Not that he didn’t want to leave, Wyatt noted. Trap said can’t. There was a big difference. He’d told Wyatt he was looking for Cayenne, the woman he’d rescued from certain death, but knowing Trap, that was so far out of his reality that Wyatt hadn’t really believed him. But now . . .

“Trap.” Wyatt kept his voice low. Steady. His gaze on one of his closest friends.

Trap was a very dangerous man. He didn’t look it, sitting there, legs sprawled out in front of him, his chair tipped back and his eyes half-closed, but there was ice water running in his veins. More, he had a brain that worked overtime, calculating everything even as he observed the most minute detail of his surroundings.

He had a steady hand and the eyes of an eagle. He was silent and deadly when he stalked an enemy, and he was known to go into an enemy camp alone, death drifting in and the reaper drifting back out. He killed without a sound and thoroughly, taking out the enemy without raising an alarm. When he returned, he was the same exact man—cool and remote, his brain already moving on to solve another problem.

Trap raised those piercing, glacier-cold eyes to his. An icy shiver crept down Wyatt’s spine.

“I’ve known you for years,” Wyatt continued. “You get caught up in problems, Trap. Problems that need solvin’. Your brain just won’ let it go. This woman is a problem. That’s what this is.”

Trap sighed. “You know better. You, of all people, know better.”

“You don’ become obsessed with women. Hell, Trap, you hook up for an hour or two and then you walk. Not a night. An hour or two at the most.”

Trap didn’t deny it. “I fuck ’em and then walk away because I don’t need the entanglement but I need the release.” He stated the fact mildly. Unashamed. Uncaring.

“This woman is a problem to solve to you. That’s all she is. This has nothin’ to do with the woman herself, just the mystery of her. You have to know that.” Wyatt’s Cajun accent was becoming more noticeable, the only thing that betrayed his wariness.

Trap’s expression didn’t change. His icy gaze didn’t leave Wyatt’s face as he took a long pull on the beer and set it down. “You grew up in that family of yours, Wyatt. You got your grandmother. Sweet and kind. You had all this.” He gestured toward the swamp where Wyatt had grown up. “Running wild. Living a life. Having a family. You know what that’s like.”