Page 126 of Defending You
The travel pouch sitting on Cici’s childhood dresser looked so ordinary now, like a prop from someone else’s nightmare.
Cici stared at it from her bed, the afternoon light streaming through the tall windows of her parents’ house doing nothing to chase away the shadows that seemed to cling to the innocent-looking bag. The velvet pouch, the cheap locket, and the SD card were all in the hands of the authorities now, but she’d taken the jewelry, strapping it around her waist before she’d left the factory the night before.
She’d nearly died because of it. She hadn’t been willing to let it out of her sight. Fortunately, she’d thought to retrieve the little pouch and the priceless jewels before law enforcement had swarmed the place.
When she’d first heard the second helicopter approaching the paper mill the night before, the sound had sent ice through her veins—too reminiscent of Gagnon’s escape plan. But then Grant had appeared in the factory break room, his relaxed expression cutting through her panic. He’d squeezed her hand in that quiet way of his and told them Forbes had sent the helicopter for her and Asher.
A helicopter? Why hadn’t Asher or Bartlett or Forbes thought of that before all this craziness? She and Asher could’ve met it at the fast-food restaurant the night before, or even at the little cabin in Nutfield where they’d spent the night.
Of course, considering they had carried a locator, even a helicopter wouldn’t have saved them from Gagnon.
The hospital had been a blur of X-rays and questions—both from doctors and from cops—while the tests confirmed what she’d already known. Bruised ribs, a minor concussion, nothing that wouldn’t heal.
Asher had been treated for his shoulder wound and other injuries inflicted from the terrible fall. He’d been in the room next to hers, and she’d found comfort in hearing his voice through the thin wall.
When they were released, her parents had been there, insisting she go home with them. She didn’t argue, figuring she’d sleep better in her childhood bed surrounded by family and security than she would alone in her apartment.
She’d been right about sleeping better. She’d conked out and slept fourteen hours straight, only waking when the afternoon sun had grown too bright to ignore.
Now, voices drifted in from the living room below—familiar cadences that spoke of family and safety. She could hear her mother’s gentle tone, punctuated by Brooklynn’s laugh. The normalcy of it felt surreal after everything that had happened.
She wanted to talk to Asher, to find out how he was—and where he was. They’d been surrounded by her family and his team at the hospital the night before, barely getting more than awe’ll talk tomorrowin beneath all the chatter. She would call him, but she had no cell phone, and neither did he. More than that, as weird as it seemed, she didn’t even know his phone number.
She’d see him today even if she had to track him down.
Though she’d showered the night before, she did again, washing her hair and scouring her skin. Mr. D, Mendez, Souza, Gagnon. All had been murdered in front of her eyes. Though she’d despised three out of four of them, they were human beings, created in God’s image and loved by Him. Their deaths had been brutal, motivated by greed and lust for power.
If only the memories would wash out like the shampoo that circled the drain.
While she’d slept, someone had left a pile of clothes on her bureau. She slipped on a pair of jeans and a bright purple T-shirt that had to belong to Brooklynn. At least it wasn’t adorned with pansies. Small favors.
She brushed her hair, careful of the bumps on her head. The bruise on her cheek had darkened. She figured it would get worse before it got better. Her lips were swollen. She had bags under her eyes despite all the sleep. She looked horrid.
But she was alive. The bruises would fade, and maybe she’d be stronger for what she’d endured.
She crossed to the window, gazed out at the Atlantic, at the surf crashing against the rocks below the house.Thank You, Father.The words were a paltry offering after everything He’d done to save her and Asher. But they were all she had.
She put on an old pair of slippers she found in her closet and headed toward the voices.
Halfway down the stairs, she paused to take in the scene in the living room. Alyssa sat curled in the corner of the sofa, her laptop on her knees, Callan beside her, his arm draped protectively around her shoulders.
Forbes occupied the wide leather armchair, looking uncharacteristically rumpled in jeans and a polo shirt. Brooklynn had squeezed in beside him. Both of them propped their feet on the ottoman.
Mom stepped in from the kitchen, carrying a tray that held cheese, crackers, and what smelled like her famous chocolate chip cookies.
The normalcy of it made Cici’s throat tighten with emotion.
From Dad’s office came the sound of raised voices. Unfortunately, that was also normal. She could make out his distinctive bark, though not the words.
After Mom set the tray on the coffee table, she hurried down the hall to close the office door, muffling the shouts.
On her way back, she caught sight of Cici on the staircase. “Oh! You’re awake. How are you feeling, love?”
“Better.” Cici took the last few steps down and accepted the gentle hug her mother offered. “What’s going on with Dad?”
“Oh, he’s just?—”
“Processing.” Alyssa crossed toward her. “You look like you got hit by a truck.”
