Alessandra had stopped the little hatchback in the middle of the road, and now she sat there, tapping her fingers restlessly on the steering wheel. She sucked in her bottom lip. Up ahead, she could see the industrial complex. It wasn’t huge, even if the buildings were some of the biggest in town. She’d learned from a sign just a few miles back that among other things, there was a self-storage space and a furniture wholesaler and an ATV rental place. Jesse’s company logo sat on the very top of the sign, and Alessandra was sure that was because he probably owned the whole thing. But there was no clue as to which area he was in now. Or if he was there at all.
He has to be, she assured herself. Rush wouldn’t steer me wrong.
She squinted at the buildings again, searching for a hint. And then she got one. Or she thought she did, anyway. On the back edge of the property was a building that stood out. Sort of. It was the same grayish color as the rest of them, but it had one feature the other didn’t—its own fence. It seemed like the kind of thing Jesse would need. An extra layer of protection for whatever illegal activities he currently had underway.
“Or...” she murmured to herself. “It might not mean anything.”
But as she continued to stare at it for a few more moments, a flash of movement caught her eye. And with no other leads, that was enough to convince her that it was at least a place worth starting. She started to shift her foot from the brake to the gas, then stopped. She couldn’t very well just drive up and park. Someone would undoubtedly recognize the vehicle. It was Val’s, after all. In fact, she was probably lucky that she hadn’t been spotted already.
What I need to do is go in on foot, she thought. In stealth mode.
She glanced from side to side in search of a place to stash the car. The street was more or less empty, so after the briefest look around, she decided simply to pull over and park beside a largish bush at the end of the road. It gave the vehicle enough cover that unless someone was looking for it, they wouldn’t find it. She pulled into the spot, checked to see if anyone was in sight, and when she was sure she was alone, she climbed out and started the trek toward the warehouses.
In spite of the way she worked to stay out of sight, the walk was still almost too quick. In minutes, Alessandra was standing at the nearest warehouse in the industrial complex, her back pressed to the side of the building. Given that it was the middle of the day and the middle of the week, the air was surprisingly quiet. The only thing she could hear as she skulked along was the sound of her own thumping heart, and the feel of its ever-increasing thud did nothing to calm her down. By the time she reached the gap between the first and second buildings, her hands—which clutched the bag that held Rush’s gun—were already sweaty. They ached, too, from her tight grip. But even when she made an effort to loosen them, she couldn’t quite do it. Her feet were heavy, and her mind argued that taking another step would expose her.
Just breathe, she told herself firmly. Rush needs you.
The reminder was enough. She counted off ten inhales and ten exhales, then darted to the next warehouse. This time, she pushed along more quickly, and five breaths sufficed between the second building and the third. Her steps were still cautious, but they were surer, too.
You can do this, she said to herself every few steps.
And when she reached the final warehouse before the singularly fenced one, she actually believed it. Even when she leaned out and spotted the two burly men standing outside the main door, she wasn’t deterred. She just jerked back and flattened herself to the exterior wall, satisfied that their presence affirmed her suspicions. She was in the right spot. All she needed to do was make sure that Rush was inside.
She eased forward the tiniest bit and searched for a good place to get a look inside. The fence was just a regular chain-link one. Six feet high, with no barbs or spikes or electrical wires at the top. But Alessandra could see that it wasn’t completely devoid of reinforcements. There were a least two cameras attached to the posts, and maybe more that weren’t within her vision. It didn’t take a security genius to figure out that the electronic surveillance was meant to pick up where the human surveillance fell off, and vice versa.
Which isn’t good for me.
She nervously tapped her thigh and scanned the area for an alternative.
There wasn’t much to find. Aside from the other buildings and a couple of vehicles, there was nothing nearby. She paused, her mind working at a crazy idea. If she could get inside the warehouse she was standing outside at that moment, then somehow make her way up onto the roof...
She looked up toward the flat bit sticking out. “That’s a truly insane plan, Alessandra.”
Except she was already mentally mapping it out.
The main door was too risky. But there was a metal door on the side where she stood, and it had zero exposure to Jesse’s building. She knew it was probably locked—the warehouse was too silent and too dark to be occupied—but she was pretty sure she could probably pick it anyway. It was a skill her father had taught her, joking that she never knew when she might need it. She wondered for a second what he would’ve thought about being right, then shook off the sad turn of her mind and moved on to what the next step would be.
Assuming no one was inside, she’d simply have to find a way up. From there, she just needed something she could use as a makeshift bridge. And not even a long one, because by Alessandra’s estimate, there was only about four feet between the two buildings.
