Page 92 of Defending You

“One of them, and he’s notmy man.He was ordered to work with you, just like I was. Besides, the bike crashed, so they’re probably having to search the whole area.” Souza’s defensive response only seemed to irritate Gagnon further.

And Cici could see why. A crashed bike didn’t break into a thousand pieces. His answer made no sense. Obviously, he didn’t want to tell Gagnon the truth—that they’d pushed the bike over a cliff.

He shot her a look, and though it came with no words, she got the message. Keep her mouth shut about what’d happened.

Her mind raced. How could she use what she knew against Souza? Would doing so help her or hurt her?

“Or maybe they decided my property was worth more than their loyalty.” Gagnon’s voice carried a dangerous edge. “If they’re running, they’d better not stop, because I will catch up with them.”

“They’re not running,” Souza said. “Least not Mendez. Can’t speak for Falcone. I wouldn’t trust that guy to clean the john.”

“You’d better hope neither of them betrayed me. Whether it’s Mendez or Falcone, your boss will be the one to pay the price.And he won’t lose sleep if you don’t get back to New York. He doesn’t suffer incompetents any more than I do.”

When Gagnon turned his back—an arrogant display of power—Souza stared at him with pure, undiluted hatred.

Cici watched the exchange through her lashes, recognizing the dangerous shift in the room’s dynamic.

She didn’t miss when Souza’s hand skimmed the bulge at his hip. He’d come armed—and prepared to kill. It seemed likely that one of these men wasn’t walking out of here alive.

She prayed that, when bullets started flying, she wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire.

CHAPTER TWENTY

An approaching engine rumbled like a storm gathering strength.

Asher had been combing the underbrush for nearly twenty minutes, searching for the phone Cici’d had in her hand when that truck came out of nowhere. The truck that had known exactly where they would be.

He had no idea how they’d been found—again. And no bandwidth right now to figure it out.

Especially now that someone was coming. Asher moved toward the road, preparing to step out in front of the car and request the use of a cell phone.

Or demand, if that proved necessary. He didn’t want to threaten anyone, but he didn’t have time to play nice.

But the car was slowing down, which told him maybe this wasn’t a random passerby.

He crouched behind an old oak, coiled tight. The sound grew louder, gravel crunching under tires, as a vehicle parked on the shoulder.

Maybe it was law enforcement. Maybe someone had seen the parked cars after the accident or heard the crash. Maybe someone had called 911.

Hope flickered like candlelight in a breeze.

But the voices that reached him were sharp and argumentative, and their words extinguished his hope.

“—your fault we’ve been driving in circles,” one man snarled.

“You’re the one who insisted we turn left. I shoulda known you don’t know your left from your right.”

Asher’s blood turned to ice. The hunters were back. But why?

He didn’t move, forcing his breathing to slow as the men walked within ten feet of him, continuing their heated exchange. Once they were past, Asher angled to get a look. Though he couldn’t see faces, he recognized Pretty Boy, the one he’d put in a sleeper hold back near the barn in Lexington, and his stockier companion. Since he wasn’t the bald guy, Asher assumed this was Falcone.

They picked their way along the crash site, gazes skimming the ground, heading toward the gorge where the motorcycle lay twisted among the rocks.

“Gagnon’s gonna put us both down if we don’t find that bag.” Falcone’s voice carried a tremor of genuine fear.

They were looking for the velvet bag Cici had taken. Thank God Asher had found it first.

“You remember what he did to Arnold,” Falcone added.