“I assumed it was to see you.”
“In all the years I’ve known her, she’s never once made a social call. Or any call at all. And I’ve never trusted her, because my father couldn’t trust her father. I took that to heart, Atkinson, and I’ve kept an eye on Al for the last fifteen years. Waiting. And two weeks ago, I got a call from a connection I’ve got with the Seattle PD. My old friend came in with a query about something that ties directly to me. Something that could destroy everything I’ve built here.”
Rush bit back an urge to remind Garibaldi that the illegal nature of his business left him at permanent risk of losing both his life and his livelihood, and turned back to face the cabin. He knew he should be trying to appease the man by agreeing to do what he wanted done, even though it wasn’t ever going to come even close to being true. For some reason, he couldn’t quite do it.
Was it possible that he’d misread Alessandra? His gut rarely steered him wrong.
Something’s off.
The thought no sooner came than Rush was sure that it was right. He just didn’t know what he was right about. Yet.
“Atkinson, you there?” Garibaldi sounded annoyed.
“I’m here,” Rush replied.
“Can I count on you?”
He cleared his throat and tried to make his reply sincere. “Always, boss.”
“Good.” There was a pause. “Just a suggestion, Atkinson. It might be easier for all of us if you took care of her before she woke up.”
“Right.”
“Tell me when it’s done.”
The line went dead, and Rush frowned down at his phone, his unease growing.
Then it hit him.
How the hell had the man on the other end known Alessandra was asleep?
“Crap,” he said under his breath, resisting the urge to look around for a visible camera and cursing himself for not considering the possibility.
Had Garibaldi revealed the fact that he could see them on purpose? Had he assumed Rush knew already? Or was it a genuine slip?
Rush’s fingers tightened on the slim device in his hand, and he mentally flipped through everything he’d done since they arrived. Aside from the kiss, almost everything else was suitably neutral. He was damned glad he’d managed to keep from saying anything incriminating.
If I’d called the guys first...
He shook off the thought. His secret was still safe, and there was no sense dwelling on what might’ve gone wrong but hadn’t. Besides that, his need to call his partners only increased with the knowledge that Garibaldi was watching him more closely than he’d thought. Maybe he’d try Harley first, to see if the computer genius could figure out what his pseudo-boss was using to spy on the cabin.
Not here, though.
“Good time to get some air,” Rush said aloud, just in case the watching extended to listening.
Then he took the stairs, two at a time, and strode good and far into the woods before dialing one of the only numbers he knew by heart.
* * *
Alessandra woke slowly, the memory of a dream hanging just under the surface and warming her from the inside out. She wiggled a little deeper under the covers, trying to get the dream back. What had she been doing? Had she been curled up in some tall, dark and handsome stranger’s arms? Staring into a pair of chocolate-brown eyes?
Yes. That sounds about right. He smelled good, too. Musky with a hint of woodsmoke. His hands were warm and—
She sat bolt upright as she realized it wasn’t just a memory of a dream. It was an actual memory.
Rush Atkinson. The cabin.
Her gaze flicked around the room, searching for him. When she didn’t see him right away, she started to slide her leg off the couch. Then realized she wasn’t on the couch. She was on a bed. The awareness startled her so badly that she nearly fell straight to the ground, and she just barely managed to stick out a hand in time to grab a hold of the mattress and hang on.
The mattress.
Just the word made her cringe. She was sure that when she’d closed her eyes—just for a second—she’d been on the couch. Which meant she had to have had help getting where she was now.
Embarrassing.
She slid back up the bed and took another useless look around. The few hundred square feet didn’t exactly lend itself to a dozen hiding places.
“Rush?” she called, then rolled her eyes at herself and muttered, “Oh. Because you can’t see him but he might hear you, right?”
But as Alessandra pushed to her feet, worry tickled at her. A quick glance toward the window—the one that actually had a view of outside rather than of the mountainside—told her there was still plenty of light in the sky. She hadn’t been asleep long. So where was Rush?
She crept toward the door and told herself it was unreasonable to assume the worst. Especially when she wasn’t even sure what the worst was in this situation. But her feet still dragged. Swallowing a nervous lump in her throat, Alessandra put her hand on the doorknob and turned. She inched the door open. Very slowly. She peeked out, her heart hanging somewhere in her throat.
“Rush?” Her voice was a whisper.
You’re being ridiculous.
She took a breath and forced herself to step the rest of the way out onto the deck. A glance back and forth told her nothing had changed. The sun was on the other side of noon, but aside from that, there was no discernible difference. Rush’s worse-for-wear Lada sat in the same spot. The temperature was warmer outside than inside. And the woods were peaceful.
“Rush?” Alessandra called, managing to make her voice carry this time.
She still got no answer. Puzzlement and worry made her move cautiously, but she still covered the full length of each side of the deck, her eyes flitting around in search of the gruff man.
“Rush!” Now she wasn’t able to prevent a hint of fear from creeping into her tone. “Ru—”
She cut herself off as the tiniest flash of light caught her eye. It came from somewhere up on the wooded hill. She stared, willing it to come again. And just a moment later, it did. Only this time, Alessandra was able to home in on it, and she realized it wasn’t actually a flash of light; it was a reflection of it. Something glass? Or something metallic, maybe? She wasn’t sure. Then it moved. Not away, but in the same spot. Up and down, then back and forth.
