The fingers held their knuckle-whitening position. “Just a few weeks. I was looking for work, and a mutual acquaintance referred me.”
“So you’re in property development, too?”
“Hardly.” His hands relaxed, just marginally.
“What do you do, then?” Alessandra asked.
Tight fingers. “Anything your friend asks me to, apparently.”
The words had an undeniably ominous ring to them, and Alessandra couldn’t suppress a shiver. What instructions had Jesse left him with? And just how far would he take “anything”?
She swallowed nervously and tried to push down the need to open the door and jump out. “Sorry.”
Rush turned his head her way, and she sensed some heavy scrutiny behind those mirrored sunglasses of his.
“Sorry?” he repeated.
“I’m sure you’ve got better things to do,” she replied. “So if you want to just leave me at the cabin or whatever, I get it.”
“And risk getting fired?” He said it lightly, but his hands gave him away—they were so tense that it looked painful.
She forced a laugh. “I’m sure Jesse wouldn’t fire you for not wanting babysit me.”
“Oh, yeah? When was the last time you told him he couldn’t have what he wanted?”
Alessandra couldn’t help but notice that the question reflected her own earlier thoughts on Jesse. But she didn’t comment on her wholehearted agreement.
“Honestly,” she said instead, “if I’d known he was going to be too busy to have me here, I wouldn’t have come.”
As soon as the words were out, she realized they weren’t true. Her reason for accepting Jesse’s invitation had nothing to do with the man himself, and everything to do with her need for answers about her father’s note. Nothing would’ve kept her away. It occurred to her—a little belatedly—that Rush might be able to give her a clue. Or at the very least, help her decide whether or not Jesse, the note and her father’s death really were connected. The way she was starting to dread they might be.
She tried to think of a way to steer the conversation in a direction that would flow naturally in the direction she’d need it to take. But for some reason, she couldn’t think of a subtle segue into, Hey. Does your boss’s business include anything shady? You know...like the untimely death of an old friend and a creepy, postmortem note that led me here? Thankfully, though, she didn’t have to. Rush kind of the led things there himself.
“So you were saying that your parents and Jesse’s parents were friends?” he said, picking up the previous thread with that the same too-casual tone.
She nodded; there was nothing to hide about their shared pasts. “Our dads were, anyway. Before they each died.”
Rush’s jaw ticked, and a quick look at his hands told Alessandra that the topic was far from comfortable for him. It made her curious, and for an odd second, knowing why seemed more important than anything else.
“My dad was killed in an accident,” she added, carefully gauging his reaction. “Jesse’s was killed in a police incident a little while before that. Less than a month apart, actually.”
Now Rush’s profile was as rigid as his grip. “Sorry to hear.”
“It was a long time ago now. But it was definitely a hard time in both our lives.”
“It made you close?”
The question sounded almost like an accusation, and Alessandra frowned, but shook her head and answered honestly anyway. “No. I was only eleven—almost twelve—at the time. Jesse was fifteen or sixteen. So not a ton of common ground.”
Rush persisted. “Still. A loss like that could create a bond in spite of an age gap.”
“I guess it could. But I had my mom, and we leaned on each other a lot. And Jesse...” She trailed off, thinking about it.
What had happened to him after his dad died? Alessandra had fuzzy memories of the senior Garibaldi’s funeral. She knew Jesse had been there. She recalled specifically that he was a pallbearer, and that he’d given a brief eulogy. And after that, she couldn’t remember much of anything. It seemed funny, now, that she hadn’t really put much thought into what he’d gotten up to. Her own father’s passing had happened so quickly after, and her plate had been full of her own problems. The only thing she really had a clear memory of was a phone conversation she’d overheard about a year after the fact. Right that second, she could actually recall it quite vividly. She’d walked into the kitchen to grab an apple from the bowl on the counter. Her mom, dressed in her typical flowing skirt and embroidered blouse, had been standing with her back to Alessandra.
