Risk It All

by Katie Ruggle

  The woman turned her head toward Kavenski for just a few seconds, and Cara hurried to take a few pictures. With the oversize sunglasses, hat, and scarf, it was hard to get an idea of what the woman actually looked like, especially from a distance. The only things Cara was sure of were that she was white, tall, and fashion-conscious.

  To Cara’s frustration, she saw that the woman’s lips were indeed moving. Once again resisting the urge to get close enough to listen to their conversation, Cara watched as the woman reached into the stroller and appeared to adjust the baby’s blanket. When she withdrew her hand, however, she was holding something white and rectangular.

  Almost bursting with curiosity, even as her heart pounded from fear of discovery, Cara found herself leaning forward, straining to see what the woman had taken from the stroller. In just the split second it took her to pass the item to Kavenski, Cara was pretty sure it was a legal-sized envelope. Before she could see any other details or even take a few steps closer, he slipped the item into his jacket pocket.

  The woman stood and pushed the stroller past Kavenski, and Cara realized that she would be passing right by. After a frozen second, she forced her gaze to her phone screen. Her hair fell in heavy curtains on either side of her face, hiding her profile from the woman’s view, and Cara was intensely grateful that she hadn’t pulled it back that morning.

  The seconds seemed to tick by agonizingly slowly as the burr of stroller wheels and the sharp click of the woman’s bootheels drew closer. Cara didn’t breathe as the woman passed just five feet away, and her pounding heart was so loud it made it hard to hear if the footsteps were slowing.

  When she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she dared a pseudo-casual glance and saw the back of the woman a half block away. Sucking in a much-needed breath, Cara returned her attention to Kavenski, just in time to see him rocket off the bench right into rush-hour traffic. The movement was so sudden and unexpected that Cara jerked back a step, startled.

  “What is he doing?” Without considering the wisdom of what she was doing, Cara bolted toward him, her eyes locked on his big, surprisingly nimble form as he played a terrifying game of Frogger with oncoming cars. Brakes squealed and drivers laid on their horns as Kavenski shot across the road to the far lane. Turning to face the SUV heading toward him, he raised both hands, palms out, like a traffic cop.

  He faced down the oncoming vehicle barreling toward him. The tires squealed as the wheels locked, and Cara instinctively reached toward him as if she could somehow snatch him to safety. His huge frame actually looked small as the five-thousand-pound vehicle bore down on him.

  Cara reached the curb, a useless shout of warning building in her chest. Kavenski stared down the SUV, not even flinching as it rocketed closer. Just inches from Kavenski, the vehicle lurched to a halt, rocking back from the force of the stop. Cara’s breath escaped her in a rush. She stopped abruptly, realizing that she had been about to run right out into traffic. She’d been so focused on Kavenski’s near death that she hadn’t even thought about her own safety.

  As the driver of the SUV rolled his window down and screamed invectives, Kavenski turned and strode over to a small dog huddled in the center of the lane. Scooping up the tiny furball, Kavenski stepped out of the street, waving casually at the still-yelling driver to continue on his way.

  Cara gave a small gasping laugh at Kavenski’s nonchalance. He was acting as if risking his life to save a tiny dog was no big deal, while Cara’s heart was still trying to pound out of her chest and her hands shook with an overdose of adrenaline. As if he’d heard her slightly panicked laughter, Kavenski met her gaze across the four lanes of traffic. They stared at each other for an eternal moment before the corner of his mouth kicked up in more of a grimace than a smile.

  He was the one who broke eye contact, turning with the little dog cuddled gently against his chest. Kavenski didn’t seem at all put out by the way the ball of fluff was licking his chin with a tiny pink tongue, but the incongruous picture made Cara laugh again.

  Slightly calmer now, she stepped back from the curb, although she kept her gaze on Kavenski, unable to take her eyes off the man. He looked even bigger in contrast to the small dog he held so carefully, but his usual aura of menace had been severely fractured by what Cara had just witnessed. How could she be afraid of a man when he was cuddling a tiny ball of fluff he’d just risked his life to save?

  He carried the pup to a convertible that had pulled over to the side of the road with its hazard lights flashing. The driver, a white-haired woman, got out and rushed toward Kavenski, arms outstretched. With the noise of the traffic, Cara couldn’t hear what he said to her, but she nodded emphatically several times before he handed the dog to her. Kavenski watched as the woman returned to the driver’s seat, clutching the dog against her chest. He didn’t move from his spot until the convertible’s roof began to extend, enclosing the woman and her dog safely inside the car.

