Page 12 of August

But whether she liked it or not, she’d try to make it on her own. She might not survive long, but at least no one else would die trying to help her. In seconds she drifted off.

The sound of a zipper reached Gigi’s ears, pulling her from sleep. Her body had melted into the mattress, and exhaustion was pushing her head into the pillow like a pile of bricks. She forced open her eyes and found the source of the noise. August was standing next to the foot of his bed rummaging through his duffel bag.

“What time is it?” The question came out haggard with grogginess.

“Almost 5:00 p.m.”

She groaned and rubbed her eyes. While falling asleep hours ago, she’d formed a loose plan: leave while August went to get them food. It was a plan that had seemed like a much better one on the cusp of sleep and delirium than it did now in the light of lucidity.

It was a betrayal of sorts, after all he’d done to help her. But ultimately, she was doing him a favor. Keeping him alive. He wouldn’t see it that way, but oh well.

“What do you want to eat?” he asked. Thick stubble covered his jaw, a shade darker than the sandy-blond hair on his head. His shirt was rumpled and his eyes were bloodshot, but he was still sexy as hell.

She forced a smile. “Whatever you’re having.” Hopefully he was hungry enough to eat two helpings because she’d be gone by the time he returned.

“All right. I’ll be quick. I saw a fast-food joint down the road. Sit tight.” He stuffed his phone in his pocket then slipped out of the room.

Gigi tossed back the covers.

Now was her chance.

***

August breezed through the lobby of the hotel. Now that it was dinnertime, a few more people were milling about. His brain was a little less foggy thanks to the five hours of sleep he’d gotten. That he’d been able to sleep at all was shocking. Either his body had been beyond exhausted or he’d been comforted by the fact that Gigi was close. He suspected both were true.

For months, Gigi had occupied the back of his mind—and, more often than not, the forefront. Now she was close enough to touch. Which was a problem. He’d gotten two beds so there’d be no accidental touching. Less temptation. Or so he’d told himself.

The cool October air touched his skin as he moved across the parking lot toward his SUV. As he climbed in, his thigh vibrated. August dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone to see who was calling. Rami.

Shit.

The first thing he should’ve done after Gigi called him was let Rami know what’d happened. If Rami and Ivy had heard from a U.S. marshal and knew Gigi was missing, Ivy would be a wreck. Unfortunately, his mental state that morning had prevented him from looking past his nose.

He swiped to answer. “Hello?”

“Hey, man,” Rami said, his tone grave. “Uh, something’s happened. Gigi’s missing. The cartel found her. They even killed the U.S. marshal—”

“I know,” August said with a sigh. “I’ve got her.”

“What?” Ivy’s shrill question vibrated the speaker on his phone, followed by a scraping sound. “Gigi is with you? Now?”

He closed his eyes heavily. “Yes. Look, I’m sorry. I should’ve called you—”

“August, we thought she was dead!” Ivy’s voice broke with a sob. “Can I talk to her, please?”

“I’m outside right now. I just went to grab us food.”

“Dude,” Rami said. “Do you have any idea what we’ve been through the last few hours? A U.S. marshal showed up here looking for her. Said one of their men was killed in his home last night and she was gone. Imagine what we thought.”

August dragged his hand down his face. “I said I’m sorry.” Rami was his boss, but he was also his best friend. “Honestly, I was in panic mode,” he confessed. “Last night I dropped off Boyd, closed my eyes for two hours, and then Gigi called. I’d barely slept in days and was on the road to get to her before the cartel. I couldn’t think straight.”

“All right,” Rami said tersely. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, man. She’s fine. Except the assassin showed up at the diner where she was waiting for me. Got there seconds after I did.”

Ivy’s sharp intake of breath crackled in his ear.

“We had a shoot-out,” August continued, “and he’s... gone. I hit him, I’m sure of it. But he got away.” He searched the parking lot, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as if expecting said assassin to pop up any second.

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