Rush shook his head. “Just a waste of a pretty face.”
“True,” the other man agreed. “But she couldn’t be trusted. You wanna hear a little story?”
“Sure.”
“The reason Alessandra and I go—went—way back is that our fathers used to do some small-time jobs together. Her dad, Randall, was a backstabber who repeatedly chose his family over the obligation he had to my dad and the crew. He kept leaving, then complaining about being coerced to come back in. Don’t know why it was such an issue.”
For once, Rush couldn’t contain his reaction. “You think staying in the game should’ve won out over his kid?”
Garibaldi didn’t even blink. “It’s fine to have a family. But you don’t make a commitment, then screw over the people whose backs you’re supposed to protect. When you’re in, you’re in. Or else men wind up dead. And someone has to pay for that.”
Rush stared at his boss, realizing the situation was personal for the other man. “You hold him responsible for your father’s death.”
“Over the years, I’ve discovered the old apple-not-falling-from-the-tree thing is very, very true. End of story. Let’s go.”
And as his boss smiled a dark smile and clapped a hand onto his back, Rush was filled with a dangerous wave of foreboding.
* * *
For a good five minutes after Alessandra was sure Rush and Jesse were gone, she continued to sit in the closet with her back pressed to the wall and her eyes closed. Though the conversation between the two men had been reasonably brief, it had thrown her.
She’d known about her father’s questionable past. She’d known about his friendship with Jesse’s dad, too. But she hadn’t been aware that he’d tried to get out of the life and been sucked back in. And Jesse had never, ever indicated that he thought her father had somehow gotten his own dad killed.
Alessandra inhaled and tried to tell herself that Randall Rivers was still the same good man he’d always been to her. The one who’d disclosed his past discretions and told her that she and her mother were the reason he’d finally seen the light. The man who’d read her stories at bedtime and taken her to get her ears pierced when she was twelve. Who’d worked long hours on construction sites to save for her college degree, and who’d told her she could only get ahead if she got herself educated. The man she’d loved and respected, and who created that dreamy sparkle for her mother.
But was he really that man at all?
She breathed out. It was almost impossible to shove off the question. And it brought more with it. Had her father, the criminal, ruined lives? Taken them? Was he like Jesse, perfecting the wolf in sheep’s clothing? She didn’t have any answers. She wouldn’t get any answers. The only one who knew for sure was her father, and he’d been dead for a decade and a half. And even if Alessandra had been able to ask him, would she have been able to trust that whatever he told her was true?
She swallowed. It was awful, to have so much doubt cast upon the things she’d always believed to be fact. And worse to be forced to question her dad’s character. She felt like her entire childhood had been turned on its head, and she couldn’t shake it.
What I need is something to distract me, she thought.
Her mind went to the book Rush had pulled off the shelf for her. A romance. He’d winked and told her to think of it as a how-to book. She’d laughed and blushed and cringed a little at the cheesy joke. But now, she thought it might be the perfect escape.
She stood up, pushed open the closet door and stepped out into the bedroom. She moved toward the nightstand, where Rush had left both the book and the gun, but she paused when she realized that the door still hung ajar. Remembering her promise to lock it from the inside, Alessandra started to walk toward it. Then she froze as a noise carried to her ears. She could swear it was the sound of feet, hitting wood.
Holding her breath and afraid to move, she strained to hear it again. She didn’t. But what she did hear was even worse. It was the rattle of the front door handle. And worse again. The sound of something heavy smacking against the door.
No!
The silent protest was accompanied by immediate action. Alessandra sprang forward. She closed the door—not a slam because she didn’t want to give herself away—and locked it. Then she turned and sprinted for the weapon. Before she even reached it, the bang outside came a second time. It sounded a third time as she lifted the gun, then a fourth as she turned back toward the door. She willed her hands to stay steady. But when the crack of splintering wood followed the fifth boom, her whole body shook.
The intruder was inside. All that was between them was the locked door and a gun she was probably incapable of using effectively. A whimper escaped from her lips before she could stop it.
Why did I tell Rush to go?
She wanted to tell the self-directed question to go stuff itself. To insist that she was perfectly capable of protecting herself. She was strong, independent and resourceful. But each new sound carrying through made her doubt the claim. Whoever was on the other side of the door wasn’t trying to disguise his presence. He was tossing through things, clearly searching for something. Or for someone. For her, in all probability. And for all Alessandra’s capabilities, none seemed like the right ones for this scenario. What she needed was the know-how. The experience. The training. Or someone by her side who had those things. Like Rush. Whom she’d sent away.
Oh God.
Any second, the man out in the main part of the cabin was going to try the bedroom door. She was going to be forced into a confrontation. Forced to battle for her life, and possibly—likely—have to use the gun. And inconveniently, the “fight” half of her fight-or-flight system seemed to be missing completely. Unlike the need to run, which was tidal-wave strong.
Maybe I can do it, she thought with a glance toward the window. Maybe I can get out and get away.
But even though the curtain blocked out the view, Alessandra knew what loomed on the other side of the glass. An endless mountain of forest. She might be able to get through the window undetected. She might even make it as far as the woods without being seen. But once there, what would she do? Hide, and hope for the best? Try to make her way into town, and pray that she could get in contact with Rush? Would she even make it that far successfully?
