by Katie Ruggle
That bare hint of a smile was long gone, and a fierce scowl had taken its place. “There’s already been one attempt to kill you.”
“So?” She shook her head when he stared at her. “I don’t mean that my near-death experience wasn’t completely scary, because it was, but that doesn’t explain why you’re lurking behind a Subaru, ready to grab random low-level burglars and dangle them in midair.” Her knee gave a dull throb, and she opened her driver’s door and tossed her backpack into the passenger seat before plopping down sideways, needing to sit. Once she got comfortably settled, she continued. “Also, isn’t it pretty dramatic to say someone was intentionally trying to kill me? I think it’s more likely that someone was drunk and dumb, and we were just the unlucky ones in the way at that particular moment.”
He opened his mouth and then closed it, glowering at her.
“Well?” she asked when he didn’t speak. “What’s your answer?”
“To which part?”
“Why are you here?” she asked, finding her patience returning now that she was off her knee and Stuart had disappeared in the distance.
“You’re not taking this seriously, and it’s going to get you killed.”
She couldn’t hold back a huff of laughter.
“What?”
Raising one shoulder in a shrug, she looked up at him. From her position, he looked extra-enormous standing there in front of her, and she marveled at how comfortable she’d become around him. “That’s the first time I’ve been accused of not taking something seriously. Usually, I’m the Negative Nelly of the family, always thinking about possible consequences.”
From his renewed scowl, he didn’t find this as amusing as she did. “The consequences will be death. Your death.” He made a strange face that she couldn’t translate—baffled resignation, maybe?—and added in a mutter, “And probably mine.”
“It’s okay, Henry,” she said, his name feeling odd on her tongue. She generally thought of him as Kavenski, but his concern for her safety—as exaggerated as she felt it was—was sweet. Too sweet for an impersonal last name. “I’ve confessed all to my sisters, and I’m firmly back on Team Research. There will be no more lurking in dark booths at Dutch’s for me.” That last part almost made her sad. With Henry there in the booth with her, she had felt safe.
His glower finally eased slightly. “Good. Your sisters shouldn’t be involved with these people, either.”
This time, she laughed outright. “Don’t worry. The ones doing the actual chasing and tackling love a heaping helping of danger with their skips. It’s the adrenaline rush, something I’m sure you know all about. Me, on the other hand… Well, fear just makes me want to run away.” When he looked as though he was about to start lecturing again, she hurried to add, “It’s okay. My sisters are smart about it.” Unlike me. She didn’t say that part out loud, since there was a soft, squishy inner part of her that really wanted him to think she was smart and brave.
Well, it was too late for the brave part—and probably for the smart part, too—but she couldn’t quite admit out loud how dumb she’d been for chasing after him half-cocked. She was just lucky that he seemed to be fairly decent, as bail jumpers went.
“Why’s Powers following you around?” he asked, shifting forward until he could rest a muscular forearm on the top of her door as he bent toward her. His right hand was braced against the car, so it felt as if he surrounded her. Instead of feeling claustrophobic as she would have if anyone else—especially a skip she’d been chasing—had trapped her inside the car with his ginormous body, she felt safe, protected from the outside world. It was probably because he’d saved her life the previous night, but Henry Kavenski didn’t set off any of the alarm bells he should’ve been ringing.
“Powers? Oh, Stuart!” He’d never shared a class with her, so up until a few weeks ago, she’d barely known him. They’d never even exchanged a nod in greeting until he’d broken into her house. Now, she felt as if she couldn’t escape him. For a moment, she was sad that her kick had missed his smug little face. “He’s after the necklace my mom stole.”
Kavenski’s expression changed, going from startled back to his usual impassiveness. “You have the necklace?” There was an intensity to the question that he couldn’t quite hide, and disappointment flooded her. Immediately, she scolded herself for being silly. Of course he was interested in the necklace. He was a criminal. A double-layered criminal, even, since he’d jumped bail after being arrested for another crime. Even if he was innocent of the Masons’ murders, he was doing shady things with Layla. The jewelry was worth a fortune and would’ve been a temptation to even the most sin-free, lawful citizens.
