Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
The train rumbled beneath Cici’s feet, a steady vibration that should’ve soothed her. She sat pressed against the window, the cool glass a lifeline to the outside world whipping by in streaks of dark and neon, her purse on her lap. The Amtrak coach smelled faintly of stale coffee and body odor.
The train was crowded this Friday night, mostly business travelers, probably headed home after a long work week.
They sat with the wall at their backs like Asher had requested, his broad frame sprawled beside her, one leg stretched into the aisle.
His backpack sat between his boots, her suitcase in the compartment over the seat.
For the first time since she’d bolted from Mr. D’s store, she could breathe—sort of.
She adjusted the itchy blond wig, resisting the urge to rip it off.
Asher scanned the car, his jaw set in that infuriatingly unreadable line.
The guy hadn’t said more than ten words since they’d boarded, just grunted directions—sit here, stay put—like she was a disobedient puppy.
She wasn’t used to being ordered around, but he’d gotten them out of Philly alive. She probably shouldn’t complain.
She shifted, tucking a leg under her. “Thanks. You know, for getting us this far. I didn’t think we’d make it.”
“Sorry you have to travel in such shabby accommodations.”
His words carried an undertone that she couldn’t read. “This is fine.”
“No private sleeping quarters.” She didn’t miss the hint of sarcasm.
“I didn’t ask for a private room so I could sleep. I thought it would be safer if we were behind a door. You know, out of sight.”
“Oh.”
“I can handle riding coach. I do it all the time.” Not on trains, but this train was more comfortable than a lot of flights she’d taken. “Anyway, I was just trying to thank you.”
He didn’t look at her, just dipped his chin once.
That was it? She waited, but he didn’t soften. “You’re not much for conversation, are you?”
He shrugged, not even sparing her a glance. “Guess you didn’t expect your shopping excursion to end like this. What were you doing in Philly anyway?”
She blinked. “Shopping excursion?”
“At the jewelry store.”
“I wasn’t shopping, Asher. I was working. I’m an appraiser.”
He turned just enough to meet her eyes, and she caught a flicker of surprise before it vanished behind that stony mask.
“What, did you figure I just shopped all the time? Flouncing around with Daddy’s credit card?”
Another shrug, casual but deliberate. “You’re rich. Why work when you’ve got all that money?”
She bristled, straightening in her seat. “My parents have money. My sisters and I all work very hard. For your information, I own my own business. I have contracts with stores all over the East Coast.”
His brows twitched, but otherwise, his face stayed blank. No apology, no backtracking. Just that cool, assessing stare.
She hated how it made her feel, like she had to prove something to him.
She rested her elbow on the armrest between them and forced a casual tone.
They had to spend time together. They might as well get along.
“What about you? Last I heard, you joined the military. What’ve you been up to since then? ”
He shifted, leaning back against the seat, scanning their surroundings again. “Navy. Became a SEAL. Got out after an injury. Now I do this.” He nodded vaguely, like this was self-explanatory.
He’d been a SEAL?
She hadn’t seen that coming. The scrawny kid with the Coke-bottle glasses and thrift-store jeans had turned into a Special Forces warrior? She let her eyes drift over him—his broad shoulders, the quiet strength in his arms, the way he carried himself like he could take on anything.
“That’s impressive,” she said. “Explains the whole”—she waved toward him—“take-charge thing you’ve got going on.”
He grunted, his standard response.
“So, SEAL to bodyguard. Big shift.”
“Not really.” His voice stayed flat. “Same game, different field.”
“But don’t SEALs work as a team? At least that’s different.”
“I work with a team most of the time. Just not this job. I was the only GBPA member in Philly when the call came in.”
“GBPA. That’s familiar. I think…Did you work with my cousin Grant?”
“His wife is one of the owners.”
“I’m guessing Brooklynn recommended your company.” She tilted her head, studying Asher. “You’ve changed a lot since high school.”
“Have I?” His gaze cut to hers, sharp and assessing, and there was something in it—something that made her breath catch. “Maybe you just didn’t know me back then.”
The words landed like a pebble in still water, rippling through her. She opened her mouth to argue, but wasn’t sure what to say.
She hadn’t known him well. He’d been short and skinny and geeky. They’d gone to a small school, and Asher had been an acquaintance, not a friend. They were both smart, so they’d been in a lot of the same classes.
