Dammit all to hell. Can we just reverse time for, like, two minutes?
“Rush!”
Alessandra’s urgent, whispered cry drew him back to the moment. She was clambering to a sitting position.
“Where’s my dad?” she asked.
The idea had been simple. Randall was meant to put the car in Neutral and give it a nudge. The moment the vehicle started to move, Brayden was supposed to jump into the ditch with Alessandra’s dad right behind. The crash that followed was intended to draw Garibaldi’s attention, and the empty space they’d left behind would make him bold enough to expose himself.
But if Randall isn’t where he’s supposed to be...
Rush pushed himself up and whipped his gaze to the side. The car had done its bit and created a noisy distraction, and it now sat at a crazy angle, half in, half out of the ditch, its rear end sticking up. Harley and Brayden were exactly where they were supposed to be. Alessandra’s father, on the other hand, really was nowhere to be seen.
Cursing again, Rush grabbed the edge of the ditch and leaned forward. He immediately spied the problem. Randall Rivers hung from the inside of the car. His hips and legs dangled out while his torso was sprawled over the passenger-side floor. He had his left arm bent awkwardly up, his hand flailing on the edge of the seat. On the right side, only his shoulder was visible, but it was obvious that he had the rest of his arm extended. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the other man was stuck. It took even less of a genius to conclude that at any moment Garibaldi would see him. Possibly take aim. Anderson would fire back, but it wouldn’t do much good if Garibaldi hit Randall first.
Rush had no choice but to act fast.
He tightened his hands on the ground, yanked himself to his feet and propelled his body out of the ditch. He heard Alessandra call his name, but he didn’t have time to turn and assuage her fears. He didn’t even have time to turn and look at her. Seconds were the difference between Randall living and Randall dying. And the difference between two other things, too—starting his life with Alessandra with her father’s death hanging over them, or starting it with her father walking her down the aisle. It wasn’t even a choice. It had to be the latter.
Rush darted over the packed dirt and positioned himself beside the older man.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” Randall said right away.
“Neither should you,” Rush countered. “So why don’t you tell me what the problem is, so we can both get back to safety?”
“Sleeve’s stuck on the gas pedal. Can’t reach it with my other hand.”
“Not for long.”
Rush slid his own hand up to the sleeve and pedal in question. A quick yank, and Randall dropped to the ground. But they no sooner ducked and turned to run toward the ditch than three rapid-fire bullets hit the ground where their feet had just been. As they smacked the mud, Rush waited for the answering fire to come from Anderson. Instead, it was his friend’s voice that carried to him.
“Garibaldi wants me to tell you he has some questions. He’d like you to file out, one at a time, with your hands on your head. And he’d like Alessandra to come first,” he announced. “But if you want to just shoot him and let me die, I promise not to haunt you over it.”
A kicked-in-the-gut feeling hit Rush immediately, but he made himself answer in an even voice. “That last bit’s not a terrible offer.”
“That’s why I made it,” Anderson replied. “Always called me Mr. Nice Guy, didn’t you?”
“You earned it, fair and square,” he called back.
Rush turned to the group in the ditch, hoping one of them would give him an indication that they were planning something. Harley had his hand on his sheathed gun and Brayden had his weapon drawn, but each of them gave him a quick headshake. Alessandra was standing close to her father, and Rush was grateful that the older man had a supportive hand on her arm.
Garibaldi’s angry voice cut in. “If you’re trying to buy some time...don’t bother. In T minus thirty seconds, I’ll shoot your blond friend. Then I’ll shoot whoever comes out next. And I’ll keep shooting until I can’t shoot anymore.”
Rush gritted his teeth and ignored the twist in his heart. He couldn’t send Alessandra out, but he couldn’t just let Anderson die, either. Garibaldi wasn’t bluffing. He had Rush stuck. And there was no doubt that the other man not only knew it, but was enjoying it, too.
Garibaldi’s next words—cheerful and threatening at the same time—confirmed it. “By my count, we’re down to twenty seconds now.”
“I’m coming!” Alessandra yelled suddenly.
Then—before Rush could process that she truly meant to do it—Alessandra ripped her arm free from her father’s grasp and climbed out of the ditch.
And Rush was filled with a sudden vision of how it would go. He knew what Garibaldi’s plan was. He knew why he wanted Alessandra to step out. The other man was going to shoot her on sight, because he knew it would cripple Rush and send things spiraling in his favor.
