.”
Trey held a moss-tangled branch out of the way. He was back to his usual patient chivalry. As we walked, I told him the stories I’d grown up with, hissed under my mother’s breath in the kitchen when I was
I stared up at him. His expression was serious, but not bland. And not passive. He was angry—I saw it in the flash of his eyes, the set of his jaw. I remembered the last time he’d gotten angry with me and swallowed hard. Anger got the juices flowing in more ways than one. I knew the hormonal cascade—cortisol then adrenalin—and I knew what happened with a dose of dopamine in the cocktail. It had happened before, red-eyed fury burning into something equally hot, and maybe even more dangerous.
I bit back the curse. This was getting us nowhere. I had Boone to deal with. The last thing I needed was a lover’s spat with my pissed-off, chemically unstable powder keg of a boyfriend.
I kept my voice calm. “One question.”
“What?”
“When you installed that system, were you being my boyfriend? Or were you being a corporate security agent?”
He looked startled. “What?”
“How about showing up here? Boyfriend or security agent?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. But I’m here. And I’ve presented a valid interpretation of the scenario. You know I have.”
How had we gotten into this mess? Which had come first, the stupid chicken or the overprotective egg?
I rubbed my eyes. “It’s valid based on the facts you have. But there are things you don’t know.”
“Then tell me.”
“I will. On the way.”
“To where?”
“To see Boone.”
He frowned suspiciously. “You’re letting me come?”
“You may as well. You probably slipped some bugging device in my underwear when I wasn’t looking.”
He made a soft noise of affront. “I did not.”
He started to walk around me, but I planted myself in front of him. “One condition—you have to let me talk to Boone alone. You can watch. There’s an observation area. But he wants to see me alone, and I agreed, so that’s the situation.”
“It’s too risky.”
“I’ll be perfectly safe.”
“He’s a convicted felon.”
“Who is also my uncle.”
Trey blinked at me. The forest wove a tapestry of sound around us, including the long piercing cry of a red-tailed hawk, followed by a cacophony of shrieks and harsh calls, like the soundtrack of a Tarzan movie.
“I’ve known him since I was a baby,” I continued. “And he’d sooner cut off his own head than hurt me, but he does not like tardiness any more than you do. So come on. The wolf den is this way.”
***
Trey and I took the path backwards. Normally the trail ran counterclockwise, winding first through the gator pond, then past the bobcats and foxes, the eagles and panthers. But we weren’t sightseeing. We had one goal in mind.
The wolves.
We took the path side by side, and I explained my complicated ties to Boone. “He married my mama’s sister fresh out of high school. They opened a boat servicing business and marina, a very successful one. When I was little, our families used to spend Saturdays together at Boone’s place. I’d play hide and seek with Jefferson and Jasper—Boone’s kids, my cousins—and the grown-ups would drink.”
The memories flooded me as I talked, incandescent and idyllic and almost tangible, like mental postcards. Trey didn’t interrupt. He let me set the pace, our shoes crushing gravel.
I sighed. “But Boone and Aunt Rowena got involved with the KKK. She eventually ran off with another Klansman, dumped the boys on Boone and vanished. Mama said I wasn’t allowed out there anymore, so I didn’t seen any of them until I became a teenager and could sneak out on my own. Jasper and Jefferson were too grown-up to hang around with me then, but Boone always had time.”
Trey held a moss-tangled branch out of the way. He was back to his usual patient chivalry. As we walked, I told him the stories I’d grown up with, hissed under my mother’s breath in the kitchen when I was
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