His hands fell from me, and I settled into the supple cushions. His expression was smug, his usual professionalism gone. It wasn’t any of his business that this was the first time I had tried to spindle line energy in me as a matter of convenience. I was ready to bag it. My feet hurt, and thanks to Quen, I wanted to go home, eat a carton of ice cream, and remember my dad.

“Quen knew my dad,” I said sullenly.

“So I hear.” He looked not at me but the passing view as we made our way into the city.

My breath came faster, and I shifted in my seat. “Piscary said he killed my dad. Quen implied there was more to it than that.”

Trent crossed his legs and unbuttoned his suit coat. “Quen talks too much.”

Tension pulled my stomach tight. “Our fathers were working together?” I prompted. “Doing what?”

His lip twitched, and he ran a hand across his hair to make sure it was lying flat. From the driver’s seat, Jonathan coughed in warning. Right. Like his threats meant anything to me?

Trent shifted in the seat to look at me, his face holding a shade of interest. “Ready to work with me?”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. Work with me. Last time it was work for me.

“No.” I smiled though I wanted to step on his foot. “Quen seems to blame himself for my dad’s death. I find that fascinating. Especially when Piscary claimed responsibility.”

A sigh came from Trent. His hand went out to steady himself when we eased onto the interstate. “Piscary killed my father outright,” he said. “Your father was bitten while trying to help him. Quen was supposed to be there, not your father. That’s why Quen went to help you subdue Piscary. He felt he needed to take your father’s place, seeing as he believes it was his fault your father wasn’t there to help you himself.”

My face went cold, and I pushed myself back into the leather seat. I had thought Trent had sent Quen to help me; Trent had nothing to do with it. But a niggling thought surfaced through my confusion. “But my father didn’t die of a vampire bite.”

“No,” Trent said carefully, his eyes on the growing skyline. “He didn’t.”

“He died when his red blood cells started attacking his soft tissues,” I prompted, waiting for more, but Trent’s posture went closed. “That’s all I’m getting, isn’t it?” I said flatly, and the man gave me half a smile, charming and sly.

“My offer of employment is ever open, Ms. Morgan.”