Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
The kitchen smelled of butter and coffee, a warm contrast to the cool morning air seeping through the cabin’s old windows. Asher had called it a safe house, but to Cici, it felt more like a cozy vacation spot.
It was a charming little place—two bedrooms, wood-paneled walls, a stone fireplace that probably roared in winter.
Last night, she’d barely registered the place, too exhausted to do more than crash.
Now, with the first light creeping through the forest outside, she was starving, and she figured Asher had to be too.
A bag of Cheetos and a Coke weren’t exactly dinner, especially for a guy built like him.
She stood at the counter, flipping eggs in the skillet.
She’d found a Keurig tucked in the corner, a small mercy from the cabin’s owners, along with a carousel of coffee pods.
Her mug steamed on the counter, black and strong, waking her up after too few hours of sleep.
Asher had said he’d thought the new car would be here early, so she’d set the old-fashioned clock radio on the nightstand, wanting to get a shower before they hit the road.
Another cup of coffee was brewing in the coffee maker for Asher.
Her hair was still damp, loose and curling at the ends, the blond wig stuffed in her suitcase. Since she’d been seen in the wig at the train station, she figured she didn’t need to wear it anymore.
She’d swapped the sweatshirt and leggings for jeans and a T-shirt. She felt human again, or as close as she could get with killers on her tail.
The faint hiss of the shower cut off down the hall.
She hadn’t seen him yet, but the lights had been on when she’d come out, and she guessed that Asher had been up before her, probably scouting the perimeter or whatever bodyguards did at dawn.
She was thankful for the two bathrooms so they hadn’t had to tiptoe around each other to get ready.
Footsteps thudded on the hardwood floor, and she turned just as Asher stepped into the kitchen. He paused in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space, and for a split second, his ice-blue eyes locked on her—steady and unreadable, but with a flicker of something that made her breath hitch.
He wore all black, like he had the day before.
She doubted it was a fashion choice, but the shirt clung to his chest, and the jeans fit him just right.
His dark hair was damp, a little messy, and he carried the faint scent of soap.
What had looked like a five o’clock shadow the day before was thicker this morning, more like a closely trimmed beard.
She wasn’t sure what he was seeing in her that put that enigmatic look on his face. His pause threw her off.
“Morning,” she said, brushing past the awkwardness. “I figured we should eat before we go.”
He blinked like he was shaking off whatever had snagged his attention, stepping fully into the room.
“Bartlett said someone’s on the way.” His voice was gruff.
“He’s dropping off a fresh car and taking the stolen one back to Springfield.
Hopefully, he’ll get it there before anyone notices it’s gone.
Apparently, Ballentine’s willing to offer the owner a sizable ‘rental fee,’ if it comes to that, so we should be off the hook for grand theft auto. ”
“That’s a relief.” Not that she’d worried much about that since they’d escaped the train station.
The murder and arson charges were still hanging over her head—and jewelry theft, but she wasn’t sure the authorities had figured that out yet.
Even being wanted by the police seemed irrelevant, considering the men tracking them.
He nodded toward the skillet. “Smells good.”
She buttered toast, assembled egg sandwiches, and slid them onto plates, which she set on the small table by the window. “It’s just grilled egg and cheese. Nothing fancy, but it’s better than Cheetos.” She grabbed the second coffee mug from the Keurig and placed it beside his plate. “Black?”
“No cream, I guess. Sugar?”
She plopped the bowl of creamers and the sugar dish on the table with a spoon.
He dumped three spoonsful of sugar into the hot brew, then stirred in a couple of single-serving creamers.
“That gonna be enough?”
“I don’t drink it for the taste.” He sipped, making a face. “Nobody drinks it for the taste.”
She tasted her own. It wasn’t the freshly ground beans she had at home, but it was still good. “Why drink it if you don’t like it?”
He shrugged. “It’s always available. Days like today, I need the caffeine.”
“My sister Brooklynn doesn’t care for coffee, but she loves tea. You should try that.”
He made a noncommittal sound and bit into his breakfast, seemed to test the flavor, then set the sandwich down. “That’s really good.”
“Why do you sound surprised?”
“Just didn’t peg you for a cook.”
