Page 97 of Shadow

“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.”