Chapter 17 #2
Her hand came away sticky. He was injured. Shot?
“Run.” His word came out on a rattling breath. “Run, Cici.”
What? No, she couldn’t leave him here. She needed him to be all right. “Come on. We have to—”
Someone gripped her arms and pulled her away.
She screamed and twisted, her elbow connecting with something solid. A grunt of pain, then rough hands dragged her backward through the underbrush. Branches tore at her poncho as she fought against her captor’s grip.
“I’ll take care of her.” The man’s voice was gravelly. “Check the bodyguard.”
A couple more men closed in, surrounding Asher and the bike.
“He’s done,” one of them said.
“Get rid of him,” the one holding her said.
“No!” Cici thrashed, panic flooding her system. “He needs help!”
A flashlight beam swept across Asher’s still form, and her heart clenched at the sight. His face was deathly pale.
“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “I’ll come with you, just let me—“
“You’re coming either way, sweetheart.” The man’s hands were vises on her skin. Even so, she fought to escape, eyes fixed on Asher. Please, be okay. Please!
Asher wasn’t fighting as another man checked his pulse. He was unconscious. Or…she couldn’t even let herself think the other possibility.
One thug yanked Asher’s bag off the back of the bike, then rolled the bike deeper into the woods, toward the void. He disappeared in the darkness.
A moment later, the sickening sound of metal crashing against rocks. He must’ve rolled the bike off a cliff.
“Toss the bodyguard over with it,” one of the men said. “Maybe it’ll look like an accident.”
“No!” She screamed. “Please, just leave him!”
But they gripped Asher’s arms and dragged him away.
A moment later, they came back without him.
He was gone. Asher was gone, and she was all alone.
The warehouse smelled like rotten eggs and despair.
Cici’s captors manhandled her through a maze of dusty machinery and empty crates, her wet sneakers squeaking against the concrete floor.
They’d only driven ten minutes, maybe fifteen, from the accident site, but they might as well have been a thousand miles away. Nobody knew where she was. Her only hope for help was…gone.
The men hauled her up a flight of stairs and into an office.
A large metal desk and a couple of cheap rolling chairs were arranged haphazardly.
The lights overhead buzzed and flickered, giving everything a sickly yellow glow.
Dark fabric had been nailed over what she assumed must be exterior windows.
The other end of the room was filled with filing and storage cabinets, one of which had been shoved in front of a door that must lead outside. Only the top of the jamb was visible.
The men stepped in behind her, then released her in the center of the space.
Leaning against the desk was the man whose face had filled her nightmares.
Wendall Gagnon smiled when he saw her—a slow, satisfied curve of lips that held no warmth, only predatory pleasure. His straight teeth gleamed, and those wide-set eyes assessed her like a butcher examining prime cuts.
“The bodyguard?” Gagnon spoke to the men who hovered nearby.
One stepped forward, slender and well-dressed. He’d been in the forest. Now, she recognized him as one of the guys who’d followed them from the barn the day before. “He’s dead.”
The words, spoken so casually, hit hard. She sucked in air, panic and grief working their way up her throat.
“Good.” Gagnon turned his attention to her. “Miss Wright.” His voice was cultured, almost pleasant, as if they were meeting at a cocktail party. The same tone he’d employed moments before he’d murdered Mr. D at the jewelry store. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me?”
Cici’s legs threatened to give out. The image of Asher’s still form being dragged away played on repeat in her mind, and she couldn’t stop the sob that escaped her throat. She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to hold back the tears that had been threatening.
“I asked you a question.” Gagnon’s tone sharpened, cutting through her jumbled emotions like a blade.
She forced herself to look at him, this monster who had destroyed everything. “He’s dead because of you.” The words came out raw, broken. “He’s dead because of your greed.”
“Your friend chose to interfere in my business.” Gagnon smoothed his suit jacket with manicured hands. “Actions have consequences, Miss Wright. Surely your father taught you that.”
His reference to her father didn’t surprise her.
Obviously, he’d done his homework. It was the casual dismissal of Asher’s life that hit her like a physical blow.
She wanted to scream, to launch herself at Gagnon and claw that smug expression off his face.
But she forced herself to stay still, to think.
Asher had died trying to protect her. She wouldn’t let his sacrifice be meaningless.
“What do you want?” Her voice was steadier, though her hands still trembled.
“Straight to the point. I appreciate that.” Gagnon gestured to one of his men—the bald one who’d been with him in Philadelphia. The one who’d grabbed her in the forest. “Search the bag.”
This was Souza, she remembered. He upended Asher’s duffel onto one of the metal desks. Contents spilled across the surface—clothes, toiletries, the burner phones. First-aid supplies, Asher’s laptop, a tightly folded blanket.
The man’s sausage-like fingers pawed through everything.
