Page 89 of Defending You

Gagnon studied her for a long moment, those pale eyes dissecting every micro-expression. “You’re a terrible liar, Miss Wright.” He straightened, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve. “But that’s quite all right. If you don’t have it on you, it must be with your deceased bodyguard.”

He nodded toward two of his men—the well-dressed one from the barn and a hulking brute with cold eyes and face tattoos, one of the men Alyssa had ID’d. “Go back to where you found her. Search the motorcycle and the body.”

The men exchanged a glance, and she caught the hesitation in their eyes, the way they looked anywhere but at Gagnon’s face.

“Is there a problem?” His voice dropped to that scary whisper again.

“No problem, boss,” the well-dressed one said quickly. “We’re looking for a locket?”

“It should be in a velvet bag. Please, retrieve the bag and all its contents.”

“On it,” the slighter one said.

“And gentlemen?” Gagnon’s smile was razor-sharp. “You don’t want to know what happens if you fail.”

As the two men hurried out, Cici felt a flicker of something that might have been hope. The men were afraid to tell him they’d thrown Asher and the motorcycle over a cliff. Now, they’d have to climb down that cliff and search what was left of the bike. She figured the remains of it were scattered all over the bottom.

It might buy her precious time.

Time for what, she didn’t know. No one was coming for her. But every minute she stayed alive was another minute to figureout an escape, another minute to pray, and another minute to honor Asher’s sacrifice by surviving.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Pain throbbed in Asher’s skull, dragging him back to consciousness.

He lay face-down in wet earth and scattered leaves, the metallic taste of blood and failure coating his tongue. For a moment, the world spun in sickening circles, memories crashing back in jagged fragments—the motorcycle skidding, gunfire splitting the night, Cici’s scream echoing through the darkness.

Cici.

He pushed himself up on his elbows, ignoring the fire that shot through his shoulder. It took him a few tries to unclasp his helmet, his hands trembling, but finally he managed it, yanking the thing off.

Exhausted, he flopped onto his back and gazed above, where steep walls of rock and dirt rose on either side. He was in a deep ravine. He must’ve rolled down here—and now that he thought of it, flashes of memories peppered him. He hadn’t rolled. He’d been tossed. The slope was maybe thirty feet. He’d have bounced off rocks and roots until the undergrowth had finally stopped his fall.

A rough trip, but he was still breathing.

The silence pressed against his eardrums, broken only by the trickle of water in a stream nearby. No voices. No footsteps. No Cici.

He pushed up and looked around, half-expecting to see her broken body, but she wasn’t there. If they’d killed her, they’d have dumped her body too. But they hadn’t.

The faint memory of her screaming.

They’d taken her.

Please. Let her be alive.

The world swam around him, and he fell back, staring up at the slice of cloudy sky visible between the canyon walls and tall trees. How long had he been unconscious? Minutes? Hours? Every second that passed was another second Cici was in Gagnon’s hands, another second closer to?—

Don’t go there.

He’d failed. After everything—all his training, all his promises to keep her safe—he’d let them take her. The woman he’d just confessed his feelings to, the woman whose kiss had felt like his future, was now in the hands of killers.

Asher forced himself to his feet, swaying as vertigo threatened to drop him again. His old knee injury ached. His left shoulder screamed, and when he pressed his hand against it, his fingers came away sticky. He tried to move his arm, but the jolt of pain was sharp and deep.

The blood needed to be dealt with, but this he’d experienced before. The fall had dislocated his shoulder.

He looked around, gaze landing on a nearby oak. He hobbled toward it and leaned his back against it. This was going to hurt.

Relax,he told himself.Relax.