Rush couldn’t let it happen. He leaped from the ditch and bolted, Alessandra’s safety overriding everything else, self-preservation included. He reached her just as she stepped into the open. Vaguely, Rush was aware of other things. Like the fact that Anderson was lying on the ground, his eyes rolled back in his head. And like the fact that the distant wail of a very belated siren was blaring in the distance. But it was all secondary. The only thing that really mattered was Garibaldi and the way he was lifting his gun and taking aim.
Rush had no choice. He had to dive in, even if that meant becoming a human shield.
* * *
The air cracked with the echo of a single shot, and Rush’s body fell to the ground in a heap. Alessandra couldn’t stop a scream from erupting from her throat. It came out raw and full of emotion. A sharp contrast to the sudden lifelessness of her heart. Because without Rush, it had no real reason to beat.
Leadenly, she stepped forward. Then stalled. There was blood on the ground under Rush’s head, and his eyes were closed. And she wasn’t sure she could bear confirming what the evidence told her was true. The only man she’d ever loved had just taken a fatal shot. For her.
Chaos erupted around her. Harley and Brayden had surged out of hiding and were rushing in Jesse’s direction. Alessandra’s father was saying her name. Anderson was sitting up, a hand on his head. And a sobbing, wailing sound was coming from everywhere.
Not everywhere, said a voice in her head. From you.
She realized it was true. She was crying so hard that she was sure her chest had to be about to cave in. Her throat burned. But she couldn’t stop the noise from coming. Just like she couldn’t stop herself from collapsing to her knees as a stark reality hit her.
Over the last day and a half, she’d changed. Her world had exploded in the worst way. Yet somehow, in all of that, the things that really should’ve been most important—like the loss of her livelihood and the realization that someone she’d known her whole life was a murderer and the fact that her long-dead father was alive—came in second place. Because she’d found something more important. Something she hadn’t even known she was looking for. He was the other half of her whole. And now he was gone. Before she could even tell him how she felt.
I love you.
“I love you.”
Alessandra blinked, surprised to hear the words aloud. It took her a full ten seconds to process that it wasn’t her own voice that had said them in the thick, needy way. It took another five to realize it sounded an awful lot like Rush. And she blinked again, thinking she’d fallen off into the abyss of Crazytown.
Alessandra’s gaze slid over Rush’s body. He was still pale and unmoving. Painfully lifeless. From his mud-covered jeans to his gun-holding fist to his closed eyes, there was no sign that he was drawing breath, let alone that he’d spoken. Alessandra’s lids sank shut. But then the declaratio
n came again, and it was too real to be an auditory hallucination.
“I love you, Red. And if you don’t say it back now, I think you might never say it at all.”
Her eyes flew open, and she found the impossible. Brown irises, staring back at her. Waiting.
“Rush,” she breathed. “If you’re only alive in my imagination, I’m going to kill you all over again.”
His mouth twitched. “Did you hear what I said?”
She swallowed. “That you love me.”
“And...”
“I swear to God, if—”
“Red.”
“What?”
“I’m alive.”
Tears spilled over, and she dived forward to press her head to his chest. His breaths were even and steady.
“Jesse shot you,” she whispered.
“Actually, love, I think I shot him,” he corrected, lifting the gun a little off the ground.
“But your head is bleeding everywhere.”
“Banged it pretty hard, I think. Head wounds and all that.”
She started to sit up. “I’ll get your partners to call the paramedics.”
His hand shot out and closed on her wrist. “Red?”
“What?”
“I’m still waiting.”
“Oh.”
“Well?”
Alessandra hesitated, suddenly nervous. “Every time I think it, something goes wrong.”
Rush frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I think ‘hey...this feels like forever’...and then the world implodes in helicopters and shootings and falling into holes.”
She waited for him to protest. Or argue. She even wanted him to do both. But his mouth twitched instead.
Then he turned his head a little and yelled, “Hey, Brayden!”
The reply was immediate. “What’s up?”
“Is it over?”
“Yeah, man. Hard to believe. But I think it is.”
“Thanks.” Rush’s chocolate gaze sought Alessandra again. “See? There you have it. My man Brayden never lies. He’s far too Goody-Two-shoes for that. Case closed.”
She stared down at him. At the face that she hadn’t even known existed until two days earlier. Less than two days earlier. She thought of the way her mom’s eyes looked when she’d talked about true love and just knowing. And she knew, without a doubt, that the same sparkle had to be in her own.
“I love you, too, Rush,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.
He grinned. “Thank God. Now about that doctor...”
