Page 38 of Lone Spy (Starstruck Thrillers #2)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Ash leans back into the worn leather couch with his eyes closed and body tense as I bend over him. The bullet took out a chunk of his shoulder, leaving a pulpy path behind. Cutting right through one of his tattooed vines. It is still gently weeping blood.

Alesana left me with Ash and a first-aid kit in a cabin the two of them knew about—they didn’t say how, but they also never looked lost as we navigated through the forest to it.

Ash didn’t even check the GPS on the phone Alesana passed him as he stood over the dead man leaning against the tree.

He just used it to photograph our victims and text their images to Elliot Kendricks.

“He’s the one who told me the queen died,” Ash said as if in explanation.

Ash is shirtless now, but has dry pants on—black, made of some modern material that is probably waterproof, wicks sweat, and can do your taxes if you ask nicely enough.

My outfit is just as high tech. The black leggings and zip-up jumper are soft against my skin and helping to bring warmth back into my body.

It was all in the backpack Alesana dropped out of our SUV. Dry bags with clothing for each of us, and more weapons. Lots of weapons. We changed in the forest, Alesana and Ash turning their backs to offer privacy. I peeled off my clothing with numb hands.

Ash couldn’t take off his shirt and jacket because of the bullet wound; that had to wait until we reached the cabin. He sat on the couch and I cut them off with scissors, slicing through the sodden material and exposing Ash’s skin—cold and clammy.

I laid a dry shirt over him, trying to keep him warm, but it slipped off as I worked, the tension in his body from the pain making it slide away. I’m leaning over him now, my knees on the couch, our bodies close, the warmth between us helping.

I tweeze another piece of fabric from the mess on Ash’s shoulder. He’s an excellent patient, staying still even as I prod around in his broken flesh. “Almost done,” I reassure him.

Once I’ve cleaned away any obvious debris, I open a saline solution and pour it over the wound, using a clean towel to catch the mix of water and blood seeping out. Ash’s fist tightens in his lap. “I’m sorry,” I say.

“Don’t apologize. You’re doing what needs to be done.”

I start to bandage the injury, laying clean gauze over the lurid red. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Okay.”

“You were really prepared. The backpack with the weapons and dry bags. I mean, do you always have that?”

“We prepped it to take it on the hunt if you decided to go.”

“So you knew something like this was possible?”

“Only if the queen died. They couldn’t try this while she was alive. But a tragic hunting accident is an excellent cover. And the new king would be more than happy to ingratiate himself with the Grand administration.”

Omar said he could kill Ash the same way—a hunting accident. Fuck.

“Why did Temperance send me here?” I ask as I tape over the gauze to keep it in place. “Was it just about handing off that damn compass, or did he want me to understand how much danger I’m in?”

“He wants to embed you with Omar. You’d be safe and influential.”

“Embed me.” I shake my head. “Bed being the operative word there,” I mutter.

Ash doesn’t respond. “Temperance expected me to continue to help him—to be Omar’s piece of ass and to listen and report.

” I repeat the words Temperance used whenever he told me to attend a party or sit next to a specific guest at dinner events.

“Yes,” Ash says, and he turns to watch me.

It’s the first time since I started working on his shoulder that he has faced me.

I keep my focus on my work, his gaze on my profile setting off sparks.

“Omar’s influence would keep you safe—killing you would be much more difficult with his protection.

Jordan is a vital ally. Pissing off the royal family would not help Grand’s cause.

You’re not worth that to him.” His head shifts back again, Ash’s focus returning to the window in front of him.

Alesana is out there, making sure our location is secure and scouting possible escape routes. We’re still on the Crown’s land. Ash has a helicopter pickup location nearby, but the airspace over the grounds is a no-fly zone. We need to get off this estate to escape.

I lay the last piece of tape on Ash’s bandage but don’t pull back. Instead, I look over at him. His jaw is hard and close. If he turned again our lips would be a breath apart. I don’t need to be this close anymore, but I can’t seem to move away. “Ash.” He swallows. “Look at me.”

His eyes shift, but he doesn’t face me. So I lean in, my eyes closing. And I press my lips to his cheek—rough stubble over hard heat. The electric grid between us shudders.

The muscles of Ash’s shoulder tremble under my fingers. I retreat, opening my eyes. His are closed, squeezed shut. “Ash.” It’s a whispered plea. Don ’ t pretend this isn ’ t real. I ’ m not crazy. Tell me I ’ m not crazy.

