“I’m starting to think I don’t know very much about him at all, actually. Maybe it’s been too long. Or maybe I never knew him that well to start out with.” She sighed. “Until now, I didn’t even know where he was living, let alone that he owned this cabin.”
“All this...” He swept his hand over the room. “It’s not the reason you came up to Whispering Woods?”
She shook her head. “No. I mean, I’m glad to see the cabin. But I kind of thought it wouldn’t be here anymore, and it didn’t even occur to me to look for it.”
“So you came all this way just for a visit with a man you don’t really know?”
“When you say it like that, it just sounds weird.”
He didn’t buy her joking tone. “Isn’t it weird?”
Alessandra sucked in a breath and looked down at her lap. “It’s complicated.”
He wanted to reach out and tip her chin up so he could read what was in her eyes, but he refrained, and instead echoed her earlier sentiment. “Doesn’t that apply to all of us?”
“I think my situation is a little different.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
Now she did lift her eyes, and Rush was disappointed to see that her expression had become guarded. She looked a little tired, too—just a slight droop around the corners of her eyes—and he realized the morning had probably been exhausting for her. Driving five hours, first thing in the morning. Getting lost and her car getting wrecked. Not to mention the fall into the hole and the fact that her plans for sightseeing with Garibaldi were completely askew.
Rush decided to rein in his soft interrogation.
“You hungry?” he asked.
Alessandra blinked at him in surprise. “Starved. I haven’t had anything to eat since five this morning.”
“Lunch?”
“Um. Okay?”
“Good. I can either scrounge up something here—Garibaldi keeps things stocked—or we can eat in town. Whispering Woods Lodge has a buffet. I can show—”
“Here,” she said quickly.
“All right. Let’s see what I can find.” He pushed to his feet and made his way to the tiny kitchen area, pretending he wasn’t pleased that she’d opted to stay in rather than head to town.
* * *
Alessandra watched Rush dig through the cupboards, wondering if she’d lost her mind. Maybe the stress of the circumstances had finally caught up to her. Because she was literally biting down on her lip to keep from spilling everything to this stranger.
The stranger who kissed you once already, and looked like he was about to kiss you again? She answered her own silent question. Yes, him.
She bit her lip a little harder, and nodded as Rush showed her a can of chicken noodle soup and a package of crackers. At least if she was stuffing her face, she wouldn’t be able to tell him anything she really shouldn’t.
But that doesn’t answer the question of why you even want to.
She stared at Rush’s back, trying to pinpoint the urge. But he chose that exact moment to reach up to grab a pot from a high shelf above the sink. The motion pulled his long-sleeved T-shirt tight along his shoulder blades, and she could see both the ridges of his muscles and the outline of another tattoo. And it was distracting enough that it made Alessandra momentarily forget everything. She squinted, trying to get a better look at the ink, but he sank down and turned his attention to rummaging through a drawer, and the cotton of his shirt relaxed back into opaqueness. But Alessandra’s mind hung on his tattoos for a little while longer anyway.
Owning and running the surf shop meant she’d seen more than her fair share of tattoos. Plenty of exposed bodies in her business, and lots of chances to talk about the why behind the ink. She’d met lots of people who went for traditional markings. Hearts. Flowers. Some other image they liked and wanted to make permanent. There were many who had just a small meaningful picture or two. Maybe a song lyric or a name. And there were others who felt compelled to mark their skin with all the moments of their lives. Like their bodies were both an outlet and a canvas at the same time. Alessandra had a feeling that Rush fell into the latter category. He seemed like the kind of man who’d rather express himself with a tattoo needle and ink than in words.
Because you’ve known him for a couple of hours, and now have access to his every thought and motivation?
Alessandra shook her head to herself. Obviously she knew little about him. But that was kind of the thing. In spite of how little she knew, she could read enough.
He was tense, with a bristly temper. But he wasn’t what she’d describe as quick to anger, and she wasn’t worried he’d lash out at her. It was more like some permanent tightness just under the surface. It was what gave him that brooding quality. And he’d apologized for kissing her. For barely kissing her. She was sure that translated into a strong sense of right and wrong.
But that doesn’t mean you can trust him. He works for Jesse. A man you do know. Or did, anyway. And if you don’t trust him, why would you trust Rush?
“You know that saying?” His voice made her jump a little, and she was glad that he didn’t turn around to see her sudden awkwardness.
She exhaled. “What saying?”
“Eyes burning holes in your back.”
“What? I don’t think there’s a saying about that.”
“There definitely is. And I can feel you staring at me.”
“I’m not staring at—” She cut herself off with a sigh. “Okay, fine. I am. But don’t read too much into it. I was just thinking about tattoos.”
He pulled out a drawer, grabbed a couple of bowls and set them on the coffee table. Then he turned back to the stove to grab the already-steaming pot and a ladle, and brought both over.
“So. Thinking about tattoos...mine, or yours?” he asked as he filled the bowls.
