If she gets hurt because of me...
He blinked. His position hadn’t changed. He was still tied to the wooden chair. Still stuck in the middle of the painting-filled warehouse. There was no Alessandra, thank God. Just Garibaldi and the three gun-wielding men. Though to be more accurate, it had rapidly become two gun wielders and one fist wielder. A man who punctuated Garibaldi’s questions with a jab here and a jab there. Rush’s ribs and face were the bruised evidence. But none of it had induced the explanation his so-called boss wanted.
Ask whatever you like, I’m not telling you a damned thing.
The thought was infused with more bravado than he truly felt, and Rush knew it. He sagged back down, his chin hitting his chest. He wasn’t a weak man. If he had been, he wouldn’t have lasted as long as he had so deep in the undercover world. But this was the first time he’d been caught, and it was a true test of his stamina. There was a hell of a difference between engaging in a fight and taking a concentrated beating while rendered immobile. He didn’t like it one bit.
He was glad, at least, that Garibaldi hadn’t figured out his real association. The other man only knew that Rush was playing two sides of some kind. Not that he was a cop, or that he was with the Freemont PD. Which meant that his partners were safe. That no matter what happened to him, they’d be able to carry on and find some other way to put the man who’d killed their fathers behind bars.
And even more importantly...he believes Alessandra is dead.
Thinking about her again made his heart ache as hard as his body. He was sad and angry at the same time. If—when—Garibaldi grew tired of getting nowhere with his questions, he wouldn’t leave Rush alive. The future Rush had just barely glimpsed would be ripped away. Worse than that, he’d never get the chance to tell Alessandra that he wanted that future. He couldn’t explain that for the first time in memory, he cared about something more than he cared about meting out justice. He could almost hear her voice, crying softly somewhere in the back of his mind.
His chin sank even lower. Garibaldi be damned. He’d trade the man’s fate in for five minutes with Alessandra. The woman he’d barely gotten a chance to know, but who he was already certain was the piece he’d been missing his whole life. Something he felt she deserved to know.
Gives you a damned good reason to get out of this situation, doesn’t it?
He breathed out and forced his thoughts back to finding a solution. Until the last couple of minutes, he hadn’t actually been given enough time to be thinking about a way out. He’d been questioned. Punched. Kicked. Questioned again. Then punched and kicked and questioned some more. Almost without any reprieve, and with increasing frequency.
So maybe you should be wondering why you’re being allowed to breathe now.
He dragged his head up again, and was surprised to find that the scenery had changed. Only the two gunmen were present now, and they both had their weapons trained straight on Rush, their matching indifferent gazes unwavering.
What had happened to the others?
Rush swung his head to the side, searching.
Aha. There they are. His forehead bunched into a painful frown. But who’s the bonus guy, and why is he standing so awkwardly? He stared for another second before placing the somewhat familiar figure. Oh. Right. The guard from outside. The one with the grabby hands.
Then Rush’s blurred vision abruptly cleared. Because Grabby Hands stepped just a little to the right, giving a better view. And that view was of Alessandra, being handed over to Meat-Fist like a piece of property. Her tall, slim body was hunched over. Her crown of red hair was a disaster. But she was still the most beautiful damned thing he’d ever seen, and he hated the way she sagged in defeat.
Hell.
Rush wanted to call out to her in the worst way, but he didn’t dare draw attention to himself. The last thing he needed was for Garibaldi to pick up on his feelings. The other man didn’t need to know that witnessing Alessandra be manhandled like that filled Rush with fury, or to figure out that the woman meant far more to him than she ought to. So he settled for staring. Watching. Waiting for her to see him, and to hopefully find a way to believe that he’d get them out of the current situation.
She tipped up her face, and Rush tensed as he prepared to be spotted. She didn’t look his way, though. Not yet. Instead, she turned a defiant glare toward Garibaldi.