But then the decision was taken away from her anyway. The bedroom doorknob rattled. Hard. And as much as she tried to brace herself for the forced entry, the sudden, violent shudder of the wood as someone slammed a foot into it still caught her off guard. Startled, she jumped back. And it was a good thing, too. Because the bedroom door was nowhere near as strong as it should be. Or rather, its hinges weren’t. The solitary blow sent them flying off, and the wood fell inward. And with it came the man behind the kick, a stream of swear words accompanying his fall.
For a second, Alessandra just stared down at him, too startled to do much of anything.
He was stuck in an awkward position. Almost the splits. One foot forward and the other behind him. The front knee bent at a cringeworthy angle, and the rear wasn’t much better. Based on the amount of noise he’d made, Alessandra had been picturing a big man. But he was small. No more than five and a half feet tall, and definitely not topping a hundred and fifty pounds. When he lifted his near-black eyes to her face, though, she could tell that his size didn’t make him any less dangerous. His gaze was cold, and it glittered unpleasantly. For the first time in her life, Alessandra truly understood what people meant when they said they wouldn’t want to meet someone in a dark alley.
So why are you just standing around? screamed a voice in her head. Do something!
He clearly had the same thought at the same moment. As Alessandra raised her gun, he dropped a hand to his waistband in search of his own weapon. Alessandra’s eyes followed the motion, and she realized more quickly than he did that the gun was missing from its holster, which had manag
ed to snap open in the wild fall. A quick flick of her gaze told her that the gun was on the ground a few feet away. Out of reach.
Alessandra sent up a silent prayer of thanks, then said, “Don’t move,” and she was pleased that her voice sounded surer than she felt.
“You won’t shoot,” the man snarled back at her.
She shook her head and countered, “No. I don’t want to shoot. But that doesn’t mean I won’t. I’m pretty attached to my own life, so if it’s a choice between me and you...” She shrugged with as much casualness as she could muster. “Who are you?”
“Do you seriously think it’s—” He cut himself off as she lifted the gun from his chest to his head. “I’m Val.”
“I don’t mean your name,” Alessandra replied impatiently.
“If you aren’t smart enough to figure out why I’m here, I don’t know why my boss would waste the resources on you in the first place.” His dismissive tone made her stomach drop.
She made herself shove aside the sick, nervous feeling, and she tried to scoff. “So you think of yourself as what? A glorified executioner? Did you really think I’d be that easy to kill?”
“I hoped.” He eyed the gun. “Told you that you wouldn’t shoot.”
“And I told you that I didn’t want to. Just explain to me in detail why you’re here, and—”
“What? You’ll let me go?”
Alessandra resisted an urge to bite her lip in a show of further indecision. Obviously, she couldn’t just let him walk away. He’d turn around and tell Jesse that she was alive. And that Rush had lied about her death.
But he probably already knows all that, doesn’t he? she reasoned. Which is also probably why he sent this guy, Val, in the first place.
Where did that leave her, though? She couldn’t shoot him in cold blood. She still wasn’t convinced she could shoot him in hot blood.
“You won’t shoot me,” he repeated yet again, his voice low, but with an edge.
“I already told you, I—”
He lunged forward, cutting her off. And belatedly, Alessandra realized everything he’d said was a ruse. An attempt to distract her from the fact that he’d been plotting an attack.
Chapter 15
Alessandra jumped back as Val’s hands came for her ankles. The move pushed her off-balance, and as she tried to stay on her feet, she could barely hang on to the gun in her hands.
The gun. His gun. Crap.
He was already going for it. And she clued in that his dive toward her had been a distraction, too.
Furious at herself for not catching on, Alessandra fought to regain control of the situation. She had the advantage of being on her feet while Val was still on the floor. So she used it. She slid past her attacker, one foot extended. Her toes hit the weapon, and the gun slid over the hardwood and disappeared under the bed. A space far too narrow for even the small man in front of her to squeeze into. She almost wanted to cry with relief. But she didn’t have time. The fight wasn’t over. And now Val was even more furious than he’d been before.
He snarled and turned his attention back to Alessandra. He’d made his way to his knees, but was clearly impatient to get to her, because instead of coming to his feet, he simply lunged again. Alessandra leaped back out reach. She tried to train the gun on him, but her lack of experience wielding a weapon made it hard for her to move and aim at the same time.
Just squeeze the trigger!
She tried to obey the silent, self-directed command. But her finger slipped, the gun wobbled, and she had a sudden feeling that if she continued to try to use it, especially in such small quarters, things weren’t going to go in her favor. What she had to do was escape. Or at the very least, get some space. And for that, she had the right tools. Speed, agility and wits. All she needed was a clear path to the door.
With renewed determination, Alessandra feinted left, then dodged right. Val followed. She danced backward, and Val growled and tried to stand.
Don’t want that, she thought.