“Just in general,” she replied, heat creeping up her cheeks. “And I don’t have any.”
“Not one?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s always seemed too big of a commitment.”
He put the pot back on the stove, and pulled off his hat and set it on the edge of the armchair at the end of the table before seating himself and lifting an eyebrow. Alessandra’s blush deepened even before Rush spoke.
“Commitment issues, huh?” he asked teasingly.
“Only when it comes to permanently marking my body,” she replied.
He handed her a stack of crackers, then crumbled a bunch into his own bowl and waved his spoon at her. “You should try it.”
“I own a surf shop,” she told him. “Trust me when I say I’ve seen enough ink-related regret to know it’s not for me.”
He grinned, the smile making his eyes crinkle pleasantly in the corners. “Good to know. But I meant the soup.”
Alessandra was sure her face was going from pink to crimson. “Oh.”
He laughed. “But if you ever change your mind about the tattoo, I know a guy.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“He’s only on his second prison strike, too.”
She made a face. “I take back the human bit. You’re definitely a thug.”
Some unreadable emotion passed over is features, and he turned his attention back to his soup. “Tell me about the surf shop.”
Her embarrassment immediately slipped away, and she shook her head as sadness filled her. “That’s part of the complication.”
“The complication that you don’t want to talk about.”
“What do you really do for Jesse?” she countered, more to make a point than because she actually thought he’d change his story.
“I run errands,” he told her.
“You can make a living running errands?”
“Plenty of full-time assistants out there.”
“Sure. In
an office setting.”
“Are you saying I’m not office material?”
“I can’t even imagine you in a suit, let alone behind a desk.”
He set down his spoon. “I feel like we’re gearing up to play a strange version of ‘you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.’”
She met his eyes. The need to trust him rolled over her, and she had to forcibly remind herself that she didn’t know him at all. He was just her tour guide.
“I have nothing to show,” she lied.
“I think you do,” he replied easily. “But if you don’t want to share, that’s fine. We can pretend. I’ll take you into Whispering Woods and show you the sights. Take an off-road adventure or go on a hike.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“So you say. But if there happens to be a bigger reason... I might be the one guy you can trust.”
Then he shrugged, picked up his spoon again, asked her about the Seattle weather, then took a casual slurp of his soup.
Chapter 7
By the time they finished their lunch, Rush was 100 percent sure of three things.
The first was that Alessandra wasn’t in Whispering Woods because she knew anything about Garibaldi’s business.
The second was that she was definitely there for something more than a casual visit.
The third was that her reason for not sharing it with him was that she didn’t trust her old friend in the slightest.
Can you blame her? he thought, stealing a quick glance her way as he dumped kettle-boiled water into the sink.
He’d waved off her offer to help wash up with the excuse that six dishes was hardly a two-person job, so she sat on the couch, her legs tucked up under her body and a book in her hand. She looked relaxed enough, but Rush wasn’t convinced. Every few seconds, he could feel her gaze shift his way. Assessing him. He waited, knowing this was one of those need-to-be-patient moments.
He was glad she didn’t trust his boss. Partly because it meant she was smart enough to recognize that the man was far slimier than his exterior indicated. Partly because it meant she was on the right side of the law. Mostly, though, it was because he didn’t want her to be involved with the other man on any level.
He scrubbed at the saucepan a little harder. His little twinge of possessiveness wasn’t just unreasonable. It wasn’t just dumb. Or more ridiculous than anything he’d felt in as long as he could remember. It was also selfish. After all, he’d already admitted that he had nothing to offer her. Less than nothing, really. Except a threat to her life. On top of that, he’d resigned himself not to kiss her again, no matter how great the temptation. There was also the fact that he’d known her for all of five seconds and had zero romantic claim on her.
Acknowledging all of that and following through on it are two different things, though, aren’t they?
His finger ached from how roughly he was scrubbing the pot. Irritated at himself, he dipped the metal into the bucket of cool water for rinsing, then hazarded yet another look at Alessandra. Her book was in her lap now, her eyes closed.
“Red?” he called softly.
She shifted a little, but only so that she slumped sideways. Apparently, her relaxed position wasn’t a fake; she was definitely asleep.
Rush quickly finished with the other dishes, fully expecting her to wake by the time he was done. She didn’t. Not even when he’d dried his hands and made his way to the spot beside her, or when he sat down beside her and put a hand on her calf.
“Red,” he said again.
She let out a sigh, but didn’t wake.
“Alessandra,” Rush murmured, moving his fingers off her leg and up to her shoulder.
The gentle nudge did nothing.
“Tired as all hell, aren’t you?” he asked, just above a whisper.
The question earned him a wordless mutter that made him smile.
“All right, then, Red,” he said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m going to put you to bed.”
He stood up, then knelt down. He slid one arm under her knees and the other under her back. Then he lifted. She muttered something else, and he waited again for her to wake and maybe issue a vehement protest to being manhandled. She still didn’t. Instead, she settled her head against his chest and pressed an open palm against his ribs.
