Undercover Refuge

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  “Good to know,” Rush replied drily.

  “I’m practically a ninja.”

  She started sweeping the knickknacks and books off the shelf, and by the time he was at her side, she had most of the items deposited on the floor.

  “You sure you need me to push that thing?” he said. “They don’t cover that in boot camp?”

  “Oh, they do,” she assured him. “But I want to make sure you feel useful.”

  “Now who has the jokes?”

  “Dangerous situation.”

  He couldn’t fight a ridiculous grin as he put his hands on the shelf. It wasn’t normal to have fun in a life-and-death scenario. He knew that. But damn if he could stop himself from enjoying it anyway. Still smiling, he gave the shelf a shove, and was glad to find that it actually slid really easily over the floor. In seconds, he had it positioned beside the stove, and he was ready to climb up. He stopped, though, when Alessandra’s hand landed on his arm.

  He turned his attention her way. “What’s wrong?”

  “You’re not ready.”

  “I’m not?”

  She pressed to her toes and kissed him—hard but quick—then pulled back. “Okay. Now you’re good. I’ll hold the shelf. You just try not to fall. Or get shot. Or die in any way, shape or form.”

  “I’ll do my best.” He kissed her again, just because he could, and started his ascent.

  Alessandra’s hold on the bottom was steady. The shelf barely moved as he climbed it, and in moments he was kneeling on the very top.

  “Not dead yet,” he told her as he positioned himself just below the four-foot-by-three-foot panel.

  “Less talking, more doing,” she replied.

  He waved his hand over the metal—warm, but not hot, so he knew it was properly insulated and unlikely to burn him during the process—then dragged out his utility knife. “I’m thinking about having that tattooed on my lower back, actually.”

  “That would be a good look for you.”

  “Think so?” he said, grunting a little as he pried the first bolt free.

  “Oh, I’m sure of it,” she replied.

  “Noted.”

  He moved on to the second bolt, then the third and fourth. On the fifth, he struggled a little with some rust, but the sixth and final one came off almost the moment he touched it. The panel dropped down and he was immediately assaulted by rain from above and by the chimney smoke that billowed into the cabin. Cursing and choking, Rush quickly repositioned the panel, angling it up and out. He made sure it was secure, then waved away the smoke in front of his face and started to climb down.

  “What are you doing?” Alessandra asked.

  He tipped his gaze her way. “Getting down so I can hold the shelf steady while you get up and out.”

  She shook her head. “No. That’s a waste of time. Just climb out. I’ll follow you.”

  “And take a chance that the shelf falls over and—”

  A rhythmic thump from general direction of the door cut him off. The shooter was on his way up the stairs.

  Chapter 12

  At the distinct sound of feet hitting wood, Alessandra’s head whipped toward the door, and true fear cut through her mask of joviality. The person on the other side had a gun. He had no qualms about using it. And he couldn’t be more than twenty feet away.

  She flicked her gaze back up to Rush, and whisper-yelled, “Hurry!”

  Rush didn’t argue. He didn’t say a word. He just turned and climbed back up.

  Alessandra tightened her grip on the shelf and worked to keep herself from scrambling after him before it was safe. It was the longest three seconds of her life. But she made it through. And once he’d pulled himself through the opening in the ceiling, she took a breath, said a silent thank-you to boot camp and all its sweaty, full-body-ache days, and started her own climb.

  The shelf wobbled, but she was quick, and it held. By the time she reached the top, Rush had already repositioned himself on the roof, and his arms hung through the hole in an offer of assistance. She gripped his hands gratefully. But her gratitude only lasted a moment. Because Alessandra no sooner slid the rest of the way onto the roof than a creak sounded from below her feet. The creak was followed by a resounding, shattering crash that echoed up through the opening in the roof.

