Page 125 of Live To Tell

“Threat to Kai by Trent because he was there?” puts in Grayson.

“I was where?” asks Trent roughly.

“At the warehouse when witches attacked Kai and Rowan.”

Trent stares, mouth open in a rather stupid fashion. “I ain’t been near any warehouses.”

I slice a look at Joe, who smiles but doesn’t join the conversation. Of course, he’d make Trent forget.

“Where are you taking Trent?” I ask.

“I’m not ‘taking’ him anywhere. I left some tools here earlier by mistake. Expensive ones. People scope out building sites and steal shit, and my insurance company won’t cover the loss if I left tools in an unlocked place.” He purses his lips. “Any power tools hidden in that jacket, Rowan? Grayson?”

He knows all our names.

“That was a rather thorough explanation,” I say. “Why do you need Trent with you to do that?”

“‘Cause he’s helping me keep away from elders,” says Trent. “They know I left and want me back. Could be waiting anywhere to grab me.”

“I hear one of your closest friends has the same problem, Violet,” remarks Joe, “Trent filled me in. Leif, isn’t it? If he needs help, I’m happy to take him in.”

I snarl, and Rowan speaks. “Quite the benevolent man. Do you take many shifters ‘in’?”

Joe shrugs. “None of your business. Now, I suggest you leave before I call the police and you’re arrested for trespassing.”

“This isn’t your land to claim trespassing.”

“Then I’ll take you to Mr. Brightgrove and ask how we deal with his intruders. He can be quite cantankerous and that wouldn’t be pleasant.” He arches a brow in challenge.

“I’d like to talk to you more,” I say.

“We could talk another time? I’m busy tonight.”

“I’m positive my father will want to speak to you too—and you, Trent. Perhaps you should come with us now?” I suggest, playing my fingers around the edge of his mind.

Blank.

Trent’s mouth parts again, and Joe steps in front of him. “I do hope you’re not using mind reading on Trent. That would be another complaint.”

I step forward, and there’s no doubt in my mind that this average man with his small green eyes is Viktor Whitegrove. Few witches hold such tangible magic, fewer still an energy that snatches oxygen. “The police want to speak to you, Trent. Perhaps you should let everybody know you’re safe.”

Joe makes a disparaging noise and pulls something from his back pocket. He hands a crumpled business card over. “If your father’s that keen to speak to me, he’ll know where I am, but just in case, here’s my number.”

“I advise you not to avoid Dorian,” I say. “You’ll evoke more suspicion.”

“Suspicion of what?” he retorts. “Substandard workmanship?”

“I’ve already told you, Viktor Whitegrove,” I say coolly. “A girl died. Our government’s permitted to use mind magic on suspects. We’ll find the truth why you’ve changed your identity.”

“Suspects for what?” he repeats, nothing in his demeanor reacting to the name.

“A girl’s disappearance.”

He regards me quietly, then steps closer until he’s in the personal space only my guys are allowed in, bringing with him that magic aura that sets my teeth on edge. “Is Madison a friend of yours?”

“No.”

His eyes glint. “Are you worried another girl might disappear?”

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