Melinda Di Lorenzo - Undercover Refuge

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 order. “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.”

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.