Undercover Refuge

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  “I’m sorry, Jesse,” she said. “I wasn’t trying to insult your friend. Even though he insulted me.”

  “Did he really jump in there to save you?” Garibaldi replied. “Sure doesn’t seem like his style. In fact, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen this man do something that wasn’t to his own direct benefit.”

  Rush snorted. “How am I supposed to get ahead if I’m always thinking about someone else?”

  “True enough,” his boss said easily, then smiled at Alessandra. “Want to explain how you wound up in the hole in the first place?”

  Rush stood back and waited—again—for the redhead to tell Garibaldi what had happened. Instead, she more or less left out his part in the events. She explained that she’d been lost, and that the final wrong turn had resulted in disaster.

  Rush wanted to narrow his eyes. He had a feeling she was deliberately leaving out any mention of unintentional stalking and accusations of hit man status. He just didn’t know why. She sure as hell didn’t seem like the type who’d be interested in saving him a bit of embarrassment. Not that he couldn’t or wouldn’t play it off if she brought it up.

  But still...

  His gut told him she was hedging around the exact circumstances for some other reason. It made him more than curious, and he was so busy musing over it that he all but tuned out what Garibaldi was saying. It was only a very specific sentence that drew him back out of his own head and into the conversation.

  “...so the two of you should be nice and cozy in the cabin,” his boss was saying. “It’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

  Rush felt his forehead crease. “What?”

  “You hit your head on the way down, Atkinson, or what?” the other man asked.

  “Feel like I must’ve,” Rush muttered.

  He glanced at Alessandra. She had a strange mix of emotions on her face. She looked nervous and apologetic, and both of those were laced with a hint of defiance. It only made Rush frown harder.

  He sighed. “Sorry, boss. Back it up. Who’s staying in a cabin? And why?”

  Garibaldi gave him a truly speculative look, and Rush straightened his shoulders a little, cursing the fact that he was giving the other man a reason to question even a single aspect of his cover. He couldn’t afford doubt. He needed his so-called boss to trust him. To rely on him. To give him access to whatever the hell he was working on, so that Rush could catch him in the act and promptly throw him in jail.

  It was Alessandra who broke the silence by clearing her throat and speaking up. “Jesse was explaining that things are pretty busy in town now that tourist season is in full swing. He’s got some business associates staying at his place. Which he forgot when he invited me up for the week.”

  “Total brain lapse,” Garibaldi confirmed. “Anyway. I feel terrible, but Al drove five hours from up near Seattle, and I didn’t want her to turn around and drive home, which is why I texted—or tried to, anyway—directions to one of my private mountainside cabins instead.”

  Rush said nothing. His mind was momentarily overloaded with more questions and concerns. There was pretty much zero possibility that Garibaldi had “forgotten” the hordes of people in town. The man had his fingers in every piece of tourism pie in all of Whispering Woods. From the five-star lodge to the seasonal rentals throughout the town to the companies that ran off-road tours in the summer and taught ski lessons in the winter, there wasn’t a single damned thing that didn’t have his name attached to it somewhere. He even owned 90 percent of the real estate along Main Street. It was all a front. A clever way to hide the money he brought in through his drug smuggling business. But he was far, far too smart to be genuinely unaware of the things that allowed him to do what he wanted. So why would Garibaldi invite a “friend” into town, only to not be able to offer her a place to stay? Who was she to his boss? Who was she, in regard to his boss’s business?

  A shadowy lick of wrongness crept in, and Rush had an urge to roll his shoulders to rid himself of it. He forced himself to stay still, though, and spoke in a dismissive voice. “Still not seeing what this has to do with me.”

  Alessandra’s cheeks were a bit pink. “Jesse thought I might be more comfortable with a tour guide.”

  Rush went silent again. The lick of wrongness became a roar of malcontent that demanded attention. Every other oddity aside...why would his boss invite this woman here only to immediately pass her off? Rush kept his lips pressed together until Garibaldi clapped him companionably on the back.

  “Told you I had a special assignment for you, didn’t I?” said the other man.

  This time, Rush didn’t hide his grimace of dissatisfaction. “Not in the slightest what I had in mind.”

  Garibaldi’s eyes turned sharp. “Maybe not. But it might be just the leg up you are after.”

  Rush didn’t like the dirty tingle down his spine. He’d made no secret of his desire to move up in Garibaldi’s world, but he couldn’t think of a good or pleasant reason for this particular assignment to help that along.

  He turned to Alessandra, expecting her to be an ally in the protest. After all, she’d come a fair distance only to be handed over to a stranger by the very man she’d come to visit. But if she had objections, she didn’t voice them. The oddity of it struck Rush almost as hard as the feeling that something was very wrong. He tapped his thumb against his knee. Just once. Then nodded.

  “All right,” he said slowly. For show. Like he was doing everyone a favor. “I’ll do it. I’ll play tour guide. But it damned well better be worth my while.”

  He spun on his heel, grinding his teeth together with very real frustration. Dirt kicked up around him, but he didn’t let the need to cough take over. He didn’t look to see how closely Garibaldi, Alessandra and Ernest followed him, either. Though he wished he could.

