Page 42 of Defending You
She nodded, falling in beside him, and he caught the faintest whiff of her shampoo—something fruity and out of place in the wild. He shook off the scent and his attraction so they couldn’t distract him.
Cici Wright was his job, nothing more. But as they moved toward the hum of civilization, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was becoming a heck of a lot more than that. And he wasn’t sure he could stop it.
Or wanted to.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cici’s legs burned, her soaked sneakers squishing with every step through the woods. She longed for her suitcase, probably burned to a crisp back in the barn. Not that she would have been able to haul it through the woods, but she could sure use a pair of dry socks.
Her purse slid off her shoulder, and for the ten-thousandth time, she hiked it back up. Eyeing the pack slung on Asher’s back, she considered asking him to shove her purse in there with his things. But the necklace and all the jewelry she’d stolen were her responsibility. Besides, Asher’s duffel was already bulging at the zipper.
Exhausted as she was, she couldn’t help but feel a tiny spark of pride in her chest. Asher had agreed to her library idea. She’d contributed something that might help get them out of this nightmare.
And there’d been that moment in the woods near the burning barn, when she’d hit that thug with a branch. She’d heard the ruckus and known she’d needed to help. But how? The guy had been huge.
She’d searched frantically until she’d found the limb, then swung it like a baseball bat. Not that she’d ever been much ofa ball player, but they used to play at family gatherings, Wright brothers and Wright sisters combining to create two teams. Her swing might not have hit the ball into the orchard at Uncle Roger and Aunt Peggy’s house—an automatic home run—but it had been good enough to knock the guy over.
The shock on Asher’s face, his blue eyes wide, his mouth open, had been worth the sting in her palms.
If not for her, he might not have survived that moment. Cici wasn’t just a liability. She could contribute.
Even he’d admitted she wasn’t helpless, and she’d never confess to a soul how much those words meant to her.
The forest hummed with life—birds chirping, leaves rustling—but the distant roar of traffic cut through. They’d trudged in underbrush for hours, sticks snapping underfoot, when a two-lane highway came into view through the trees, a busy stretch of asphalt alive with cars.
“Civilization,” she said. “Thank God.”
“Stay low,” Asher muttered, his voice all business. He didn’t head for the road but walked parallel to it, out of sight of passersby.
She was too tired to argue. Her morning runs and yoga had not prepared her for this.
They’d been paralleling the road for about twenty minutes when a sign appeared ahead. It was a convenience store, the kind that carried a good selection of groceries. Its parking lot was a patchwork of sedans, SUVs, and a lone motorcycle. None of the vehicles looked familiar. No beige sedan or green pickup. Surely they’d be safe there.
It felt like gasoline-scented salvation.
She was about to ask—maybe beg—that they go to the store when Asher stopped and gazed across the street. He watched the lot and door for what felt like hours. The man was vigilant, she’d give him that. Finally, he muttered, “Keep your head down,” andled the way to the edge of the highway and, at a break in traffic, to the other side.
Cici gaze toward the ground to keep her face from being picked up by strangers or security cameras.
When they stepped inside, the bell above the door jingled. The cool air and scents of coffee and baked goods were sweet relief.
Even more so, theWestern Unionsign above the clerk.
Asher moved into the aisles quickly. He grabbed a handful of burner phones, a baseball cap, a couple of protein bars, and two bottles of water.
Cici’s eyes landed on an end cap—Crocs, flimsy but dry, and packages of socks.
She raised a thank-You to her Provider, who’d obviously known exactly what she’d need.
The only pair in her size was pink. They didn’t exactly coordinate with her outfit, but she snatched them up, along with a cozy pair of white socks.
Asher paid in cash while Cici kept her gaze on the scuffed linoleum, her pulse thudding. What if those men—the bald guard, the smooth talker—parked outside? Somehow, their pursuers had managed to locate them over and over. And they wouldn’t have gone far from that burning barn, knowing Cici and Asher had escaped on foot. They were probably patrolling the narrow highway, looking for them.
What if they stopped here for a snack? What if they walked in?
But the bell didn’t jingle once before the clerk handed over a plastic bag.
Asher led the way to the door, which he held open for her. They slipped out and ducked into the woods behind the store.
