Page 65 of Asher

“Beau! Talk to me. Are you hurt? Say something.”

“Bastard r-r-rammed me. On purpose,” he rasped. “Don’t worry about me. Go! Save Marlowe girl!”

“Copy that,” Asher answered, assessing the crash scene ahead. The Ford truck backed away from Beau, its tires screaming as it executed a sharp K-turn and roared after the bus. Asher didn’t slow down to help Beau. Couldn’t risk losing Marlowe. Tapping the handsfree option on his steering wheel, he ordered Siri to, “Dial TEAM HQ’s hot-line.”

When Ember picked up, he told her, “Agent Villanueva needs emergency assistance at highway marker seventeen. He’s been broadsided and is trapped inside his POV. No known injuries, but he was hit hard. I’m pursuing the perp. Ford super-duty truck, silver, no plates.”

“Heston’s with Beau now,” Ember replied. “Sheriff Prince and EMTs are on their way. ETA in six minutes.”

“Copy that.” Asher disconnected and punched the accelerator, closing in on his target.

The Ford jerked into his lane, attempting to ram him. Asher braked, then roared around the rear of the truck to the opposite side. Again, the Ford attempted a ramming procedure. And again, Asher worked his accelerator and brakes, toying with the jerk behind that wheel. Needing him to make a mistake, so he could get a clear shot.

After another fake attempt to pass, Asher figured if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. While his front bumper was still a couple feet ahead of the Ford’s rear bumper, he jerked the Camaro to the left and hit the Ford’s rear quarter panel. Solid pit maneuver. He disengaged the moment the Ford lost traction and started to spin.

The driver over-corrected, jerked too hard to the left, then to the right. Asher backed off and let gravity take over. The truck tipped onto two wheels at the edge of asphalt and gravel. It was in the process of rolling when Asher left it behind.

His phone rang an incoming. “Get off at the next exit. The van’s two miles ahead,” Heston barked.

“Copy that.” Asher had no idea where Heston was or how he knew where the van went, but figured he’d left Beau in Sheriff Prince’s capable hands and was again close by. Once again, Asher floored the accelerator. He lost sight of the V-dub when it hit the exit. Too many trees in the way, but there was no way that piece-of-shit bus could outrun him.

His mind was spinning. This kidnapping had been planned, but who’d do that? Tippetts and Jamah were dead. Marlowe had been out of the country for a while. She didn’t have family or friends stateside. Who could have lured her away so quickly? So easily? Had to be someone she trusted. Maybe one of the women Marlowe rescued? Could they be behind this? Marlowe wouldn’t just walk away from him, not after this morning. She loved him. Who besides his team even knew where he lived?

The bus roared into an open field where—

“No!” Asher bellowed as the small, commercial helicopter parked in the field came into view, its rotors spinning. A tall,dark-haired, and elegantly dressed woman raced from that helo to the bus. Definitely Mideastern. Olive skinned. Long, jet-black hair. Ugly sneer. Things were starting to add up.

Asher floored the accelerator. An older woman exited the driver’s side of the van, waving her hands over her head and yelling at the Mideastern chick. At the same time, the passenger door burst open and Marlowe tumbled out. Yellow tank top over yoga pants. No shoes. Mad as a hornet.Yup, that’s my girl.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Marlowe was out the van’s door before its wheels stopped rolling. Slapping her chest, she screamed at the liar pointing the gun at her. “You want a piece of me, Sariah? Well, here I am. Come get me, you bitch!”

Her mother, Mona, thought she’d tricked Marlowe, and because Mona seemed to know where Marlowe had been the last three years, Marlowe let her talk. But the only things out of her mouth were lies. All lies. She and Marlowe’s dad weren’t back together. Mona and Chuck—whoever he was—hadn’t cleaned up their acts like Mona kept saying. They didn’t have jobs, and they hadn’t been looking for her for months, or hired a private-eye to find her. Because—oh, by the way—Marlowe’s deceased father’s name was Mike. Not Chuck!

She never should’ve given Mona the time of day. Should’ve slammed the door in her face as soon as she saw who was on Asher’s porch. The only reason Marlowe didn’t was the shock of seeing her.

Mona had nearly pulled her off Asher’s porch in her hurry to get away.“You don’t understand. We have to go now. Yourfather’s hurt. He needs you.”In essence, she’d tried to use the oldest mothering ploy in the book. She thought she’d given Marlowe what every abused, neglected, little girl yearned to hear—that her father needed her. Would’ve worked if Marlowe didn’t already know Mike was dead.

Because Asher didn’t need more drama in his life, Marlowe had left with Mona. He needed to trust Marlowe to take care of this. If she could. But there was more going on than just her mother’s incessant lies. Because there stood Sariah, a smug smile on her ugly face and looking like the cat who’d just eaten a canary. Alive. The liar who’d betrayed Marlowe to the Taliban and who was somehow connected to Jamah and Tippetts. Who was keeping Chuck—whoever he was—until she got what she wanted from Mona.Which must be me…

“You came,” sneered the lying witch.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Marlowe snapped, pushing any hope of rescue out of her mind. She’d really fucked up this time. Asher wasn’t coming. He couldn’t get out of bed, and he didn’t know where she was. What she wouldn’t give to have one of those fancy high-tech earpieces in her ear. She’d tell him she loved him one last time. She’d tell him she was sorry for leaving him behind. She’d tell him she was a fool for leaving with her mother without talking to him first.

Damn. She’d never learn.

Sariah jerked her gun at the helo. “Get in.”

“What about my mom? I can’t leave her. I won’t!” Because something was wrong with Mona if she couldn’t remember Mike, and deep down, Marlowe still loved her mom.

“You won’t?” The gun turned on Mona. “Fine, then I’ll just—”

“No! Okay, okay. I’m going.” Marlowe looked back at her mom.

The tears and anguish on her face almost looked real. “You were always the strong one. I can’t save your dad, but you can, I know you can.”

Yup, more bullshit. Marlowe wasn’t saving her dad. She was saving some loser named Chuck. She’d been used. Had been brought here to die by the woman who should’ve loved her, at least a little. But obviously never did.

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