Page 49 of Defending You
CHAPTER TWELVE
Asher shifted in the cramped bed of the pickup truck, the metal floor beneath him digging into his back. The cover overhead trapped the heat, but a small gap let in a trickle of cool air, easing the stifling warmth that had roasted them before they’d started moving.
He didn’t know where they were and wasn’t about to fire up his cell phone to find out. They were going fast, so he guessed they’d started on I-95, which ran just south of Concord. Whether they were still on that interstate or had merged onto I-93, he had no idea.
Cici had fallen asleep a few minutes after the truck started moving. She was curled up on the blanket, her back spooned against his ribs, her strawberry-blond hair fanning over his arm. It felt a little too good, having her tucked there, trusting him so completely.
He’d tried, at first, to strategize. Where would they end up, how would they get somewhere safe, how would they contact Forbes without leaving a trail, what should they do next? He’d tried to work out how the thugs kept finding them. Problem was, he didn’t have enough information. After a while, exhaustionhad dulled his mind. He’d given up, closed his eyes, and let himself rest and savor Cici’s nearness.
He’d never been so affected by a woman. Even back in high school when he’d felt drawn to Cici, his attraction hadn’t been this powerful. The feeling that should be long gone had grown stronger. This wasn’t just attraction—he’d met his share of gorgeous women—but an overwhelming need to protect. Not because he was being paid to, but because she was precious.
Soon enough, she’d wake up, and he’d need to climb back into his armor and guard himself. His attraction to Cici was unique, which meant she had a unique ability to wound him.
The wound she’d inflicted a decade before still smarted.
They’d been driving for more than an hour when the truck slowed and made a sharp turn, surprising him. He slid and bumped against the plywood, nearly toppling the pile.
He lifted his free arm to keep it from clattering on top of them, breathing through a sudden burst of adrenaline.
Somehow, Cici still slept.
When he was sure the pile was secure, he settled again.
Beneath him, the tires bounced over asphalt. The way grew rougher, twisting through bends, jostling them with every bump. Asher needed to be ready for whatever happened next. But for all he knew, they had an hour of driving ahead. Maybe more.
He hated to wake Cici, and they were still moving at a good clip. If they slowed to residential-area speed, he’d wake her up. That would be his clue.
After another twenty minutes, the truck slowed, turned suddenly, and rolled to a stop.
So much for Asher’s plan.
Doors opened, bringing the low murmur of voices, too low to make out until one cut through.
“Call the pizzas in,” a man said, “and I’ll pick them up. Be right back.”
Asher waited until the truck started moving again, then propped up on one elbow and gently shook Cici’s shoulder. “Cici, wake up.” He bent to whisper into her ear, prepared to drop his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be necessary.
Though it was too dark to see, he knew when she came awake by the tension in her shoulders.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t?—”
“Shh.” His voice was low, and she silenced. “Scooch up closer to the cab. Be ready.”
“For what?”
“Anything.”
He imagined her making a face at him or rolling her eyes, but it was too dark to see her reaction. After she moved, he pulled his Glock from its holster, the weight of it grounding him, then sat up, hunched over, and faced the tailgate, putting himself between Cici and danger.
She tugged on the blanket they’d used as a bed, and he shifted to let her slide it out from beneath him.
“Give me the sweatshirts,” she whispered.
He handed the items they’d used as pillows back to her, and she shoved them into his pack.
He settled the gun on his lap and waited.
They drove ten minutes over bumpy ground that only got bumpier, which felt wrong. What restaurant would be at the end of a road like this?
