Gagnon pressed his lips together.
“What did you do to him?”
“I found out where he pawned them.” Gagnon walked toward her. When he crouched in front of her, she ducked her head, avoiding his gaze. Afraid of what he’d do.
He gripped her chin with his thumb and forefinger, lifting it until she met his eyes. “Go ahead and ask.”
She swallowed hard. “Is he…is he still alive?”
He let her go. “I’m not a monster, Miss Wright.”
Wasn’t he, though? Asher was dead. Gagnon had just confessed his intention to kill Lois Whitmore. He’d threatened Souza’s brother’s life—a teenager.
How did Gagnon definemonster,because in her dictionary, his picture would suffice for an illustration of the word.
“I told his mother to send him to rehab. My son, who’s always balked at the idea, must’ve realized he ought to do as I say. He’s in a facility now, one far away from Philadelphia. Maybe, by the time I see him again, my anger will have dissipated.” He shrugged. “Maybe not. And yes, I recognize that, like everyone else in the world, I have that one vulnerability. As long as my enemies never discover his existence, I should be safe.”
“Souza was there, in the jewelry store with you, so?—”
“I’ll take care of Souza.” He stood and brushed his hands off on his pants.
Meaning, he’d kill him. Just like he’d kill her, when he knew he had what he needed.
The thought of sharing a grave with that creepy man had her stomach roiling.
Since that was the case, she figured she might as well get all her questions answered. “What else was in the box? The one in the safe?”
He shrugged. “As much as I love technology, I know how an electronic file can be breached or wiped out. An SD card can be crushed. So I have paper copies of all the information I’ve uncovered, as well as all the physical proof—like The Crimson Duchess—of everything I’ve learned.”
He’d thought of everything.
The weight of it—Asher’s death, her own impending murder, the knowledge that her selfish need for recognition had caused all of this—felt as heavy as a lead blanket. She closed her eyes, and her memory conjured the image of Asher outside the restaurant, the way he’d looked at her with such fierce protectiveness, such affection. He’d died trying to keep her safe, and whether she managed to survive or not, there was nothing she could do to change that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
No cars had passed on this lonely stretch of road. He kicked himself now for sticking to back roads. They’d have been safer on the interstate.
Where was Bartlett? Even if he was in Boston, he could’ve called the police, at least sent someone to check on him.
Patience,he told himself.
As if that would help.
When he heard an engine approaching, he kept to the shadows, afraid it might be more of Gagnon’s men.
Three vehicles came into view. Asher pushed himself up from where he’d been sitting against a tree trunk and praying. His makeshift bandage pulled tight against his shoulder, the stinging pain a constant reminder of his failure.
A sedan, a pickup truck, and a familiar black SUV parked along the shoulder, their headlights sweeping across him as he hobbled into view.
His chest loosened for the first time since he’d woken up in the gorge. Bartlett and Alyssa had gotten his message.
The sedan’s doors opened first, and a tall blonde stepped out of the passenger side. This had to be Alyssa, though he hadn’t seen Cici’s older sister since high school.
Another man emerged from the driver’s seat. Short blond hair, his bulk unmistakable even in the dim light. Was this the fiancé Cici’d told him about?
Asher recognized Grant Wright, one of the first protection agents, who’d arrived in a pickup with New Hampshire plates.
Bartlett exited the SUV.