“I don’t know,” her mom said into the phone. “Jesse always seemed like a good kid. But my client was utterly sure that she saw him.”
There was a pause while the person on the other end said something Alessandra couldn’t hear.
Then her mom shook her head. “No. She saw an old photo of the kids and us on my desk. I think she commented by accident.”
Another pause. Another headshake.
“No,” her mom said. “A court stenographer.”
At that moment, Alessandra had accidentally dropped her apple to the floor, and her mom had turned, then quickly diverted the phone conversation to a new topic. At the time, it had piqued Alessandra’s interest only mildly. She’d had other things going on. A new, cute boy at school who she and her best friend both liked. A dismal grade in PE. And all the other general drama of being thirteen.
Maybe you should’ve paid a little more attention.
“Hey, Red? You still with me?” Rush prodded, and Alessandra realized she’d been sitting in silence for a little too long.
“I’m here,” she replied quickly.
“You didn’t finish your sentence,” he told her. “Jesse what?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “With his dad gone, it couldn’t have been easy. I think he was in a bit of trouble of some kind.”
“Trouble.” It was a flat statement rather than a question, and it was followed by silence, which made Alessandra turn her head sharply toward him.
Is it just me, she thought, or did this conversation get a little more intense than the average bit of small talk?
She waited for him to say something else. Maybe another question that would confirm her thought. But he was quiet, his eyes focused out the windshield. His jaw was still, his firm-looking lips pressed together. He didn’t even seem to notice the prolonged look she was giving him.
Her eyes drifted to his hands. They were moving in a pulsing squeeze. Rush was tense—brooding and surly again—no doubt about it.
Alessandra worried at her lower lip with her teeth. What was it that made him like that, over and over? As she stared at his fingers, she realized she’d been subconsciously leaning toward that idea that it was something to do with her. Maybe it didn’t make a lot of sense. They didn’t know each other in the slightest. But he’d seemed extra strained when asking about her nickname. And again when she’d suggested just leaving her at the cabin and told him what she’d thought her plans might be. And a third time when talking about her father’s death.
Alessandra had no clue why the details of her life would bother Rush Atkinson. But the evidence seemed to be pointing that way.
But not a second ago, she reminded herself.
His last bit of tension was definitely centered on the idea that Jesse had been in trouble fifteen years earlier.
Why? Then her mind suddenly seized on a different explanation for his repeated little tell, and she wondered why she hadn’t seen it before. It’s not me. It’s Jesse.
Jesse’s nickname for her. What Jesse was going to do with her while she was in town. And Jesse’s father’s death.
It was Rush’s boss that made him so tense. But why? What did it mean? And was it in any way helpful to Alessandra’s own search for answers?
She opened her mouth�
�though she wasn’t sure exactly what she was going to say because no way could she just come out and ask—but snapped it shut quickly as Rush pulled off the main road and onto a gravel one. It wasn’t the change in scenery that gave her pause. After all, she was expecting to be taken to a cabin, and had assumed it wouldn’t be right along the street that led into Whispering Woods. What did make her stare was that fact that she recognized the scenery. The trees overhead that arched into each other. The wide patches of oddly white rocks on either side of the gravel. And of course, the cabin itself, which flashed into view between the trees.
It was small and made of natural cedar. It sat up on the hills, nestled against the rock, and Alessandra knew for a fact that the veranda in the front was bigger than the building itself, and that there were exactly forty-seven stairs leading up to it. Just like she knew—even though she supposed a lot had probably changed in three decades—that the windows had once held cream-colored curtains, flecked with tiny bluebells, and that the double bed inside had once had a matching duvet. She recalled it perfectly. Because her parents had an entire collage of photos dedicated to the place. It was their honeymoon spot. The same one mentioned in the torn-up, patched-together note.
Chapter 5
As Rush slowed the truck and guided it up the slightly winding road toward the cabin, he stole a quick glance at Alessandra. The expression on her face was enough to make him momentarily forget the frustrated tumble of thoughts related to his pseudo-boss.
