Chapter 9
Nine
This was what happened when you let your guard down. When you trusted. When you fell for the one person you had no business falling for.
Not that she’d categorize her feelings for Asher as…well, falling. As in…love.
But for a hot minute there, one where her guard had been completely obliterated, yes, she’d fallen.
And now they were all paying the price.
Daphne threaded the needle with steady hands while her mind cataloged the damage.
Asher, bleeding in a motel chair. Destiny, trembling on a bed. Roger, pacing behind her, muttering under his breath. Their safe house compromised. Their location blown. Two attackers who’d known exactly where to find them and exactly when to strike.
Professional failure. Complete operational breakdown.
And all because she’d been too busy playing house to notice the real threat circling.
The Timberline Motel sat fifteen miles outside Renegade, tucked between pine trees and a creek that rushed over rocks with a sound that might have been peaceful had not they arrived with one very bloody superhero and a couple of terrified passengers.
Thankfully, it was in the middle of nowhere.
Which could also mean vulnerable.
She never should have worn a dress that had no room for a holster. What had she been thinking?
Stop playing house.
The thought came sharp and clear as she pushed the needle through skin on Asher’s ribs. Not a deep wound, but enough that he needed a few stitches. He tensed. Didn’t make a sound. Just gripped the edge of the chair and breathed through it.
“Sorry,” she said.
“It’s fine. Keep going.”
She did. In and out. Pulling the edges of the wound together.
The cut across his ribs was shallow but long.
Four inches. Bled more than it should have, but nothing vital damaged.
The one on his forearm was deeper—the diner stitches had long since dissolved.
This was fresh ground. She’d do that next. “You sure we shouldn’t—”
“I’m good. Just…you can glue the one on my arm.”
Right.
He closed his eyes, drew in a breath.
And all she saw was him diving toward the man who had grabbed her.
To save her life.
All she heard was his “Daphne—RUN!”
And of course, “Go!”
He grunted, and maybe she needed to take a breath too. “Sorry.”
He didn’t open his eyes.
The room smelled like pine paneling and cheap soap and the antiseptic she’d bought at the twenty-four-hour drugstore on their way out of town.
Knotty pine walls. Dated furniture. Two double beds with faded quilts.
A bathroom with rust stains in the sink.
A window overlooking the creek and the highway beyond, where headlights occasionally swept past in the darkness.
They’d rented two rooms. Cash. Fake names. Connected by an interior door that was currently open. Daphne would stay with Destiny. Asher with Roger.
“How did they find us?” Destiny’s voice came from the bed. Quiet. Shaking. “How did they know where we were?”
Good question. “I don’t know,” Daphne said. Another stitch. Pull tight. Tie off. “But we’re going to find out.”
“Internal leak,” Asher said, his voice tight with pain. “Has to be. No one could have found that location through surveillance alone.”
“Who knew where we were?” Daphne asked. Not looking at him. Focusing on the wound. On the work. On anything except the way his skin felt under her hands.
“Patterson. Michael. Dani. The FBI office staff.” Asher paused. “Pretty much everyone on the task force.”
“So we narrow it down.”
“To what?” He opened his eyes. “Half the law enforcement in Renegade?”
Daphne didn’t answer. Just finished the last stitch on his ribs. Tied it off. Cut the thread. Reached for the gauze and medical tape.
Roger stopped pacing. “Or maybe they just followed us. Maybe there’s no mole. Maybe you people are just bad at your jobs.”
Daphne’s hands stilled. She looked at Roger. Really looked. His face was flushed. His eyes wouldn’t meet hers. His hands were shaking slightly. His body language screamed panic attack.
Or maybe guilt.
“Roger.” Her voice turned hard. “What do you know?”
He looked out the window. “Nothing. I don’t know anything.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying!”
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
Roger’s jaw clenched. He glanced at her, then away. “I don’t know anything. Leave me alone.”
He stalked through the connecting door into the other room. Slammed it behind him.
Daphne stared after him.
“He’s just scared,” said his mother.
Yeah, so was she.
And angry.
And worried.
And…stupid. Oh, so stupid.
What had happened to her professional distance? Her ability to compartmentalize?
Job in one box. Life in another. Fear locked away where it couldn’t touch her. Professional competence in the front where everyone could see it.
Somehow, over the past three weeks, the lines had blurred. The walls had crumbled. The compartments had merged into one messy, dangerous, complicated thing.
And suddenly, she was standing in the middle of a road, her heart on the outside of her body…
And now, sitting in a motel room, threading a needle through Asher Morrison’s skin while he barely flinched and Roger paced and Destiny trembled, Daphne realized her compartments had been bleeding into each other.
