Page 14 of Defending You
“There,” she said, tossing the phone back into the console. “Happy now?”
He took another sharp turn to test the sedan, hoping he’d been wrong.
But a few moments later, it followed.
The train station was their best shot. First, they needed to ditch their tail. Then they would ditch his truck, blend into the crowd, and disappear. Cici could pout all she wanted. He wasn’t here to win her approval. He was here to keep her breathing. That was the job. That was all that mattered.
Even if every word out of her mouth made him want to grind his teeth to dust.
A few minutes later, Asher floored the gas, merging onto the highway with a growl from the truck’s engine, the Philly skyline shrinking in the rearview.
The black sedan stuck to them like a shadow, four cars back. No doubt they were working a plan to corner him and Cici.
The sign for Thirtieth Street Station indicated it was a half mile away. He hated to abandon his truck, but he saw no other choice. He kept his speed steady, then at the last second, yanked the wheel hard, cutting across two lanes to hit the exit ramp.
Tires screeched, horns blared, and Cici gasped, clutching the door handle.
“Warn me next time!” she snapped.
His eyes locked on the mirror.
The sedan swerved, barely making the ramp, its headlights flaring as it closed the gap.
Dang it. They weren’t shaking.
He hit the gas, barreling down the off-ramp and through a red light, ignoring the chorus of honks. Cici yelped, but he did his best to ignore her. He spotted a bridge ahead, its underbelly cluttered with construction gear, and made a snap call. He cranked the wheel, pulling an illegal U-turn beneath the overpass, then wedged the truck between a rusted dumpster and a hulking yellow backhoe. He cut the engine.
“Out,” he barked, already grabbing his duffel from the back seat. “Now.”
Cici fumbled with her seatbelt, her green eyes wide. “What are we doing?” She slid out of the truck.
He snagged her suitcase and shoved it toward her.
His duffel doubled as a backpack, and he shrugged it on, leaving him hands-free and ready if those guys caught up with them. “Let’s go.”
She kept pace as he bolted under the bridge, boots pounding the cracked pavement. The air stank of oil and concrete, the construction zone a maze of orange cones and bundles of rebar. It was deserted at eight o’clock at night, so there was one small favor.
He weaved past a tractor, his pulse steady but his gut churning. The sedan hadn’t reappeared yet. With any luck, it had continued on the surface street.
But he wouldn’t bet his life or Cici’s on luck.
They crossed the last stretch of gravel, ducked under a flimsy orange temporary fence, and slipped into the glow of the Thirtieth Street Station’s grand entrance—old, massive, all stone and arches. Inside, the cavernous main hall swallowed them, its high ceiling echoing with footsteps and muffled announcements. Marble gleamed under warm lights, signs pointing every which way—Amtrak, food court, SEPTA—the local trains. He cataloged the space fast: exits to the left and right, crowds thick enoughto blend into, ticket booths straight ahead. He strode toward Amtrak, Cici keeping pace with her suitcase rolling beside her.
At the booth, a bored-looking guy with a scruffy beard glanced up. Asher slid cash across the counter. “Two tickets to Boston. Rear seats against a wall if you’ve got them.”
Cici leaned in, her voice cutting through. “Are there any private compartments?”
The guy shot her a perplexed look, and Asher rolled his eyes and smirked, telling the clerk it was fine to ignore her.
The clerk said, “Sorry, just coach. Next train’s in fifteen.” He tapped at his screen, then handed Asher the tickets. “Back row’s yours.”
“Thanks, man.” Asher pocketed the tickets and stepped away, turning to Cici, who was glaring at him as if he’d insulted her. Which, okay, maybe he had.
“Couldn’t we have gone to the airport?” She shifted her suitcase to her other hand. “We’d get home faster.”
“You’re lucky we made it this far.” He steered her toward the platforms, scanning the crowd—business suits, college kids, a janitor pushing a mop. No thugs, as far as he could tell. “Let’s go.” The giant space was too big to properly surveil. He needed more cover.
He kept his pace brisk, his mind spinning. That sedan—it shouldn’t have found them so quickly. He’d ditched her phone. But if they had been following her cell phone signal, how had they tapped in so fast?