  He wanted to spin, wipe the speckles of dirt from his face and demand to know what the hell was going on. He knew too well that any kind of reaction would’ve been out of place with his projected persona. If Garibaldi was testing him, he wanted to pass. So he just kept going, shoving his way through the woods with vigor.

  When he’d almost reached his Lada, though, he realized his trek had been uselessly vicious. A quick turn sideways told him that the two other men and the redhead had matched his pace. They were just coming out of the trees. Alessandra even smiled as Garibaldi said something and lifted a branch for her to step under.

  Yet another spasm of irritation hit Rush.

  He strode the rest of the way toward his truck, and made it as far as putting his fingers on the door handle before Garibaldi’s voice stopped him.

  “Hang on, Atkinson,” said his boss. “Need to get you something from my car. Meet me over there in a sec.”

  Wary—but not willing to take a chance on arguing—Rush dropped his arm and turned to the nondescript sedan on the other side of the road. As he walked toward it, he pretended not to hear the pleasant chatting that carried to his ears as Ernest retrieved Alessandra’s bags from her car. He ignored the big man when he came to the car and climbed into the driver’s seat, too. He also didn’t look over as Garibaldi promised the pretty redhead a tow truck ASAP, then excused himself. In fact, he didn’t move at all until his boss took a position beside him and cleared his throat.

  “I know you’re not thrilled about this,” said the other man.

  Rush grunted. “Nope. But you’re the boss. I’m just here to do as I’m told.”

  “We both know that’s not how you work.”

  “We both know I work, period.”

  “True enough. You’re an exemplary employee.”

  Internally, Rush snorted at the use of the word employee.

  Aloud, he said, “An exemplary tour guide, you mean?”

  “I need someone I can really trust here, Atkinson,” Garibaldi said.

  Rush decided some skepticism was in or
der. “Gotta say that I honestly don’t get it, boss. You said she’s a friend and that you invited her up. If you’re too busy to show her around, that’s fine. I’m on board. And you know I’m not in the habit of questioning the stuff you want done...but I’m just not seeing why this is so significant.”

  Wordlessly, Garibaldi cast a nearly blank look toward the Lada. Rush followed his gaze. Alessandra sat inside the vehicle now. Her eyes were forward, but it was easy to see that she was nervous, even from as many feet away as they were. She had her plump bottom lip sucked in, and her fingers twirled a piece of hair, then released it, then twirled it again.

  An unusual twist of worry pricked at Rush.

  “You sure this isn’t something you want to do yourself, boss?” he asked.

  The other man reached out and opened the car door before he replied, “I’m sure. I really prefer to keep my hands clean.”

  Rush’s throat constricted. “What do you mean?”

  Garibaldi smiled a dark smile, then leaned a little closer. “Take her to the cabin where you were supposed to meet me. Find out what she knows about my operation. Then take care of her.”

  Chapter 4

  Alessandra breathed out, watching as Rush and Jesse continued their conversation. She was sure her instincts should be screaming at her to argue with what was about to happen. To protest against being carted away by a stranger. But something in her gut told her that Rush was the safer bet. It was strange. She’d known Jesse Garibaldi since they were kids. Their fathers had been buddies. Yet seeing him today—hearing him call her the old nickname—made her want to walk very quickly in the other direction. And that feeling that his invitation wasn’t a coincidence solidified even more.

  Are you sure that’s not just a bias created by Dad’s letter? she asked herself.

  As she thought about it, she bit her bottom lip so hard it hurt. Truthfully, it was a possibility. The last thirteen days definitely had her on edge. Suspicious of everyone and everything.

  Except for a certain not-a-truck truck driver.

  It was true. As uneasy as she’d been about the first sight of his weapon, her crazy run into the woods had been a knee-jerk reaction more than anything else.

  She sneaked another quick look in his direction. In their direction. Then quickly looked away as she realized both men were looking at her, too. Jesse with a smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes, and the brown-eyed stranger—whose first name Alessandra still didn’t know—from behind his sunglasses. She assumed his look was displeased. Brooding, even. Because as much as he’d tried to be dismissive about being ordered to be her own personal tour guide, she was 100 percent sure that he hadn’t been happy about it.

  And why is Jesse ordering anyone around, anyway? she wondered.

  She fought an urge to look yet again. The last time she’d seen him was at her mom’s funeral, and the interaction had been brief and specific to the situation. Words of condolence and a promise of getting together more often than they had in the past. But nothing had ever come of it. In fact, until now, Alessandra hadn’t even known where Jesse was living. And if it hadn’t been for the circumstances driving her forward, she was sure she would’ve found some excuse not to come at all. Aside from the friendship their fathers shared, she wasn’t sure they had enough in common to make maintaining the connection a priority.

  Jesse was a few years older than she was, and even when they were younger—she a kid and he a teen—she’d regarded him with a strange kind of awe. Jesse had always been clean-cut. Mild-mannered and average-looking. Ready with a smile. A go-with-the-flow guy. But she’d seen him manipulate his own father so easily that no one in the room noticed. She’d been sure he could tell someone—anyone, maybe—that black was red and red was white and that they would just buy it. He that was slick. That smart. Always determined to get his way. And rarely didn’t get it.