Epilogue
Fifteen months later
The four men stood together, companionable and comfortable in spite of the closed quarters. From his position in front of the mirror, Rush stole a glance at each of his friends.
Harley sat on the window, adjusting the rose on his lapel in an attempt to cover the splash of paint that he’d accidentally flicked onto it earlier in the morning. Rush shook his head a little at the typical Harley mishap. Who else would think that painting something was a good idea on this particular morning?
Anderson was sitting on top of a desk in the corner. He had an open textbook in his lap, and he was studying intensely. That made Rush smile. Back to school for the teacher’s fiancé. It seemed very fitting.
Brayden stood with his back against the wall. Unsurprisingly, his suit was perfectly pressed, his hair freshly trimmed and his face as clean-shaven as they came. When he shifted a little, though, Rush spied a Frost Family Diner menu in his friend’s pocket, and he had to bite back a laugh as he turned his attention to his own reflection.
He gave his bow tie a tug and a dirty look, then sighed and faced Brayden. “All right. I admit defeat.”
“You?” mocked the other man as he reached up and made the necessary adjustment. “The great and mighty Rush Aaron Atkinson has been bested by a bow tie?”
Harley piped up from his spot, “I don’t think it’s the bow tie, bro. I think it’s looooove.”
“Shut up,” Rush muttered good-naturedly. “What are you...twelve?”
“I know you are, but what am I?” Harley said.
“And there it is,” Rush replied. “Proof that at least one of my groomsmen is a child.”
“This particular groomsman is a full-fledged businessman and a homeowner,” Harley corrected.
“Seriously?” his brother asked. “When were you going to tell us?”
“I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to spoil your big day, but I have a feeling Liz is going to get into the champagne and tell everyone anyway, so why not, right? Consider yourselves the first to know that we’ll be officially reopening Liz’s Lovely Things next week. We bought the building. Strictly opiate-free, of course.”
“Very funny,” Brayden said.
Rush smiled at his friend. “Hell. That doesn’t spoil anything. Congrats, man.”
Anderson cleared his throat. “Well, then. Guess I might as well tell you my news.”
All three men turned his way, and he clapped his book shut, then scrubbed a nervous hand over his head.
“Nadine is expecting,” he announced. “She’s due two weeks after I officially finish the paramedic course.”
“Dammit,” Harley replied.
“What?” said Anderson.
“That’s almost an upstage of my stuff.”
Rush laughed. “Yeah, but are any of you getting married in three minutes?”
“Oh, right,” Brayden said. “We’re supposed to be doing something.”
“That’s right, Captain,” Rush replied. “Something. Unless of course you have an announcement, too?”
“No news on my end. And I keep telling you not to call me that,” Brayden protested. “Whispering Woods PD doesn’t actually have a captain.”
“And we keep telling you it’s close enough,” Harley responded. “Top-ranking official and all that.”
“T minus ninety seconds,” Anderson reminded them.
Chuckling, they started to file toward the door, but Brayden stopped them with a question. “Do you think they’d say we did it right, even with things turning out the way they did?”
Their laughter died off. None of them had to ask what—or who—he meant. Their pact, made as a promise to their fathers more than sixteen years earlier, had been thoroughly derailed by Jesse’s death on the way to the hospital. And it wasn’t even Rush’s bullet that had done it. The cause of death was ruled as sudden cardiac arrest. An inevitability, the coroner had told them, based on the physical state of his heart. So they couldn’t even lay claim to that particular dark victory.
They’d never found out if the murderous crime boss knew who they were or what their purpose in chasing him down was, and they never would find out. It wasn’t exactly the result they’d been looking for. Though they’d managed to arrest and convict the man with whom Garibaldi had made his deal, Jesse himself wasn’t behind bars. Yet Rush hadn’t ever felt robbed by the end result. If anything, he felt like he’d gained more than he’d lost.
“I think...” he said slowly, “that our fathers would be happy for us. They’d tell us that life isn’t cut-and-dried, that Garibaldi got what he deserved, and that everything that happened over the last few years brought us to this moment right here. I’m getting married. Anderson is having a baby. Harley is already married and is a stepfather extraordinaire. And Brayden is basically running a town.”
They all went silent, and then Harley cleared his throat. “So. Like I said. It’s looooove.”
There was another moment of silence, and then they all burst out laughing and started talking over one another. And none of it had to do with the stress and fear and sadness of the last sixteen years. It was time—officially—to move on. They could be the men they’d always been meant to become.
* * *
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Undercover Refuge Page 23