“Of course not. If we did, do you think we’d be hanging on to it, luring every lowlife into our home? Do you know how many attempted break-ins we’ve had since this all happened?”
He peered at her suspiciously, and she looked back, holding his gaze, intensely hoping he believed she was sincere. The thought of Henry Kavenski—her skip turned source turned sort-of protector—joining the hordes hunting the necklace filled Cara with bitter disappointment. To her utter relief, he gave her the slightest nod, a bare dip of his chin, but it was enough. He wouldn’t be one of the many breaking into her house in search of the necklace.
Pulling her gaze away from Kavenski, she realized that everything around them had gotten very quiet…too quiet. There wasn’t even a peep from a bird or squirrel in the surrounding trees. It seemed as if the whole area was holding its breath. Her gaze skipped around the partially filled lot as prickles traced up her spine. Every tinted window and cargo van seemed suspicious, and the vehicles scattered around the lot offered too many possible hiding places. She knew she was just freaking herself out by imagining hostile eyes watching them—as she’d been doing ever since this whole thing with her mother began—but she still wanted to leave. The only problem was that she wanted to keep talking to Henry.
“Want to grab some coffee?” she asked impulsively and immediately felt like the hugest idiot on the planet. He was a skip, for crying out loud, someone who was being chased by law enforcement and bounty hunters and who knows who else. He wasn’t just another student who could wander around and go on coffee dates.
That small smile touched his mouth for just a fraction of a second, but the sight of it still warmed Cara’s belly, despite her embarrassment. If she hadn’t already known he was going to turn her down because it was an utterly terrible idea, the way he straightened and took a step back would’ve tipped her off. “Probably not a good idea,” he said, his voice low and deeper even than normal.
“Right. Okay. Sure.” Cara! Stop. Talking. Now. She managed to get it together enough to talk like a semi-normal person. “Thanks for the assist with Stuart. I’d probably have gotten into trouble if I’d actually kicked him in the face. Oh, and thank you for returning these.” Lifting the pill bottle in her hand, she gave it a shake.
“No problem.” He took another step back, and Cara knew that was a hint for her to leave. With a silent sigh, she started pulling her door closed. Before it latched, she heard him say, “Nice form on that roundhouse.”
She beamed and gave him a small wave that must’ve looked incredibly awkward. The truth was that she was too happy about his compliment to really care how dorky she looked. Looking down, she started the car and put it into gear. When she glanced up again, ready to give a final wave, he was gone. Her hand dropped to the steering wheel as she craned her neck to look around, but she couldn’t see anyone else in the lot.
Henry Kavenski had completely disappeared.
Chapter 5
Friday night, as Cara snuggled into the corner of the couch, she was once again grateful she was back on research duty. Nothing beat wearing her flannel hedgehog pajamas and an oversize hoodie to work. Balancing her laptop on her thighs, she twisted around to grab Abbott’s file from the end table.
S
he’d been through the slim file over a dozen times, but she was determined to find a lead. There had to be a detail she’d missed that would be helpful in tracking him. “Geoffrey Princeton Abbott,” she muttered to herself. “Wow. Could that name be more pretentious?” She scanned the familiar details. Forty-four years old, no known children, no known current girlfriend or boyfriend, father dead, mother estranged and living in Portugal. Tipping her head back, she stared at the ceiling. The file was a dead end. She needed a new source of information.
Kavenski immediately popped into her head, but she promptly shoved that thought away. She needed to let that skip go.
Her phone beeped with a text, and she grabbed it from the back of the couch to see that Molly, who’d been shadowing Abbott all afternoon, had followed her quarry to Dutch’s. Molly was parked and watching the bar, waiting for him to leave.
