Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Asher gripped the wheel of the SUV, the engine’s low hum blending with the crunch of tires on the back roads north of Sturbridge.
The morning sun slanted through the trees, dappling the asphalt in gold and shadow.
It was beautiful, but his mind kept circling back to that moment in the kitchen—the air warm with the scent of coffee, Cici flipping eggs and buttering toast. Her strawberry-blond hair was damp and messy, the clean scent of her soap cutting through the grease, and that soft-green T-shirt that hugged her just right.
Beautiful didn’t cover it. She’d looked… vibrant and innocent.
The snapshot had hit him square in the chest.
It was everything he’d ever wanted—a home, a family, that quiet security he’d chased since he was a kid staring through restaurant windows at lives he could never hope to have. And there she was, serving it up in the form of an egg sandwich, all casual competence and grace.
For a second, he’d let himself imagine it—her, him, a life like that.
As if.
Cici Wright was upscale, the product of wealth and security. He was wrong-side-of-the-proverbial-tracks. A guy who, as she’d pointed out, hot-wired cars and shot out tires to survive.
End of story.
His phone rang, the sound loud over the speakers in the silent car. Asher hit the button to answer. “Yeah?”
“It’s Ballentine. Cici’s with you?”
She leaned closer as if the Bluetooth microphone wouldn’t pick up her voice from the passenger seat. “Right here, Forbes.”
“Good. Listen, I’ve got a jet waiting at Hanscom Field. I want you both on it. I’ll have someone meet you at the airport in Portland. I’m headed over to your parents’ house to fill them in. Brooklynn assures me they’ll want you there to keep you safe.”
“Yeah, probably.” Cici didn’t sound excited by the prospect. “Do you know if Delaney’s back?”
He blew out a breath. “According to your mom, she’s fine, but she’s not ready to come home.”
“Brooklynn hasn’t talked to her?”
“She called but Delaney didn’t pick up.”
Asher had no idea what was going on with the younger Wright sister. He did know she was a little old to be running away from home.
“Once Cici’s safe at the Wright estate, Rhodes, you’ll be off the clock.”
Done by the end of the day. He could drop Cici and that cursed necklace into Forbes’s hands and get back to his life.
But what about Cici?
“How do you plan to keep her safe?” Asher asked. “Those guys aren’t going to stop pursuing her just because she crossed into Maine.”
“Bartlett’s sending a team, and the FBI is involved as well.”
Good. A team could keep her safe. The guys Asher worked with were the best.
Would he be assigned? Did he want to be?
Irrelevant, though he wouldn’t mind sticking around Shadow Cove for a few days. His parents lived in an apartment in Portland, just a half hour away, no longer in the tumbledown trailer where Asher and his brother had grown up.
“Is it Derrick?” Cici asked.
Was who Derrick? Probably a rich boyfriend. The thought sent ice water to his racing heart.
“He’s headed to the airport now,” Forbes said. “Where are you guys?”
Asher fielded that. “Just outside of Sturbridge.”
“Great. If you take the interstate—”
“We’re sticking to back roads.”
“We don’t have to, though,” Cici said. “Nobody knows what we’re driving.”
Asher shot her a look and repeated, “We’re sticking to back roads. I’ll send you an ETA.”
“That’ll work. I’ll send you a number. When you get to the airfield, text it, and Derrick will tell you where to meet him.”
“Got it.” Asher hung up, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction.
A jet. That was the best solution to get Cici to safety.
But a small, stupid part of him twisted at the thought.
Cici wasn’t the spoiled princess he’d pegged her for.
Her kindness was chipping away at his old image of her.
The girl he’d thought of as prom queen for a decade had built her own business.
She wasn’t just some rich girl coasting on Daddy’s dime.
No. She was the type of girl to date guys with private jets.
The thought was acid in his stomach.
She shifted beside him, her purse with that necklace clutched in her lap. “We should get on the Mass Pike. We’d make better time.”
He kept his eyes on the road. “No.” He heard the hardness in the word and knew he should temper it. Wasn’t her fault he was jealous.
“Why?” Her tone sharpened. “It’s faster. These winding roads are taking forever.”
“Cameras.” He clipped the word, not looking at her. “Toll roads, traffic cams. They’d catch our faces and the license plate. I’m not risking it.”
She huffed, crossing her arms. “I figured you’d want to get rid of me as soon as possible. And anyway, it’s my life on the line here. Shouldn’t my opinion count?”
“I’m in charge.”
She twisted in her seat. “Excuse me? I’m the one responsible for the necklace, not you. I decide what happens with it.”
“I’m responsible for both you and the necklace. My job is to keep you alive, and I say we stay off the interstate.”
She laughed, though the sound held zero humor. “Look, I get that you’re better than I am in dangerous situations, but that doesn’t make me stupid. My opinion counts. I’m not your soldier or your lackey.”
His grip tightened on the wheel, irritation flaring hot. There it was—the rich-girl attitude he’d expected all along, slipping out when she got riled.
“Just because I was poor doesn’t mean I’m incompetent,” he snapped, the words spilling before he could stop them. “I’ve gotten us this far, haven’t I?” He stopped at a red light, shooting her a look to punctuate his words.
She blinked, recoiling like he’d slapped her. “What are you talking about? What does money have to do with anything?”
“You think you’re better than me—always have.” He snatched his phone from the console to get directions to the private airfield north of Boston. “I don’t need your ego telling me how to do my job.”
“Wow.” Her voice dropped, cold and cutting. “You’ve got some chip on your shoulder. I’m just asking you to consider my opinion. You’re the one refusing to trust me—as if I’m some clueless idiot who can’t think for herself.”
“If this were a jewelry emergency, I’d give you the wheel.” He regretted the remark the second it left his mouth.
The light turned green, and he accelerated through the intersection, not taking it back. He wasn’t changing his mind, and if that made her unhappy, then so be it.
One minute, she was cooking him breakfast, humble and kind, the next she was throwing her independence in his face like he was some grunt beneath her. He’d proven himself, and still she pushed back. What did she want from him?
The tension in the SUV was an unwelcome change, a far cry from the easy conversation they’d enjoyed over breakfast.
He shouldn’t care. This was a job. Cici wasn’t his friend, his girl, his anything. Just a client. A paycheck.
She was a means to an end.
But she didn’t feel like just a client. Not with an ember of the torch he’d carried for her burning into his brain.
The memory of the kiss the night before. How she’d felt in his arms. Her initial shock had softened, as had her lips.
Kissing Cici had felt natural, like waking up in his childhood bedroom on a sunny summer morning.
And it had felt like fireworks and symphonies and a thousand stupid metaphors that still didn’t come close.
Which was why he’d been trying very hard not to think about it.
She just stared out her window, arms crossed. The argument hung between them, and he didn’t know how to fix it. Maybe it would be better if they kept a barrier between them.
She’d rejected him once, and the humiliation still burned. He didn’t need to live through that again, thank you very much.
He kept driving, but the closer they got to the airfield, the more a small, stupid part of him left over from high school wondered what he’d do when she was gone.