  She, on the other hand, was anything but slick. She spoke her mind when she shouldn’t. Her mom had told her ad nauseam that her middle name ought to have been “stubborn,” and Alessandra couldn’t deny it. She’d turn down a deal if it didn’t sit right, and would probably do so to the detriment of her own livelihood. That wasn’t to say that she was over-the-top altruistic. It was just that she let her emotions lead it all—her heart, her head and her mouth on far too many occasions. It was even how she ran her surf shop. On gut instinct rather than savvy.

  Used to run.

  She flinched at the mental reminder. Eventually, the insurance would kick in. Eventually, she would get her home and her shop and her life back. She’d rebuild.

  “But that’s not the point,” she said out loud to herself.

  But what is the point?

  She wasn’t really sure. Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. The men were focused on each other now, instead of her, thank goodness. Discussing something intently.

  She breathed out. Maybe the point was just that she didn’t feel comfortable with Jesse. That slight bit of awe she’d felt as a kid had morphed into something else. Intimidation, maybe? He still had that same easygoing demeanor. It was clear that he’d put his wits to good use, and his business in Whispering Woods was thriving. The welcome sign on the way into town even had his company logo on it. But something felt off. The gut that Alessandra used for her business transactions was screaming it. Jesse had lackeys, for crying out loud. Like Ernest, the terrifyingly burly man who seemed to communicate in grunts. And Mr. Sunglasses, who she realized was currently striding toward the not-truck with a scowl.

  “Crap,” she muttered, quickly turning her gaze to her lap.

  But her concern over being caught staring was unfounded. As the sour-faced man flung open the door and climbed in, he didn’t even glance her way. He didn’t speak as he started the truck, either. And the negativity was rolling off him like a dark cloud. If Alessandra hadn’t been so worried about his reaction, she might’ve tried to roll down the window in an attempt to cleanse the air.

  She knew she should probably be asking for some more details about their destination. How far away was it? Would there be a phone? Other amenities? Would anyone else be staying there, too, or was she stuck with the stone-faced—but undeniably attractive—driver? But her usually overexcited tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. And after a few more moments of weighted silence, she settled for closing her eyes and performing one of her mom’s favorite breathing exercise instead.

  In-in-out. In-in-out.

  Deep in.

  Out-out-in. Out-out-in.

  It was almost enough to distract her. Or it might’ve been, if the man called Atkinson hadn’t chosen to cut through her moment with a throat-clear. At the sound, Alessandra’s eyes flew open, and her head swiveled toward her reluctant tour guide. He was staring straight ahead, his hands tight on the steering wheel.

  “So which is it?” he said, his abruptly gruff tone making her blink.

  “Which is what?” she replied.

  “Al, or Alessandra?” He sounded annoyed by his own question.

  Alessandra frowned. “What?”

  “Your name. Which do you prefer?”

  “No. I mean. I know what you’re asking, but—” She cut herself off and shook her head. “Never mind. A lot of people call me Al.”

  “Like Jesse.”

  “Yes.”

  He went silent again. Brooding again.

  The moments ticked by, the air thickening with some unnameable tension.

  Alessandra breathed out and started to close her eyes once more. But her companion spoke again, his tone just as irritated as it had been a minute earlier.

  “Think I’ll just stick with calling you Red,” he told her.

  “Fine by me,” she replied curtly.

  She tried again to shut her eyes, but then narrowed them at him instead.

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “What
about me?”

  “What do you prefer to be called? Mr. Sunglasses or Surly Stranger?”

  “I’m not surly,” he said.

  “You are,” she argued. “But that wasn’t an answer to my question.”

  “It’s Rush.”

  “What’s a rush?”

  He tipped his head in her direction for the briefest second, and she could swear his lips were twitching with amusement. “My name.”

  Her face warmed. “Oh. That’s...”

  “Unusual,” he filled in.

  “Yes.”

  She noticed that his hands had relaxed a little.

  “My dad named me,” he explained. “He said my mom was always in a hurry. Couldn’t even wait until she got to the hospital to have me. I was born in a convenience store parking lot.”

  Alessandra surprised herself by laughing. “That can’t possibly be true.”

  “I’m afraid it is.” His tone was rueful now, rather than resentful. “Probably the source of my surliness.”

  “I thought you weren’t surly.”

  “Yeah, well...maybe just today. It hasn’t exactly been ideal for me.”

  “Me neither. Falling into a hole then being pawned off on a stranger wasn’t exactly on my to-do list for the day.”

  He paused, one thumb moving restlessly on the wheel. “What was on your list?”

  The question was casual, and the paranoid part of Alessandra’s brain asked if it might be a little too offhand.

  Relax, she said to herself. It’s just small talk.

  She let out a silent exhale. “Well. I guess I assumed that Jesse would show me the town. Maybe take me for a bite to eat so we could catch up.”

  His thumb stopped its movement, and his hands squeezed tighter. “You’re old friends?”

  Alessandra frowned. She was starting to think his fingers were his tell.

  “Our parents were,” she said. “What about you? How long have you known Jesse?”