  Alessandra didn’t have to look down to know that the shelf had just fallen over. She also didn’t have to check to see that the wood had splintered and that it lay in pieces below. She knew it was exactly what had happened. And to top it off, there was no way the shooter hadn’t heard it, too. Automatically, she strained to listen for some sign that their assailant had connected the dots. There was no human sound, though. Just the rush of the continuing storm.

  But the reprieve could only last so long.

  Alessandra lifted her eyes to meet Rush’s gaze. His expression said he knew it, too. The only hope was that whoever the gunman was, he wouldn’t think to search the roof as an escape route. She was thankful that at least they had the slope to protect them from sight.

  But we need to get out of here before things go even more wrong.

  Rush nodded silently—agreeing with her unspoken thought—then held out his hand. Alessandra took it, praying for the best. With the rain beating down on them and their fingers clasped, they slid down the slope of the roof. They made it to the edge, where Rush freed his hand and pressed his finger to his lips in a “keep quiet” gesture, then eased forward. Alessandra held her breath as he took a careful look, and she exhaled in relief as he turned back and nodded again. And even though she knew what was coming, she drew in another lungful of air and held it again as Rush slid forward a little more, dangled his legs off the side, then jumped. A moment later, his voice came up in a whisper that barely carried over the sound of the pelting rain.

  “All clear down here, Red,” he said.

  She copied his motions to bring her own body to the edge. But once she was there, she froze. How far down was it? What if she slipped on the rain-slick wood? On a scale of one to shattered femur...how likely was she to break her leg?

  But you can’t stay up here, a voice in her head reminded her. And time is a luxury you don’t have.

  “I know, I know,” she muttered.

  She inched forward and tried to look down. But a wave of dizziness made her vision swim, and she not only couldn’t go any farther, she also couldn’t see.

  Then Rush’s voice came again, filled with worry this time. “Red?”

  “I’m here. But... I think I might be afraid of heights.” Her own reply came out so low that she was kind of surprised he could hear her at all.

  But he called up again right away, his tone a weird mix of amusement and urgency. “You scaled a shelving unit a minute ago.”

  “I know. But this is different.”

  “Okay. Not gonna pretend I understand, but listen to me. It’s not as far as it seems. No more than eight feet from the low point to the ground. If you swing yourself around onto your stomach and hang your legs over the side, that cuts the distance in half. Four feet. Think you can do it?”

  Four feet. That’s not so bad.

  But her voice still wavered as she replied in the affirmative. “I can try.”

  “I promise, Red. If you fall, I’ll catch you.”

  For some reason, that last bit was exactly what she needed to hear. If she fell, Rush would catch her.

  Literally.

  Alessandra sucked in a breath and followed his instructions. It was surprisingly easy, and in moments, she was on the ground, her back pressed to Rush’s reassuringly solid chest. He delivered a swift kiss to her cheek, then slid his hand to hers and pulled her so that they were both flush against the exterior of the cabin. Alessandra could see that they were on the back corner of the deck—out of viewing distance from whoever was in the front. A tall storage b
in added further cover. They were momentarily safe.

  Yeah. So long as the guy with the gun doesn’t figure out you’re trapped here between the cabin and the mountain behind it.

  But the air around them remained devoid of any non-naturally occurring noise. Oddly so. It would’ve raised the hairs on the back of Alessandra’s neck if the rain hadn’t been keeping it down.

  Rush’s agreement was obvious in his mutter. “Where is he?”

  Several more seconds ticked by, and still the rain was the only sound. When at last a clatter of some kind came from inside the cabin, it was almost a relief. The gunman was far too close for comfort, but knowing his location was a lot better than not knowing.

  “Okay,” Rush whispered. “We probably have thirty seconds before he figures out what we did and comes out looking. We need to move fast and quiet. We’ll make our way to the front, duck low and head for the stairs. If we’re lucky, we’ll get all the way down. Stay behind me until we’re at the stairs, then stay in front of me instead, all right?”

