Chapter 11 #3
She was too tired to argue anymore. Frankly, she was just tired.
She wanted to rest. She wanted to eat a nice meal and go to sleep.
Was that too much to ask? Meanwhile, her bodyguard looked and acted like he could go another three days without closing his eyes.
The man was strong and competent and had more energy than four Cici’s plus a Brooklynn.
So she trudged behind him silently, praying he knew what he was doing.
He finally slowed down the street from a giant brick house complete with wings and…a sign out front, which told her it wasn’t a house at all. It was a museum.
“Probably not the best place to steal a car.” She tried to add levity to the remark.
“I’m trying to find a way not to steal a car.”
“That would be better.”
He looked at her, one corner of his mouth tipping up. “I’m afraid you’re not going to think that if I manage this.”
Without explaining his cryptic remark, he dropped his pack in a narrow spot between two giant bushes. “Sit there, please. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” But before she finished the question, he was gone, walking along the sidewalk as if he belonged. She settled on top of his duffel bag, losing sight of him.
As frustrating as she found him sometimes, it was disconcerting being alone.
What if those guys tracked her here? She still had the handgun Asher’d given her, tucked away in her bag.
She pulled it out, ensured the safety was engaged, and then stuck it in her waistband at the small of her back.
It was cold and hard and didn’t make her feel any safer at all.
Worry morphed to fear, and panic was right on its heels by the time Asher returned, his footsteps sounding seconds before he peeked between the bushes. “Come on.”
“To?”
“Just trust me, Cici. We don’t have time to argue about this.”
She hadn’t planned to kick up her heels.
She just wanted to know his plan. Apparently, that was too much to ask.
She stood, hiking her purse over her shoulder.
He grabbed his pack and led the way down the street, then across toward a pickup parallel parked on a side street near the museum. It had New Hampshire plates.
“I’m thinking they’re here to see the museum,” Asher explained, “and then they’ll go home.”
“What if they’re here for the weekend?”
“Then we’ll find another ride. But at least we’ll have lost your thugs.”
They weren’t her thugs, but she knew what he meant.
They reached the back of the truck. The bed had a cover to protect what was beneath. After a furtive look around, Asher opened the tailgate.
No luggage inside, but there were tools, lumber, and other construction supplies.
Asher set to work moving them to one side of the bed. When he’d made sufficient space, he motioned her in. “I’ll get something soft for us to rest on, but we need to shut that tailgate.”
This was crazy.
They were going to…to stow away? On that hard metal for who knew how long?
She could already feel the bruises on her hips. But she was the one who’d argued against stealing another car. She couldn’t exactly go back on that now.
She climbed up and crawled past Asher—there was barely enough room for him, much less both of them.
He closed the tailgate, plunging them into darkness and cutting off the only source of fresh air.
The space was hot as a sauna.
“This is crazy.”
“Shh.” His whisper was barely audible. “They could return at any time.”
“Or not at all.”
He sighed, the sound loud in the silence.
She was being difficult. She hated being difficult, but she was even less fond of torture, and at the moment, this felt like torture.
The sound of a zipper opening was followed by the whoosh of cloth, she guessed, rubbing against the hard floor.
Then something soft landed in her lap.
“Spread that out.” His voice was barely audible. “We’ll lie on top of it.”
“Okay.” She tried to match his volume. Spreading a blanket beneath where she was sitting was no easy task, especially with the low ceiling. Finally, she got it done.
Asher handed her a couple more things, also soft. Sweatshirts, she guessed. “For our heads.”
She folded them and placed them near the cab.
“Come on.” He stretched out beside her. “Let’s get comfortable.”
Right. Seemed impossible, but why not try? She was tired enough to rest anywhere at this point.
She settled on the blanket—how did he have a blanket?—and bunched the sweatshirt beneath her head.
Asher lay beside her. His shoulders were so wide that she had to scoot down to find room.
“Sorry about that,” he whispered, like he could control his own size.
“You should be, space hog.”
That earned a low chuckle.
They were quiet for a few minutes. Cici was trying to get comfortable on the hard truck bed, and so, she assumed, was Asher.
The blanket helped, but not much. They both kept shifting, moving this way and that.
Bumping each other. Every touch brought a fresh jolt of awareness.
It was almost too hot in the space to enjoy Asher’s closeness. Almost.
Flat on his back, he stilled, exhaling as if he’d given up. “I’m guessing your cousin’s plane is a little more comfortable than this.” His voice was a low rumble beside her, though his sarcasm was evident.
“Only by a few degrees.”
Another chuckle, one she felt as much as heard.
“I’ll admit,” she said, “a stolen car would have been less…”
“Agonizing?” he supplied.
“But I’m not complaining,” she was quick to say. “We’re off our feet, and we’re…safe?” Against her will, her voice pitched up at the end like a question, revealing fear she hadn’t wanted him to hear.
“We are, Cici. We’re safe. Worst case scenario, the owner finds us and kicks us out.” He shifted again. “Do you mind if I…?” His arm stretched across the truck bed above her head. “I just need to—”
“It’s fine.” It gave her a little more space, a little air between them. The air was refreshing, but a tiny part of her missed the contact with him.
A voice outside had them both stilling. It was a man, answered by a woman.
The truck beeped, and then doors opened.
She felt Asher’s tension rising. He was preparing for a fight.
The truck jostled as people climbed in. New voices, too. Kids, maybe?
Doors slammed, the truck roared to life, and then they started moving. Heading…somewhere, hopefully north, toward Maine. But wherever they landed, they’d have escaped their pursuers.
Though the thought brought relief, her fear was still there. Somehow, the men following them kept finding them. And they had no idea how.