“I have to eat. What, did you think I have a chef on staff?”
He shrugged, biting into his sandwich, his expression neutral but his silence telling. Studying him, she didn’t miss the slight flush creeping up his neck.
“Wait,” she said. “You did, didn’t you?”
“No, not…you.”
“My family, then. You thought we had, what? Household staff?”
“Didn’t say that,” he mumbled around a bite, not meeting her eyes.
She leaned back, half-amused, half-exasperated.
“We had money, sure, after Dad started his business. But we didn’t live in a mansion with butlers and maids.
” Mom had employed—still employed, actually—a housekeeper who came once a week, but Cici decided not to mention her. “I learned to cook from my mother.”
He swallowed, finally looking up, a flicker of embarrassment in those blue eyes. “Guess I figured wrong.”
“Guess you did.” She ate a bite of her sandwich. It would be better on an English muffin with a slice of ham, but it was okay. “My parents aren’t butler-and-caviar rich.”
At least she’d never seen them that way. Dad had amassed a fortune since he’d founded his defense contracting company. And Cici supposed, compared to…well, most everybody, they would be considered rich. But she and her sisters hadn’t been spoiled or pampered.
The quiet settled between her and Asher, not tense like the night before but more comfortable, easier.
She watched him, this man who’d morphed from the geeky kid she’d barely known into someone who could hot-wire a car and shoot out tires without blinking.
He’d surprised her, and she wondered if she’d surprised him too.
Probably only in the vastness of her ineptitude.
He polished off his sandwich, and she rose and grabbed him another one—she’d assumed he’d want a second—and slid it onto his plate.
“Thanks.” He dove into it, then sat back and sipped his coffee. “For a while, my mom worked at that souvenir shop in town—the one owned by Elvis…whatever her name is. You know her?”
“Elvis Harper.”
“Right. My brother and I used to go with Mom on Saturdays because Dad was working and she didn’t want to leave us home alone all day.”
Cici wasn’t sure where this story was going. “Fun place for kids.”
“Got boring after a few hours, though. She’d let us walk around town. We were probably…ten and eight? Something like that.”
“I bet you were a protective older brother.”
He lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Every Saturday night, I’d look through the windows at Webb’s Harborside, and you and your family would be there, eating dinner, looking out over the ocean.
The idea that you could go there every week…
I didn’t assume you had staff, or I didn’t think about it.
I just figured you ate out all the time.
And, frankly, that told me you were rich. ”
Rich? Because they’d eaten at a local restaurant once a week?
“We didn’t eat out all the time, just on Saturday nights.
Often, Dad wasn’t there—he traveled a lot, still does.
But Mom felt like Saturday night should be special.
It wasn’t always Webb’s, but that was one of the few places all of us sisters liked. ”
He tipped back in his chair, studying her through narrowed eyes. “It’s funny how kids perceive things, isn’t it? To me, it was like you were always there. But if you’d looked out the window and seen me, you might have thought I was always wandering around Shadow Cove.”
“True. Kids are weird.”
He chuckled. “You’re not wrong.”
When he smiled, his face transformed. He went from fierce, almost frightening to…she wasn’t even sure how to describe him. Handsome didn’t cover it. He was…beautiful.
She’d best keep that thought to herself.
His chair hit the floor with a thud, his smile fading. “I need to know what we’re dealing with. Tell me exactly what happened at the jewelry store. Everything you saw, everything you know about that necklace.”
She took a deep breath, the memory of Mr. D’s crumpled body flashing behind her eyes.
She’d seen it a hundred times since, in her mind’s eye.
That moment had yanked her from sleep more than once during the night.
“I was appraising a batch of stuff for Tony Delvecchio. He owned the store, one of my regular clients. His niece had bought a bagful of jewelry for fifteen hundred bucks. I’ve met his niece, and she’s a sweet kid, but she doesn’t have much experience.
I suspect she saw one or two items and made the offer, hoping it was a good deal.
I also suspect that, if she saw the ruby necklace, she thought it was a fake. ”
“It’s not? You’re sure?”
“This is what I do for a living. Hold on.” She hurried to her bedroom and pulled the velvet bag from her purse. She hadn’t peeked inside it since she’d escaped the jewelry store.