Undercover Refuge

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  “Good to hear.” Jesse reached out and gave her shoulder a squeeze that made her want to cringe, then added, “I’ll be back in time for dinner. I promise.”

  The innocent-sounding words filled her with foreboding, and she had to force a nod. “Thanks, Jesse.”

  He turned to go, and she couldn’t help but let out a relieved breath, glad he was satisfied. But he paused at the door, and when he swung his head in her direction once more, the hawk-like glint was back in his eyes. And Alessandra realized he hadn’t been placated in the slightest.

  “Hey, Al?” he said.

  She resisted a nervous swallow and replied with as much casualness as she could muster. “Yes?”

  “What card game did you play last night?” he asked.

  For no good reason, the question made her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth. It was an easy lie. Rummy. Crazy eights. Anything would’ve done. But Alessandra’s brain told her it was a trick of some kind, and it rendered her unable to come up with quick enough response. And then she clued in. It was a trick. But there wasn’t a wrong answer. It was just intended to make her stumble—an attempt to catch her in a lie. And it was working. Jesse stared at her, waiting. It was only seconds, but it felt like hours.

  Once again, Rush spoke up first. “Strip poker, boss. What else?”

  It was enough to jolt Alessandra back to her senses. She shot Rush the dirtiest look she had, inwardly thanking him.

  “We played crib,” she told Jesse. “There was an old board in the cupboard. And I beat him three times. Just for the record.”

  “She cheats,” Rush muttered.

  Jesse stared for one second more, then shook his head. “She doesn’t cheat, my friend. She’s just very good. Always the smartest one in the room. Outplayed me a thousand times when we were kids.”

  “Maybe we can have a game when you get back?” Alessandra suggested.

  “I’ll add it to my schedule,” Jesse said, then tossed a look toward Rush. “Take care of her.”

  Alessandra missed Rush’s response. She was only vaguely aware of Jesse’s exit. She was too busy forcing herself to breathe. Forcing herself not to panic.

  Because her brain had just a made a terrifying leap.

  Jesse Garibaldi—a man she’d known her whole life—was the one who’d killed Rush’s father.

  Chapter 11

  In Alessandra’s mind, it made perfect sense. Jesse was the right age to have been the kid Rush mentioned. It explained Rush’s undercover mission and his obvious disdain for the other man. And on top of that, the time line matched with what Alessandra overheard her mom say all those years ago about her stenographer client seeing Jesse at the courthouse. She was right. She knew it. And the whole thing just about made her dizzy with thick fear. Because if Jesse had done that, all those years ago, what had he done since? And what were the chances that he knew nothing about her own father’s death? And most pressing...what did it mean that he’d invited her to Whispering Woods?

  Then the answer to the last question hit her like a brick to the gut.

  Oh God.

  She swayed on her feet, and only managed not to fall over because Rush’s hands steadied her. And when she lifted her eyes to meet his, she saw the truth in his silent, apologetic stare.

  “He wants you to kill me,” she said, her voice a choked whisper.

  “C’mon, Red,” he replied gently. “Let’s sit down.”

  “I don’t want to sit down!” she snapped, anger flooding in to overtake the fear. “You knew what he wanted, and you just...we just... I can’t believe we... You should’ve told me, Rush.”

  “What did you want me to say?”

  “You could’ve started with a warning.”

  “Like what? ‘Hey, Alessandra...your old friend would rather you not come out alive’? Would you have just stayed here?”

  She started to say that of course she would have stayed, then realized it would be a lie. She dropped down onto the couch. She didn’t know what she would’ve done. Freaked out, the way she was freaking out now? Most likely. Felt scared of staying in one spot, especially when Jesse not only knew exactly where that spot was, but also personally owned it? Definitely. And she still had no clue what was going on. But she wanted to. She exhaled and tried to calm her racing thoughts and heart.

  “Explain it to me, Rush,” she said. “Because right now I feel like I walked out of my life and into an action movie where I’m the target.”

  He ran a frustrated hand over his stubble. “What do you want to know?”

  “Did Jesse kill your father?” She asked it as gently as she could, but he still winced like it stung.

  “Yes,” he said roughly. “Mine and my friends’.”

  She steeled herself against a wave of sympathy that made her want to stop questioning him. She understood his pain. But the man had slept with her, knowing full well her life was in direct danger. She deserved a few answers.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because his father was killed during a drug bust run by our fathers. That was the police incident, as you called it.”

  “And he got off on a technicality?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Something pretty damned close to that.”

  Alessandra took another breath. “Rush?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think he might’ve killed my father?” Her voice came out thicker than she would’ve like, and a heartbeat later, Rush was beside her on the couch, dragging her hands into his strong grip, and she didn’t pull away as he spoke.

  “I really don’t know, sweetheart,” he said earnestly, all traces of surliness disappearing. “I wish I could just tell you it wasn’t possible. But I know what he’s capable of.”

  Her heart leaped with renewed fear, and she met his eyes. “Things like ordering you to kill me.”

