Rush jammed the key into the lock and cursed his own stupid impulsivity.
He’d never considered himself to be a cautious man, and he was also a big fan of the whole action-over-words adage. But he was still perfectly capable of being patient. He knew damned well that sometimes, timing was everything. That waiting was just a prelude to doing. None of that meant a lack of self-control. Not usually.
He pushed open the door and stepped into the cabin. In spite of the temperate air outside, the interior of the small building was chilly enough to necessitate a fire in the pellet-burning stove. Which was actually a relief. Rush needed the reprieve. The required prep work was a perfect excuse to avoid talking to Alessandra. Unfortunately, the busyness couldn’t shut off his brain. His mind insisted on turning things over, demanding to know what the hell he’d been thinking.
The problem was that when he’d leaned down and brushed his lips to Alessandra’s, it had felt like that moment. The one at the end of the wait. He’d been swept away. By the warmish mountain breeze. The amazing view. The way Alessandra leaned into him a little when he spoke to her. Her scent and the way her hair caught strands of sunlight and became living fire.
What the hell, Atkinson? You’re a sucky poet now, too?
With a self-directed growl, he slammed the stove shut and spun toward Alessandra, determined to shift things back to the task at hand—finding out what she knew about Garibaldi. Except whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips. When he’d started with the fire, he’d caught her sitting on the couch from the corner of his eye. He’d assumed she’d still be there. She wasn’t. Instead, she was standing in the opposite corner of the room, her fingers running over an exposed beam, a look of wonder on her face. Then she turned his way, and the smile she directed at him made him want to kiss her all over again.
Dammit.
He needed to find a way to get a hold of his libido. At least Alessandra seemed unaware of the way his need roiled under the surface.
“Look at this!” she said excitedly.
“At what?” he replied.
She didn’t wait for him to figure out what she meant. She walked quickly across the cabin, grabbed his hand and tugged him back to the spot where she’d been standing. Without letting him go, she pulled his fingers up to a beam and pressed them to a groove in the wood.
“Feel that?” she asked.
He could feel something under his fingertips, but he was far more aware of her than he was of anything else. Her shoulder brushed his chest, and her hip bumped his thigh. It was more interesting than whatever she was making him touch, but he shifted his feet anyway, trying to focus.
“All I feel are some dips in the wood,” he admitted after a moment.
“Here,” she said. “I’ll show you.”
Her hand dragged his over the grooves, slowly this time. The she spoke, her voice dropping low, like whispering would help him feel whatever it was she wanted him to feel.
“See?” she said softly. “That first one...it’s an M. Then there’s a little plus sign. And an R at the end. Mary plus Randall. My parents carved that there. My mom felt so guilty about the vandalism that she tried to sand it off. But my dad stopped her and left a hundred-dollar bill with a note instead.”
Her fingers finally left his, but Rush kept his hand up for a moment longer, tracing the thirty-year-old carving once more.
“Sounds like they were really in love,” he said.
“They were embarrassing with it,” she told him with a laugh. “It drove me nuts when I was kid. All that mushiness. But when my dad passed...”
“You missed it,” he filled in.
She nodded. “A lot. I had no idea how much I’d wish he’d walk into a room and give my mom an over-the-top kiss, or make some lovingly suggestive comment that I never should’ve heard. For a long time after, it felt like my mom was half a person. I was just so used to them being a unit.”
She eyed the carved letters one more time, then brushed past him to sink into the couch. Rush only hesitated for a second before following suit. He was careful to leave a space between them, but he felt a compulsion to be near enough to reach out if she wanted him to. He could see that she might, and if it was a little odd to feel so compelled to offer a stranger any comfort she might need, he simply brushed it aside.
She wrinkled her nose a little. “Too much information, right? I’m sure the last thing you want is to hear a woman you don’t know rambling on about her dead parents and their honeymoon. I’m just feeling overwhelmed.”
Rush shook his head, then said something that surprised himself—something true, and which had nothing to do with his undercover backstory, and which he rarely brought up voluntarily. “Unload all you like. I lost my dad, too, fifteen years ago, so I get it.”
Alessandra’s eyes immediately sought his, their brilliant blue muted with empathy. “I’m sorry.”
Rush leaned back, his mind dancing around the part of his past he kept roped off. “S’okay, Red. Like you said about your dad...it was a long time ago.”
