Page 23 of Defending You
“Keep her safe, Rhodes. And don’t steal anything else.”
“Needs must when the devil drives, but I’ll do my best.” He ended the call and hot-wired the car. He’d done it often enough that it seemed perfectly natural to him now.
“Everything okay?” Cici asked.
“We’re stopping for the night.”
If she didn’t like that idea, she kept her opinion to herself. Maybe, like him, she was simply too tired to argue.
After they returned to the store to grab food for breakfast, they backtracked toward Sturbridge, then turned north on a narrow road, munching their snacks on the way. The sedan rattled over potholes, the backroads twisting through forest.
His mind ran a loop he couldn’t break.
Get Cici to Shadow Cove. Deliver her and the necklace to Ballentine. Be done with this job.
It sounded so simple, but it felt like a slow bleed on his career. Stealing a car wasn’t a résumé highlight—Bartlett’s reaction had made that clear. If he got caught, if Forbes didn’t bail him out, he could kiss the agency goodbye. No job, no condo, no stability. Just him, twenty-eight years old, starting from scratch. Again.
And wouldn’t that be fitting right now, with Cici Wright a front-row witness to his latest humiliation.
The safe house was a pretty little cabin tucked off the road behind a screen of oaks and birches and maples. One story, weathered clapboard, no neighbors in sight. Perfect for lying low.
He pulled into the gravel drive, killed the engine, and sat there a beat, listening to the night settle. “A new car should be delivered first thing. Once we get into the house, don’t come back out. We don’t want anyone to know we’re here.”
“Gotcha. And then what?”
They climbed out of the car, and he spoke to her over the roof. “Then we get you to Shadow Cove.” With her suitcase and his duffel, he headed for the door, boots crunching on gravel. “God willing, this ends tomorrow.”
He hoped he was right—for both their sakes.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The kitchen smelled of butter and coffee, a warm contrast to the cool morning air seeping through the cabin’s old windows. Asher had called it a safe house, but to Cici, it felt more like a cozy vacation spot.
It was a charming little place—two bedrooms, wood-paneled walls, a stone fireplace that probably roared in winter. Last night, she’d barely registered the place, too exhausted to do more than crash. Now, with the first light creeping through the forest outside, she was starving, and she figured Asher had to be too. A bag of Cheetos and a Coke weren’t exactly dinner, especially for a guy built like him.
She stood at the counter, flipping eggs in the skillet. She’d found a Keurig tucked in the corner, a small mercy from the cabin’s owners, along with a carousel of coffee pods. Her mug steamed on the counter, black and strong, waking her up after too few hours of sleep. Asher had said he’d thought the new car would be here early, so she’d set the old-fashioned clock radio on the nightstand, wanting to get a shower before they hit the road.
Another cup of coffee was brewing in the coffee maker for Asher.
Her hair was still damp, loose and curling at the ends, the blond wig stuffed in her suitcase. Since she’d been seen in the wig at the train station, she figured she didn’t need to wear it anymore.
She’d swapped the sweatshirt and leggings for jeans and a T-shirt. She felt human again, or as close as she could get with killers on her tail.
The faint hiss of the shower cut off down the hall. She hadn’t seen him yet, but the lights had been on when she’d come out, and she guessed that Asher had been up before her, probably scouting the perimeter or whatever bodyguards did at dawn. She was thankful for the two bathrooms so they hadn’t had to tiptoe around each other to get ready.
Footsteps thudded on the hardwood floor, and she turned just as Asher stepped into the kitchen. He paused in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space, and for a split second, his ice-blue eyes locked on her—steady and unreadable, but with a flicker of something that made her breath hitch.
He wore all black, like he had the day before. She doubted it was a fashion choice, but the shirt clung to his chest, and the jeans fit him just right. His dark hair was damp, a little messy, and he carried the faint scent of soap. What had looked like a five o’clock shadow the day before was thicker this morning, more like a closely trimmed beard.
She wasn’t sure what he was seeing in her that put that enigmatic look on his face. His pause threw her off.
“Morning,” she said, brushing past the awkwardness. “I figured we should eat before we go.”
He blinked like he was shaking off whatever had snagged his attention, stepping fully into the room. “Bartlett said someone’s on the way.” His voice was gruff. “He’s dropping off a fresh car and taking the stolen one back to Springfield. Hopefully, he’ll get it there before anyone notices it’s gone. Apparently, Ballentine’swilling to offer the owner a sizable ‘rental fee,’ if it comes to that, so we should be off the hook for grand theft auto.”
“That’s a relief.” Not that she’d worried much about that since they’d escaped the train station. The murder and arson charges were still hanging over her head—and jewelry theft, but she wasn’t sure the authorities had figured that out yet. Even being wanted by the police seemed irrelevant, considering the men tracking them.
He nodded toward the skillet. “Smells good.”