  “I’ve done a few questionable things in my time undercover. But I’m not a murderer. Even if I didn’t like you the way that I do, and even if we hadn’t spent the night together, I wouldn’t hurt you.” He released her hands to cup her face instead. “Hell. I’d do anything in my power to stop you from getting hurt.”

  Rush said it with such force that Alessandra had no trouble picturing him jumping in front of a speeding train to save her life. It was impossible not to lean into his touch. And it was even more impossible to ignore the solid tether of feeling it created. It was thickening around her heart in a way that scared her. Staying focused required more effort than she wanted to admit.

  “And all this time...” she made herself say. “Fifteen years...you’ve been investigating Jesse?”

  “To put it simply,” he agreed.

  “What if I asked you to put it un-simply?” she replied.

  “When Garibaldi went free, we made the pact. It was Brayden’s idea. He was always the good guy. Our fearless, well-principled leader.” He smiled affectionately, taking the sting out of his words. “He made sure we did it right. The way our fathers would have.”

  Alessandra nodded her understanding. “You all became cops.”

  “We did. On slightly different paths, but we all got there. And we investigated Garibaldi on our own time. He’s slippery as hell. Everything he owns goes through a series of companies before it finally trickles down to him. It took literal years to track him to Whispering Woods. But we’ve got almost enough to bring him in. I just need to catch him in the act.”

  As soon as Rush finished explaining, a realization dawned on Alessandra. She was in the way. An impediment to his whole investigation. But aside from the initial irritation at being stuck with her—which, judging by his interaction with Jesse, could’ve been exaggerated anyway—he hadn’t complained a bit.

  The warm feeling in Alessandra’s chest grew, and she spoke without considering the absurdity of what she said. “What can I do to help?”

&n
bsp; And to his credit, he didn’t laugh at her offer. He dragged her in and kissed her hard, then pulled back and pressed his forehead to hers.

  “The first thing you can do is tell me anything else you think I should know about Garibaldi,” he said. “And after that, you can help me find a way to make him think I’ve done what he asked.”

  Alessandra’s eyes widened. “You want me to fake my own death?”

  Rush grinned. “Well. When you say it like that, it sounds weird.”

  “But seriously...” she replied.

  His face sobered. “Yes. Seriously. He’s not going to let you walk away. That first note you found sealed the deal. He told me himself that he has a connection in the Seattle PD.”

  She felt the blood drain from her head, and she held on to Rush a little tighter. “So he killed my friend and burned down my shop.”

  Rush nodded. “I’m sorry, Red.”

  Even though somewhere in the back of her mind she already knew it was true, hearing it acknowledged still stirred something sorrowful deep inside her. Memories of childhood moments spent with Jesse made it even worse. Especially since they all seemed to be swimming right below the surface at the moment. A Thanksgiving here. A beach day there. Then came a swift, painful recollection—Jesse applying a bandage to a knee Alessandra had skinned when falling from her bike. In spite of the truth of what she’d told Rush about never really feeling a connection to Jesse, it was impossible to deny that her early years were intertwined with his. And the acknowledgment pained her. How could she have shared any time with a person who would grow up to be the kind of man Jesse had become? How did someone even become that way in the first place? No regard for human life, or the suffering inflicted on others?

  She didn’t realize she’d voiced any of it aloud until Rush answered her.

  “You’d think with all the years I’ve spent in close quarters with the bad guys, I’d have a clear understanding,” he said. “But the truth is, I just have theories. I think sometimes it’s motivated by greed, and sometimes by a need to control everything around them. Maybe both, a lot of the time. And with guys like Garibaldi...” He shrugged. “I think they need to feel smarter than everyone else.”

  Alessandra nodded, her mind going to the comment he’d made about her and her intelligence. “So if he’s so bad, and I’m such a threat, why isn’t he just...you know...sniper-ing me, or whatever?”

  Even though the question was darker than it was funny, Rush’s mouth quirked up a little. “Aside from sniper-ing not being a word...he was looking for an assessment of just how much of a threat you are.”

  “Like...what do I know about what he really does, and have I told anyone else?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “That you know nothing and have nothing to tell anyone.”

  “But he didn’t care.”

  “Afraid not.” Rush’s voice was full of regret.

  Alessandra straightened her shoulders and dug in for some resolve. “I’ll do it, Rush. I’ll help you pretend I’m dead. But I have a condition.”

  His lips twitched again. “A condition for saving your life?”

  “I’m not kidding.”

  “Oh, I know. And it doesn’t surprise me. What is it?”

  “I want you to find out if Jesse was responsible for my father’s death. Directly or indirectly.”

  “Done,” he replied without hesitation.

  Alessandra sagged with relief. “Thank you.”

  “You want to add to your list of demands, you just let me know,” Rush said. “In the meantime, I think you should open that other note you found.”

  He stood up and crossed the room, then grabbed the envelope from the spot were Alessandra had stashed it. Seeing it made her nervous all over again. She lifted her gaze to Rush’s face. She started to open her mouth to admit that she was scared. After all, the first note was the trigger for every frightening, heartrending event that followed. But she didn’t get a chance to speak. As Rush held out the envelope, a bang and a crack echoed through the air.

