What You Don't Know (Sequel to "Secret Love")(Hunter Hayes/James Marsden)

A Reason to be Dangerous

The air was dry. The cigar dangling from Trenton's lips tainted the room with the smell of smoke. He momentarily considered quitting. Just as he was readying himself to snub the butt in the nearby ashtray, Rory stuck his head through the door and he took another long pull instead.

"What do you want?" Trent asked testily, pulling a package of peanuts from his top drawer and ripping it open, a few scattering on the desk.

"Markob Jakobie is here," Rory stated, disappearing again just as soon as the words were out.

Trent groaned. Why now? His scowl sat comfortably on his face as the large, strangely cheerful man entered his office slid into his office chair.

A frustrating silence joined the smoke in the air; Trenton glared. Markob was unaffected, and smiled easily.

Markob sat laid back in the chair, his annoyingly bright neon shirt stretching against his impressive chest. He said not a word until Trenton grudgingly broke the silence with a low snarl.

"What do you want, Jakobie?"

Markob laughed. Trent's animosity was amusing. Yet, he knew he could not spend all day chuckling over his "employer's" aggravation, and, frankly, he had better places to be than choking on the dense air in here.

"My boss would like an update on the task you were given," Markob replied calmly, a smile still drawn lazily over his well-defined cheekbones.

Trenton's eyes narrowed.

"Does he doubt me?"

Markob shrugged. "Did you really think he wouldn't be watching you? He simply thinks that your priority may not be on the task at hand. You're getting just a little too...chummy with the girl."

Trenton scowled. "So he does doubt me." He scoffed and puffed his cigar, tossing a handful of peanuts in his mouth.

"Tell your boss," he continued, spitting the word out with a little shower of peanut bits, "That my methods are none of his concern. He set no time limit, so I have the right to prolong her death as long as I see fit."

Markob raised one dark brow. He rose slowly, a menacing tower of masculinity.

"Boss doesn't take well to meddlers, McDermott."

Trenton treated Markob to a withering look.

"You don't even know if this man is even a man. Think about it, Jakobie. If he's hiding his identity, what else is he hiding?" He stood, too, meeting Markob's eye as best he could. "Who is working for who here? And can you really be sure you haven't drawn the short straw?"

Markob's right brow joined the left higher on his forehead. An ironic chuckle slipped through his jaw.

"Are you trying to suggest that my boss is going to harm me? That I'm in some kind of danger?"

"Whoever this person is, they've hired me to kill an innocent girl, and they've taken great pains to shield themselves from the blame. It's not totally implausible to believe that he or she will eliminate the rabble after the fact. How better to be certain his secret will remain unexposed?"

Markob laughed again, completely unmoved by Trenton's impassioned speech. He turned to leave, but paused in the doorway with a hand on the knob and a look that put Trenton's ire to shame.

"You're right: I don't know who my boss is. But I know I'm in no danger from them. Because, until you, Trenton McDermott...I have not given him a reason to be dangerous."

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