In the somewhat muted light—filtered and cooled by the trees overhead—she could see that his eyes were deep, deep brown. The color of freshly brewed coffee. Alessandra’s favorite indulgence. A steaming cup on a cool morning. They were just as warm and inviting, too. She’d also been right about his age. In spite of the sweep of gray across his temple and the matching smattering of white in his beard, he definitely wasn’t much over thirty, if at all.
Alessandra’s stare fell to the slash of pink that cut through his thick stubble. His lips. Not excessively full, but somehow appealing. She could easily picture them curling up in a smile. Parting as he laughed at some piece of dry wit. And—in a surprising turn of her mind—she could imagine the feel of them, too. Soft but firm. Warm like his skin under her fingers.
Embarrassed, Alessandra jerked her eyes away from his mouth. But when her gaze found his eyes again, she saw that the warmth she’d spied before was gone. In its place was careful neutrality.
A mask, she thought, even though she had no reason to assume a single thing about the stranger’s state of mind. Or maybe a shield.
But when he spoke, it was with just enough antagonism that she suspected she was right.
“Why in God’s name didn’t you warn me?” he growled.
“I did scream,” she reminded him, at last able to drop her hand from his wrist.
“Yeah. In a way that made me think you’d been attacked. Not in a way that made me think, ‘Hey, I fell into a hole, so be careful.’ Which might’ve been more prudent.”
“Prudence wasn’t foremost on my mind.”
“No?”
“No. I was a little preoccupied with not wanting to get shot.”
“Is there some reason why someone you’ve never met might want to shoot you?”
Try as she might, Alessandra couldn’t stop her mind from slipping to the note and to everything that she’d experienced since finding it. And it made the question strike a nerve.
“Is there a reason why you might pull a gun on someone you’ve never met?” she countered.
He didn’t react, except to divert the conversation from the question by tipping his face toward the opening above them and muttering, “I need to get out of here.”
“I think you mean we need to get out of here,” Alessandra corrected, inching back so she could push herself to her feet and look up. “Because it’s definitely going to take two of us.”
He grunted an acknowledgment, then stood up as well. And even though the opposite should’ve been true, it made the space between them smaller. Or maybe it was just an illusion, created by the fact that now, instead of sitting across from him, she was standing nearly flush against him. They weren’t touching, but she could still feel his strength. He was compact but solid. Probably just barely topping six feet—not that much taller than her own five-foot-nine height. But his body had a palpable denseness. Like every bit of him packed a muscle-bound punch. It was impossible not to be aware of it.
Alessandra tried anyway. She stared up for a second more, and a solution popped to mind. What she needed was a good old-fashioned boost. Of course, getting one would involve deliberately being in physical contact with the gruff stranger. Being near enough to know just how deep that woodsy scent of his ran, and to confirm that he was as solid as she presumed him to be. But it was still the easiest and most logical answer. So she cleared her throat, preparing to suggest it.
But when she spoke, something entirely unplanned came out instead. “I feel like I need to tell you something. In the name of transparency. Because it’s my fault you’re down here. And if I don’t say something, then I feel like I’m doing you a disservice.”
His brown eyes were unreadable when he looked down at her, but he was near enough that she could feel the slight increase in tension in his body.
“All right,” he said evenly. “Tell me.”
“It was kind of a lie,” Alessandra replied.
“What was?”
“I’ve never met a ginger who minded being called Red.”
He stared at her. “Why’d you lie about it?”
She drew in a breath. “I was trying to make a personal connection.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to back it up and explain that.”
“You know...so you’d have to ask my name. And if you asked my name, then you might feel less inclined to...uh...kill me.”
“Kill you?”
“If you happened to be some kind of hired killer.”
His eyebrows lifted marginally, and she swore his lips twitched with a hint of amusement. “If I was a hired killer, and I was hired to kill you, wouldn’t I already know your name?”
Alessandra sagged a little. “I didn’t say I thought it through very well.”
Now one of his eyebrows went even higher, and his response was flat. “Unless I was hired to kill someone else, and you’re a witness. And therefore collateral damage.”
She stood up straighter, her mouth going dry as her eyes dropped to his weapon once more. Why hadn’t that occurred to her?
Maybe because everything you think you know about killers is based on questionable late-night crime dramas on TV?
“Thinking about trying to wrestle it away from me?” he asked in a low voice.
Her eyes jerked up, and she knew her answer was both too quick and too emphatic. “No!”
“Good. Because you wouldn’t be successful. And I’d hate to accidentally get shot in the foot.”
“I wouldn’t...” She trailed off as she caught another twitch of his lips. “You’re just making fun of me, aren’t you?”
His face stayed straight. “I’m actually more concerned for your safety now than I was when I thought you might’ve been eaten by a bear.”
“You are mocking me. But I don’t care. It’s more normal to not know how contract killing works.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“You have to admit. It’s not really normal at all to assume someone is a contract killer.”
