Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The travel pouch sitting on Cici’s childhood dresser looked so ordinary now, like a prop from someone else’s nightmare.
Cici stared at it from her bed, the afternoon light streaming through the tall windows of her parents’ house doing nothing to chase away the shadows that seemed to cling to the innocent-looking bag.
The velvet pouch, the cheap locket, and the SD card were all in the hands of the authorities now, but she’d taken the jewelry, strapping it around her waist before she’d left the factory the night before.
She’d nearly died because of it. She hadn’t been willing to let it out of her sight. Fortunately, she’d thought to retrieve the little pouch and the priceless jewels before law enforcement had swarmed the place.
When she’d first heard the second helicopter approaching the paper mill the night before, the sound had sent ice through her veins—too reminiscent of Gagnon’s escape plan.
But then Grant had appeared in the factory break room, his relaxed expression cutting through her panic.
He’d squeezed her hand in that quiet way of his and told them Forbes had sent the helicopter for her and Asher.
A helicopter? Why hadn’t Asher or Bartlett or Forbes thought of that before all this craziness? She and Asher could’ve met it at the fast-food restaurant the night before, or even at the little cabin in Nutfield where they’d spent the night.
Of course, considering they had carried a locator, even a helicopter wouldn’t have saved them from Gagnon.
The hospital had been a blur of X-rays and questions—both from doctors and from cops—while the tests confirmed what she’d already known. Bruised ribs, a minor concussion, nothing that wouldn’t heal.
Asher had been treated for his shoulder wound and other injuries inflicted from the terrible fall. He’d been in the room next to hers, and she’d found comfort in hearing his voice through the thin wall.
When they were released, her parents had been there, insisting she go home with them. She didn’t argue, figuring she’d sleep better in her childhood bed surrounded by family and security than she would alone in her apartment.
She’d been right about sleeping better. She’d conked out and slept fourteen hours straight, only waking when the afternoon sun had grown too bright to ignore.
Now, voices drifted in from the living room below—familiar cadences that spoke of family and safety. She could hear her mother’s gentle tone, punctuated by Brooklynn’s laugh. The normalcy of it felt surreal after everything that had happened.
She wanted to talk to Asher, to find out how he was—and where he was.
They’d been surrounded by her family and his team at the hospital the night before, barely getting more than a we’ll talk tomorrow in beneath all the chatter.
She would call him, but she had no cell phone, and neither did he.
More than that, as weird as it seemed, she didn’t even know his phone number.
She’d see him today even if she had to track him down.
Though she’d showered the night before, she did again, washing her hair and scouring her skin.
Mr. D, Mendez, Souza, Gagnon. All had been murdered in front of her eyes.
Though she’d despised three out of four of them, they were human beings, created in God’s image and loved by Him.
Their deaths had been brutal, motivated by greed and lust for power.
If only the memories would wash out like the shampoo that circled the drain.
While she’d slept, someone had left a pile of clothes on her bureau. She slipped on a pair of jeans and a bright purple T-shirt that had to belong to Brooklynn. At least it wasn’t adorned with pansies. Small favors.
She brushed her hair, careful of the bumps on her head. The bruise on her cheek had darkened. She figured it would get worse before it got better. Her lips were swollen. She had bags under her eyes despite all the sleep. She looked horrid.
But she was alive. The bruises would fade, and maybe she’d be stronger for what she’d endured.
She crossed to the window, gazed out at the Atlantic, at the surf crashing against the rocks below the house. Thank You, Father. The words were a paltry offering after everything He’d done to save her and Asher. But they were all she had.
She put on an old pair of slippers she found in her closet and headed toward the voices.
Halfway down the stairs, she paused to take in the scene in the living room. Alyssa sat curled in the corner of the sofa, her laptop on her knees, Callan beside her, his arm draped protectively around her shoulders.
Forbes occupied the wide leather armchair, looking uncharacteristically rumpled in jeans and a polo shirt. Brooklynn had squeezed in beside him. Both of them propped their feet on the ottoman.
Mom stepped in from the kitchen, carrying a tray that held cheese, crackers, and what smelled like her famous chocolate chip cookies.
The normalcy of it made Cici’s throat tighten with emotion.
From Dad’s office came the sound of raised voices. Unfortunately, that was also normal. She could make out his distinctive bark, though not the words.
After Mom set the tray on the coffee table, she hurried down the hall to close the office door, muffling the shouts.
On her way back, she caught sight of Cici on the staircase. “Oh! You’re awake. How are you feeling, love?”
“Better.” Cici took the last few steps down and accepted the gentle hug her mother offered. “What’s going on with Dad?”
“Oh, he’s just—”
“Processing.” Alyssa crossed toward her. “You look like you got hit by a truck.”
“You always know just what to say.” Cici infused her tone with affection. Her sister had put herself in harm’s way the night before. Cici’d heard the story, how a second team of mercenaries had shown up, how Alyssa had seen them coming through the drone feed.
Because apparently, they’d had drones, which was crazy enough.
Alyssa had managed to climb a tree, just high enough to be out of sight. And then she’d been stuck there until the commandos had searched all the vehicles and the forest surrounding them.
From the tree, she’d continued her surveillance of the property and even managed to cut the lights. All in an effort to save Cici’s life.
“Thank God you’re okay.” Brooklynn’s voice was filled with emotion as she approached. “When Forbes told me what happened…”
In the foyer around the corner, the front door opened, and Cici’s heart skipped as a familiar voice carried through the house. Asher’s low rumble, followed by other voices she didn’t recognize.
