Page 9 of The Perfect Hosts
“Mm-hmm,” Lucy says, pointing to her phone, letting Trent know she is talking. “Yeah, I’m out on County Road 12.” He crosses his arms, leans against her trailer. “I got this,” she says. “You can head out.” She keeps her voice calm, even. She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s scaring her.
“I don’t mind waiting,” Trent says and smirks. “I’d hate for you to be out here all alone.”
“Probably a nail or something,” Lucy says into the phone giving Trent a dismissive wave. “Thanks, sweetie. See you in five.”
Trent’s hand shoots out and snags the phone from Lucy’s grasp. “Actually, sweetie, you don’t worry one bit,” he says into the phone. “I’ll take good care of Lucy. Hello? Hello?” His eyebrows rise in mock concern. “I think we lost the connection.”
“Give me my phone,” Lucy says, reaching into the truck for the lug wrench, her fingers snagging on the cool metal.
“Sure,” Trent says. “But why don’t you tell me what the hell you’re up to first.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lucy says. He is ballsy. Or a psychopath. Lucy is betting on the latter.
“The bar,” Trent says. “You coming on to me? What were you planning on doing? Get me drunk and then rob me? I felt the knife in your pocket.”
He takes a step toward her.
“Back the fuck up,” Lucy says, raising the tire iron. She doesn’t know what she’ll do if he calls her bluff. Trent is bigger and stronger than she is and turning out to be as clever.
Another vehicle comes into view, its high beams spotlighting them both.
“Jesus,” Trent breathes. “It’s the sheriff. Put that thing away.”
Lucy doesn’t go as far as to put the wrench back in the truck but lowers it to her side.
The lightbar mounted to the top of the approaching SUV flashes as it pulls in behind them. It’s quite the little caravan they’ve got going here.
The man inside the SUV kills the engine and steps from the vehicle. “Trent,” he says, with a nod. He looks Lucy up and down. “You okay here?” he asks. He wears a brown sheriff’s department uniform and a grave expression on his acne-pocked face.
The entire truth is out of the question, so Lucy decides to go with the abridged version. “Flat tire. He’s giving me a hand.” A small uptick of Trent’s mouth lets Lucy know he thinks he’s won this round.
The sheriff sweeps his flashlight across her truck, examines her mud-splattered license plate. “License and registration, please.”
Lucy’s stomach flips. She can only hope that her ex hasn’t filed a police report about his stolen items.
“They’re in my glove box,” she says. “Can I grab them?” The sheriff gives a stiff nod, and he follows her as she walks back to her truck and climbs inside. She considers making a run for it but decides it will be useless. She leans across the seat, opens the glove box, pretends to riffle through the contents.
“Huh,” Lucy says, sitting upright. “I can’t seem to find them. It’s a mess in there, and it’s so dark.”
Trent paces impatiently at the side of the road. “You know who I am,” he grouses. “Can’t I be on my way?” The sheriff shoots him a look that shuts him up.
“Keep looking,” the sheriff says.
It’s no use—she has to give him the paperwork. If she plays it cool, maybe everything will be okay. Lucy grabs the registration,slides from the truck, and pulls her driver’s license from her back pocket.
“The truck is under my husband’s name,” she explains. Trent gives her a look that saysYou’re married?Lucy ignores it.
The sheriff clicks on his flashlight, examines the paperwork, gives Lucy a quizzical look. She doesn’t speak. The less she says, the better.
She waits for the sheriff to take her license back to his car. If he does, Lucy is done for, but he simply hands the card back. It can’t be this easy, she thinks.
“You work yesterday?” the sheriff asks, turning to Trent.
“Me?” Trent is taken off guard. “Yeah, until about four. I put in about sixty hours this week, and they let me off. Why?”
“I’m guessing you haven’t heard what happened earlier,” the sheriff says, leveling his gaze on Trent.
Lucy’s heart starts to thump. Confusion or maybe fear skitters across Trent’s face. “No. What happened?” he asks cautiously.