Alessandra pressed her lips together, forced her mind not to dwell, then sighed and said, “Normal’s relative, isn’t it?”
“So I hear.”
There was a grimace in his words, but he didn’t elaborate on what he meant. And before Alessandra could inquire about it—and she was strangely curious about him and about what his normal was—he turned his attention away from her and back to the opening above.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She craned her neck up to follow his gaze. “I think you should give me a boost so I can climb out.”
“Then what? You find a branch, hang it down and pull me up?”
“It works in the movies.”
His eyes found hers again. “So it’s safe to assume you believe everything you see on TV or in the theater?”
Alessandra’s face warmed. “Are you always this antagonistic?”
“Only when I’m not out shooting strangers.”
“Funny.”
“Good to know that you think so.” His voice was dry. “I’ve been told my humor’s too macabre for most.”
He brought his gaze back to her. His eyes were cool. Assessing. It made her wonder if she’d just imagined that glimpse of heat in them before. She started to shift from one foot to the other, then stopped abruptly as her knee brushed his.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
Up went one of those eyebrows of his. “You’re going to have to do more than bump into me if you want a hand getting up there.”
Even though there was no possible way he meant the words to have the dark, sexy edge that they did, Alessandra couldn’t help but hear some innuendo. And truthfully, it gave her a little thrill.
She forced out a breath and made herself speak in a neutral voice. “Does this mean you’re buying into my idea?�
�
“It means I’m wondering if I can trust you to stick around long enough to make sure I get out, too.”
“I wouldn’t leave you here.”
“No?”
“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. My car’s in the ditch, remember?”
“That’s true. But I’ve got some rope in the Lada. Keys are in there, too, so...” He shrugged.
She rolled her eyes. “Right. I’ll just steal your not-really-a-truck truck, and I’ll be on my way.”
“You assumed I was an assassin. I don’t think suggesting you might commit a crime of opportunity is on the same level.”
“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
“Probably not,” he admitted. “Come closer.”
She started to tell him she didn’t think she could get closer—there was barely breathing room as it was—but he made the first move anyway. He dropped to a crouch, threaded his fingers together at knee level, then cleared his throat and looked up expectantly.
“Step up, bend a bit, put your hand on my shoulder, and let me know when you’re stable,” he told her.
Alessandra only hesitated for a second before lifting a foot and pressing it into his hands. She took another moment to put her hand on his back, though. It seemed more personal. More intimate. And unsurprisingly, when she did touch finally touch him, he was rock solid.
And warm.
She shook off the too-pleased voice in her head and pushed up from the ground. She expected at least some give, but his palms didn’t move.
“You good?” he asked with no sign of strain in his voice.
“I’m up,” she confirmed.
“Okay,” he replied. “Move your other hand to the side of hole. Make sure it’s firm, but keep your hand loose enough that you can let your fingers crawl up as I hoist you.”
“You’re going to hoist me?” She didn’t know why she sounded so surprised.
“That’s generally what happens when someone gives someone else a boost,” he said drily.
“Right,” she muttered. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“I think I can get you high enough that you should be able to rest your elbows on the ground above us. Put a knee or a foot on my shoulder if you have to.”
“All right.”
“Here we go.” He pushed her up, slowly but easily. “Hey, Red?”
“Yes?”
“I forgot to ask you...what’s your real name?”
She started to answer him, but a familiar, masculine voice from overhead beat her to it.
“Alessandra,” it announced.
And it startled her so badly that she wobbled, then tumbled straight back down into the truck driver’s arms.
Chapter 3
Hearing his boss answer the question from above nearly made Rush drop the redhead—Alessandra, he told himself—straight to the ground. At the last second, he managed to stick his arms out to snatch her from the air. Her body hit his hard enough that he stumbled back and let out an “Oof!” and the noise earned an echoing chuckle from Jesse Garibaldi.
Rush was just glad that the other man was too far up to see his expression. He was sure the wave of displeasure and unease that hit him at the man’s unexpected appearance had slipped past his usual mask. As he worked to get the carefully indifferent look back in place, he realized a little belatedly that while Garibaldi might not have spied the look, the woman in his arms definitely had. Her expression told him as much. It was easy to see the curiosity in her baby blues. Easy to read the question on her partially parted lips. She was looking right at him, far too interested for comfort’s sake.
And she knows Jesse Garibaldi.
That changed everything. Even if Rush couldn’t really say what “everything” meant to start out with. It was enough to make his mouth set into a thin line, and he eased her to ground, then directed his attention up, speaking in the gruff, slightly angry voice he knew Garibaldi would expect.
“You just gonna stand up there and laugh at me, boss?” he called without looking up. “Or send down some help?”
“What?” Jesse replied. “Looked like you were doing fine without me.”
“Then why the hell are you here?”
“Hmm. Now that’s a damned fine question.”
Garibaldi stepped back and issued an order to someone while Rush mentally gritted his teeth. It really was a damned fine question. How the hell had Garibaldi tracked him there? And why? Who was Alessandra to the other man? Rush didn’t get a chance to come up with any answers before a pair of thick arms appeared overhead.
