Rush knew better. The man was a murderer.
Fifteen years earlier, when they were both barely more than kids, the other man had killed Rush’s father and Rush’s friends’ fathers. Garibaldi had set off a pipe bomb at the Freemont City police station in order to destroy some kind of evidence. He’d been successful, and the three men who died were nothing more than collateral damage to him. A good lawyer had seen to it that he got off. Now, a decade and a half later, Garibaldi was entrenched in the small tourist-driven economy of the mountainside town. A pillar. But all of the goodwill and investment were a front for something more sinister. Using the truly good people of Whispering Woods, Garibaldi had set himself up with a tidy little drug empire. In came the heroin. Out went a series of doctored paintings, laced with the deadly mixture of opiates and paint, and no one was the wiser.
Except us, Rush thought grimly as he swung the wheel and veered off the concrete road and headed onto a small dirt-packed one.
Just a couple of months earlier, he and his partners had discovered Garibaldi’s out-in-the-open hiding place. They’d pieced together his method. Now, with two of his three partners holed up in Mexico, and the third on hiatus in Europe, it was Rush’s job to put the final nail in the coffin. Something he was eager to do. It was going to happen any day now, too. Garibaldi was organizing something big. A meeting with a buyer, Rush believed.
It was the perfect moment to make the bust. All he had to do was to get his pseudo-boss to trust him enough to disclose the details and include him in the exchange. He was well on the way there. In the short time since Rush had used his connections to secure a position on Garibaldi’s crew, he’d already risen from grunt man to enforcer to errand-runner.
Gonna be hard to get any higher than that if you’ve got a stalker tagging along.
He guided the Lada around a corner and took yet another look in the rearview. He wasn’t surprised to see the flash of silver through the trees. He still dropped a curse as he slowed down. Being wrong wouldn’t have been so terrible in this case.
Just up ahead, the road ended in a wide circle. It was a popular spot for seasoned hikers to the head up into the mountain. At the moment, Rush just wanted to use it as a U-turn. He’d circle back around, catch sight of whoever was at the wheel of the hatchback, memorize the details of their face, then head back into town so he could place a call to Garibaldi. His boss would be unimpressed that he hadn’t shown up, but it was better than the alternative, and Rush would come up with a good excuse. He was a smooth liar. A natural by-product of spending his entire career in undercover roles.
He tapped his finger on the steering wheel as he reached the wide crescent-shaped end of the road and used it to turn the Lada around. He pushed his foot to the gas again—more gently this time—and got the vehicle up to cruising speed. His hands tightened a little on the wheel, but other than that, he kept his body perfectly relaxed, betraying no hint of apprehension at the encounter that he knew was coming any second.
“C’mon, you little silver weasel,” he said under his breath. “Give me a good, five-second look.”
When the other vehicle didn’t immediately appear, Rush frowned. He was sure—so sure—that it had been tailing him. He would’ve bet his badge on it.
“So where the hell are you, buddy?” he muttered, slowing to a near crawl.
Maybe the driver’s trying to avoid a confrontation, he reasoned.
Lord knew he wouldn’t want to get in a fight alone in the woods with one of Garibaldi’s thugs if he could avoid it. And he was supposed to be one of thugs, so that was really saying something.
It wouldn’t be an easy feat to get away unnoticed, though. Aside from coming up the way he’d done himself—or maybe being pulled up in a spaceship’s tractor beam—there was no other way to simply turn and go.
Rush dragged his gaze back and forth, considering it. What would he have done if the roles were reversed? There were thick shrubs on either side of the narrow road, and deep ditches, too. He wondered if a smaller car could’ve managed a complicated turn. Or if the driver might’ve backed all the way out. He thought the latter would take too long, and the former would require both confidence and skill.
Or...you could just be wrong about being followed. He sighed and eased his foot off the brake pedal. Maybe the flash of silver was in your head. Or it was an animal. A gray wolf. Or a—
His thoughts cut off as he reached the end of the dirt road. There, hanging half in and half out of the ditch, was proof that his imagination hadn’t run wild. A silver Prius. And something unexpected. Someone unexpected. A woman, standing beside it.
Without meaning to, Rush ran his gaze over her. Toe to head instead of the other way around. Unconsciously drinking in her eclectic appearance.
On her feet, she wore a pair of flip-flops—dark brown and made of some kind of woven fabric. Her pants were loose, wide-legged, cinched at the waist with a string, and a color that reminded Rush of the beach. She had on a plain white T-shirt, which was far too large. She’d tied it in a knot just above her hip, and the collar hung off her shoulder, revealing a tantalizing expanse of skin.
As Rush lifted his eyes to her face, his throat went a little dry. He was close enough to see the frustrated look on her face. Close enough to note her perfectly arched brows and full lips. Her cheekbones were high and honey-kissed. Touched by a few loose tendrils of the darkest auburn hair, the rest of which was piled up in a loose bun. There was no denying her allure. So Rush didn’t bother to try. Especially since staring at her nearly made him lose control of his vehicle.
It was actually the jarring bounce as he hit a bump that made him come to his senses.
The woman wasn’t someone he’d met over the cantaloupe section in the grocery store. She wasn’t someone he’d locked eyes with from across the room in a bar. She was the person who’d stalked him. Followed him from who knew how many miles, for who knew what reason.
Maybe you should stop and ask?
The question pricked at him as he coasted by. It nagged at his conscience as he looked in the side-view mirror and saw her jaw drop open as though she was stunned by the fact that he wasn’t stopping. Her arms came up in a frantic wave. For a second, he wavered. He found himself fighting for a reason to stay. Then he forcefully reminded himself that as attractive as she was, and as helpless as she seemed, it was that very thing that made her all the more dangerous. Cynics like him knew that pretty packages didn’t always have pretty contents. And he stepped on the gas.
* * *
Alessandra Rivers watched, stupefied, as the man in the truck sped up, then kept going. She spun slowly to stare at the back end as it rumbled away.
Is he seriously just going to leave?
She stood still, certain he was going to turn around. He had to, didn’t he? Even if chivalry was out of fashion—and really, Alessandra wasn’t all that interested in being a damsel in distress, anyway—there was still some human decency to speak of, wasn’t there? What kind of person left someone visibly stranded on the side of the road like that?
And she was 100 percent sure he’d seen her. Even his mirrored sunglasses and his curved brim hat couldn’t hide the fact that his gaze had slid over her.
But the truck didn’t show any sign of coming back. No approaching engine. No renewed cloud
