by Katie Ruggle
The bartender, a redhead who resembled Jane a little too much for comfort, gave her a suspicious look but handed over the beer Cara ordered without any fuss. Clutching the cold bottle a little too tightly, she wove her way through the throng toward a shadowed booth in the back. From there, she’d be able to watch the crowd while staying somewhat hidden.
Preoccupied with not running into anyone while she scanned faces for one that matched Geoffrey Abbott’s mugshot, she was right in front of the booth before she realized that it was already occupied.
“Oh! Sorry. I thought this was empty.” Even as she apologized and started to turn away, she recognized the man sitting in the corner of the booth where the shadows were the deepest, and her head snapped back around. Her first thought was that the gloom was playing tricks on her eyes, because there was no way that was Henry Kavenski. It had to be her mind messing with her.
As much as she blinked, though, the face in front of her did not change. It was indeed her first attempted skip. She continued to stare, unable to process the fact that, now that she’d given up on bringing him in, Henry Kavenski just happened to pop up right in front of her. He looked back at her, expressionless except for the slight tightening of his lips.
“Hi.” Of course she said that. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Didn’t I tell you to quit following me?”
Maybe it was because there was more long-suffering exasperation in his tone than anger, or maybe it was because she was relieved to see a familiar face in this intimidating bar—even if it was his face—but once again, her mouth worked before her brain could stop it. “Mind if I sit down?”
He blinked at her, his face poker-straight and his lips compressed, but he didn’t say no. Cara slid into the booth next to him, careful to leave space between them so she didn’t intrude on his personal bubble. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Sitting.” A part of her was impressed with her audacity, while the rest was just screaming a warning that she was going to get herself killed.
“There’s an entire empty bench over there.” He flicked his hand at the other side of the table.
“I can’t see anything from over there.” Her tone was apologetic, but she settled more firmly on the battered vinyl seat. This was perfect, once she got used to the idea that she’d plonked herself down next to an accused killer.
“So find another table.” That tone was back—the annoyed yet resigned one that was starting to become so familiar. It was oddly reassuring, which made her wonder if she was right in the head.
“This one is perfect for watching the bar, though.” She pretended to take a sip of her beer and scanned the crowd. Unless Abbott was wearing an excellent disguise, she was pretty sure he wasn’t in the main room.
A heavy sigh drew her attention back to her booth-mate. “Who are you stalking now?” he grumbled.
“Geoffrey Abbott.” She watched his expression as she said the name, but he didn’t even twitch. Even if he did know Abbott, she wasn’t sure why she’d expected Kavenski to show any reaction. He had his poker face down pat. “He’s a tax evader.”
The amber liquid in his drink caught the light as he rotated his glass. He hadn’t taken a sip since she’d joined him, making her wonder if he was pretending to drink, just like she was. “A tax evader with connections,” he grumbled.
“What do you mean, connections?” Even as she asked, her stomach sank. She’d known it was too easy, especially coming from Barney.
“You don’t want that mess,” he said, rather than clarifying. “Find another target.”
“But he was perfectly non-violent and seemed kind of dumb. That’s just what I was looking for.” She allowed her head to thump against the back of the booth. “I should’ve known he was too good to be true.”
Kavenski stayed silent as she worked through her disappointment. It made sense, now that she thought about it. After all, weren’t mobsters traditionally brought down by tax evasion? She stared at the crowd as she mentally ran over his file again. Organized crime ties fit, she had to admit to herself.
As if to mock her, her gaze caught on the profile of the very man she’d come to Dutch’s to find. He worked his way through the crowd, as if intent on finding someone. The someone turned out to be a woman who looked to be in her fifties, with light brown hair, strong features, and a wide, mobile mouth that came together into a striking whole. They had an intense, low-voiced discussion before Abbott turned away abruptly, his mouth pinched with anger. As intently as he’d made his way into the bar, he now worked his way toward the exit.
Cara slid out of the booth. Even though Kavenski had warned her about going after Abbott, she couldn’t let him leave without at least getting a plate number. It’d be simple and danger-free, and that bit of information might soften the blow when she informed Barney that they wouldn’t take the case.
“What are you doing?”
Cara gave him a sunny smile. “Nothing dangerous. Thanks for letting me sit with you.”
She turned away and slipped through the crowd, keeping her eye on the back of Abbott’s head, thankful that he was taller than most of the other bar patrons. By the time she’d worked her way to the door and stepped outside, he was nowhere in sight. She paused, waiting for one of the parked cars to start, hoping that he hadn’t parked it in the lot across the street or, even worse, walked to Dutch’s.
Glancing at the bouncer, she saw that he was watching her grimly. “I didn’t blow anything up,” she said.
Before he could respond, she saw red brake lights illuminate on a car in the far corner of the parking lot. It was too far away to see the plate, so she hurried across the lot. He was already backing out of his spot, and she moved a little faster, not wanting to attract attention by running, but also unwilling to miss her chance.
The back end of his car drew closer as he reversed, and she squinted at the license plate. He started to pull forward toward the lot exit, moving the car away from her, and she trotted forward, hoping to catch it as he paused before turning onto the street.