Unlike Asher, who’d kept to himself, Cici had known everybody, and everybody had known her. On the outside, people would’ve called her popular, which she supposed was true. Friends had been easy to come by, still were. But respect, admiration, approval? Those things had always been elusive.
He kept up his vigil as if enemies might drop from the ceiling like they were in some transcontinental version of Mission: Impossible, leaving her staring at the side of his face—those high cheekbones, that straight nose.
The train rocked gently. She leaned back, the velvet bag in her purse, a reminder of why they were here.
Asher might be right—she hadn’t known him, not really.
And now, sitting next to this man who’d morphed from a memory into something solid and steady and a little dangerous, she wondered what else she’d missed.
A few hours later, the train jolted to a stop, brakes squealing as it pulled into a station in western Massachusetts. Cici pressed her forehead against the window, the glass cool against her skin, and stared out at the platform.
The darkness was broken by the glow of a few scattered lights. Their conversation had finally helped her calm her racing heart until the steady clack of the tracks had lulled her into a fragile truce with the day’s madness. Finally, she’d settled, even drifting off to sleep for a few minutes.
Now, she sat up and stretched. They had to be getting close to Boston. She wished she’d grabbed an itinerary back in Philly so she’d know where they were and how much longer they had to go.
Beside her, Asher reclined, his legs stretched out as if he were completely relaxed.
But tension wafted off him. As far as she’d noticed, he hadn’t let down his guard for a moment since they’d boarded.
Now, he focused on the aisle as a handful of passengers shuffled off, dragging bags and muttering complaints about the late hour.
Her gaze drifted outside, skimming the people milling on the platform.
And then she snagged on a face.
The man was mostly hidden behind a concrete pillar, but she saw enough. Shaved head, blocky shoulders, black T-shirt. It was the guard who’d followed her. Who’d found her at the police station.
Her breath caught. “Asher.” She gripped his forearm. “Outside. It’s him.”
Asher frowned, his eyes narrowing. “Who?”
“The guy from the jewelry store. The one who chased me.” She jabbed a finger toward the window, her voice low but urgent. “He’s right there.”
Asher leaned over her to look out.
The thug was scanning the train windows with a predator’s focus, inching closer to the doors. Any second, he’d board. He’d find them.
She ducked out of the way before he saw her.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” Her pulse hammered. “That’s him.”
“Let’s go.” He yanked his backpack from the floor, her suitcase from the overhead bin. “Go.”
She hooked her purse in her elbow and pulled the suitcase behind her, aiming toward the back of the train.
Behind her, Asher slung his duffel over his shoulders. “Into the next car.”
She moved fast until she got stuck behind a guy in a rumpled suit who grumbled about personal space. The man was in no hurry.
Asher was a solid wall at her back, following her through the connecting door into the next coach.
The train’s warning chime sounded.
“Move!” Asher barked. His voice carried authority, and the guy in front of Cici slid into an empty row.
She hurried forward and was nearly to the exit when the doors started to close.
Asher lunged, wedging his arm between the closing doors, muscles straining as he forced them apart. “Now, Cici! Go.”
She squeezed through the gap and stumbled onto the platform, barely keeping her feet, her suitcase bumping her ankle.
Asher jumped out, and the doors slammed shut with a hiss.
Through the window, she glimpsed the bald thug’s head whipping toward them, his eyes locking on hers before the train lurched forward, carrying him away.
Her chest heaved with relief. “They’re gone. We’re—”
“Move!” Asher grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the station’s small brick building. She stumbled beside him, confused, until she glanced back.
Two more figures emerged from the building—dark jackets, purposeful strides, closing in fast. The bald guard hadn’t been alone. Of course not. That would’ve been way too easy.
She and Asher reached a fence higher than she was tall—this was not the official exit route. He tossed their bags over, then linked his hands together and held them about knee-high. “You can do this.”
Could she? The men were moving their way, leaving her zero choice.
She gripped the vertical rails, stepped into Asher’s linked hands, and hoisted herself over, nearly falling on her butt on the far side.
He followed gracefully, looking like Superman to her very clumsy Lois Lane.
He thrust her suitcase at her, slipped his duffel onto his back, and crossed the flower bed they’d dropped into.
She hauled the suitcase onto the parking lot, its wheels rattling over uneven pavement.
A few people wandered through the half-full lot.
Asher scanned quickly, then beelined for an older sedan—a beat-up gray thing that looked like it hadn’t moved since the nineties.
