For a few stunned seconds, Alessandra stared after Rush. She didn’t know what he was planning, but she knew whatever it was, it couldn’t possibly end well. Undoubtedly, he was headed back to the helicopter and right into danger. And that hurt as much as being tied up.
This is going to be bad. She shoved off the overly obvious thought with a mental scoff. Oh, was that fact in doubt? Him leaving you tied up wasn’t enough of a clue? And speaking of which...maybe you should do something about that instead of standing here staring blankly.
She shook her head and turned her attention to the belt. It was loose enough that it didn’t chafe, but not so loose that she stood any chance of sliding her hands free. She gave it one yank, then another before realizing her actions were only tightening it more.
Gritting her teeth and trying to keep from crying, Alessandra looked around for another option. When none immediately presented itself, she decided her best bet was to go feral. She bared her teeth and tried to drop them to the belt. Her hands wouldn’t lift high enough. Still. She wasn’t going to give up. She started to crouch down, figuring if she couldn’t get the belt to her mouth, she could do the reverse. But as she made the move, her sandals—for the first time ever—failed her. The front edge of one caught on protruding root, and with a cry, she fell forward. Her knees smacked the ground, and her mouth met the mud.
Spitting out bits of dirt and twigs between her words, she muttered, “You...phh...can’t...phh...be...phh...serious.”
She tried to push to her feet, but pain shot through her legs. And her palms stung like nobody’s business, too. A glance down told her why. Her hands had landed straight in a prickle-covered bush.
A prickle-covered bush. Realization hit. My hands.
She lifted them up and stared down. She was free of the belt. Somewhere in the middle of the fall, it had come off completely.
Elated, she started again to stand. But halfway up, a series of horrible noises filled the air and froze her to the spot. First came a screeching, metal-on-metal noise that made every part of her cringe. Next came a boom-smash-boom that she swore bordered on supersonic. Then came the unmistakable crack of a discharging weapon.
Alessandra forgot about her fall and her pain. She bolted back toward the road, ignoring the shoe that stayed behind and oblivious to branches that whipped into her with each stride. It was only a seconds-long run. Logically, she knew that. It’d only taken them moments to get into the woods. But getting out felt like an eternity. And when she burst through the trees and neared the road, she found no relief. She slowed to stare. The scene in front of her was chaos, and the blare of a car alarm reigned over it all.
Alessandra didn’t even know where to look, let alone what move to make. Where was Rush in all the craziness? And her dad? There was smoke and yelling and the thump of feet. Though she knew she only took moments to glance around, time still moved with the same slowness as her run. Each second dragged on, a hundred times lengthier than normal.
Her eyes landed on the black town car first. It was upside down, its roof partially crushed. A long skid lay out behind it, clearly indicating that its flip had happened a couple dozen feet away, and that the car had kept moving. It was also an explanation for the god-awful noise. But then she saw something else. In spite of the car’s placement, the driver’s-side door was somehow open.
No, Alessandra realized. Not open. Broken off on the hinges.
And Garibaldi wasn’t inside. But at least that particular fact gave her a purpose. She scanned the area in search of him. The frantic look around was made more difficult by the oily black smoke that somehow billowed from nowhere and everywhere at once.
A flash of movement to her left caught her attention, and she swung toward it. By the time she turned, whatever it was, it was already gone. But she noted belatedly that she was standing just a few feet from the helicopter. And inside, lying facedown on the floor, was Anderson.
Alessandra’s throat closed up. She took a small, automatic step toward him. But she no sooner moved than the tall blond man shifted ever so slightly, making her sure he was positioned that way on purpose.
Alessandra exhaled and moved on.
The light blue sedan—her father’s car—sat to the side, perpendicular to the road, and with the front wheels hanging precariously over the ditch. The rear tires, on the other hand, appeared to be almost flat. That fact had probably halted the forward momentum. Which was a good thing. Because another two inches, and it would’ve tipped right in. The rest of the car was in rough shape, too. The passenger side was crushed in, and it was covered in scrapes of black paint.
As she stared at the damage, a decade and half’s worth of nightmares came flooding in. How many times over the years had Alessandra woken in a cold sweat, tears on her face, the smell of smoke lingering in her imagination? How many times had she had to block out thoughts of what her dad’s final moments would have been like?
