Page 51 of Defending You
He hadn’t trusted Asher’s business card, had instead looked up GBPA’s number online. He was savvy, this guy.
The man said, “I’d like to speak to…”
“Bartlett,” Asher supplied.
“A man regarding the employment of Asher Rhodes,” the stranger said.
He hadn’t asked for Bartlett—still not trusting Asher—but Bartlett would be the one to answer the call.
In the silence, Cici started to say something, but Asher shook his head. He wanted to hear every word.
“Afternoon. Name’s Brady Thomas, chief of police in Nutfield, New Hampshire.”
Brady Thomas. Interesting name for a guy from New England. Asher figured he’d gotten a lot of ribbing over the years about that. No matter how good he was at football, he’d never be as good as the quarterback who flipped his name.
He was a cop, of course. And why not? Nothing else had gone right for him and Cici.
That wasn’t true, though. They were in New Hampshire, so that bet had paid off. And they’d shaken the killers, for now.
“I’ve got a guy here who claims to work for you,” Chief Thomas said. “Name’s Asher Rhodes. He’s with a woman called…” He listened, then looked at Cici. “Name?”
“Cecelia Wright.”
Thomas focused on the call again. “Yup, that’s her. They stowed away in the back of my pickup. I was in… Right. Took the kids to the historical sites down there.” The man took a few steps back, nodding at something Bartlett must’ve said. He motioned for Asher and Cici to get out of the truck.
Thank God. Asher’s legs were cramping. He scooted out first, then helped Cici down. She stretched like a cat, and he tried not to enjoy the sight. He failed.
They were on a narrow dirt road barely wide enough for the pickup, dwarfed by towering trees. Asher did a slow circle. Nothing but forest in every direction. The sun was low in the sky. They couldn’t be more than an hour from sunset.
“Don’t need a reward.” Thomas was talking to Bartlett, pacing a few feet away. “Just wanted to make sure…” More listening, then, “As long as I get it back or get… I see. Okay, I can do that.”
Hopefully, Bartlett was arranging for transportation, though at the moment, what Asher wanted more than anything else was dinner.
“Sure,” Thomas said. “I’ll take care of it.”
Asher took a few steps toward him. “Chief.”
The cop turned, spying Asher’s outstretched arm.
“Mind if I talk to him?”
He handed over the phone, and Asher said, “It’s me.”
“You two safe?” Bartlett sounded calm, which was a nice surprise.
“For now.” He gave his boss a quick update on everything that had happened since they’d last spoken. “We needed to shake the tail.”
“You remember what I told you?” Bartlett asked. “We need this client. We need to do this job well with minimal screw-ups. Which is the opposite of what you’ve done so far.”
As if Asher should worry about the fate of the company. He walked away, lowering his voice. “She’s still alive. The necklace is still with us. You tell me what I should have done differently.”
That brought a beat of silence. “I wasn’t there.”
“That’s right, you weren’t, so you’re going to have to trust me.” Asher didn’t appreciate being second-guessed. He might not have worked for GBPA for long, but he’d always gotten the job done and done well. He was good at what he did. The fact that they were still alive proved that.
“I’ll trust you when you quit dillydallying and get her home,” Bartlett said.
Dillydallying?He sounded like Asher’s late grandmother.