She pretended that she was going to try to jump past him, hoping it would deter him from wasting time trying to right himself. It worked. The snarly man gave up his effort to stand and dived sideways instead. Alessandra stepped easily out of reach. The dodge made her assailant stumble, and it gave her just the break she needed. But she didn’t take the time to be grateful, or to turn around and check on Val’s recovery. She just bolted out the bedroom door. Then she flew through the living room, knocking over an rustic-looking antique barstool in the process. She ignored the clatter and moved on, so close to freedom that she could already taste the rain-heavy air outside. But the second before her fingers landed on the knob, a bang and crash from behind told her she was going to have to fend Val off again.
She spun, her hands coming up, ready to shove away her attacker. But her adrenaline-fueled defense was unnecessary. Val was on the floor, tripped up by the same barstool that had impeded her progress. He’d knocked over a wall-mounted shelf, too—probably in an attempt to stop himself from falling over completely—and he was flat on his stomach, blood pouring from an ugly open gash on the side of his head.
What in God’s name...
Alessandra’s gaze found the cause a heartbeat later. It was a stone knickknack, carved into the shape of a mountain, and its already-jagged edge was split and covered in crimson.
“Val?” She said his name, took a step forward, then immediately, “Oh God.”
Her attacker’s eyes were already wide and unseeing. There was no doubt that he was dead. And in spite of the fact that he’d been sent there for the sole purpose of killing her, Alessandra couldn’t stop herself from doubling over and dry heaving. Even when she was done, and her stomach was aching from the pain of it, she couldn’t quite bring herself to be thankful he was dead. She just felt sad and defeated and scared.
But you still need to keep going.
“But where to?” she whispered aloud.
She eyed the door. Obviously, escape wasn’t an issue now. She flicked a glance toward Val’s body. But staying in the cabin didn’t exactly have appeal. She turned back to the door. Anything had to be better than sitting inside with a body. Even waiting in the storage shed outside sounded good in comparison. But she no sooner made the decision and took a step toward the door than the musical tone of a ringing phone—not hers and not Rush’s, which were both in the bedroom—came to life.
She swallowed nervously and eyed Val. It had to be his. And Alessandra had a feeling she should at least see who it was. She sucked in and held a breath, then moved closer. Tears threatened. But she pushed through them and bent down.
“Oh, thank God,” she murmured when she saw that the phone was sticking out from the dead man’s jeans pocket.
She yanked it free and glanced down. As impossible as she would’ve said it would be, her stomach twisted even more. Jesse’s name was scrolling across the screen. She stared at it, wondering what would happen when Val didn’t answer.
Nothing good.
Alessandra stared for a second longer, a simple plan—maybe a stupid one, too, she wasn’t sure—forming in her head. She would answer. Say nothing. And hope Jesse assumed it was bad cell phone service. Telling herself it would work, she tapped the screen, then lifted the device to her ear. But instead of Jesse’s angry voice coming on the line, it was Rush’s rough and angry tone.
“Val,” he snapped. “Where the hell are you? Boss says you were supposed to be done with a job fifteen minutes ago.”
Alessandra exhaled, her voice wobbling. “He failed.”
There was the briefest, heaviest pause on the other end. Then Rush spoke again, his words no softer and no less tinged with anger.
“Good news,” he said. “Boss’ll be happy to hear it. And speaking of the boss...he wants me to pass along the message that we’re already on our way to the warehouse. But don’t worr
y. I’m sure I can take care of the second job on your behalf.”
Then there was a click, and Alessandra was left staring down at the phone. It was obvious that Rush’s reaction—or lack of reaction, really—to her answering the phone was a result of him not being alone. But his words...she was sure they were meant to convey a message.
She was the job. Or rather, her murder was the job. Which meant that the dead man wasn’t just a glorified errand boy. He was a working class assassin. She shivered at the thought, and forced herself not to dwell on that fact. She needed to figure out what it was Rush wanted to communicate to her.
What else did he say? That they were on their way to the warehouse?
Alessandra thought about that for a second. On account of his audience, Rush had to have meant it literally. So maybe he was just disclosing his location. And if that were true, then it’d worked. She knew there was only one area in Whispering Woods that even had warehouses. It was a small industrial complex that she’d read about online when briefly researching the town.
A tiny lick of relief at knowing where Rush was filled her. But as quick as it came, it was gone. Because she recalled the next part of what Rush had said.
Taking care of a second job.
She knew what that meant, too. At least as far as Val was concerned.
But Rush wasn’t a murderer. Even undercover, he wasn’t going to kill someone. Not for Jesse. Not for anyone. So...what?
Then it hit her.
Val was supposed to do the job. The only reason Rush would’ve mentioned it all was if it was important to Alessandra in some way. And there only one person in all of Whispering Woods who mattered to her.
Rush.
Rush was his next target.
Alessandra sucked in a breath that burned through her lungs.
She needed to get to him. Now.
No.
Before now.
Urgency overtook horror and disgust, and she bent down to Val’s body. She stuck a hand in one coat pocket and came up empty, but a reach into the second pocket yielded triumph in the form of keys. Squeezing them tightly in her palm, she moved quickly through the cabin. She grabbed her bag, Rush’s gun and phone, then slid into her shoes and ran straight out the door.
Undercover Refuge Page 16