  Alessandra’s mouth was too dry to answer, so she just nodded. Rush released her hand, freed his weapon from its holster, then moved in a crouched run along the cabin. Alessandra kept close behind him. When they reached the end of the exterior wall, Rush stopped, so she did as well. She waited tensely as he leaned the slightest bit forward, gun out. She exhaled as he took a step forward, then followed him as he took another. When he crouched even lower—almost to a crawling position—she did that, too. Together, they moved past the window.

  Hope bubbled in Alessandra’s heart. In just a few more steps, they’d be almost home free.

  We’re going to make it.

  But the thought seemed to jinx the situation. Before they could turn toward the steps and switch positions so that she was leading, an ominous click echoed over the storm.

  “Don’t move,” said a calm, gravelly voice.

  It was a trick, Alessandra realized.

  The armed man had baited them, and they’d fallen for it.

  * * *

  Rush’s mind moved quickly.

  He was well-versed in being on both sides of a gun—butt or barrel—and he was sure of at least one thing. People who issued orders to keep still weren’t all that interested in shooting. The thoughtlessly violent didn’t bother with words. Bullets were enough. So he took a risk, and he disobeyed the command. He turned. Slowly. And had to admit to himself that what he saw surprised him.

  The gunman was...off.

  The word popped into Rush’s head and stuck there as he quickly inventoried the other man’s appearance.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t look rough and dangerous. He did. But in a strange way. He was bundled up, head to toe. He wore a black beanie, pulled low. He had an army-green scarf wrapped around his face, and only a few tufts of silver hair and a pair of piercing blue eyes were visible. The rest of him was equally covered. On top, he had on a camouflage jacket and gloves. On the bottom, he wore dirt-covered jeans and heavy work boots. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder, and in his hands he held what looked to be an antique revolver. The latter was pointed straight over Alessandra’s shoulder and right at Rush.

  A little belatedly, he realized he might’ve made a miscalculation. Though he had no clue why, the other man’s gaze was full of sheer fury, and—like the revolver—it was all aimed toward Rush.

  Move!

  The internal scream spurred Rush to act. Cursing the fact that he couldn’t fire his own weapon for fear of catching Alessandra in the cross fire, he opted for a more brutish attack. He pushed Alessandra aside more roughly than he would’ve liked, then dived for the gunman, who dropped his weapon but still managed to duck out of the way with a surprising amount of agility.

  Rush stumbled forward. He cursed as he hit the railing hard enough to send his gut churning, and his own gun went flying over the side and tumbled to the ground below. Ignoring the frustration and pain, he quickly righted himself and turned back, expecting to find the other man going after Alessandra. Instead, their assailant’s eyes were still on Rush, and he was fumbling to get his gun off the ground.

  Growling, Rush sprang to action again. He slammed full force into the other man, knocking him to the ground. They wrestled, flinging back and forth for a few seconds before Rush used his superior strength to pin the man beneath him. For a moment, he was triumphant. He pulled back a fist, prepared to deliver the man a solid punch. Then the gunman unexpectedly regained the upper hand by pulling a wily maneuver that sent Rush down onto his back, and he was stunned enough that he couldn’t come up with a quick solution. Thankfully, he didn’t have to.

  As his attacker pressed a knee to his chest and swung his weapon around, his face went abruptly blank. His eyes rolled back, and he toppled over. The man’s fall gave Rush a view of Alessandra, who stood behind the gunman, her arms half-raised, a broken pole—a rake, maybe, or the handle of a shovel—in her hands. He’d never been so relieved to see a mess of sopping wet woman in his life.

  “Red,” he said, his voice thick.

  “Rush,” she said back in a relieved whisper.

  He pushed himself up and folded her into his arms. “Pretty damned sure you just saved my life.”

  “Sorry it took so long,” she replied. “I’ve never had to do that for anyone before.”

  He frowned. “Do what?”

  “Save their life.”

  Rush couldn’t help but laugh. He leaned back just enough that he could give her a tender kiss.

  “Any time you want to save me...you take as long as you need.”