“It’s still hard sometimes, though, isn’t it?”
Deflect, he ordered silently.
But for no good reason at all, he answered honestly. “It’s not just hard. It’s hell. My parents weren’t happy like yours. They fought constantly. My dad was a good man. A really good one. My mom was a bit...messy. And when my dad was alive, she always tried to play us off against each other. It worked a lot of the time. Made me a rough and pretty troubled kid.”
When he paused, he saw that Alessandra was studying him intently. Listening, for sure. Maybe trying to figure out if he was still rough and troubled now.
Deflect, his subconscious repeated.
Instead, he went on, and the spilled words were strangely therapeutic. “I’ve gotta admit that my dad’s death changed me for the better.”
“How so?” Alessandra asked, her voice infused with just the right balance of curiosity and sympathy.
“Things went steadily downhill after he died. My mom never held it together all that well. But without my dad...all the already-frayed edges came loose. She was even angrier at him after he died than when he was alive. I was no help. I was too angry, too. Mad at the whole world. Typical teenager with a big giant chip on my shoulder. A year went by of us only talking to scream at each other. Then something happened that made things worse. But it was a wake-up call for me. I needed to be a man like my dad.”
When he finished, he braced himself for a question about the “something.” He knew he’d have to lie, and that he’d more or less set himself up for failure by even mentioning it. Telling her the truth—that fifteen years ago, Jesse Garibaldi, then a minor with a protected identity, had gotten away with murder—wasn’t an option. Alluding to the situation was bad enough. It risked his life. The lives of his three partners. Alessandra’s life, too.
So why did you bring it up, then? he wondered.
He honestly wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that he didn’t want to lie to the pretty woman sitting beside him. What the hell would he say to her, if—when—she asked?
Deflect. The voice in his head was an insistent whisper now.
Except when she spoke, it wasn’t to say what he’d been expecting.
“Did you succeed?” she asked.
“Succeed?” he echoed.
“In becoming a man like your dad.”
“I’m closer, I think. But still a work in progress.”
“I think that applies to all of us, don’t you? I know I’m far from perfect.”
“I think perfection is relative.”
Without meaning to, Rush swept his gaze over her. When he finished his quick head-to-toe look and brought his eyes back to her face, he found her stare hanging on his lips. He knew she had to be thinking of the brief kiss. He sure was, and he couldn’t quite recall why he’d stopped it. Being professional seemed awfully unimportant.
As the moment dragged on, the heat in the one-room cabin spiked, and it had nothing to do with the toasty woodstove in the corner. Her knee bumped his, and he realized he’d unconsciously slid closer to her.
Alessandra looked down at their touching legs, then back up at him again. He saw uncertainty in her eyes, and it was enough to bring him to his senses. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about how her lips felt; he was supposed to be trying find a way get her out of Whispering Woods. If he kissed her again, he’d not only jeopardize everything he’d been working for, he’d jeopardize her chances of staying alive for another two days.
Trying to look like he wasn’t jerking back too suddenly, and pretending not to feel a stab of disappointment, he pulled away, cleared his throat, and smiled. “So...after all that...which one of us is doing the whole too-much-information thing?”
She smiled back, but it looked as strained as his own felt. “It’s good, actually. It makes you seem a little more...”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, seriously.”
Her cheeks were pink. “A little more human.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “What was I before? A robot?”
“No.”
“Worse?”
She frowned. “What’s worse than a robot?”
His mouth twitched. “I dunno. Two robots? Or maybe a single evil, sentient robot, hell-bent on world domination?”
She stared at him for a moment before a laugh burst out of her mouth, the sound filling the cabin. It made Rush glad he’d opted for a bit of humor.
“So not a robot, then,” he said. “Alien?”
Her pretty blue eyes rolled in spite of her blush. “No, not an alien.”
“Now I’m extra curious.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You saying that makes it matter even more.”
“Okay. Look. Don’t take this the wrong way...” Her cheeks went even brighter. “But you give off a bit of a thug vibe.”
Rush would’ve laughed it off—it was the appearance he was aiming for, after all—but it provided a perfect segue back into the discussion he was supposed to be having with her.
He still made sure to keep his reply light. “I don’t know if I should feel insulted, or just be concerned that you think your old friend employs thugs.”
“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.