Page 74 of Defending You
But Asher always had a reason for the things he did. He’d gotten them this far, anyway.
The rain intensified until it felt like a living enemy, a relentless beast, clawing at Cici’s poncho as Asher guided the motorcycle down a muddy road. She directed, using the map he’d pulled up on the burner phone, attempting to protect it from moisture with her body. Even though the screen showed her they were going the right direction, she couldn’t imagine anything at the end of this lonely dirt path.
The storm swallowed the last of the late afternoon light, dark until lightning split the sky. Thunder rumbled so close it vibrated through her chest.
“The campground is two hundred feet ahead on the right,” she shouted.
Asher’s head bobbed, and he slowed long before the turnoff, then veered left, off the path, steering between trees through the woods, aiming for who knew what.
She didn’t bother to ask. He wouldn’t explain anyway, certainly not loudly enough for her to hear above the cacophony.
A lone cabin materialized ahead, its wooden frame drenched. It looked deserted—no cars in the driveway, no lights shining through the windows.
He got close and cut the engine, and she dismounted.
After he did, he grabbed his duffel bag, scanning the campground.
The outlines of a few cabins were barely visible through the trees, but she saw no lights, no indication anybody was staying here, certainly not close by.
“Come on.” His voice was low, the words sneaking in beneath the storm.
She followed him to the squat, weathered structure, thankful for the porch roof that protected them from the rain.
He dropped his backpack on a bench and looked through it, coming out with something too small for her to see.
“What’s the plan here?”
She didn’t know why she bothered to ask. Asher’s plan was obvious when he crouched by the door and worked tiny metal tools into the lock. A moment later, the door creaked open. He stood and stepped aside. “After you.”
“Breaking and entering?”
His eyebrows quirked. “Better than grand theft auto.”
He wasn’t wrong about that. She took off her helmet and the poncho, then left them on the bench just outside the door so she wouldn’t drip all over the floor. After toeing off her shoes, she stepped into the tiny room. Tiny, but mercifully dry.
She stood in the dark space, watching the door until, a few minutes later, Asher joined her, having shed his helmet, poncho, and shoes. He dropped her purse and his backpack on the floor just inside the door.
The cabin smelled of damp wood and mildew, a faint mustiness that clung to the air. It was barely bigger than a walk-in closet. The bed took up most of the space. An old bureau stood against one wall, and a single wooden chair rested beside it.
No heat, no lights, but a small gas fireplace was tucked into the corner.
She nodded to it. “You mind if I fire that up?”
“Go for it.” He was digging through his bag again. “If anything, the bike will be the thing that gives us away, though I did hide it in the woods.”
She twisted the valve, and a flame sputtered to life, casting a golden glow across the room. It wasn’t much, but it pushed back the chill. She held her hands toward the fireplace to warm them.
“Any reason why we couldn’t have paid for this cabin?” she asked.
He pulled his laptop from his duffel bag. “This seemed simpler. They probably don’t take cash, and I didn’t want to give a credit card. This way, we stay off the grid.”
“Makes sense.” But somebody owned this cabin, and they had a right to be paid for its use. On the other hand, Asher’s caution was the reason they were still alive. “We’ll leave some cash on the bed.”
She checked the travel pouch strapped around her waist, the weight of Grace Ballentine’s jewels a quiet reassurance.
Asher tapped on a burner phone. “We need to call that Philly detective.”
They’d planned to do that this morning. The memory of their kiss flooded back—his lips on hers, urgent and eager, the way his passion had turned to anger in a heartbeat. They’d been too rattled to think straight after that, and that distraction had cost them hours.