  Alessandra shook her head, and her gaze flicked from him to the prone man on the porch, and she swallowed. “What do we...um...”

  “Do with him?” Rush filled in.

  “Yes.”

  He kissed her again, then gave her a squeeze and pulled away. Even though he was sure the other man was out cold, he still approached cautiously. He’d already been surprised more than once. He had zero interest in letting it happen again. He gave the gunman a rough tap with his booted foot. Then a second one. Neither earned even a flinch. Satisfied, Rush crouched down beside him and retrieved the still-hot gun first.

  He held it out to Alessandra. “You ever used one of these?”

  She shook her head, but reached out and took it from him anyway. “No. Well. Once, when I was a kid. My dad let me shoot some beer cans on the beach, but my mom found out, and she made him swear he’d never do it again. I think I could do it again.”

  “Good enough,” said Rush. “If he moves, shoot him in the knee.”

  He stepped back to the man on the ground and bent down a second time. First, his removed the rifle. Then he carefully pulled back the scarf to see if there was anything familiar about the guy’s features. Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t. His face was covered in a full, bushy beard. The skin that wasn’t hidden by hair was thickly lined, and if Rush had to guess, he’d put the man’s age at sixty-something. Rush stared for a moment longer, then moved on.

  He dug into each pocket in search of some form of ID. His exploration was fruitless. The man had no wallet, no driver’s license. Nothing that gave a hint as to who he might be.

  “Is he with Garibaldi?” Alessandra asked softly.

  Rush leaned away from the unconscious shooter and ran a frustrated hand over his soaked hair. “I don’t know this guy personally, but unless you can think of another reason for a stranger to be firing at us, I think it’s safe to assume that our mutual friend’s decided I can’t be trusted to do the job after all.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have knocked him unconscious. We could’ve asked him some questions.”

  “It was the right thing to do, Red. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  “So what now? Should we tie him up and wait?”

  Rush thought about it for a second. Tying up the gunman had appeal, and not jus
t because it would further incapacitate him, either. But a plan was forming in Rush’s head, and leaving the other man completely overpowered wouldn’t work well. He grimaced, then shook his head.

  “Asking him questions will only give Garibaldi confirmation that his doubt was right.” He pushed to his feet. “I think we’re going to do something a little more creative. C’mon. I need to grab my phone.”

  Alessandra frowned, but she followed him without asking why, and it gave Rush a thrill of pleasure to have her absolute trust. He had to resist an insanely unreasonable urge to drag her to the tidily made bed, and instead settled for taking her hand after she’d grabbed her bags and he’d snagged his phone and his keys. He led Alessandra back out in the storm, cast a final irritated look toward the gunman, then headed down the stairs.

  Now Alessandra did ask a question, sounding surprised. “We’re leaving the cabin?”

  “If I want Garibaldi to believe what I’m about to say, I need to put a reasonable distance between us and his hired guy. And I—” He cut himself off and stopped halfway down the steps as he caught sight of his vehicle. “Dammit.”

  Alessandra’s eyes followed his gaze. “Does it looks like someone opened the hood?”

  “Yes, it sure as hell does.”

  Rush let her go of her fingers and took the rest of the stairs at a run. The closer he got to the Lada, the worse the situation became. The hood was indeed open, and mechanical bits and pieces hung out everywhere. There was exactly zero possibility that the thing could be put back together without the help of a mechanic.

  Reining in a need to kick a tire, he swung toward Alessandra, who’d reached the vehicle, too.

  “Well,” he said. “At least now we know why our friendly neighborhood sniper took so long to get up to the cabin.”

  Alessandra straightened her shoulders. “So then. We walk.”

  “We walk?” Rush echoed.

  “You said we had to put some space between us and the cabin and that guy,” she reminded him.

  He narrowed his eyes and scratched at his beard, then cast a skeptical look at her sandal-clad feet. “You know that it’s pouring rain and that walking is really hiking.”