A moment later, one of Dad’s security guards—she didn’t know this one’s name—escorted four people into the room. Cici didn’t recognize the woman or one of the men.
Her cousin Grant nodded in her direction as he slid a suitcase near the steps. Her suitcase.
“It was in the backseat of one of the cars at the factory last night,” he explained. “I convinced them it wasn’t evidence.”
“Thank you.” Her things were back, not burned in the barn fire like she’d thought, though her soft-sided bag definitely carried the scent of smoke. She didn’t care about anything inside that bag, not nearly as much as she cared about Asher.
It was him she’d longed for.
He stopped a few feet away, staring at her.
She squeezed between Mom and Brooklynn, her heart hammering against her ribs. The sling supporting his left arm reminded her of how close she’d come to losing him, but his eyes were warm and alive and focused entirely on her.
“How’s the shoulder?” she asked, stopping just close enough to catch the familiar scent of his cologne.
“Better.” His voice was rough, and she caught the way his gaze swept over her face. “You?”
“Better.” She wanted to touch him, to reassure herself he was real and safe, but the roomful of people watching made her hesitate.
Before she could decide, Dad strode into the room, his face flushed with anger. When he saw her standing with Asher, his expression darkened further.
“So this is what happened?” Fury dripped from the words. “You got distracted from your mission and nearly got my daughter killed?”
Dad’s anger always raised the same reaction in Cici—fear and shame, the certainty that she’d done something terrible, something to deserve such awful wrath. Even though it was directed at Asher, her heart thumped, knowing Dad would turn it on her if she dared make a sound.
But Asher didn’t deserve it. Asher, who’d nearly died trying to save her life, deserved nothing but respect and gratitude. She swallowed her fear and gripped Dad’s arm. “Don’t, please. Asher did everything he could.”
Dad shook her off and stepped closer to Asher. He was a few inches shorter and a couple of decades older, but he wore power like a crown. Not many men stood up to him.
Asher straightened, lifting his chin. He didn’t take a step back. He didn’t even flinch.
She was overwhelmed with pride for this man she loved.
“You were hired to protect her.” Dad poked Asher in the chest.
He looked down at Dad’s hand, then back at her father. The look held just enough threat that another man might’ve stepped back.
But not Gavin Wright.
“Dad, stop it.”
He glanced at her as if he’d just noticed she was there.
“That’s enough.” The authoritative voice belonged to the older man Cici didn’t recognize.
He stepped closer, his bearing military-straight despite his silver hair.
“Mr. Wright, if you have a problem with my agent’s performance, take it up with me.
You will not berate my agent. You owe nothing but gratitude to the man who saved your daughter’s life. ”
Dad shifted his fury. “Who are you?”
He stepped forward and held out his hand. “Clarence Bartlett, head of GBPA.”
Dad didn’t shake his offered hand.
Bartlett dropped his arm. “I understand you’re upset.
Any father would be. But after Asher was shot and thrown over a cliff, he managed to figure out what Gagnon was after, track him back to that paper plant, and get our team there.
What he needed was backup. The fact that he didn’t have it is on me. I should have assigned more men.”
Dad’s expression was unreadable, and the tension in his shoulders didn’t lessen a bit.
“I underestimated the danger,” Bartlett continued. “The only reason your daughter is standing here is because of Asher Rhodes.”
Dad’s gaze flicked to Asher, eyes narrowing like he wasn’t convinced. Then, he caught sight of Grant, who’d moved closer, maybe preparing to step in if necessary. Dad shifted to face him. “What about you?” His voice rose again. “She’s your cousin. You’re supposed to be a pro—”
“Uncle Gavin.” Grant actually smiled. “I don’t work for GBPA anymore, remember? I was home with my newborn when I found out Cici was in trouble. I was there because she’s my cousin.”
Dad had no answer to that. He was furious, but he couldn’t figure out where to unleash his fury.
Cici tensed, knowing she was next. To get it over with, she squeezed his arm. “Dad, it was my fault. I’m the one who—”
“What are you talking about?” His words were sharp. “You witnessed a murder. None of this is your fault.”
“I took the bag, which started this whole thing. I was trying to…” What? What had she been trying to do? Save a necklace?
It felt so foolish and inconsequential now.
Her father focused on her for a long moment. He blinked, then wrapped her in a hug. “My precious girl. How do you feel? Are you all right?”
Whoa.
What?
He was squeezing hard enough that her ribs complained, but she didn’t tell him that.
He’d called her precious.
“Come on. Why are you standing here? You should be sitting. You need to rest.” He ushered her into the living room, causing all her family to make way, then settled her on the sofa. “Do you need anything?”
“I’m okay.”
“You’ve slept all day. You must be thirsty.”
She was, now that he mentioned it. “Water, I guess.”
He started to move, but Mom said, “I’ll get it. Everyone, find a seat. I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you, darling.” Dad plopped down beside Cici and took her hand.
She was so confused.
Where was the yelling? Where was the anger? He’d directed them elsewhere. Was she to be spared?
Was he really not angry with her?
Did he really not blame her?
Sitting in the love seat, Alyssa met her eyes and shrugged one shoulder. At least she wasn’t the only one to notice Dad’s bizarre behavior.
Whatever was going through his head, if it meant avoiding his wrath, she’d take it.