Cara frowned, guilt prickling at her. She hated the thought of Molly being there on her own, with no Henry Kavenski to save her if necessary. She should’ve told her sister about the possible danger. Even though Cara was ninety-nine percent sure there hadn’t been an intentional attempt on her life, she still felt like she’d sent Molly out on her own without giving her the full story.
Resolving to tell her sister about the near hit-and-run once Molly returned, Cara sent a quick text acknowledgment and set her phone on the back of the couch. She flipped through the rest of Abbott’s file, frowning. She’d been over and over it, and it still read as more of an inspirational life story than a criminal’s background. If anything, it was suspicious because of its total squeaky-clean perfection.
Geoffrey Abbott had grown up in Denver and Aspen and had gone to expensive private schools. After graduating from the University of Colorado in Boulder, he’d snowboarded professionally for a few years before retiring at age twenty-six. He’d bought a high-end hotel in Aspen soon after that, and split his time between a loft in LoDo—Lower Downtown Denver—and his resort. He’d never married, just dated occasionally, and—on paper at least—was the very model of a hard-working businessperson.
The only red flag in the file—besides skipping out on bail—was that the FBI had investigated him, which resulted in the tax-evasion charge. According to Cara’s information, there wasn’t anything that had triggered the federal investigation, which made her wonder how much dirt she’d missed. She started reading through all of the data again, needing it fresh in her mind before she started digging deeper.
“Huh,” she said out loud just as Norah was coming down the stairs. Warrant followed, his tail swishing happily from side to side as he jumped up onto the couch and curled into a large, fluffy ball that covered Cara’s toes—and the rest of the couch.
“Did you find something?” Norah’s voice was hopeful. Cara knew her sister had been trying to track down any warrants on the infamous Layla, which had to be frustrating.
“Maybe,” Cara said absently as she looked up at her sister. “How’s progress?”
Norah made a face. “I wasn’t getting anywhere, so I’ve given up on that avenue of investigation until we can get a last name—and spelling—for Layla. Any chance your new source knows more about her?”
“I’m sure he does, but I don’t know how to get ahold of him until he pops out of a bush in front of me. He’s changed motels again, and I never got his phone number.” I wish, a small part of her brain whispered, but the rest of her quickly shushed that wistful voice. When Norah’s face fell with obvious disappointment, Cara hurried to add, “I promise I’ll ask if I stumble over him in the shrubbery.”
“Thanks.” Norah perched on the sofa arm and peered at the contents of the file over Cara’s shoulder. “What were you huh-ing about a minute ago?”
“This.” Cara tapped the line of text she’d just been looking at. “St. Thomas More Academy in Colorado Springs. Abbott spent part of his junior and all of his senior year there. Isn’t that basically the rich-kid alternative to juvie?” As she asked the question, she handed the file to Norah so she could open her laptop.
“I believe so. Wasn’t that the place where one of the students died of heat exhaustion?” Norah asked, leaning closer to see the laptop screen. The school’s website wasn’t much help, except to confirm that it was a military-style private school with a strong emphasis on discipline. Cara returned to her general search and found a number of news articles detailing the incident that Norah had mentioned.
“That’s the place,” Cara said as she continued scanning the Colorado Springs Gazette article. A fifteen-year-old boy died during a group ten-mile run. There was a police investigation, but no one had been found to be at fault. Switching over to the file again, Cara noted the name of his previous school. “He was in Aspen at the Anchor Academy until February of his junior year. Guess I’m going to be checking the police blotter for crimes committed by minors right around that time.”
“Good plan.” Norah made a face as she pushed herself back to her feet. “I wish I could help.”
That made Cara focus on her sister with her full attention. “You look nice. Are you going out?” She felt bad that the question came out sounding so incredulous, but Norah never wanted to go out or do anything social.
“Yes.” Norah scrunched up her face again. “Dwayne’s completed his parole, so he was able to leave California. He wants to meet for dinner.”