And here it is...all laid out. It would’ve looked just like this.
Alessandra opened and closed her eyes in a slow blink, then forced herself to remember that none of it had really happened. The nightmare had been a lie. She willed this moment to have the same falseness, and she dragged her gaze from the exterior of the vehicle to the interior. And she wanted to cry with relief. Like the town car, the sedan was empty. Then, as quickly as it had come, the relief swept away. Because while her father might’ve escaped the crash, he wasn’t safe. Not yet.
And she still didn’t know where Rush was. So she moved on.
Aside from Anderson, all of the other men were conspicuously absent. Neither Harley nor Brayden was anywhere to be seen.
Wondering how it was possible that five men had suddenly become completely invisible, Alessandra took a small step forward. And the world finally sped back up. Not to normal speed. To turbo.
From somewhere to her right, someone yelled her name.
A thump-thump, thump-thump came from a place behind her.
She started to turn.
But the air around her cracked.
Arms closed around her waist.
Searing pain marked her shoulder.
A flash of black caught her eye.
And then Alessandra hit the ground.
The impact winded her, and for a second she was immobilized. She couldn’t do anything except stare up in surprise at her father’s blue gaze. She could see that his mouth was moving, but what he was saying was a mystery. And after a futile moment, he gave up. His lips stilled, his fingers shot out, and Alessandra found herself being yanked unceremoniously across the dirt road. But the sensation only lasted for a heartbeat—not even enough time to suck in much-needed breath—before a pair of hands slid under her body and lifted her from the ground. And instead of staring into her father’s eyes, she was gazing at the espresso darkness of Rush’s irises. He looked angry, but she didn’t care. She was too relieved to be anything but glad—so busy, in fact, that she barely even noticed they were moving until they stopped.
The soul-crushing feeling in Rush’s chest didn’t lessen as he knelt down behind Randall’s blue car. The vehicle provided a small amount of shelter from the town car’s alarm, and a shield from Garibaldi, but it did nothing to ease his worry as he examined the burn mark on her shoulder. It had cut through her shirt and left a welt as big as his thumb on her skin. It had to hurt. More than hurt. But she was damned lucky. In all his years of police work, and in all his years of working side by side with thugs and quick-draw scoundrels, he’d never once seen a grazing wound like this one.
Concern, fear and frustration filled his heart as he lifted his eyes to Alessandra’s blue gaze. He was stunned to find her grinning back at him. Utterly pleased, dammit, while he sat there, thinking she’d been about to die.
“Stop smiling,” Rush growled in a low voice close to her ear.
She reached up and touched his cheek and whispered, “You’re okay.”
“Yeah. I am. But you just got shot.”
“I’m fine.”
“I told you stay behind,” he said.
“You tied me to a tree with a belt,” she corrected.
“You what?” The startled near-exclamation came from Harley.
“I told you I secured her,” Rush grumbled. “And how did you even hear that over the car alarm?”
“It’s the kind of thing that carries over even the shrillest noise,” said his friend. “And by the way... I didn’t think you meant secure literally.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be watching for Garibaldi?”
“Multitasking.”
Rush muttered a curse, then turned his attention back to Alessandra. “Red...”
She shifted a little in his arms, and with the situation as dangerous as it was, her movement was distracting and pleasant. His anger dissipated, and he sighed.
“Have a look around,” he said.
She obliged, and he watched as she took in their very limited space and the circumstances that occupied it.
Harley and Brayden crouched at one edge of the car, weapons drawn, their defensive stance obvious. Randall was there, too. He had his back pressed to the vehicle, and his breaths were coming heavily with the exertion of running for Alessandra.
A task you should’ve performed, Rush told himself.
It was hard to be resentful, though. The older man had spotted her just a moment before Rush had, and he’d been quick to react. While Rush was still hollering a warning and getting to his feet, Randall was already diving in.
Thank God.
He squeezed her a little tighter, the ache in his chest growing even sharper. Then sharper again when he realized Alessandra’s eyes were back on him again. She’d finished her brief perusal of their barricaded area, and she was looking at him expectantly. Waiting for an explanation, Rush knew.