“How could you, you son of a—”
Garibaldi cut off her furious question with a swift rap of his knuckles to her jaw. The blow made Rush jerk angrily in his chair, and all eyes turned in his direction. Meat-Fist remained indifferent. Alessandra’s pain-laced expression morphed into mix of concern and relief. Garibaldi, though...he looked pleased.
A string of self-directed curses rolled through Rush’s head. They’d given themselves away. He’d given them away with his instinctual need to protect her. Whatever it was the murderous crook wanted to know, he would find out. All he had to do was to threaten Alessandra, and Rush would tell him.
Smiling knowingly, the other man grabbed Alessandra by the arm and propelled her toward Rush.
“Well, Atkinson,” he said. “I’m guessing that vow of silence you seem to have taken is about to end.”
Rush focused on Alessandra. Swiftly, he drank in her blue eyes and honeyed skin. He stole a look at her lips and committed to memory the feel of them.
Then he turned to Garibaldi and said, “Leave her alone and I’ll explain it all.”
The other man’s smile widened. “You have to know I’m not going to let her go, no matter what it is you tell me.”
Rush struggled uselessly against his bonds. “If you hurt her...”
“What?” Garibaldi countered. “You’ll yell at me from there? Relax, Atkinson. I don’t want to drag this out. And I’ll make it quick, so long as you speak up now. Who do you work for?”
Rush started to answer, a lie on his lips, but Alessandra beat him to it.
“Me,” she said, her voice a barely-audible whisper.
He tried to protest. “You don’t need to get involved in this, Red.”
She shook her head and looked him in the eye. “I can’t let him hurt you because of me,” she said, then drew in a breath and switched her attention to Garibaldi, her voice a little stronger, but full of defeat. “I hired him.”
The statement surprised Rush, but it seemed to intrigue Garibaldi.
“You hired him?” the other man replied. “When? For what?”
“A few months ago to do some private investigative work,” Alessandra said, the words flowing smoothly from her mouth now. “I’ve got the receipts somewhere. Or you can look at my online statements. I think they come up labeled as the Atkinson Agency.”
Garibaldi’s gaze flicked between them for a second, and then he nodded. “You were looking into your father’s death.”
Alessandra didn’t miss a beat. “I found a box of stuff. I wanted to know more, and I didn’t know where to start. So I sought some outside help. Then I lost contact with him, and I started to worry, so I went to the police. And I think you know the rest.”
“I think I do,” Garibaldi murmured. “And since you’ve made this much effort, I’m going to do you a solid and let you in on a secret. You want to know why your father died?”
“There’s no reason for you to listen to this,” Rush interjected.
Alessandra shook her head. “I’m sorry. I want to know, Rush. And I think Jesse’s the only one who can tell me.”
Garibaldi’s eyes glittered. “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed in him, Al. In fact, you’ll probably be pleased.”
“Just spit it out,” Rush snarled.
The other man lifted his hands in a gesture that managed to be surrendering and mocking at the same time. “It’s all about loyalty in this business. And Randall had none to his crew. He chose to work with someone else inste
ad. Feel like making a guess about who?” He paused expectantly. “No? Okay. I’ll straight up tell you. He aligned himself with the friendly neighborhood police. Freemont PD to be exact. Your dad set up my dad, Al.”
He paused again, as if to either let it sink in, or let them question the validity of the claim.
But when Rush met Alessandra’s eyes, he knew she was thinking the same thing as him. There was no need to question anything.
The Freemont PD.
It made sense of the envelopes Randall had used for his notes. It explained why his loyalties seemed divided, and how he kept getting pulled back in.
Alessandra issued a short nod, then breathed in and asked, “Set him up how?”
“Easy peasy,” Garibaldi replied. “Gave the cops intel on a drug deal that could’ve made them. I figured it out, actually. My dad, though...he didn’t want to believe it. Kept on not believing it, right until those three cops came at him.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Your dad? No. The car crash was real, as far as I know. But the damage was already done. The setup was in play. And it might’ve been successful if it weren’t for me letting the metaphorical cat out of the bag. But I did. And I earned the privilege of watching the whole thing happen from right beside the dealer your dad had betrayed. He shot my dad first, for being a fool, which is why the cops got away. But no one’s perfect, right?”