A loud squeal of tires behind her made her spin around, startled. Bright headlights blinded her as an engine revved loudly. A car was coming at her—fast, too fast. She dodged to the side, but the lights followed her, steering toward her as if to intentionally run her down. Pivoting in the other direction, she ran toward the row of parked cars, hoping they’d at least take some of the car’s impact, but a glance over her shoulder showed that it was too late.
The car was going to run her down.
Order Katie Ruggle’s next book in the
Rocky Mountain Bounty Hunters series
Risk It All
On sale November 2019
GO BACK TO WHERE IT ALL BEGAN!
IN THE REMOTE ROCKY MOUNTAINS, LIVES DEPEND ON THE SEARCH & RESCUE BROTHERHOOD. BUT IN A PLACE THIS FAR OFF THE MAP, TRUST IS HARD TO COME BY AND SECRETS CAN BE MURDER.
Hold Your Breath
Jumping into a hole cut in the frozen reservoir was a stupid idea. In fact, of all the questionable decisions she’d made since abandoning civilization for her tiny mountain cabin seven months ago, this was probably the worst.
At least, Lou mused wryly, it was a beautiful place in which to do a dumb thing. The sun lit the snowcapped mountains circling like sleepy sentinels around them, and the wind chased powdery snow across the frozen reservoir. Despite the cold, it still smelled strongly of fish.
“Ready for some ice-rescue training?” Derek bumped his neoprene-covered arm against hers. He seemed much too cheerful for a guy about to dive into glacial water.
“No.”
“Aww, Lou.” When he tried to pat her head with one of his bright blue gloves, she ducked out of reach. “Nervous?”
“Of course not. Why would I be nervous about jumping into a hole in the ice and swimming around in thirty-two-and-a-half-degree water? Why
did I join the Field County Rescue Dive Team and not the Jamaican Whatever again?”
“Because I would not be on the Jamaican Dive Team,” Derek answered. “And I make it worth the cold.”
“Yeah, not really.”
“Hey!” He smacked her arm, she laughed and whacked him back, and then it evolved into a full-fledged slap fight. The blue-nitrile shade of their gloves made them look like life-size cartoons, and Lou couldn’t hold back another laugh.
“Sparks!”
Callum’s bellow froze her in place. She shot Derek a wry glance before turning to face their team leader. She took careful, deliberate steps in the clumsy dry-suit boots, as humiliation was better served in small doses. Being caught goofing off was bad enough. She didn’t need to fall on her ass, as well.
“Yes?” She eyed his scowling face. It was too bad about his surliness, since Callum was a joy to look upon otherwise, in a gladiator-meets-drill-sergeant kind of way. His blond hair was military short, and his eyes were a startling and beautiful blue against tanned skin. His jaw was square, and his body… Taking a deep breath, she carefully did not check out the neoprene-wrapped perfection below his neck.
Because…damn.
“What are you doing?”
Somehow, answering “Fooling around with Derek” did not seem like the best idea. “Uh…nothing.”
He stared at her, heavy frown still in place. “It didn’t— Never mind. You’re like a terrier with ADD. Why can’t you stand still for five minutes?”
“Because…” She shot a glance at Derek. The traitor had taken several steps back and was pretending to examine a seam on his dry-suit sleeve. “He… I just…Um, the gloves…”
Callum let the silence hang for several seconds. When he eventually turned away from Lou, she let out the breath she’d been holding and shuffled over to rejoin Derek. Once there, she punched him lightly—well, sort of lightly—in the kidney.
“Ouch.” He gave her an injured look. “What was that for?”
“Why am I always the one who gets in trouble?”
“Because you’re the one who starts it.”
“Do not,” she protested, realizing she’d gotten a little loud only when Callum’s eyes focused on her again. Dropping her gaze, she studied the half-frozen puddle in front of her boots. It seemed as if every single time she did something embarrassing, Callum was there, watching her with the look—a mix of exasperation and irritated bafflement. The sad part was that, even after three months of getting the look, Lou still wasn’t able to smother the obnoxious butterflies that fluttered in her belly whenever she was the center of his attention.
“You done?” he asked. At her nod, he jerked his chin toward the icy reservoir.
Lou fell in line with the six other divers, taking slow, exaggerated steps to avoid tripping over her own neoprene-wrapped feet or slipping on the ice. As they reached the large opening that had been carved out earlier in the day for the training exercise, Lou peered at the water, frowning.
“What’s wrong?” Derek asked, stepping up beside her and following her gaze as if looking for the answer to his own question.
She shrugged. “All that ice around the edge makes the water look really cold.”
Bumping her with his elbow, he snorted. “It is cold, genius. It’s literally freezing, which explains all the hard stuff we’re standing on.”
Lou elbowed him back. “Dork,” she grumbled.
He smirked at her.
“The ice is just under ten inches here,” Callum announced in his schoolteacher tone—the one that always made Lou want to act up like a contrary third-grader. “Is that thick enough for a group of people to walk on?”
“Wouldn’t it have been better to confirm that before we left shore?” Lou muttered, making Derek snicker. Callum sent a sharp look her way.