My heart beats in my throat. Ga gung, ga gung, ga gung. I take in a fortifying breath and tense to move away. That’s when he turns to look at me. His cobalt eyes are on fire. His left hand comes up and dives into my hair, pulling me into a searing kiss.

The simmering field between us ignites. My skin flames.

His kiss burns. I bite his bottom lip and Ash makes this rough, almost angry sound.

As if I’m going to pay for making him so desperate for me.

But I’m just as crazed for him. I shift, moving to straddle his lap.

His right hand grips my ass, possessive and starving.

Using the hand tangled in my hair he holds me back, meets my eyes. “Angela.” My name is a prayer and plea. I’m panting, my hands on his chest, on those marvelous tattoos.

“Shut up.” I capture his lips again. He groans and meets my passion, sitting up, pressing our chests together, holding me so tight. So perfectly hard.

Ash twists away and I let out a frustrated sound. He’s staring at the door. The cabin is small. We’re in a sitting room with a stone fireplace—that we couldn’t light because of the smoke—bracketed by two windows. The front door is to our left and to our right is a bedroom and a bathroom.

Ash lifts his gun with the hand that moments ago was so twisted in my hair I would have thought he’d never let go. I slide off him as the quick triple knock lets us know it’s Alesana.

I shuffle away, touching my swollen lips, feeling like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. When Alesana enters, I’m cleaning up the first aid kit. I glance up at him but can’t maintain eye contact.

Ash grabs the shirt I laid on him earlier and pulls it over his head. I don’t offer to help. If I touch him again, I might actually combust.

Alesana doesn’t offer to help either. “It’s as we suspected, their perimeter is secure. They don’t have the manpower to come looking for us and keep it that way, but it’s going to be a bitch to get out of here,” he says.

Ash nods and stands, pacing to look out the window. “They will wait until nightfall at least. We need to get out of here before then.”

The first aid kit organized and closed, I turn to the two men. “I’ll call Victoria, she can help.”

Ash scowls. “You trust her?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“We want the same thing…we want…she will help us.”

Omar and Victoria arrive on horseback. They bring the scent of rain, hay, and earth into the cabin with them. Omar crosses to where I stand, eating up the space between us so fast that I see Ash’s hand come to rest on the butt of his gun, though he doesn’t draw it.

Ash is fully dressed, including laced-up black boots, a gun holster criss-crossing his back, and a utility belt with another holster. Omar ignores him, coming into my space and cupping my face, staring down into my eyes. My hands come to his wrists, warm and solid.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, his accent playing with the words, the deep timbre of his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. If anyone has hurt you, they will pay.

“I’m okay,” I say, my throat tight, heart thundering. “Really. I’m fine.”

His eyes roam my face then down my body, looking for injury. There are some scratches on my arms, but they’re covered by my clothing. Omar sighs and takes a step back. “Alhamdulillah,” he says in a low voice.

“You rode?” Ash says, addressing Victoria.

“Yes,” she answers. “I thought it best.”

“Does that mean you can’t escort us off the property?” There is no condemnation in his voice, no emotion at all. Iceberg Ash is back.

“I can.” She straightens her shoulders. “But it’s not that simple.”

“We have a helicopter arriving nearby. You just need to get us past the perimeter.”

“No.” Ash raises a brow. Victoria shakes her head. “It’s not that simple. This won’t stop when you’re not on the property. And we can’t. I can’t. I’m not in a position to help.”

“If you can escort us off the estate that will be a great help.” Ash’s voice is even—reasonable. Not even a hint of fear. Meanwhile my heart has moved into my throat and set up a drum circle at the base of my tongue.

Victoria takes a step forward, frowning. “You know they won’t stop.”

“I do,” Ash says.

I feel like the child in the room with her parents arguing over her but not truly understanding what the fight is about.

Victoria turns her focus to me. “Angela. I can help you off this land, but you’re in serious danger. They are…it’s not…things are in motion.”

Omar interrupts. “Angela, may I speak to you privately for a moment?” I glance at the closed bedroom door. “I understand time is of the essence, but I believe I can help. If you’ll just spare me a few minutes.”

Victoria nods at me. She thinks I should hear him out. Ash doesn’t give off even a hint of what he’s thinking. I might as well be looking at a statue trying to figure out what it thinks I should do. “Okay.” I nod.