The redhead’s full lips were parted a little, her body leaned forward. Her baby-blue gaze was intent on the parted trees, and there was definitely recognition in her eyes. He followed her stare and after just a moment, he realized she was staring at the cabin, which peeked through the foliage every few seconds. He sought her face again, confirming that she did look like she knew exactly what to expect.
She’s been here before, Rush thought, his mind taking a different turn. When? With who? Garibaldi? He paused, irritation heating his neck. And why the hell does the idea bother me?
Under the cover of his glasses, he narrowed his eyes, then jerked his attention back to last stretch of road in front of them. He really had no reason to care where Alessandra had been in the past, or whom she’d been with. But that didn’t seem to be stopping him from wondering. If he was being honest, it pricked at him, also, that she called the other man by his first name, when everyone under the sun seemed to call him by Mr. Garibaldi instead.
Rush gritted his teeth, annoyed at himself for even being annoyed in the first place. He had an urge to step on the gas and floor it until he had no choice but to either slam on the brakes or drive into the hillside.
Yeah, Atkinson. Really mature means of dealing with things.
He gritted his teeth even harder and eased his foot up a little, just to prove that he was perfectly capable of controlling his temper. The Lada slowed to a crawl. Alessandra didn’t comment, and another quick look at her told Rush she was still focused on their nearing destination. Which was a good thing. It gave him an extra minute to try to sort through his thoughts in a calm manner.
He’d been steering the conversation toward Garibaldi under the pretense of finding out what she knew about the man’s enterprises in Whispering Woods, illegal or otherwise. After all, it was what his boss had asked him to do.
Now you’re taking Garibaldi’s orders to heart? Are you going to kill her, too?
He shoved off the dark sarcasm. Obviously, he had no intention of following through on that particular request. He did, however, need a means around it. A convincing argument. An irrefutable one. If she knew a single damned thing about Garibaldi’s opiate business, it was going to be impossible. So Rush had a valid excuse for questioning her. One that lined up with his job and his current mission. If those reasons coincided with Garibaldi’s request, then so be it. Hell. It might even buy him a little time, if he could string his boss along with any of what Alessandra said.
Except so far... Rush wasn’t sure what to make of the tidbits of information she’d given out. He considered himself more than capable of getting a good, quick read on people. He was pretty damned sure every word out of Alessandra’s mouth was the truth, but something felt off. Like her words were true, but her motivation for sharing them was less than straightforward. It made him want to scratch his head.
What was she hiding? He was truly curious.
As they rounded the final piece of road and came up to the flat, packed-dirt driveway in front of the cabin and its tall stairs, he flicked a third glance her way. This time, she was looking right back at him, her baby blues flooded with emotion. It was impossible to say which was most dominant. Worry? Sadness? Fear? He didn’t know for sure.
What wasn’t impossible, though, was to say how her mixed expression affected him. Rush’s chest compressed, and before he could stop to think if it was the right thing to do or not, her put the Lada into Park and reached a hand over the console. He clasped her fingers and gave them a squeeze.
She didn’t try to pull away. In fact, she clung to his hand. Her skin was soft and warm, and her hand fit just right in his. A jolt of electric attraction shot up from the space where their palms met. The feeling startled Rush so badly that it took him a moment to recall that his touch had a purpose. It got worse when he accidentally drew in a sharp breath. Her sweet, pleasant scent filled his nose in a way that bordered on mouthwatering.
Dammit.
He had to clear his throat of a sudden dryness, and he had to force an impassive tone, too. “You all right over there, Red?”
She offered him a nod that immediately became a headshake.
“I know this cabin,” she said, confirming his belief about her honesty.
“You’ve been here before?” he replied.
“No. But I’ve seen a dozen pictures of it.” Her eyelids sank down, her long red lashes brushing her face as she inhaled. She held on to him even tighter, then murmured something that didn’t make any sense. “Glad I put that in storage.”