Great, she thought. From there, I just have to get down, find a way to look inside, make sure Rush is there, then break in and save him. And not get caught at any point.
“Piece of cake,” she muttered sarcastically.
But that didn’t stop her from moving anyway. She stepped to the side door and put her hand on the knob. A quick twist confirmed that it was locked, so she dropped to a crouch to examine the keyhole. Thankfully, it looked uncomplicated. Just a standard slot.
Alessandra opened her purse wide and dug through until she found two loose bobby pins. She gave them a skeptical look, then closed her eyes and pictured her dad’s slightly devilish face as he explained the steps. It was easy to hear his voice in her head, too—both patient and authoritative as he laid out each bit of what had to be done.
First, you need to bend one of the bobby pins at a ninety-degree angle. You can use your teeth. I promise not to tell the dentist. Or your mom.
Smiling—and with her eyes still shut—Alessandra followed the remembered instruction.
Good work. Now take the second one and flatten it out. It should be as straight as you can make it. Like a ruler.
She did that, too, pleased that it seemed to come easily.
Great. Okay. Keep holding that second one. You need to bend the tip a bit. What you’re trying to do is create a pick.
Alessandra worked to make it happen, then opened her eyes and dropped her gaze to the tools. They looked right. And her dad’s voice in her head prompted her again.
You’re doing awesome, Munchkin. Now what I want you to do is to take that first bobby pin and stick it into the bottom half of the lock. Not so hard that you bend it, but make sure you put it in as far as it’ll go.
With her tongue between her teeth, she inserted the pin until she couldn’t force it any farther.
Fantastic. Now take the other bobby pin and stick the bent bit in just above the first one. And here comes the tough part. You’re using that bent bit to search for some little bits that move up and down.
Alessandra found the first one with relative ease.
Good. Push it up until it clicks. Excellent job, Lessie! You’re a natural, just like your old man. Now you need to do the next four, and you’ll be a real pro.
She worked slowly, sweat forming on her brow as she carefully forced each locking pin into place. It was painstaking. But worth it when she heard the final click, and not one of the pins had dropped back down. As she exhaled and let a small, triumphant smile lift her lips, she could see her father’s responding grin.
You’re amazing. One step left. Turn the lever in the same direction as the key would go, and the door will unlock.
She inhaled again, holding her breath as she carefully twisted to right. When she heard the release, she started to breathe out. Then stopped.
What if it’s alarmed?
Her eyes widened at the thought, and she wondered why it hadn’t occurred to her before. Of course it might be alarmed. Maybe not even with the loud, blaring type. Maybe with the silent, trigger-a-call-to-the-cops kind. What would happen if the local police suddenly came tearing in, lights flashing? How would it affect Rush’s safety? Or her own, for that matter? Should she even open it, or should she seek out another way to get a look into Jesse’s warehouse?
But as it turned out, she didn’t get a chance to make the decision. A dark, dangerous voice made it for her.
“Go ahead, sweetheart,” it said. “Let yourself in. You won’t get caught.”
Alessandra let out a startled yelp, and at the same time, she reflexively released the doorknob, which sent the door flying open inward. She tumbled blindly forward into the pitch-black. She started to run, and for a moment she thought she was free. Then a thick hand closed on her shoulder, and when she tried to scream, a second palm sprang to action, cutting off both the noise and her oxygen.
Rush’s head was spinning. Aching from the last blow delivered by the thug he’d dubbed Meat-Fist. But just a heartbeat earlier, something had cut through the throb. He could swear it was the sound of a half-formed scream. And under the haze of pain that hung over him, he half thought it sounded familiar.
Alessandra.
His head jerked up as her name popped into his mind. He swung his bleary gaze around, afraid of what he might find.
If she gets hurt because of me...
He blinked. His position hadn’t changed. He was still tied to the wooden chair. Still stuck in the middle of the painting-filled warehouse. There was no Alessandra, thank God. Just Garibaldi and the three gun-wielding men. Though to be more accurate, it had rapidly become two gun wielders and one fist wielder. A man who punctuated Garibaldi’s questions with a jab here and a jab there. Rush’s ribs and face were the bruised evidence. But none of it had induced the explanation his so-called boss wanted.
Ask whatever you like, I’m not telling you a damned thing.
The thought was infused with more bravado than he truly felt, and Rush knew it. He sagged back down, his chin hitting his chest. He wasn’t a weak man. If he had been, he wouldn’t have lasted as long as he had so deep in the undercover world. But this was the first time he’d been caught, and it was a true test of his stamina. There was a hell of a difference between engaging in a fight and taking a concentrated beating while rendered immobile. He didn’t like it one bit.