Like someone’s holding something, she thought. Is it Rush?
She stepped forward and pressed herself to the chest-high fence, trying to get a better view. It was a useless endeavor. The foliage was too thick to let her see much of anything.
“But it has to be Rush out there,” she muttered.
There was no sign that anyone else had come into the small yard. Aside from hiking in, there was no way to approach without being detected, and nowhere to stash a vehicle.
Alessandra stared at the spot where the flash had come from, torn. On the one hand, she felt compelled to go investigate. On the other, she felt an increased need for prudence. She shifted from foot to foot. The seconds ticked by, and she finally decided to satisfy both desires. She’d head for the source of the flash. But she’d do it slowly and carefully, just in case.
She made her way down the stairs, mindful of how hard her feet hit the wood and vigilant of her surroundings. At the bottom, she took a deep breath, then started another ascent, this one over rocks and dirt and the occasional wayward root. It was a steep climb, and by the time she reached the tree line, Alessandra was slightly out of breath. So she paused to pull in a few gulps of oxygen. And when she did, she realized she could hear a masculine voice. Low enough that she couldn’t discern the words. But audible enough that she recognized it.
Rush. Thank God.
Her mind quickly connected the dots. The flash she’d seen was likely his phone, and he’d probably just sneaked off to have a quiet conversation. But the r
elief at having an explanation was short-lived. Because as Alessandra lifted her foot to move closer again, and opened her mouth to call his name, a light bit of wind kicked up and carried his voice to her. Clearly now, so she could completely make out his words.
“I’ve really got no choice,” he growled. “I have to get rid of her.”
The two statements were rough, angry and ominous. And they made Alessandra stumble. She hit the ground, one knee smashing to a rock so hard that it took all of her mental strength to keep from crying out. For a few seconds after her miniature crash landing, she didn’t move. She didn’t know if she could. Or if she should.
Do I run? How far would I even get on foot? Not very. He’d come looking. So do I pretend I never heard any of it and go for a more subtle escape? Or do I confront him? Or—
Her tumble of frightened thoughts stopped short as a new sound carried to her ears. It was the crash of a man pushing through the bushes. Rush was headed her way. For another moment, fear held her captive. Then survival instinct kicked in. Moving swiftly and far more silently than her unwitting pursuer, Alessandra turned and fled.
She skidded down the hill and prayed that he wouldn’t hear the small rocks that followed her descent. He didn’t need a heads-up, but she was sure she needed a head start. Thankfully, she made it to the bottom without detection. And she didn’t stop. Her feet hit the packed dirt with muted thump after muted thump. She started to speed past the Lada, then stopped as she spied something jutting out of the center console.
Rush’s gun.
Alessandra didn’t know when he’d taken it off or why he’d left it there. She didn’t care. The weapon was a gift horse, and no way was she looking the damned thing in the mouth.
She grabbed a hold of the door handle, yanked it open and snapped up the gun. The fact that she had almost zero shooting experience didn’t deter her in the least. With steady hands, she spun. She waited. And the moment Rush’s strong shoulders parted the brush, she raised her voice.
“Stop!” she ordered.
He kept moving.
“Stop!” she repeated, hoping there was no hint of hysteria in her voice.
Rush slowed, then halted. He’d slung a plaid jacket over his long-sleeved shirt, and was missing his hat and sunglasses. He was also close enough that Alessandra could see his face. And instead of looking worried, or even defensive, his features just crinkled with confusion. She stared at him, willing him to have at least a little concern.
I will protect myself, she thought firmly.
“Do. Not. Move.”
He lifted a booted foot. “Red, I don’t know what—”
“Put your hands on your head. And if I see you take one more step...” She trailed off, hoping she sounded more menacing than tremulous.
“You’re not seriously considering shooting me. What the hell happened in the last hour?”
“You tell me. Who were you talking to?”
“A friend.”
His face didn’t change, but Alessandra knew better than to look at his eyes. Her gaze dropped to his hands. They flexed. Once. Twice. And a third time. Then they finally came up to rest on top of his head, and Alessandra breathed out.
She kept her voice cool. “What friend? Jesse? His buddy Ernest?”
“No.”
“Who?”
Rush’s attention flickered—just barely—toward the cabin. “A personal one.”
“Your girlfriend?” Alessandra blurted, then blushed as she realized how ridiculous the question sounded.
Now the bearded man’s expression did change. Back to confused. Only more confused.
“My... No. Hell, no,” he said. “Could you just...”
“Could I what?” Alessandra’s embarrassment made her reply more snappish than she wanted it to be.
“Maybe stop pointing my gun at me?”
“To quote you...hell, no. I want some answers.”
“This isn’t the way to get them.”
Something in the set of his jaw made her sure he wasn’t going to tell her anything no matter what. She lifted the gun a little higher. But she knew she’d only fire as a last resort.
She cleared her throat and decided to try something else. “Actually. I take that back, anyway. I don’t want answers, I want your keys.”