Rush frowned, puzzled. Before he could ask for clarification, though, she opened her eyes again, their blue catching the light and holding him captive as her irises turned the same color as the sky.
“My parents had their honeymoon here,” she told him.
Surprised, Rush looked from her to the cabin, then back again. “Here? You’re sure?”
“One hundred percent. They talked about it all the time when I was a kid. The way the cabin was built into the hill. The big porch.” She paused. “Have you been inside?”
He nodded. “A few times. The boss likes it because it’s private.”
“I think that’s the same reason my parents liked it so much.” A smiled tipped up Alessandra’s lips, and she added, “Well. Maybe not quite the same.”
Rush was distracted by the curve of her mouth. She had an unusual dimple. It wasn’t in her cheek. More in the groove beside her smile. He had a nearly unstoppable urge to reach out and caress it. His free hand itched to do it, and he had to order himself not to make the move. When he spoke, though, his words were almost as bad as a touch.
“It is a pretty romantic setting,” he said.
Alessandra lifted one of her already arched eyebrows and shot a speculative look his way. “It is, isn’t it?”
Rush knew he should pull his fingers free. Hell. He shouldn’t have been holding her hand in the first place. Damn if he could do it. Instead, he gave her yet another squeeze, then eyed the cabin.
“It’s held up well for thirty years,” he said.
“Is it nice inside?” she asked. “Does it still have that window in the back that doesn’t look at anything except the rock face?”
Rush noted that her expression had changed again. It was wistful and a little hesitant, and he had a need to accommodate her feelings. Maybe it was a random moment of rare softness, or maybe it was brought on by the fact that he’d be eq
ually torn by being allowed a glimpse into his parents’ past. There were things he’d like to know, but also plenty he’d rather not be privy to. It actually made his chest ache with a peculiar sense of loss. So he understood her hesitation, and he didn’t push Alessandra to jump out and explore the area right away. He could give her a moment and resume his soft interrogation later.
He offered her a nod. “The window’s still there. But it has a little crack up in one corner, and someone fixed it with some kind of epoxy, so there’s a jagged yellow line covering that spot.”
“Is it ugly? Or does it add character?”
“Definitely character.”
“Does the woodstove work?”
“Hope so. Gets cold up here at night.”
A long, silent moment hung in the air after Rush said it. He wondered if she felt the same trickle of realization. They were going to be alone in the cabin. Overnight was a strong possibility. It did get cold. And there was only one bed inside.
That’s not where you need your mind to be, Rush told himself.
It was impossible, though, to rid himself of the awareness of the impending circumstances. He could swear that the heat in the Lada rose a few degrees just thinking about it. The fact that Alessandra’s thumb started to move back and forth over his hand didn’t help things, either.
Stifling a groan—and a true reluctance to let go—Rush pulled his hand free and said, “Think you’re ready to go check it out?”
Alessandra’s gaze dropped to their separated hands, then lifted to his face, and the flash of heat he saw just before she nodded made him think he was heading straight into trouble. Which was saying something. Because Rush was a man who’d spent his entire adult life mingling with hardened criminals.
* * *
Alessandra climbed from the truck and watched as Rush wordlessly grabbed her bag from the back and started toward the staircase that led to the unusual cabin. It took her a moment to follow. Not because of the mix of emotions swirling through her. Though they definitely factored in. She was excited to see the place that had seemed like a piece of lore throughout her childhood. She was worried that she might find something connected to her father’s note, and equally afraid that she might not. The fact that Jesse owned the cabin filled her with unease and reinforced the thought that his invitation to join him in the small town was anything but a coincidence. But none of that was really what slowed her feet as she finally took a step forward. What made her hesitate was the idea that had occurred to her as she’d held hands with the man who was now effortlessly carrying her things up the stairs. The thought that wormed its way in when he mentioned how romantic the setting was, and when she agreed.
Undercover Refuge Page 5