“What are we doing?” She’d expected them to run, try to hide from the bad guys, but obviously, Asher had a different plan.
Crouched by the driver’s door, he pulled something from his duffel bag—a thin metal tool—and jimmied the lock faster than any AAA roadside assistant could manage. The door popped open, and he slid inside and yanked wires from under the dash.
“Are you kidding me?” Her voice climbed an octave. “We’re stealing a car?”
“You have a better idea?” He didn’t look up, his hands moving fast, sparking the wires together. The engine sputtered to life.
She glanced back. Those guys were closing the gap, maybe fifty yards away.
She threw her suitcase in the back and started for the passenger door.
“You’re driving.” He hopped over the console, giving her the left-hand seat.
“What?” She slid inside, then stared at the stick shift like it was a live snake. “I haven’t driven a manual in years! I barely remember—”
“Now, Cici!” His voice was curt, his eyes darting behind them.
In the rearview mirror, she saw the thugs break into a run.
She grabbed the stick and pressed the clutch. “Okay, okay—clutch in, first gear…” She eased the gas. At least the previous driver had backed in, so she didn’t have to figure out how to reverse.
The car lurched and stalled. “Dang it!”
He leaned over and hot-wired it to get it running. “Go!” Asher pulled a handgun from beneath his shirt—had he carried that the whole time? He twisted in the seat, watching the men closing in.
She tried again.
The car lurched. Then, the engine coughed and died. “I can’t do this!”
Cursing under his breath, Asher slid right into her seat—practically on top of her. “Move your legs.”
She squished to the side while steering the coasting vehicle into the lane.
His boots found the pedals. He lifted the clutch and pushed the gas pedal. The engine roared to life.
The car shot forward, Asher aiming toward the exit.
She could barely breathe, a combination of fear and his solid body pressing against hers, but she wasn’t about to complain. They were moving, no thanks to her.
“Can you take over?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Grab the wheel.” She did, and he maneuvered back to the passenger side. She managed to shift into second gear, her hands shaking but functional.
This was insane. They’d just stolen a car! “I’m not going to prison for grand theft auto!”
Asher dove into the backseat and rolled down the window.
She skidded onto a two-lane road. They were in the middle of a business district, the buildings dark, shuttered for the night. “If we get caught, I’m telling them you forced me—held a gun to my head or something. I’m not cut out for jail, Asher! I’d look terrible in orange—”
“U-turn,” he snapped.
“What?” She barely registered the order. “I mean, I’ve got a business to run, and—”
“U-turn! Now!”
She yanked the wheel hard, the car skidding into a sloppy arc. The wheels went off the road. She managed to angle back onto it. A car was coming toward them.
“Floor it!”
She resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes closed, pressed the gas, and shifted into third, then fourth, going way faster than the posted thirty-five-mile-per-hour speed limit. “Is that them?”
In the rearview, she glimpsed Asher as he leaned out the window.
Gunfire cracked in the silence.
The other car swerved and crashed into a light pole.
Cici passed the accident site, slowing to see what’d happened.
“Move!” Asher shouted.
Right. Of course.
She shifted into fifth and hit the gas. The car rumbled down the empty road. They passed the train station again, and then it was shrinking in the rearview.
Asher slid into the passenger seat, watching behind them. Finally, he exhaled and slumped back in the seat.
She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Her heart was a jackhammer, her mind replaying the last few minutes on a loop.
“Guess I finally figured out what it takes to shut you up,” he said, tone dry. “Gunshots.”
“Not funny,” she croaked, but a shaky giggle bubbled up anyway.
He smirked, a rare crack in his stony facade, and then he chuckled, a low, rumbly sound that felt like a thread of peace in a tapestry of chaos.
They laughed together, the absurdity of it all spilling out, until she remembered… They’d just stolen a car. Nearly gotten caught by bad guys. Nearly gotten killed. “What are we going to do?”
“It’ll be okay.”
“How?” Nothing about this felt funny all of a sudden. Nothing was okay. “They’re everywhere. We can’t get ahead of them.”
“We survived. We’ll just take each scenario at a time and figure it out as we go.”
Maybe he would. She wasn’t cut out for this…this running for her life. She’d panicked. All she’d wanted was to return Forbes’s jewelry to him, to do something bigger than herself. Maybe even a little…heroic?
Right. She was as far from heroic as she’d ever been.
If not for Asher’s quick thinking, they’d both be dead.