Page 88 of Defending You

“What do you want?” Her voice was steadier, though her hands still trembled.

“Straight to the point. I appreciate that.” Gagnon gestured to one of his men—the bald one who’d been with him in Philadelphia. The one who’d grabbed her in the forest. “Search the bag.”

This was Souza, she remembered. He upended Asher’s duffel onto one of the metal desks. Contents spilled across the surface—clothes, toiletries, the burner phones. First-aid supplies, Asher’s laptop, a tightly folded blanket.

The man’s sausage-like fingers pawed through everything.

The search went on for several minutes, Souza growing increasingly agitated as he found nothing of value. He shook out every piece of clothing, checked every pocket, even unscrewed the cap on Asher’s shampoo bottle to peer inside.

Cici held her breath, the necklace burning against her ribs where she’d hidden it in the zipper pouch. As soon as they found it, she’d be dead. Simple as that.

Souza straightened, his expression grim. “Nothing.”

Gagnon’s smile faltered, replaced by something much more dangerous. His cold gaze fixed on Cici. “Where are my things, Miss Wright?”

“What do you mean?” Her voice was high-pitched with fear, her question not at all convincing.

He pushed away from the desk and approached her with measured steps. “Search her.”

Terror spiked through her chest. “Wait?—”

“Too late for that.” To the men, he said, “Do it now.”

Rough hands grabbed her arms, pawed at her body. She twisted, but there were too many of them.

She’d tell him if she could make her voice cooperate. Anything to get these disgusting goons away from her. Finally, she managed, “I have it. I have it.” The words came out just as one of the men gripped the buckle holding the pouch around her waist.

“Got something, boss.”

In an instant, the buckle came undone, and the man took the pouch to Gagnon, presenting it as if it were a prized treasure.

The other men stepped away, though she felt Souza’s presence right behind her.

“It’s just jewelry,” she snapped. “Gold and stones. Why is it so important to you?”

Gagnon took the pouch, his eyes glittering with something that might have been amusement. “Just jewelry?” He laughed, a sound devoid of humor. He unzipped the pouch and upended the contents onto the desk. The Crimson Duchess spilled out, along with the rest of Grace Ballentine’s things.

Gagnon poked through them, lifting them, studying them, then setting them back down. The necklace, the Cartier watch, the earrings, the bracelet. All valuable. None as valuable as Asher’s life.

He set the items down and lifted his gaze back to her. “Where’s the rest of it?”

The question surprised her. “There was nothing else in the bag as valuable as those pieces.”

“My dear girl, you truly have no idea what you stumbled onto.” He picked up the Cartier watch, turning it over in his hands. “This? This is pocket change compared to what I’m really after.” His fingers moved to the necklace, stroking the rubies with reverence that made her skin crawl. “Beautiful, certainly. Worth a fortune. But it’s not what’s going to keep me out of prison.”

What was he talking about? What else could there be? She’d seen everything that had been in Grace Ballentine’s jewelry case.

“Where is the bag?” He stepped toward her. “Where are the items that were inside it?”

Tucked in her purse, hidden beneath the motorcycle’s seat. She wouldn’t tell him anything. The sooner he found it, the sooner he’d order her killed. Not that anybody was coming to her rescue, but even so… Even so, she’d do everything in her power to put off the inevitable.

“There was a locket.” He watched her expression, and she tried to hide her reaction, but she remembered the locket. She’d shown it to Asher the night before, so unloved that the silver was tarnished black.

“Ah, you know it.” His voice was silk over steel. “Hardly worth anything, the cheap old thing. It belonged to my mother, a gift from her parents for her high school graduation. I stole it from her jewelry box many years ago, a reminder to aim higher than she ever did. A silly little trinket, but to me?” He leaned closer, close enough that she picked up the scent of his cologne, which on him somehow smelled like decay. “To me, it’s worth more than all these baubles combined.”

Her pulse hammered in her throat. She had no illusion that the locket held sentimental value for this man. What could possibly be so important about it?

“I don’t know where it is.” The words felt clumsy on her tongue.