  * * *

  For a stunned moment, Rush was puzzled by the noise, the flying glass and the sting in his hand.

  “What the hell was—”

  His brain caught up before the sentence was all the way out.

  The bang was a gunshot.

  The crack was the shattering window.

  And the sting was the burn of a bullet that had hit the envelope in his hand, then lodged itself into the wood behind him.

  Rush dived across the room. His arms wrapped around Alessandra, and he yanked her from the couch to the ground, shielding her with his body. His mind was already churning, trying to scheme a way out.

  Front door? Out of the question.

  A window? The shot had proven that wasn’t a safe option.

  He needed to look around.

  “Stay down,” he ordered in a low voice.

  He started to push to his knees. Alessandra grabbed his arm before he got even halfway up, and Rush realized a little belatedly that her face was full of justifiable fear.

  “It’ll be okay,” he said.

  “Is someone shooting at us?” she asked, a tremor in her voice.

  “Looks that way,” he replied grimly. “I’m not a verified expert, but I’m thinking a long-range weapon of some kind.”

  “And you’re going stand up? Are you insane?”

  “I need to make sure the door’s locked, then find us a way out.”

  “By making yourself a target?”

  “I’ll keep low.”

  “You’re too tall to keep properly low!”

  “You got a better idea?” He meant it half-sarcastically, but she nodded, and before he could stop her, she slid free. “What the hell are you doing, Red?”

  “Helping,” she replied.

  “Don’t—”

  But she was already gone. With more agility than he could’ve managed himself, she crawled over to position herself under the window. Her hand snaked up, grabbed the edge of the curtain, and gave it a sideways flick. Rush tensed, expecting another shot. Nothing came. Alessandra maneuvered herself to the other side of the window and did the same with the other curtain. Then she moved across the floor again, this time toward the door. She reached up, snapped the dead bolt shut, then crawled back toward him.

  “See?” she said. “I bought us a little security.”

  He thought about issuing her a lecture on endangering herself, then immediately rejected the idea. Both because he didn’t have time for lectures and because Alessandra was right. The curtains were a light color, but they were thick. Designed to keep in the heat. And right that second, the heavy fabric was the only thing shielding them from the shooter’s sights.

  The shooter who’s probably not firing because he’s on his way here right now to finish the job.

  Who knew how long they had until the gunman got there? Mere minutes, if he was efficient.

  “All right,” Rush muttered to himself. “Now we need a way out.”

  “What about the stove?” Alessandra said.

  He looked from her to it, then back again, frowning. “The stove?”

  She pointed up to the ceiling above it. “It’s vented, and there’s a panel there. Everywhere else is thick wood. But I think that part where it’s attached is made of something else.”

  He followed her finger and saw what she meant. The metal piping ended in a flat round piece, which was mounted to a rectangular panel. The panel was set deep enough into the roof that Rush was sure it was a direct barrier to the outside. He could even see the bolts holding it in place. He had a utility knife in his jacket pocket with a tool he could use to pry the bolts free, too.

  All we need to do is find a way up. Silently, and without being seen.

 
Like she could read his mind, Alessandra pointed again. “If we could somehow move the bookshelf over about four feet, and line it up with this side of the stove, it would give us some cover and a leg up.”

  He turned a raised eyebrow her way. “I thought you said you owned a surf shop.”

  “I did. And I do.”

  “And you moonlight as what? A spy? An escape artist?”

  Pink crept up her cheeks. “No. I’m just a hands-on problem solver. It worked in my favor yesterday, didn’t it?”

  “You mean when you chased me down and wound up in the ditch?” he teased.

  “Right. Because now’s the time for jokes.”

  “It’s always the right time for jokes. It makes dangerous situations seem less dangerous.”

  “Okay. But don’t you think pointing out the purpose behind the levity kind of dilutes it?”

  “Does it?”

  She shot him a dirty look. “Are you going to help me move the shelf, or not?”

  “You’re the one talking. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it,” he replied.

  She narrowed her eyes like she didn’t quite believe him, then sighed and started quickly reeling off her ideas. “Okay. I think we can safely crawl over to the shelf without being seen. We can probably even stand up once we’re there, because it’d be next to impossible to see that corner from outside. It’ll be easier to move, too, so I think we should take everything off the shelves. Then we just...push.”

  Rush deliberately flexed his biceps. “Pushing. That, I can do effectively.”

  “Ready?”

  “One second.”

  “What?”

  He leaned over, planted a kiss on her lips, then dropped nearly flat to the ground. “Now I’m ready.”

  She muttered something he couldn’t quite understand—but that he was sure was the equivalent of a blush mixed with an eye roll—then joined him on the ground. And then immediately overtook him. He shook his head as she scooted past him to the shelf, somehow making the crawl look graceful.

  “Fitness boot camp,” she told him, jumping to her feet. “If we have a situation that requires me to swing some weighted ropes, I’ll be all over that, too.”