“But Jesse. You could’ve stopped him from killing them. You could’ve saved your father’s life.” Alessandra’s voice quavered as she said it.
“I could’ve,” Garibaldi agreed, apparently unaffected by the obvious emotion. “But why would I? That drug dealer who shot my dad made me an offer. If I could take out those cops—and the evidence they had against my new friend—he’d give me a job.”
Rush knew what was coming next, and he closed his eyes to brace himself. It still didn’t provide enough of a buffer. Garibaldi’s voice penetrated the air in a most unpleasant way.
“So I did it,” he stated, his tone self-satisfied. “I walked into that police station, I laid a bomb, and I timed it to go off. Lit the place up like a firecracker. Three dead cops, no more evidence and a brand-new career for me.”
The confession kicked Rush in the gut. But unexpectedly, he found no relief in hearing it out loud. Fifteen years, he’d been waiting to have the truth set free. Yet there it was, and all Rush felt was the same frustration. He needed to do something. To act. But his hands were literally tied.
Rush was so caught up in the futility that he nearly missed the fact that Alessandra was speaking again.
“You’re sick,” she said. “Those were people, Jesse. With lives and families, and...what is wrong with you?”
“I look after my own interests, Al. Who else would’ve done it for me all these years? Mom decided to die when I was born, and Dad was too stupid to do the job.”
There was a shuffle then, and when Rush opened his eyes, he saw that one of the thugs was moving toward them, a chair in his hands. The big man positioned it against the one where Rush already was, and Garibaldi gestured toward it.
“Have a seat, Al,” he said.
When she didn’t immediately move, Meat-Fist grabbed her and shoved her down, then started winding a piece of cord around her torso. The rough treatment brought Rush back to life.
“What the hell are you doing, Garibaldi?” he growled.
“Me?” the other man replied with far too much lightness. “I’m completing my last transaction here in Whispering Woods. And I’m letting you two take the fall.” He nodded toward his lackeys. “Go ahead, boys.”
Grabby Hands reached obediently into his coat pocket and dragged out a small tube. He popped the top, turned toward the nearest paintings, and squeezed. It only took a moment—and a single inhale—for Rush to figure out the end game. They were going to light the place up.
Chapter 17
From behind him, Alessandra’s inhale was sharp enough to rock their back-to-back chairs, and Rush knew she’d also figured out Garibaldi’s plan.
He wanted to murmur a reassurance. To tell her to bide her time and not react. They’d stand a far better chance of getting out alive if they made their move once Garibaldi and his crew were gone. But his concern that she might lose it was unfounded. After the initial breath, all she did was say his name in a soft, worried voice.
“Rush.”
“It’s all right, Red,” he murmured back.
“I’m scared.”
“I’m right here.”
“You’re hurt.”
“I’ve seen worse.”
Then Garibaldi cut in, his voice an unwelcome intrusion on the moment. “This is all so sweet that I almost feel bad.”
“So let us go,” Rush snapped. “Or at least let Alessandra go.”
“Not a chance in hell,” said the other man. “But at least you’ll die together. Very Shakespearean, I think. Romantic and tragic.”
Then he imperiously snapped his fingers. A heartbeat later, the smell of sulfur whipped through the air, and the crooks were on the move. At the door, though, Garibaldi paused.
He sent a final smile their way. “Don’t worry about the competency of the police, kids. I’m as good at manufacturing evidence as I am at destroying it.”
Then he was gone.
For a full thirty seconds neither Alessandra nor Rush said a word. The hum of an engine and the sound of rolling tires carried in, then silence reigned again for a few moments before a new noise took over. The crackle of flames.
Rush jerked to action, sliding as far forward as he could, then grasping for Alessandra’s bonds.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“My best to get you free,” he replied. “Fire moves more quickly than you can imagine.”