Her father spoke up first, saving him from having to admit to his own reckless plan.
“Your boyfriend thought jumping in front of my car was a good idea,” said the other man.
Alessandra’s face filled with concern as she flicked a look from Randall to Rush. “Are you completely insane?”
“I knew he’d see me and stop,” Rush replied.
“Lucky I could stop,” Randall grumbled.
“Hell of a lot better than plowing straight into a helicopter. Don’t make me out to be the bad guy.”
Alessandra expelled a breath. “You’re both crazy. Neither of you needs to run around being all heroic and trying to die for the sake of...” She trailed off, her face reddening.
For the sake of her.
Rush knew it was what she’d been about to say, and he wished—pretty damned fiercely—that they were alone so he could explain that he did have to do it, and why. His words weren’t the kind of thing that needed an audience—especially not one that included her father. But once again, Randall saved him anyway.
“Of course we do, Munchkin,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion. “Either of us is willing to make whatever sacrifice is necessary to keep you safe. Heck. I would’ve tied that belt myself if I could’ve. Probably tighter than Rush did.”
“Dad!”
“All right,” Brayden interrupted. “Now that we’ve established that you two are nuts...can we get back to figuring out how to make this standoff end in our favor?”
“Standoff?” Alessandra echoed.
Rush nodded. “Your dad hit the gas, then swerved and braked, which forced Garibaldi to do the same. Only Garibaldi’s clearly been letting his stunt driver do most of the work, because he lost control and flipped. Managed to come out hot, though. Fired at the damned helicopter and sent everyone running for cover. Now he’s holed up somewhere out there. He can’t head this way because we’ll see him. Helicopter’s blocking the way out. And Anderson’s got a rifle with a scope, so trying to sneak into the woods isn’t much of an option, either. First bit of movement and he’ll use his mad-crazy sniper skills to send in a shot.”
“Speaking of which...” Brayden interjected. “Why didn’t Anderson fire back a minute ago? Direction of the bullet should’ve made it easy to approximate a location.”
“Because he would’ve had to risk hitting Alessandra in the cross fire,” Rush reminded him. “And shooting after the fact would be a waste of bullets.”
“Right,” said his friend with a sigh. “So now what? Not exactly a starve-him-out situation. And when the local PD catch up, the chaos’ll give Garibaldi an advantage.”
“We need to flush him out,” Harley stated.
“What do you think? Should we throw a damned rock and hope for the best?” Rush was only half joking; they badly needed a leg up.
“Rush?” Alessandra’s soft voice drew his attention then, and he turned his attention away from the continuing discussion.
He belatedly realized that throughout the exchange, she’d gone noticeably quiet. And when he met her eyes, he could see that it was because she was holding something in.
“What is it?” he asked, his tone as gentle as hers had been.
She breathed out and said, “I think I know where he is.”
Rush’s eyebrows went up. “You do?”
“Yes. But I’m afraid to tell you, because I don’t want you to run out there and try to sacrifice yourself again.”
Rush ran a hand over his beard. “But you know you have to.”
She swallowed. “I know. I’m scared, Rush. I don’t want to lose you before I even get a chance to really have you.”
He closed his eyes for the briefest second. He knew exactly how she felt. After all, he’d literally tied her to a tree to try to keep her safe. But their feelings weren’t going to help them with this particular fight. With a sigh, he tugged her close and kissed her forehead.
“If you don’t tell me,” he said, “none of us might make it out of here.”
A resigned sigh accompanied her next words. “Right before he shot at me, I heard a noise come from behind me, and when I fell, I saw something black.”
“Something black?” Rush repeated.
She nodded. “And now that I’m thinking about it, I’m ninety-nine point nine percent sure that what I heard was someone moving around on the ground, and that what I saw was the door from Garibaldi’s town car. I’m even almost positive that the door was leaning up against something out there.”
“The perfect place to hide,” Rush said, hope percolating under the surface. “We just have to figure out a way to let Anderson know.”
She bit her lip, then spoke again. “How focused is he?”
“What?”
“Would he be easily distracted from finding his target?”
“Unlikely. Why?”
“Because I think I know how we can draw Jesse out. But it might be a little noisy.”
“I’m all ears.”