“Oh! I didn’t know POS was in town. Will he be stopping by here to pick you up?” Cara often forgot that Norah’s dad was still alive, since he was usually serving time or on parole. She would never say it out loud, but Cara didn’t think it was fair that Dwayne was still alive and kicking, while her and Charlie’s dad, Victor Chavis, had died when the twins were only two. Cara couldn’t really remember her biological dad, except for brief, blurry flashes that she worried might just be imagination, but according to everyone who had known him, Victor had basically been an angel living on earth. Dwayne, on the other hand, proudly went by the well-earned nickname POS.
“No, I’m meeting him at that family buffet place in Langston,” Norah answered, and Cara tried to shove away any lingering pangs of grief and anger at the unfairness of life. “Mom still has that protection order out on him, so he can’t come to the house.” Norah’s voice was pragmatic.
“Poor Norah.” Cara couldn’t keep the sympathetic amusement out of her voice, especially after her sister made an exaggerated yuck face. “You have to hang out with POS at a restaurant with a sneeze guard?”
“It’s okay.” Norah pulled a long sweater on over her tunic and leggings. “He’ll get arrested again soon enough, so I only need to suffer through this every three to five years.”
That made Cara laugh out loud. “That’s a very healthy attitude.”
Norah shrugged as she headed for the door. “It’s been like this my whole life, so I’ve had twenty-three years to get used to it.”
“Well, tell POS I said hi.”
“I will. Text me if you find out anything interesting.” Norah had opened the door, but she wasn’t leaving. From the longing in her expression, Cara knew that she was dying to dig in and do some research, rather than eating wilted iceberg lettuce and lukewarm canned corn at the buffet. Knowing POS as they did, Norah would end up paying.
“You know it. Do you have some money?”
Norah nodded as she patted her pocket. “Mind if I take your car?”
“Of course not.” Cara held up one hedgehog-covered leg. “As you can see, I’m not planning on going anywhere tonight, except maybe to the kitchen to get me and Warrant a snack.” At his name—or possibly at the word snack—Warrant thumped his tail a few times. “Have as much fun as you can. Hopefully, your visit will be quick and painless, like pulling out a splinter.”
From Norah’s expression, she wasn’t holding out much hope of that. “Thanks,” she said a little hollowly. She finally left, calling out just before she pulled the door shut, “Turn the alar
m on.”
“Right.” The rule was that the alarm was always on at night, if the house was empty, or if only one person was home. Putting her laptop and the file on the coffee table, Cara pulled her toes out from underneath Warrant and moved over to the alarm controls. Setting one to Occupied, she moved to lock the two dead bolts securing the front door.
Once she was fully alarmed and locked inside, she looked over at the dog, who’d stretched out to cover the entire couch. “Since I’m up, I might as well get some research snacks, right?”
Warrant’s tail thumped against the cushion again, making Cara more certain that he’d learned the word snacks. It made sense. Snacks were his very favorite thing in the world.
She made some microwave popcorn and filled her water bottle before returning to claim her spot. It took some battling with Warrant, but she finally wedged her way back into her corner on the couch. Grabbing a handful of popcorn, she flipped up her laptop screen. “All right, Warrant. Let’s see what Geoffrey-with-a-G did to get shipped off to military school.”
Pulling up the Aspen Times police blotter, she quickly found that the paper’s archives didn’t go back far enough for her needs.
“Guess we’re doing this the hard way.” Cara typed in the year Abbott had transferred, along with Anchor Academy and Aspen. When hundreds of thousands of search results came back, she tried adding various other words, including arrested, theft, and—feeling especially morbid—murdered. Nothing incriminating popped up. She scrolled through the disappointing results with one hand while popping a few popcorn kernels into her mouth with the other. Deleting murdered, she tried adding died to the other keywords in the search bar and hit Enter.
“That’s it,” she murmured, clicking on the second result listed. It was an old newspaper article about the memorial service for an Anchor Academy student, Doug Lear. In late January, just a few weeks before Abbott had transferred schools, Lear had died of alcohol poisoning. Two students, one male and one female, had been questioned by the police about their involvement, but only the male student had been charged with hazing and expelled.