As if to emphasize his statement, something in the room snapped, and acrid smoke billowed out.
“Fire took my entire livelihood in under ten minutes,” Alessandra reminded him. “I’m aware of its power. I just think it makes more sense to free yourself first.”
Rush didn’t halt his efforts. “I promise I’ll let you untie me as soon as I’ve got you free.”
“Right. And if you think that I don’t have enough time to untie you, then what?”
“Then you run. Without me.”
“I didn’t sneak in here just to let you die!” she exclaimed.
Rush’s fingers finally found purchase in something that felt like a knot. “You didn’t sneak in here. Grabby Hands dragged you in.”
“Grabby—what?”
“Lean back a little.”
She obliged, and Rush performed a mental fist pump as his thumb made its way through a loop. He didn’t have time to celebrate. The smoke was growing steadily thicker, and the smell was worse. Rush couldn’t help but wonder how much of the opiate was mixed in with the burning paintings.
“I did try to warn you not to come,” he said as he worked the cord marginally looser.
“You told me where you were. And that you were a target.”
“I also said I would take care of the job.”
“Is that what you were doing when I got here? Because it looked like—” Her words cut off in a racking cough.
Rush looked up. The air above face level was so clouded that it looked like night, and the smoke was still building.
Move faster, urged a voice in his head.
But his fingers were burning, and his mind felt a little sluggish. Another breath in, and he was choking, too. If it weren’t for the bonds holding him up, he would’ve doubled over.
“Dammit,” he muttered between coughs.
When they subsided, it took a moment to regain his grip on the knot, and a moment more to find the loosened bit.
“Rush?” Alessandra’s voice was a little weak.
“I’ve
got you, Red,” he said.
“I don’t feel all that well.”
“Just a second longer.”
The tie resisted for another moment, but he gave a hard yank, and it finally came free. He felt Alessandra sag forward, and worry thrummed through him.
“I need you to stay with me, sweetheart,” he told her.
She coughed again, then croaked, “I’m coming.”
Rush heard her hit the floor, and the sound was followed by a tug at his own bonds. Though her efforts were punctuated by wheezy breaths and hacks, she still managed to free him more quickly than he had done for her. The ropes dropped off and Rush pushed to his feet, immediately spinning with the intention of pulling Alessandra into his arms. When he turned, though, his heart dipped down to his knees. She was on the floor, her hair a pool around her head, her chest rising and falling far more quickly than was normal.
“Red,” he said, dropping down to place a hand on her face. “Come on, love.”
He got no response.
Damn, damn, damn.
With his own lungs protesting against the blackened air, Rush slid his hands under Alessandra’s body, then heaved to his feet. Dizziness hit him hard, but he pushed through it. He had no choice.
Rush squinted. The warehouse was not only engulfed in smoke, but was also hot enough that he was sweating. Grimy, salty drips were making their way down his forehead, over his brows, and into his eyes. The only reason he could tell at all which way to move was because the smoke was traveling, and he knew it had to be toward an opening.
Tucking Alessandra closer, he took one wobbly step forward. Then another. He was more than light-headed now; he was downright spinning. He hurt everywhere from the inside out. His lungs and rib cage. His arms and legs. He wanted to collapse.
Just one step more, he said with each move. And one more.
At last—when he didn’t think he could go another foot—he smacked into something solid. A little shove, and it moved.
The door. Thank God.
“Hang on, Red,” he whispered roughly.
He pushed harder and was rewarded with a burst of light and a lungful of air. But it wasn’t quite soon enough. As he bent to put Alessandra on the ground, the world swayed all around him. He sank to the ground and fought to hold on. It was a losing battle, though, and Rush knew it. He rolled to his side, noting that—oddly—as the world slipped away, a very real-seeming voice filled his ear, and an even realer pair of hands seemed to be grabbing his shoulders. But then that faded away, too, and nothingness took over.
Undercover Refuge Page 18