Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
An approaching engine rumbled like a storm gathering strength.
Asher had been combing the underbrush for nearly twenty minutes, searching for the phone Cici’d had in her hand when that truck came out of nowhere. The truck that had known exactly where they would be.
He had no idea how they’d been found—again. And no bandwidth right now to figure it out.
Especially now that someone was coming. Asher moved toward the road, preparing to step out in front of the car and request the use of a cell phone.
Or demand, if that proved necessary. He didn’t want to threaten anyone, but he didn’t have time to play nice.
But the car was slowing down, which told him maybe this wasn’t a random passerby.
He crouched behind an old oak, coiled tight. The sound grew louder, gravel crunching under tires, as a vehicle parked on the shoulder.
Maybe it was law enforcement. Maybe someone had seen the parked cars after the accident or heard the crash. Maybe someone had called 911.
Hope flickered like candlelight in a breeze.
But the voices that reached him were sharp and argumentative, and their words extinguished his hope.
“—your fault we’ve been driving in circles,” one man snarled.
“You’re the one who insisted we turn left. I shoulda known you don’t know your left from your right.”
Asher’s blood turned to ice. The hunters were back. But why?
He didn’t move, forcing his breathing to slow as the men walked within ten feet of him, continuing their heated exchange.
Once they were past, Asher angled to get a look.
Though he couldn’t see faces, he recognized Pretty Boy, the one he’d put in a sleeper hold back near the barn in Lexington, and his stockier companion.
Since he wasn’t the bald guy, Asher assumed this was Falcone.
They picked their way along the crash site, gazes skimming the ground, heading toward the gorge where the motorcycle lay twisted among the rocks.
“Gagnon’s gonna put us both down if we don’t find that bag.” Falcone’s voice carried a tremor of genuine fear.
They were looking for the velvet bag Cici had taken. Thank God Asher had found it first.
“You remember what he did to Arnold,” Falcone added.
“Don’t act like you give a crap.” Pretty Boy—Mendez, Asher remembered—sneered the words. “He was my friend.”
“He was supposed to be too strong to get taken out by a blow to the head. And anyway, you’re the one we found unconscious. Ask me, it oughta be your head with the bullet hole.”
Asher remembered the linebacker who’d nearly killed him. If not for Cici, he’d have done it. Cici had whacked him in the head, and then Gagnon had killed him.
Asher wouldn’t be shedding any tears. The guy was vicious. Even so, the thought had his stomach dropping. If Gagnon did that to a guy on his side, what would he do to Cici?
The men squared off, and then Falcone lifted his hands. “Look, I’m sorry about your buddy. If we don’t find that thing, Gagnon’s gonna kill us both. So let’s just…” He gestured deeper into the woods.
That thing?
Who would refer to a priceless ruby necklace as a thing?
They continued their slow search, inching toward the gorge.
Asher moved silently through the woods, keeping his distance but wanting to hear what they said. They must not have searched Cici or else they’d have found The Crimson Duchess. What else could they be looking for?
The men reached the gorge, and Asher ducked behind a bush to watch.
“Jeez,” Falcone muttered, peering down the cliffside. “Look at that mess.”
”The bike’s completely trashed.”
“What if the bag got thrown somewhere?” Desperation laced Falcone’s words. “Could be anywhere in these woods.”
“We keep looking until we find it.” Mendez pulled out a flashlight, its beam cutting through the gathering dusk. “We gotta find a place we can climb down.” He kicked a loose stone over the edge. It clattered on the rocky slope. “This spot’s as good as any.”
“You first.”
“It was your brilliant idea to throw the bike over a cliff instead of searching it properly.”
“My idea?” Seemed Falcone’s Boston accent deepened when he was angry, so the word came out as idear. “You’re the one who said we needed ta make it look like an accident.”
Their bickering faded as first Mendez, then Falcone, lowered themselves over the edge.
Asher listened, half-hoping he’d hear them tumble to the bottom—turnabout and all that—but they both made it.
It didn’t make sense that they hadn’t found the rubies. It wasn’t as if Cici’s money pouch was that well concealed. A quick pat-down and they’d have had it.