“Send my friend Al up again,” Garibaldi ordered. “Ernest here will tug her out without breaking one of her nails. Or one of his own, for that matter.”
Rush forced out a dry laugh. “I’m sure that’s foremost on Ernest’s mind.”
He turned back to Alessandra—for some reason it grated on him that Garibaldi had a nickname for her—and unceremoniously dropped down, slid his arms around her calves, then lifted her straight up. She let out a little squeak. She wobbled, too, and her hands slammed to his shoulders to steady herself. The effect was immediate. Overwhelming.
Her summery smell—light sweat, a kiss of salt and something else entirely—wafted up to him. Through him, somehow. Like he could taste it and absorb it. He almost wished he could do both for real.
Then her hands released his shoulders to stretch up to the man who waited above, and things grew even worse. With the motion, her shirt lifted, exposing her stomach. And just like that, it—she—was pressed to Rush’s face.
The smell of her had permeated his senses, but her skin...it seemed to permeate his very existence. Soft. Buttery. He couldn’t escape it. Hell. He didn’t want to. He wanted to turn his face so that his lips would meet her bared flesh instead of his cheek. He wished—like a crazy man, he was sure—that he didn’t have the beard so there was no barrier between them.
Then she was gone. Yanked up by Ernest and his meaty paws. Like an even crazier man, Rush felt a rush of resentment. Not quite jealousy. Not that he was going to admit, anyway. There was definite, undeniable annoyance at the loss of contact, though.
Been too long since you went out with a woman, eh, Atkinson?
He answered the silent, self-directed question in a mutter. “Clearly.”
“Did you say something to me?” Alessandra’s voice carried down, and when Rush looked up, he saw that she was hanging over the hole.
“Nope,” he lied. “Just eager to get the hell out.”
Garibaldi appeared beside the redhead, a sly smile visible on his face. And just as Rush did nearly every time he saw the man, he fought a bubbling fury. Garibaldi looked just like anyone else. Nondescript, even. Brown hair, tidily cut. Smooth face. Casual but expensive clothes.
It only made Rush resent him more. The man who was responsible for his father’s death ought to stick out. He didn’t deserve the exterior normalcy. Or even the smooth voice he directed Rush’s way now.
“You want Ernest to try to pull you up, too?” he asked.
“I think I’d rather dig my way own way out,” Rush said, covering his distaste by bending over to snag his hat and sunglasses from the dirt.
When he’d shoved both items back on, he looked up and saw that Garibaldi and Alessandra had slipped out of sight. A moment later, though, a thick piece of rope dropped over the edge. Rush gave it a tug, found it secure, and started to pull himself up. It reminded him unpleasantly of high school PE. Hand over hand, he climbed to the top, waving off Ernest’s offer of help.
“Well,” said Garibaldi. “Now I know that sitting at the bottom of a pit doesn’t help your mood any.”
Rush didn’t even have to try to curl his lip. “Think it would improve yours?”
His boss didn’t react. It was the kind of relationship they’d built over the last few week
s. Rush playing up the role of bad-tempered, slightly resentful underling—which barely scraped the surface of how he really felt about being near the other man—who always pushed the envelope. His tough-guy act was supposed to be a way into Garibaldi’s good graces without the need for brownnosing. Some men were insecure in their power and appreciated a suck-up, but it’d taken only a few days to figure out that wasn’t the case with Jesse Garibaldi. The man wanted people he could trust not to fold under pressure, and he was secure enough in his own hold over his shady business that he didn’t worry about being personally challenged.
It was all a game. Rush knew it. He was sure the other man thought of it that way, too.
But the difference between his awareness and mine is that I actually know what the object of the game is. He just thinks he does.
Rush adjusted his ball cap and met his boss’s eyes, deliberately avoiding a glance in Alessandra’s direction. No need to make an overt acknowledgment of her presence. If Jesse Garibaldi had something to say about her, he would.
“So. I missed our meeting,” Rush stated instead.
Garibaldi chuckled, then nodded toward the redhead. “Actually, it looks like you brought the meeting to me.”
Rush flicked a quick, indifferent glance in the woman’s direction. “I always thought you preferred brunettes.”
“Hey!” Alessandra protested. “I know what you’re implying, and I don’t—”
Garibaldi cut her off with another laugh. “Relax, Al. I’m afraid Rush’s manners are a little lacking, and his humor’s off-color.”
“You mean he’s a giant jerk?” the redhead snapped.
Now Rush did turn to face her, raising an eyebrow and speaking before he could think to stop himself. “A giant jerk who followed you into a hole in the ground just to save you.”
He tensed and waited for her to point out that he’d fallen in. Maybe to point out his somewhat foolish assumption that he’d thought she was tailing him through the woods. Instead, she scrunched up her face a little and turned to Garibaldi. Which irked Rush in the same way her nickname had. The two obviously knew each other well.
Undercover Refuge Page 3