He was glad, at least, that Garibaldi hadn’t figured out his real association. The other man only knew that Rush was playing two sides of some kind. Not that he was a cop, or that he was with the Freemont PD. Which meant that his partners were safe. That no matter what happened to him, they’d be able to carry on and find some other way to put the man who’d killed their fathers behind bars.
And even more importantly...he believes Alessandra is dead.
Thinking about her again made his heart ache as hard as his body. He was sad and angry at the same time. If—when—Garibaldi grew tired of getting nowhere with his questions, he wouldn’t leave Rush alive. The future Rush had just barely glimpsed would be ripped away. Worse than that, he’d never get the chance to tell Alessandra that he wanted that future. He couldn’t explain that for the first time in memory, he cared about something more than he cared about meting out justice. He could almost hear her voice, crying softly somewhere in the back of his mind.
His chin sank even lower. Garibaldi be damned. He’d trade the man’s fate in for five minutes with Alessandra. The woman he’d barely gotten a chance to know, but who he was already certain was the piece he’d been missing his whole life. Something he felt she deserved to know.
Gives you a damned good reason to get out of this situation, doesn’t it?
He breathed out and forced his thoughts back to finding a solution. Until the last couple of minutes, he hadn’t actually been given enough time to be thinking about a way out. He’d been questioned. Punched. Kicked. Questioned again. Then punched and kicked and questioned some more. Almost without any reprieve, and with increasing frequency.
So maybe you should be wondering why you’re being allowed to breathe now.
He dragged his head up again, and was surprised to find that the scenery had changed. Only the two gunmen were present now, and they both had their weapons trained straight on Rush, their matching indifferent gazes unwavering.
What had happened to the others?
Rush swung his head to the side, searching.
Aha. There they are. His forehead bunched into a painful frown. But who’s the bonus guy, and why is he standing so awkwardly? He stared for another second before placing the somewhat familiar figure. Oh. Right. The guard from outside. The one with the grabby hands.
Then Rush’s blurred vision abruptly cleared. Because Grabby Hands stepped just a little to the right, giving a better view. And that view was of Alessandra, being handed over to Meat-Fist like a piece of property. Her tall, slim body was hunched over. Her crown of red hair was a disaster. But she was still the most beautiful damned thing he’d ever seen, and he hated the way she sagged in defeat.
Hell.
Rush wanted to call out to her in the worst way, but he didn’t dare draw attention to himself. The last thing he needed was for Garibaldi to pick up on his feelings. The other man didn’t need to know that witnessing Alessandra be manhandled like that filled Rush with fury, or to figure out that the woman meant far more to him than she ought to. So he settled for staring. Watching. Waiting for her to see him, and to hopefully find a way to believe that he’d get them out of the current situation.
She tipped up her face, and Rush tensed as he prepared to be spotted. She didn’t look his way, though. Not yet. Instead, she turned a defiant glare toward Garibaldi.
“How could you, you son of a—”
Garibaldi cut off her furious question with a swift rap of his knuckles to her jaw. The blow made Rush jerk angrily in his chair, and all eyes turned in his direction. Meat-Fist remained indifferent. Alessandra’s pain-laced expression morphed into mix of concern and relief. Garibaldi, though...he looked pleased.
A string of self-directed curses rolled through Rush’s head. They’d given themselves away. He’d given them away with his instinctual need to protect her. Whatever it was the murderous crook wanted to know, he would find out. All he had to do was to threaten Alessandra, and Rush would tell him.
Smiling knowingly, the other man grabbed Alessandra by the arm and propelled her toward Rush.
“Well, Atkinson,” he said. “I’m guessing that vow of silence you seem to have taken is about to end.”
Rush focused on Alessandra. Swiftly, he drank in her blue eyes and honeyed skin. He stole a look at her lips and committed to memory the feel of them.
Then he turned to Garibaldi and said, “Leave her alone and I’ll explain it all.”
The other man’s smile widened. “You have to know I’m not going to let her go, no matter what it is you tell me.”
Rush struggled uselessly against his bonds. “If you hurt her...”
“What?” Garibaldi countered. “You’ll yell at me from there? Relax, Atkinson. I don’t want to drag this out. And I’ll make it quick, so long as you speak up now. Who do you work for?”
Rush started to answer, a lie on his lips, but Alessandra beat him to it.
“Me,” she said, her voice a barely-audible whisper.
He tried to protest. “You don’t need to get involved in this, Red.”
She shook her head and looked him in the eye. “I can’t let him hurt you because of me,” she said, then drew in a breath and switched her attention to Garibaldi, her voice a little stronger, but full of defeat. “I hired him.”
The statement surprised Rush, but it seemed to intrigue Garibaldi.