  Now that the panic had receded and Cara’s brain was working again, she realized that the dog must’ve jumped out of the convertible into the road. She wondered if Kavenski had insisted that the convertible’s roof be closed before he gave the woman back her dog. Cara studied him, rubbing a hand over her lips as her brain struggled to fit the Kavenski she’d researched—who’d supposedly shot and killed two people in cold blood—with the man who’d just risked his life to save a dog, and who was currently watching the owner with the air of a safety-conscious crossing guard.

  As the convertible—roof fully closed—drove away, Kavenski’s gaze met Cara’s once again. Despite the width of the road separating them, she saw his eyes widen slightly, breaking his usual impassive expression. Their gazes clung together until, with a sharp shake of his head, he turned and strode away. Cara stared after him even after he was out of sight. The sound of a box truck rattling by pulled her out of her thoughts, and she started walking to where she’d parked her car.

  What had started out as a simple—if dangerous—skip retrieval had gotten a lot more confusing. Remembering his final warning look, she gave an amused huff. If he didn’t want her to investigate him, he shouldn’t be so fascinating.

  * * *

  A few days later, Cara paused, pretending to check her phone as she fought to push away the urge to jump back in her car and drive away as fast as she could. She’d only been to Dutch’s Bar once, but that had been in the middle of the day with Molly. At night, it was exponentially creepier. The warehouses surrounding the bar seemed to loom over the space, creating shadows where any number of dangerous people could be lurking. The bar, which had looked nondescript and slightly dingy in the full sunlight, now gave off a menacing air, making Cara sure she wouldn’t be welcome or safe there. That didn’t matter, though. She was determined to follow through on this new job, and that meant checking out Abbott’s possible hangouts…including Dutch’s.

  She slid her hand over the lump the Taser made in her jacket pocket. The presence of the weapon gave her courage, and she pulled up the photo of Geoffrey Abbott, getting his image freshly lodged in her brain. Slipping her phone back in her other pocket—the Taser-less one—she pulled back her shoulders and strode toward the entrance.

  Her confidence wavered as the bouncer eyed her suspiciously, his sharp gaze running over her. The way he frowned as he stared at her midsection made her paranoid that he could see right through her jacket to the Taser in her pocket. She hoped that he wouldn’t conduct a pat down, and then wondered if that would be legal for a civilian. Making a mental note to look up the Colorado statute as soon as she had a quiet moment, she focused on the big guy in front of her.

  His hand extended, palm out, and Cara offered her driver’s license, bracing herself for what she knew was coming. Even though she was legal by almost four full years, she was used to the disbelieving squints. Her small stature and baby face—including dimples—made her appear younger than she was. She’d pulled her dark hair b
ack into a severe bun, to keep it out of grabbing range as well as to make her look more like a serious professional, and she hoped it didn’t make her look like a teenager playing dress-up.

  The bouncer’s gaze flicked back and forth between her and the license several times, and his frown deepened.

  Cara sighed as she dug out her wallet. “That really is my authentic, legal license. See? The same birth date as on my student ID.”

  “Why are you here?” the bouncer asked in a warning rumble.

  “Uh…” She didn’t expect to be questioned about her motives before she even got inside the place. What kind of dive bar was this? “To have a few drinks, maybe dance a little. Do, you know, bar things.”

  “Bar things,” he repeated expressionlessly, and she nodded too quickly.

  “Bar things.”

  His sigh was deep enough to make his enormous shoulders sag for a moment, and she was pretty sure she was about to be sent away. To her surprise, he handed back her IDs and motioned toward the door. “Don’t blow anything up.”

  “I’ll do my best.” She would’ve made a comment about how that was a strange thing to say, except that a skip Molly was chasing had blown a hole in the bathroom wall just a few weeks ago. Besides, she was just glad the bouncer hadn’t searched her and found her Taser.

  Slipping inside before he could change his mind, Cara looked around, getting her bearings. Filled with people, the bar seemed smaller than she remembered. Loud old-school rock pounded through the space, and the usual beery, sweaty bar smell filled her nose. She’d half expected the music to screech to a stop when she entered, everyone turning to stare, but no one even seemed to notice her.

  She took a few deep breaths before moving toward the bar. She’d planned better this time. This was simply a reconnaissance mission. Even if she spotted Abbott, she wouldn’t try to make contact. The most she’d do was follow him to his car and get his plate number.

  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 searching for Geoffrey Abbott, she was right in front of the booth before she realized it was 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 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.