The search went on for several minutes, Souza growing increasingly agitated as he found nothing of value. He shook out every piece of clothing, checked every pocket, even unscrewed the cap on Asher’s shampoo bottle to peer inside.
Cici held her breath, the necklace burning against her ribs where she’d hidden it in the zipper pouch. As soon as they found it, she’d be dead. Simple as that.
Souza straightened, his expression grim. “Nothing.”
Gagnon’s smile faltered, replaced by something much more dangerous. His cold gaze fixed on Cici. “Where are my things, Miss Wright?”
“What do you mean?” Her voice was high-pitched with fear, her question not at all convincing.
He pushed away from the desk and approached her with measured steps. “Search her.”
Terror spiked through her chest. “Wait—”
“Too late for that.” To the men, he said, “Do it now.”
Rough hands grabbed her arms, pawed at her body. She twisted, but there were too many of them.
She’d tell him if she could make her voice cooperate. Anything to get these disgusting goons away from her. Finally, she managed, “I have it. I have it.” The words came out just as one of the men gripped the buckle holding the pouch around her waist.
“Got something, boss.”
In an instant, the buckle came undone, and the man took the pouch to Gagnon, presenting it as if it were a prized treasure.
The other men stepped away, though she felt Souza’s presence right behind her.
“It’s just jewelry,” she snapped. “Gold and stones. Why is it so important to you?”
Gagnon took the pouch, his eyes glittering with something that might have been amusement. “Just jewelry?” He laughed, a sound devoid of humor. He unzipped the pouch and upended the contents onto the desk. The Crimson Duchess spilled out, along with the rest of Grace Ballentine’s things.
Gagnon poked through them, lifting them, studying them, then setting them back down. The necklace, the Cartier watch, the earrings, the bracelet. All valuable. None as valuable as Asher’s life.
He set the items down and lifted his gaze back to her. “Where’s the rest of it?”
The question surprised her. “There was nothing else in the bag as valuable as those pieces.”
“My dear girl, you truly have no idea what you stumbled onto.” He picked up the Cartier watch, turning it over in his hands.
“This? This is pocket change compared to what I’m really after.
” His fingers moved to the necklace, stroking the rubies with reverence that made her skin crawl.
“Beautiful, certainly. Worth a fortune. But it’s not what’s going to keep me out of prison. ”
What was he talking about? What else could there be? She’d seen everything that had been in Grace Ballentine’s jewelry case.
“Where is the bag?” He stepped toward her. “Where are the items that were inside it?”
Tucked in her purse, hidden beneath the motorcycle’s seat. She wouldn’t tell him anything. The sooner he found it, the sooner he’d order her killed. Not that anybody was coming to her rescue, but even so… Even so, she’d do everything in her power to put off the inevitable.
“There was a locket.” He watched her expression, and she tried to hide her reaction, but she remembered the locket. She’d shown it to Asher the night before, so unloved that the silver was tarnished black.
“Ah, you know it.” His voice was silk over steel.
“Hardly worth anything, the cheap old thing. It belonged to my mother, a gift from her parents for her high school graduation. I stole it from her jewelry box many years ago, a reminder to aim higher than she ever did. A silly little trinket, but to me?” He leaned closer, close enough that she picked up the scent of his cologne, which on him somehow smelled like decay.
“To me, it’s worth more than all these baubles combined. ”
Her pulse hammered in her throat. She had no illusion that the locket held sentimental value for this man. What could possibly be so important about it?
“I don’t know where it is.” The words felt clumsy on her tongue.
Gagnon studied her for a long moment, those pale eyes dissecting every micro-expression. “You’re a terrible liar, Miss Wright.” He straightened, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve. “But that’s quite all right. If you don’t have it on you, it must be with your deceased bodyguard.”
He nodded toward two of his men—the well-dressed one from the barn and a hulking brute with cold eyes and face tattoos, one of the men Alyssa had ID’d. “Go back to where you found her. Search the motorcycle and the body.”
The men exchanged a glance, and she caught the hesitation in their eyes, the way they looked anywhere but at Gagnon’s face.
“Is there a problem?” His voice dropped to that scary whisper again.
“No problem, boss,” the well-dressed one said quickly. “We’re looking for a locket?”
“It should be in a velvet bag. Please, retrieve the bag and all its contents.”
“On it,” the slighter one said.
“And gentlemen?” Gagnon’s smile was razor-sharp. “You don’t want to know what happens if you fail.”
As the two men hurried out, Cici felt a flicker of something that might have been hope.
The men were afraid to tell him they’d thrown Asher and the motorcycle over a cliff.
Now, they’d have to climb down that cliff and search what was left of the bike.
She figured the remains of it were scattered all over the bottom.
It might buy her precious time.
Time for what, she didn’t know. No one was coming for her. But every minute she stayed alive was another minute to figure out an escape, another minute to pray, and another minute to honor Asher’s sacrifice by surviving.