Page 22 of Defending You

“It won’t be tonight. Dawn, at best, if I can get someone out to you. Meanwhile, you need to get off the road. Hold on.”

The line went quiet, leaving nothing but the buzz of the lights and the cool breeze whispering through the pines overhead. Asher finished pumping the gas, then jogged into the store. He knocked on the restroom door to let Cici know he was back.

It opened and she stepped out. She’d straightened her wig, not that it would do much good now that the bad guys had seen her in it.

“Should we grab some food?” she asked. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

They’d missed dinner, and his stomach was growling. He followed her to a freezer case, where she perused the selection.

Or lack thereof, it turned out.

She grabbed a bag of trail mix and a bottle of water.

He snatched a Coke, then a bag of Cheetos. “Should I get you one?”

She scrunched her nose. “You can’t possibly eat those and look like”—she waved toward him—“that.”

He looked down, then met her eyes. “Like what?”

Her pale cheeks turned pink, adorably embarrassed.

Causing an entirely unprofessional reaction.She’s a client. Just a client.

“Never mind.” She brushed past him to the counter. “Put your stuff up here too. I’ll get it.”

Irritation might as well have been a cold shower. “I can buy my own stuff, Cici. I’m not destitute.”

She looked up at him, blinking. “I know that.” She sounded confused. “I didn’t say… I was just…I mean, you’re in this because of me. I figured I should at least buy you a snack.”

Obviously, he’d read more into her offer than he should have. Swallowing his ridiculous pride, he set his things on the counter and let her pay with cash.

When she was finished, he scooped up the bag with their purchases. “Thanks.”

They were nearly to the car when Bartlett came back on the line. “You there?”

“Yup.”

Cici gave him a look, and he gestured to his earphones.

Bartlett said, “Secured a house for you. Small place ten miles north of Sturbridge. You can lie low till the car’s delivered.”

“I’d rather keep moving.” After glancing into the backseat to ensure nobody’d climbed in, he opened her door for her.

“I’d rather you not end up in a cell. Hopefully, Forbes can smooth this over—pay off the car’s owner so they don’t press charges. That is, assuming you get caught.”

Asher didn’t plan to let that happen. He climbed in on the driver’s side and set the food on the console between them.

“A billionaire’s got deep pockets,” Bartlett added. “Let’s hope he’s generous.”

Asher did not appreciate the suggestion that he’d be relying on the man’s charity. He was protecting Cici—Ballentine’s girlfriend’s sister—and a piece of jewelry probably worth more than Asher would earn in a lifetime. He expected the people he risked his life for to compensate him.

How often had his expectations run counter to people’s behavior, though? More times than he wanted to consider.

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion gnawing at him. “Address?”

Bartlett rattled it off, along with a four-digit code to get inside.

Asher tapped the address into his phone and memorized the code.