“It’s thick enough,” Chad answered, taking a step toward Callum. “It’d even be okay to drive on it.”
“Drive what?”
“A car or light truck,” Chad said quickly. “For anything more, twelve inches would be better.”
“That’s what she said,” Derek whispered loud enough to make everyone except Callum laugh. Even Chad grinned before dropping his chin to hide it.
Callum let his gaze fall on each person in turn. The chuckles died, replaced by awkward coughs.
“So this ice is safe?” he finally asked when silence had fallen over the team members.
“Yes.” Chad was the first to speak up again, and Lou winced. He’d obviously already forgotten the four hours they’d spent watching training videos that morning.
Wilt gave a slow, sad shake of his head. “No ice is safe,” he said in the Arkansas drawl he held on to even after forty years in Colorado. Lou liked Wilt. He was a soft-spoken man who kept quiet unless he had something important to say. When he spoke, everyone shut up and listened. Wilt was in his sixties, with a thick mustache that drooped over his mouth, giving him a perpetually mournful expression.
“Good, Wilt,” Callum said. “Glad someone was paying attention this morning. We have to be especially careful of weak spots after the warm spell last week. Even though it’s been cold the past couple of days, the ice probably hasn’t recovered yet.”
Chad’s shoulders sagged. Knowing all too well how it felt to be under the heavy weight of Callum’s displeasure, Lou shot him a sympathetic glance. He avoided her gaze.
“Okay!” Callum clapped his blue-gloved hands together. “Everyone in the water. First time in is the hardest, so it’s best to get it over with.”
Lou eyed the water doubtfully, shuffling a little closer to the edge of the hole. She had a lot of scuba diving experience, but most of it had been in tropical locations. This was new to her.
“What if my suit has a leak?” Chad asked. Lou whipped her head around to stare at him. Hell. She’d never thought about a leaky suit. Her newly panicked gaze flew to Callum’s face.
“Your suit is buoyant enough that it won’t matter, even if it fills with water to your armpits.” Callum waved a dismissive hand. “You’ll still float.”
Slightly relieved but trying not to think about how freaking cold thirty-two-degree water up to her armpits would be, she turned her attention back to the opening in the ice. Derek had already taken the plunge.
“C’mon in,” he said, letting his legs float to the surface and leaning back as if he were in an easy chair. “The water’s fine.”
Deciding to just get it done, Lou took a breath and jumped in. When her head went under, she instantly realized her mistake. Once the shockingly cold water hit her face, her lungs clamped down, squeezing out all her oxygen. She didn’t even try to figure out which way was up but just let her suit float her to the surface instead.
She felt a tap on the back of her hood and yanked her face out of the water. Callum was close enough for her to see the deep creases between his eyebrows.
“You good?” he asked.
“Y-yep.”
After examining her face carefully, he shook his head. “Never do anything halfway, do you, Sparks?”
Since she didn’t know if that was a compliment or an insult, she kept quiet. Her legs kept wanting to float to the surface behind her and tip her onto her front as the others climbed in more carefully. Scowling, she tried to force her lower half down but ended up flailing unsuccessfully.
“How are you staying upright?” she asked Callum, craning her neck to keep her face out of the water as her legs headed for the surface again.
“Tuck them to your chest and then push them straight down.” He swam toward the icy ledge as she struggled to master her buoyant suit. She finally managed to shove her legs down so her body was more or less upright.
“Ha!” she crowed, slapping the surface in victory. “Got you down, bitches!”
“Did you just call your legs ‘bitches’?” De
rek asked from directly behind her, making her jump. Her upper body tilted forward, but she got herself back under control.
“Yep. Occasional evidence to the contrary, I am in charge of all my body parts.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Everyone out!” Callum bellowed, levering his body onto the ice with ease. “Exit the water on your front like a seal and then roll away from the edge. Remember, the more you can distribute your weight, the less likely it is you’ll go through the ice.”
Lou flattened her hands on the ice and tried to hoist her body out of the water, but it looked a lot easier when Callum did it. Her legs, damn the rogue bastards, floated forward and up, catching under the ledge. She managed to slam the edge of the ice into her belly, driving out her breath.
“Nice, Lou,” Derek mocked as he slid gracefully onto the solid surface. “You’re like a special seal.”
“Oh, shut up,” she muttered, panting, as she hauled herself out of the water.
This, she could tell, was going to be one hell of a day.
* * *
“Sparks!” Callum bellowed. “You’re up!”
She sighed, relinquishing her spot on the rope where she’d been helping to pull the “victims” and their rescuers out of the water and across the ice. It was like a lopsided game of tug-of-war—all brute strength and teamwork—and she’d actually been getting to like that part of training, despite the hard work. But now that she wasn’t pulling, she noticed her eyelashes had frosted over, and her neck and the top of her chest were clammy from the water that had leaked into the suit after her full-body plunge.
Trudging over to Callum, she lifted her arms so he could wrap the end of the rope around her middle. Although she’d watched three of the guys perform an in-water rescue, she was still nervous. The ice-rescue veterans had made it look easy, but she had a feeling her first time wouldn’t go so smoothly.