Professional and personal. Partner and something more. Operation and real life.
Stop playing house.
She turned back to Asher. Taped gauze over the stitches on his ribs.
“Left arm,” she said.
He extended his arm. The cut ran from elbow to wrist on the inside of his forearm. Deeper than the one on his ribs. It would take more stitches. Would hurt more.
She cleaned it with antiseptic. Asher hissed through his teeth. His hand clenched into a fist, knuckles white.
“You want something for the pain?” Daphne asked. They’d bought ibuprofen at the drugstore. Not much, but better than nothing.
“No. Just…run a line of superglue. It’ll be fine.”
“You could get an infection.”
He shook his head. “Just glue it.”
It still hurt him—she saw it on his face as she worked the wound closed, gluing it down the seam.
He blew out a few breaths, closed one eye.
She finally finished and covered this, too, with a gauze bandage.
“You’re mad at me,” he said finally. Voice quiet. Statement, not a question.
She frowned, stood up, pulling off her gloves. “I’m not mad.”
“You haven’t looked at me once since we got here.”
“I’m trying to sew you—or glue you—back together.”
“Daphne—”
She threw the wrappers into the garbage, along with bloody gauze. “Okay, fine. How did they find us, Asher?” She glanced at the closed door, back at him. “The guy knew you. Or it looked like he did—”
“He does. His name is Dmitri.”
She blinked at him.
“He’s my…he’s my informant.”
“Clearly he’s more than that!” She shook her head, then, “Wait. That’s who you were meeting two weeks ago. The man who attacked us tonight.”
Asher’s expression didn’t change. And her heart broke a little when he didn’t deny it. “Yes.”
“An informant who just tried to kill us.”
“An informant whose boss found out we’re protecting witnesses and ordered him to eliminate the threat.”
“And you didn’t think that was relevant information?”
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“When I’d stopped bleeding!”
He’d taken off his shirt for the stitches. Now he carried it to the sink and filled it with water.
“At the rate you’re going, that might be in the next millennium.”
He glanced at her, arched an eyebrow. “Wow.”
“Listen. You know more than you’re telling me. I’ve tried to ignore it—this, this feeling inside that you’re lying to me. But…either you’re trustworthy or you’re not. Are you compromised here, Asher? Are you working for the syndicate?”
His jaw tightened, and he turned away from her, his broad back showing a few previous altercations.
“I’m not compromised.”
“Are you going to betray us?”
Silent.
“Asher—”
“No!” He turned then, hand wet, a little bloody from the water in the sink. “No. Never.”
She looked at him again. “Tell me you’re not the reason they found us.”
“I am not the reason they found us.” Asher’s voice went hard. Firm. “I would never betray you. I would never put you in danger. I would never—” He stopped, jaw clenched. “I’m on your side. I promise you that.”
His gaze held hers, fierce, bold. It shook her down to her core.
Please, please don’t be lying.
“There’s a mole,” she said quietly. “Someone knew where we were. Someone with access to operational details. Someone on the inside.”
“I know.”
“And until we figure out who it is, we trust no one.”
His mouth tightened, but he nodded and turned back to the sink. Pulled out the shirt and wrung it out.
“I’m serious, Asher. We’re cut off, starting right now. We trust no one outside this room. Maybe not even everyone in this room.” Her gaze went back to the closed door.
He turned around, still holding the shirt, a bandage across his rib, his arm wound seeping a little blood, and she noticed a bruise on his chin. But even as he stood there, he looked a little invincible.
And oh, she wanted to believe him.
“We have six days,” she said. “Six days to keep Destiny and Roger alive and get them to court. No more playing house.”
He blinked, frowned. Then, “Yeah.”
Yeah.
She crossed to Destiny. Sat beside her on the bed. Put a hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to get you there. I promise you that. No matter what happens. No matter who we can or can’t trust. You’re going to testify. You’re going to put Draven Frost away. And then this will be over.”
Destiny nodded, tears streaming down her face. “I’m so scared.”
“I know. But you’re brave. And you’re strong. And in a week, this will all be finished.”
One week.
One week to rebuild the walls. Restore the compartments. Remember that professional distance wasn’t cruelty—it was survival.
One week to stop falling before the fall killed her.
Destiny leaned against her. Daphne put an arm around her shoulders.
She could handle this. This was her job. This was what she was good at.
Protecting people. Keeping them safe. Getting them where they needed to go.
Not falling in love. Not trusting. Not depending.