Page 69 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
“Do you know which one of us they were after?”
I pull back at that. “You think they might be after me?”
Who would want to hurt me?
I’m a nobody.
“We can’t rule anything out.” Asher’s voice is firm but gentle, yet I still tense at his words. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I’m taken aback when he kisses my forehead. There are sirens in the distance, coming closer and closer, but I remain seated in his lap. Tense. Because if they consider me as a target, they may look into my past.
Into Steve.
Chapter Twenty-One
History shows that courage
can be contagious and hope
can have a life of its own.
Michelle Obama
I’m not surprised the cops were called. Since we left the cocktail party before dinner was served, it’s still pretty light outside. This happened in broad daylight, and there are a lot of witnesses. Someone was bound to call the cops.
What does surprise me is that Asher doesn’t seem to care.
Xavier gives me a knowing look. “Asher shot them in self-defense. We did nothing illegal, so we can call the cops. It’s okay if they come.”
“It actually helps prove my legitimacy.” Asher’s voice caresses my ears. “If I was still in the mob, I’d call a cleaner and we’d handle this internally. Calling the cops means I’m out. I have nothing to hide.”
“Oh,” I say, as I see the first police car round the corner and park on the curb.
Two uniformed officers step out, and their weapons are drawn as they walk towards Asher’s guard, who holds his hands up in surrender. Another unmarked vehicle pulls up, and the man and woman that step out and head in our direction are wearing street clothes. They must be detectives. Behind them, the shooters are being loaded into an ambulance that has just arrived.
“Mr. Black,” the older of the two detectives greets us.
I scramble off Asher’s lap as gracefully as possible, allowing Xavier to help me up. When Asher stands, the female detective eyes the hole in his shirt warily. At her look, he hands her the smashed up bullet for evidence. She takes a latex glove out of her pocket and uses it to place the bullet into a little Ziploc bag. I watch as she scribbles something onto the bag with a black Sharpie.
“Can you two give us your statements?” the male detective asks. “Separately?”
I go with the female detective, Xavier trailing closely behind. He stays back a safe enough distance, but he still remains close. The cop sends him a suspicious look, and he gives us a few more yards of distance.
The detective begins grilling me, her tone an odd mixture of firm and gentle, but I’m able to answer all of her questions easily. Except one.
Who were they after?
I’m feeling guilty when I approach Asher after we’re both done being questioned. A crowd has gathered around us, and paparazzi are stationed behind the police barricade, obnoxiously shouting questions our way. No way will this turn out to be good press for him.
“Sorry,” I say when I reach him.
“What for? It’s not your fault we got shot at.”
I shrug.
“It’s my fault we’re here. Still, it was sweet of you to get me into the event tonight. I really appreciate the invitation.”
Asher stiffens, and his face hardens. “I didn’t get you into this event. What are you talking about?”