“You hired him?” the other man replied. “When? For what?”
“A few months ago to do some private investigative work,” Alessandra said, the words flowing smoothly from her mouth now. “I’ve got the receipts somewhere. Or you can look at my online statements. I think they come up labeled as the Atkinson Agency.”
Garibaldi’s gaze flicked between them for a second, and then he nodded. “You were looking into your father’s death.”
Alessandra didn’t miss a beat. “I found a box of stuff. I wanted to know more, and I didn’t know where to start. So I sought some outside help. Then I lost contact with him, and I started to worry, so I went to the police. And I think you know the rest.”
“I think I do,” Garibaldi murmured. “And since you’ve made this much effort, I’m going to do you a solid and let you in on a secret. You want to know why your father died?”
“There’s no reason for you to listen to this,” Rush interjected.
Alessandra shook her head. “I’m sorry. I want to know, Rush. And I think Jesse’s the only one who can tell me.”
Garibaldi’s eyes glittered. “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed in him, Al. In fact, you’ll probably be pleased.”
“Just spit it out,” Rush snarled.
The other man lifted his hands in a gesture that managed to be surrendering and mocking at the same time. “It’s all about loyalty in this business. And Randall had none to his crew. He chose to work with someone else instead. Feel like making a guess about who?” He paused expectantly. “No? Okay. I’ll straight up tell you. He aligned himself with the friendly neighborhood police. Freemont PD to be exact. Your dad set up my dad, Al.”
He paused again, as if to either let it sink in, or let them question the validity of the claim.
But when Rush met Alessandra’s eyes, he knew she was thinking the same thing as him. There was no need to question anything.
The Freemont PD.
It made sense of the envelopes Randall had used for his notes. It explained why his loyalties seemed divided, and how he kept getting pulled back in.
Alessandra issued a short nod, then breathed in and asked, “Set him up how?”
“Easy peasy,” Garibaldi replied. “Gave the cops intel on a drug deal that could’ve made them. I figured it out, actually. My dad, though...he didn’t want to believe it. Kept on not believing it, right until those three cops came at him.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Your dad? No. The car crash was real, as far as I know. But the damage was already done. The setup was in play. And it might’ve been successful if it weren’t for me letting the metaphorical cat out of the bag. But I did. And I earned the privilege of watching the whole thing happen from right beside the dealer your dad had betrayed. He shot my dad first, for being a fool, which is why the cops got away. But no one’s perfect, right?”
“But Jesse. You could’ve stopped him from killing them. You could’ve saved your father’s life.” Alessandra’s voice quavered as she said it.
“I could’ve,” Garibaldi agreed, apparently unaffected by the obvious emotion. “But why would I? That drug dealer who shot my dad made me an offer. If I could take out those cops—and the evidence they had against my new friend—he’d give me a job.”
Rush knew what was coming next, and he closed his eyes to brace himself. It still didn’t provide enough of a buffer. Garibaldi’s voice penetrated the air in a most unpleasant way.
“So I did it,” he stated, his tone self-satisfied. “I walked into that police station, I laid a bomb, and I timed it to go off. Lit the place up like a firecracker. Three dead cops, no more evidence and a brand-new career for me.”
The confession kicked Rush in the gut. But unexpectedly, he found no relief in hearing it out loud. Fifteen years, he’d been waiting to have the truth set free. Yet there it was, and all Rush felt was the same frustration. He needed to do something. To act. But his hands were literally tied.
Rush was so caught up in the futility that he nearly missed the fact that Alessandra was speaking again.
“You’re sick,” she said. “Those were people, Jesse. With lives and families, and...what is wrong with you?”
“I look after my own interests, Al. Who else would’ve done it for me all these years? Mom decided to die when I was born, and Dad was too stupid to do the job.”
There was a shuffle then, and when Rush opened his eyes, he saw that one of the thugs was moving toward them, a chair in his hands. The big man positioned it against the one where Rush already was, and Garibaldi gestured toward it.
“Have a seat, Al,” he said.
When she didn’t immediately move, Meat-Fist grabbed her and shoved her down, then started winding a piece of cord around her torso. The rough treatment brought Rush back to life.
“What the hell are you doing, Garibaldi?” he growled.
“Me?” the other man replied with far too much lightness. “I’m completing my last transaction here in Whispering Woods. And I’m letting you two take the fall.” He nodded toward his lackeys. “Go ahead, boys.”
Grabby Hands reached obediently into his coat pocket and dragged out a small tube. He popped the top, turned toward the nearest paintings, and squeezed. It only took a moment—and a single inhale—for Rush to figure out the end game. They were going to light the place up.