spot for this particular hero. He once told his brothers-in-arms that if it weren’t for the fact that he was seeking justice for his slain father, he might’ve slipped onto the wrong side of the law. And I love this about him.
Rush is rough. He’s gruff. He’s definitely not an easy man, and he’s not going to be tamed. Not even by love. But that’s one of the things that makes Alessandra so perfect for him. She’s a free spirit. And I hope you think they’re as tingly, meant to be as I do!
Happy reading,
Melinda
To all those who love a bad boy with a good heart.
Contents
Detective Rush Atkinson was sure of two things. One. Someone was following him. And two. They were going to be sorry.
Gritting his teeth, he stepped a little harder on the gas. The Lada protested immediately. The lumbering old vehicle—built in 1972 and seemingly held together by sheer willpower alone—had a strong preference for moving at a slow and steady pace. It was good on the back roads and got the job done, and it usually suited Rush just fine. Of course, he wasn’t usually being stalked up a mountain road. If he’d thought that was even the vaguest possibility, he would’ve grabbed his second-favorite vehicle. A monster of a motorcycle that he’d pieced together with his own two hands. A source of pride.
“A source of speed, too,” he muttered as he took another quick glance in the rearview mirror.
He knew his look wouldn’t yield anything. Not on the straight patch of road. So far, he’d only caught glimpses of the car on the wider bends. It was a silver hatchback. One of those hybrid electric vehicles, Rush thought.
Strange choice for a stalker.
He didn’t really have time to muse on it. Or the desire to, as a matter of fact. He was supposed to be meeting with his “boss,” Jesse Garibaldi—aka the man he was trying his damnedest to put behind bars—in just under five minutes. He should’ve been early. Would have been early, if some fool wasn’t tailing him. No way was he going to make it on time now. He’d been trying to give the silver hatchback the slip since the second he realized it was following him.
“For your own good,” he grumbled at the unseen driver.
Really, he was doing them a favor. Garibaldi wasn’t the kind of man who welcomed uninvited guests. Not on this side of things, anyway. Inside the small town of Whispering