Maybe there was some other valuable piece of jewelry in the velvet bag.
He moved deeper into the woods, away from the thugs and the crash site, careful to leave no trail. When he was so far away that he could no longer hear their voices, he found a boulder and tucked Cici’s purse, velvet bag and all, between it and a cluster of ferns.
That should be far enough away and well enough hidden that Gagnon’s merry band of morons would never find it.
He was making his way back toward the crash site and the pickup when he heard a muffled curse from the gorge. He stalked in that direction.
“What?” Falcone’s tone implied more irritation than curiosity.
“I just realized… Where’s the bodyguard? Where’s the body?”
Asher peeked over, barely making out the men in the darkness. They both stood still, looking around.
He ducked just as Falcone lifted his gaze to the rocky hillside where they’d tossed Asher over.
“He was dead,” Mendez said. “I mean, maybe not completely.”
As if partially dead were a thing.
“But he couldn’t have survived.” Pretty Boy’s tone was panicked. “Right?”
“If he’s not dead,” Falcone said, “then you are.”
“No, no. Even if he survived, he can’t have gone far.” He looked at the water running through the deep ravine. “Maybe his body was carried downstream.”
Falcone followed its meandering flow. “Don’t know much about the wilderness, but I don’t think that’s strong enough to carry a full-grown man.”
Mendez must’ve realized that because his searching became frantic. He pulled out a gun, started peeking behind bushes and boulders, occasionally saying, “Gotcha” and “Freeze.”
As much fun as this was to watch, Asher needed to move.
His window of opportunity was narrow. They’d search the wreckage, realize the bag wasn’t there, and climb back up. He had maybe ten minutes before they returned to their pickup, furious and empty-handed.
He resumed his search for the burner Cici had held. His knee ached and his shoulder throbbed, the makeshift bandage damp with fresh blood. He ignored the pain. Cici’s life depended on him finding that device.
A reflection caught his eye in the middle of a clump of bushes. He crouched there and reached, his good hand closing around smooth metal and glass. The phone’s screen was cracked but functional, the battery showing thirty percent.
Thank You, Lord.
He unlocked the phone and tapped in Bartlett’s phone number.
The call rang, then went to voicemail.
Great. The man who always answered his phone was too busy tonight.
He waited for the automated voice mail greeting, then said, “Check your texts.” He ended the call, then opened a text, adding Bartlett and Alyssa. She was the only person they’d dialed with that particular burner, and he was grateful her number was there.
He dropped a pin at his current location, then typed a message.
Cici’s been taken. I’m at the pin. Sending this phone in the bad guys’ truck. Follow it back to Cici.
He sent the message, then stared at the screen, waiting for someone to reply.
Neither Alyssa nor Bartlett did.
He’d add Gavin Wright to the text, but he didn’t know the man’s number. He’d committed to memory other bodyguards’ phone numbers, but the thugs were coming, their voices sharp with anger as they headed to the truck, bickering about what to do next.
It was possible, since they were empty-handed, that they would run from Gagnon. Should he attack? He could incapacitate Falcone and force Pretty Boy to take him to where Cici was being held. And then…then figure it out.
He could do it.
Except that was what he’d thought about getting Cici home. And where’d that landed him?
He was injured, there were two of them, and they were both armed. Armed and powerful. And who knew how many men were guarding Cici?
He’d made the mistake of thinking he could do this by himself. He needed his team.
His other option was to toss the cell phone in the pickup and hope like crazy these guys went back to where Cici was hidden. If they didn’t, then Bartlett would send people to intercept them.
The team could do it if they got the message.
The thugs’ voices were growing louder. Asher had an instant to make up his mind.
Lord, what do I do?
He heard no divine voice, but the answer was clear nonetheless. He needed to trust his team, not try to do this all by himself.
He opened the pickup door, shoved the phone beneath the driver’s side seat, then closed it as quietly as possible and bolted across the road. He hid in the woods just as the men climbed in the truck and drove away.
Either they’d lead Bartlett, Alyssa, and the whole team back to Cici, or Asher’s split-second decision had been wrong, and…and maybe Cici would be lost forever.