  As much as she blinked, though, the face did not change. It was indeed her first attempted skip, possible killer and definite dog rescuer. Cara stood rooted to the spot. She continued to stare, unable to process the fact that, now that she wasn’t following him around town, Henry Kavenski just happened to pop up right in front of her. Her stomach was doing an odd fluttering thing that it definitely shouldn’t be doing—not now, and never for this guy. He glared 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.” She held back a sigh. Of course she said that too. She was so mortifyingly not smooth, especially around Henry Kavenski.

  “Didn’t I tell you to quit following me?”

  Maybe it was because there was more long-suffering exasperation in his tone than actual 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. “Yes, but it’s really your fault I haven’t stopped.”

  His eyes narrowed, which had the unfortunate effect of making him even hotter than he already was. “My fault.” Again, the little threatening rasp he gave the words should’ve been scary enough to send her scooting out of the bar and back to the safety of home, but she couldn’t stop thinking about him diving in front of cars to save a tiny little floof of a dog.

  “Yes.” Her mouth was operating all on its own. “For being too fascinating.”

  “It’s my fault for being…too fascinating.” Resting his elbow on the table, he rubbed the spot right above his temple, making her wonder if he had a headache. She immediately had the urge to feed him a couple of painkillers and massage his neck, but she quashed those tender impulses immediately. Dog rescuer or not, she barely knew this guy—this skip. Even despite that, though, she didn’t want to walk away from him quite yet.

  “Mind if I sit down?” Once again, the words were out before she’d considered whether they were a good idea or not. It was as if her normally repressed impulsive side took over the second she was in Henry Kavenski’s company.

  He blinked, his face poker-straight and his lips compressed, but he didn’t say no, and that was good enough for her. 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 screaming a warning that she was going to get herself killed. After all, maybe it was just dogs he liked, and he had no problem offing people. The couple he’d been accused of murdering—Lance and Bettina Mason—had been a seemingly innocuous pair…at least on paper. There’d been enough evidence to charge Kavenski with homicide, and Cara knew she needed to be cautious. Just because he was the most attractive, and interesting, person she’d ever met didn’t mean she should throw all logic out the window. On the contrary, her inappropriate crush should make her even more wary.

  “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 just the view she needed—if she was willing to ignore the fact that she’d plonked herself down next to an unsettlingly attractive accused killer, which apparently she was.

  If Henry didn’t kill her, her sisters certainly would.

  “So find another table.” That tone was back—the annoyed yet resigned inflection that was starting to become so familiar. It was oddly reassuring.

  “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 face as she said the name. Except for a slight deepening of the crease between his eyebrows, his expression remained impassive. 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. “He’s not just a tax evader,” he grumbled.

  “What do you mean? What else has he done?” Even as she asked, her stomach sank. She’d known this was too easy, especially coming from Barney.

  “A lot of bad things. You don’t want that mess,” he said, rather than clarifying. “Find another target.”

  “But he was perfectly nonviolent and seemed kind of dumb. That’s just what I was looking for.” On paper, Geoffrey Abbott was the perfect opposite of Kavenski. Best of all, despite Abbott’s objectively handsome face and gym-toned body, Cara hadn’t even felt a twinge of attraction to him. 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 disappointmen
t. 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.

  “Do you know him?” Even though she was pretty sure she shouldn’t continue pursuing Abbott, now that Kavenski had clued her in, she couldn’t just turn off her hunt for the truth. There was nothing she loved more than snapping that last piece of the puzzle into place, and she couldn’t just leave all the unconnected pieces of Abbott’s backstory scattered around willy-nilly.

  Kavenski’s huge sigh was accompanied by a rolling of his shoulders, and she tried to swallow her smile. For as dour and supposedly dangerous as he was, he was quite dramatic. Now that she’d been in his company multiple times without him harming her—and with the memory of a recently rescued dog happily licking his chin fresh in her mind—she couldn’t dredge up any fear of him. She was pretty sure he noticed her smile, because his eyes narrowed on her mouth. Hurrying to straighten her face into an appropriately serious expression, she stared back at him expectantly.

  “I know of him,” he finally said. “And what I know isn’t good. You need to stay away from him.”

  “See, that’s the problem.” She played with the bottle in front of her, using her finger to follow a droplet of condensation as it trickled over the label. “I need to bring him in.”

  “Why?” He shifted slightly, turning his shoulders a little more toward her. It was almost overwhelming to have the entirety of his attention focused on her. He was so…intense. And hot, the cheekier part of her brain added. Pushing away that ever-present and extremely inconvenient attraction, she tried to keep her mind on what he was saying. “There are dozens of easier skips out there that you could focus on. Why go after Abbott?”

  “I told Barney Thompson I’d do it.” Her voice was gloomy. “Usually I’m really good at keeping myself out of trouble. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me lately.”