For a second, he looked like he might argue, but then he nodded instead. “I’m going to have to move my hands to make that happen. They’re in my pocket.”
Alessandra bit her lip. Her gut churned a warning. She shoved it off. What did her gut know, anyway? It’d been telling her to trust him. It’d let him kiss her without suggesting a punch in return. And gut aside, it wasn’t like she had a ton of options at the moment. If she wanted to get away without being gotten “rid of,” she needed transportation. She fought a shiver. For now, saving her own life was the most pressing issue. Everything else—her questions, whatever Jesse knew or didn’t know about her father’s note or his death—it could all come after.
“Keys,” she said firmly.
“All right,” Rush agreed.
He moved slowly. As if she were the one who couldn’t be trusted. It made her want to roll her eyes, but she managed to refrain, watching carefully as he freed one hand from his head and dipped it into his front pocket. He dragged the keys free, then dangled them out in front of his body. For a moment, she thought he expected her to step toward him. But he just tossed them, underhand, to a spot near her feet.
“Hands back up,” she ordered.
He lifted an eyebrow, but did as he was told.
Alessandra drew a breath. She bent, her eyes locked on him. Her fingers closed on the key ring. She was tense with waiting for him to do something reactive. But he just watched, his gaze holding its typically implacable state.
Alessandra exhaled. Then stood. She took a few slow steps toward the Lada, gun still up and speaking as she moved.
“I know I can’t control you once I’m gone,” she said. “But I’d prefer it if you stayed right there until I’m all the way out of sight.”
“I think we both know I can’t do that,” he replied, his voice flat and quiet—almost gentle, really.
For whatever reason it made Alessandra pause. Maybe it was even his intention. Because the heartbeat of an interval was all Rush needed. And before she could react, his compactly muscular body was hurling toward her.
Chapter 8
As Rush knocked Alessandra to the ground, he pulled a move that was really more stuntman than undercover cop. He slid a hand under her head to protect it, and he angled himself to take most of the impact. He had no clue if she noticed or not, but for a moment after landing, she stayed still. It gave him too much of an advantage.
He tried to silently convey the need to tread lightly. He had no idea what had changed her mild distrust to outright fear, but damned if he could ask. He needed to get her alone. Out sight and out of electronic earshot.
He bent toward her ear and growled, “Fight me.”
His words earned him a surprised gasp. Not the reaction he was hoping for. The widening of her eyes didn’t help, either.
Then she spoke, and her voice far too damned loud. “Why wouldn’t I—”
“Sorry about this,” he muttered, swiping his free forearm lightly over her mouth to muffle her words.
Her head whipped back and forth under his arm, and though he exerted almost no pressure, he hoped that her panic would make it look like she was struggling.
He dipped his head again. “Fight harder.”
Irritation flashed through her baby blues, and at last the fight reflex seemed to kick in. Her teeth sank into his skin, hard enough to make his eyes water.
Thank God.
Brushing off the pain in his arm, Rush reached out for the weapon she still clasped. She bucked a protest, then took her free hand and whacked him in
the back. It hurt, but not enough make him let go. He pretended that it did anyway, releasing her wrist and cursing. She immediately tried to raise the weapon. He knocked her hand out of the way, and the gun went flying. It landed a few feet away, and Rush lunged for it. As he moved, Alessandra rolled over and tried to slide to the gun faster than he could.
Once again, he let her have the upper hand. He pressed his booted toe to the ground and allowed her an extra moment. The second her fingers were on the weapon, he pushed forward and overpowered her. He rolled her to her back again, straddling her. He opened his mouth, trying to think of a way to communicate his true intentions. But then her knee drove up between his legs, and he had to jerk sideways to avoid some more serious damage. He still narrowly missed losing control for real.
“That’s fighting dirty,” he snarled, adjusting so that both her legs were more firmly pinned down.
“I’m smaller than you are. Physically weaker, too. And unlike you, I’m not a natural-born thug, so if I see an advantage, I’m going to take it.” She punctuated the end of her furious little speech with a head butt.
Her maneuver was a little futile—her forehead smacked his throat rather than any part of his face—but Rush had to admire her grit. He’d wrestled with experienced criminals who gave up more easily.
Hoping to God it looked as real as it felt, he grabbed each of her wrists, pressed them to ground, and dipped his head down once more. “I want you to punch me. Then run.”
“What?” Her reply was a gasp.
He didn’t offer any further explanation. He just loosened his grip on her right wrist. Thankfully, she took action without any more prompting. Her hand ripped free, balled into a fist, then drove straight into his gut with enough force to make him grunt and fall back for real. As he did, Alessandra gave him a violent shove. He rolled off, doubling over for just long enough that she could get to her feet.
Run, he ordered silently, and a heartbeat later, the sound of her feet hitting the ground slammed through the air.
Rush lifted his head and pushed to his feet, then gave chase. She was fast. Almost unexpectedly so. She reached the tree line well ahead of him, and he had to really push to close the gap between them. Even then, her lithe form gave her an advantage—she was able to easily slip between the dense bits of foliage. His own movements were more like a wild boar, crashing through with no subtlety whatsoever, and he couldn’t quite catch up.
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