“Dammit, Red,” Rush said as a lick of desire coursed through him.
She wiggled a little, and he rolled his eyes at himself as his pulse jumped again. He clearly had zero control. Which was ironic, considering that she was out cold and he was the one with all the power. He cast a look down at her peaceful face, and something else struck him. As distrusting as she was, she’d still felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in front of him. He knew her ability was compounded by her exhaustion, but that didn’t stop a warm, pleased feeling from forming in his chest. Because he also knew that no matter how tired he was, he’d never be able to let down his guard like that with a person he didn’t fully trust. Hell. He slept with one eye open half the time no matter what.
He studied the line of Alessandra’s profile. From her arched brow to the reddish-brown of her lashes to her high cheekbone and soft, slightly parted lips, she was truly one of the most beautiful women he’d seen. Makeup-free. Messy hair. It didn’t matter. He had to admit that everything about her appealed to him.
“Good sign that you need to put her down,” he muttered.
He let himself stare for a second more before he carried her to the double bed. The mattress and box spring rested on an old metal frame, which was positioned under the strange window with the view of the rocky face behind the cabin. It was an odd setup, and Rush had wondered a few times why Garibaldi even bothered leaving it there. The meetings he held in the cabin weren’t exactly of the need-a-bed type. But right then, he was grateful for it.
He laid Alessandra down carefully, then pulled up the fuzzy throw from the bottom of the bed and tucked it around her shoulders. As he stepped away, she sighed contentedly, then promptly flopped over into a starfish position. She let out a snore, and Rush couldn’t help but chuckle. In spite of his amusement, though, he still reached down and adjusted the blanket so that she was partially covered. The woodstove gave off a fair amount of heat, but the air was still cool, and he didn’t want her to wake up cold. She’d probably be displeased enough at having been carted from the couch to the bed.
“Sorry, Red,” he said to her sleeping form. “Need a bit of space, too, and the seating options are limited.”
He gave her a final look, shaking his head at her splayed-out form, then stepped back toward the couch with the intention of firing off a few coded texts to his partners. Though he preferred to stay tight-lipped and liked working solo, he’d grudgingly agreed to keep the three men in the loop. This was as much their case as it was his, after all, and they’d want to hear about a delay like this. Each of them had come into Whispering Woods to gather information on Jesse Garibaldi so they could put him behind bars.
Brayden Maxwell had confirmed that the man running the town was the same one they’d been searching for, and he got the ball rolling for their investigation.
Anderson Somers had protected their informant and figured out that there was a lot more going on than they initially thought and connected Garibaldi to the drug smuggling business.
Harley Maxwell—Brayden’s younger brother—had put the pieces together and figured out that Garibaldi was using an art shop to run the drugs.
Rush was there to finish it all off. To catch Garibaldi in the act and finally do what should’ve been done at his trial fifteen years earlier—put the man behind bars for good. To get justice for their fathers.
Rush’s stomach rolled unpleasantly as he thought about it. Dwelling on the past wasn’t a favorite activity, but he wanted peace as much as his brothers-in-arms did, and he’d be glad when it was finally over.
> Action, he said to himself. That’s what I need to focus on.
Except it was hard to act when he was paralyzed by the current task. He glanced regretfully over at Alessandra, then down at his phone, deciding that updating his partners could wait a few more minutes. He might rather keep the pretty redhead close, but what he needed to do was check in with Garibaldi first. He had to try to convince the other man that letting Alessandra go would be in his best interest. For all of their sakes.
Sighing, Rush decided to step outside to place the call. He forced himself not to look at Alessandra again, then slipped out to the deck and dialed. Garibaldi picked up in the second ring.
“How’s my favorite tour guide?” the other man greeted.
Rush gritted his teeth. “The sights aren’t exactly what I’ve been told they might be.”
“My old friend giving you trouble?”
“None at all.”
There was a pause. “You having second thoughts about the assignment?”
“Made it pretty clear I didn’t have first thoughts about the assignment, didn’t I?” Rush said, making sure he sounded extra snarly.
“She’s a risk.”
“She doesn’t know a damned thing.”
“Al tell you that?”
“Yeah, boss...right between me asking her if she knew anything about what you were really doing here in Whispering Woods and her offering to perform a striptease.”
Garibaldi chuckled. “Point taken.”
Rush ran a hand over his head and exhaled an extra-loud sigh. “I just don’t see the point. The cleanup will be more work than the cleanup, if you get what I’m saying.”
“Her pretty face is getting to you, huh?”
“I’m not gonna deny her good looks, boss. I’d be a liar and an idiot if I did. But it’s not that. She knows nothing. All she’s talked about is her childhood and her parents. Seems like a needless expenditure of energy to—”
“Stop right there,” the other man ordered curtly. “Did she tell you why she agreed to come up here?”
Undercover Refuge Page 7
