Chapter 8 #4
Roger sighed. Took another cookie. Walked back to Dean.
“He’s actually enjoying himself,” Daphne said, amused. “He just won’t admit it.”
“Classic Roger.”
They stood there in comfortable silence, watching people dance. Watching Destiny charm everyone. Watching the community embrace their fake family without question.
“This was a good idea,” Asher said.
“Coming to the dance?”
“Yeah. You were right to trust my assessment.”
Daphne looked at him, green eyes serious. “I trust your judgment. You’ve proven yourself.”
Oh. The words simply punched him in the sternum. He nearly lost his breath. “Daphne—”
“Asher! There you are!” Julie Martinez appeared with her husband. “We wanted to thank you again for helping with the decorations setup.”
“No problem. Happy to help.”
“And Daphne, that pie you brought is delicious.”
“Just followed my grandmother’s recipe,” Daphne said smoothly.
They chatted for a few minutes. Small talk. Community building.
But Asher’s mind was elsewhere. On the lie sitting between him and Daphne. On the truth he desperately wanted to tell her.
But he couldn’t. Not without risking her life. Not without risking the operation.
So he smiled and lied and lied and lied.
By nine p.m., the dance was winding down. Older residents were heading home, the band playing their final songs. Cleanup started.
“We should go,” Daphne said.
Asher nodded. “I’ll get Roger and Destiny.”
He found them near the dessert table. Roger eating his fourth cookie. Destiny saying goodbye to Ellen.
“Time to go.”
“Finally,” Roger said.
“Already?” Destiny looked disappointed. “I was having such a lovely time.”
“We can come back next month.”
Except they wouldn’t be here next month. The testimony was in six days.
The thought tightened Asher’s chest.
They walked out into the November night, cool air hitting them after the warmth. Stars cast overhead against a velvety sky. Woodsmoke hinted the breeze.
Destiny chatted about the people she’d met. The conversations she’d had.
Roger complained about his feet hurting. About being forced to socialize.
Daphne walked beside Asher. Close enough their arms brushed occasionally.
“That was nice,” she said quietly.
“Yeah. It was.”
“Thank you. For dancing with me.”
“Thank you for not stepping on my feet.”
She smiled. “I make no promises for next time.”
Next time. The words hung there.
And with everything inside him, he wanted a next time.
They approached the house. Dark, the lights off except for the front porch.
Except—
Asher stopped, a hand on Daphne’s arm.
“What?” Her voice immediately shifted. Alert.
“Front door.”
She looked. And stiffened.
The door was open. Just slightly. Maybe an inch.
They’d locked it. He’d checked it twice. Secured it. Armed the system.
Someone had been inside.
“Stay here,” Asher said. Low. Controlled. “All of you. Don’t move.”
He drew his weapon and approached the door. Listening.
No sound inside. No movement.
He eased the door open.
The glow of the microwave splashed into the kitchen, the living room dark, just his reflection in the sliding glass door.
Everything exactly as they’d left it.
Except—
There. He spotted it as he advanced into the house.
A phone on the coffee table. His burner phone. The screen still glowed.
He picked it up.
Unknown Number
Time’s up.
The door creaked behind him. He pocketed the phone and spun around.
Daphne.
She’d come into the house, despite his order.
And then, before he could move, a figure emerged from the shadows. Grabbed her from behind. Arm around her throat. Knife visible.
She grabbed his arm and spun away.
And Asher’s world went red. He moved so fast, he didn’t even realize it, part instinct, part training.
Three steps, and he tackled the attacker. Shoulder to center mass. Driving him back. Away from Daphne.
The attacker—masked, black clothing—swung the knife. Asher blocked. Took the hit across his upper arm.
Didn’t even feel the pain. Later.
Now he grabbed the attacker’s wrist. Twisted. The knife clattered to the porch floor.
Another figure emerged from the side of the house. Also masked. Also armed.
Two attackers.
Asher processed it in a second. Two opponents. One knife on the ground. One still armed. Daphne behind him. Roger and Destiny were exposed outside.
And given the syndicate, the house might be rigged.
“Get them out of here!” he shouted at Daphne. “Daphne—RUN!”
She hesitated. Half a second.
“Go!”
She went out the front door.
The second attacker turned to run after her.
Asher leaped at him, tackled him on the porch with a grunt. Fire burned through him, but he got an arm around the man’s neck. Yanked at his mask.
Daphne’s voice lifted. “Car! Now! Move!”
The man got an elbow up, slammed it into Asher’s ear, and he saw gray, enough for the man to get loose.
Asher rolled away just as the man found his feet, aimed a kick at him.
Missed. And Asher leaped up.
Daphne had gotten Destiny and Roger into the car, was backing out of garage.
Go—go!
The first attacker had recovered. Picked up his knife. Came at Asher again.
Asher dodged him but took another cut. This one across his ribs. Shallow but painful. More blood.
Daphne was on the street now, the window down, shouting at him.
He couldn’t take on two at once. Not while protecting the witnesses.
Then he spotted the man whose mask he’d liberated.
Dmitri.
“Time’s up, kid,” Dmitri said.
A shot broke the air.
Daphne, out of the car. “Asher! Now!”
Not yet.
Another shot, and this time, the other attacker went down, holding his knife arm.
Asher turned and took off for the car. The passenger door hung open. Engine running. Daphne still holding the gun on the syndicate men.
He dove in. “Drive!”
She drove.
Tires squealing. Car accelerating. Away from the house. Away from Dmitri. Away from the compromised location.
In the back seat, Roger said something. Voice shaky. “Well. That turned into a fun night.”
Destiny made a sound between a laugh and a sob.
Asher pressed his hand to his ribs. Blood seeped through his fingers. Not fatal. Not serious. But yeah, it burned.
Daphne glanced into the mirror. “Where are we going?”
“Uh.” He was breathing hard. Leaned his head back. “The Timberline Motel. Off the highway, fifteen miles out on Route 40.”
She nodded. Turned onto the main road, heading away from Aspen Ridge. Away from the community center and paper leaves and string lights and the dance.
Away from the crazy fake life.
Asher looked at Daphne. Profile lit by dashboard lights. Jaw set. Eyes focused.
But the tiniest wetness filled them.
Because yes, she’d probably figured it out.
And all Asher could think was that he’d never gotten to kiss her.
“You’re bleeding,” Daphne said. Still calm. Still professional. But her voice had an edge. “How bad?”
“Not bad. Needs stitches. I’ll be fine.”
“You better be.”
He smiled despite the pain. “Yes, ma’am.”
She glanced at him. Brief. Assessing. Then back to the road. “We’ll get you patched up. Get everyone safe. Then you’re going to explain what just happened.”
“Yeah. I will.”
He’d rather have the truth between them than maintain the lie.
Even if she hated him for it.
Even if this was the end of whatever had been building between them.
He’d tell her the truth.
And hope she didn’t shoot him for lying.