Risk It All

by Katie Ruggle

  “Yeah.”

  “Undercover?”

  “I was, yeah. We knew Layla had killed Bettina and Lance Mason, but we don’t have enough to convict her. I was working for her, pretending to take the fall for cash, so I could get the evidence we needed. Bringing in her former associate and current rival—Abbott—was a bonus.” A flash of guilt passed over his expression. “I’m sorry I dragged you into my mess.” He cradled her face so gently, as if she was something precious.

  “That’s okay.” Her voice sounded a little faint, but she was just glad that she was upright and able to talk at this point. “I was the one who jumped into your mess—at first, anyway. The kidnapping, though, that was pretty much your fault.”

  “Yeah, it was.” His hands kept moving, stroking her hair and then down her arms, and she realized that he was checking her for injuries in his tender way. She wrapped her arms around his waist, needing to feel him, to have concrete evidence that he was alive and well and out of jail. Despite his protective vest separating them, the feel of him was hugely reassuring while at the same time threatened to reduce her to relieved tears. She forced them back, needing answers.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were with the FBI?” she demanded, wanting to smack him for deceiving her but not willing to let him go quite yet. “I was worried about you going back to jail.”

  “I was trying to keep you out of it.” His broad palms skimmed down her back, so familiar and reassuring that she couldn’t hold on to her indignation. “By the time I realized that I’d fallen for you, we were spending most of our time together running from killers and trying to stay alive. It never seemed like the right time.”

  “Hmm…” She knew she would grill him more about his lack of communication later, but for now she was too happy that he was here and safe to be appropriately stern. “So now that this is over, are we?”

  “Over?” He went still, peering intently down at her face as if he was trying to read her expression. “No. I don’t ever want us to be over.”

  She couldn’t stop a huge grin from spreading over her face. “Good.”

  “I have to go home to Bozeman, Montana, for a few days to wrap things up, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “You’d better.”

  Someone hovered next to them, and Cara tore her gaze from Henry’s face to find an anxious-looking Norah.

  “Sorry about the failed rescue,” Norah said, her gaze dropping to her feet.

  Cara grabbed her in a hard hug. “It was a good effort,” she said. “If Henry hadn’t tackled her, your second hit would’ve knocked her out. It’s not your fault that Layla has an impossibly hard head.” Norah hugged her back but didn’t say anything. Cara wasn’t sure how to console her sister. After all, they both knew that if it hadn’t been for Henry, Norah’s second hit would’ve come too late. Cara would’ve been shot.

  Norah tightened her arms even more, and Cara grunted. “I was really scared you were about to die,” Norah said shakily.

  “Me too.”

  It wasn’t until Cara pulled away that she realized they were both crying. “The other sisters better answer my texts lickety-split from now on.” She wiped her eyes roughly with the backs of her hands and leaned into Henry’s hand on her back.

  Instead of laughing, Norah was staring at her shoulder. “You’re bleeding. Were you hit?”

  She felt Henry stiffen as they both looked at her shoulder. He pulled her shirt away from the stinging injury so they could see it.

  “Just a scratch,” she said, relieved that there wasn’t a bullet lodged inside her that she hadn’t noticed because of shock or adrenaline or whatever. “It’s already stopped bleeding.”

  “We’re still getting that looked at. The paramedics are staging at the front of the building,” Henry said, taking her other hand and leading her that way. Cara went willingly, happy to get away from the gross alley and the waking Layla, even if she was currently disarmed and surrounded by FBI agents. Norah trailed close behind, still looking spooked. Cara couldn’t blame her.

  Despite her sister’s presence, Cara couldn’t help but squeeze Henry’s hand and lean closer against his arm. It was such a relief that he was out of jail and everyone knew that he wasn’t a murderer.

  Her phone beeped in her pocket, and she pulled it out with her free hand, hiding her wince as the movement pulled at the scrape on her shoulder. As she unlocked her screen and saw the text from Molly pop up over the other open app, she smiled.

  “I recorded Layla’s confession,” she said, stopping the audio recording. “Will this work as your evidence?”

  Henry actually looked startled before his expression eased into a smile—a real one, not one of his tiny lip twitches. “You’re pretty amazing.”

  “I know, right?”

  Norah snorted a watery laugh. That set Cara off, although Henry just looked at her as if she was crazy for laughing—but he also looked like he loved that crazy part of her, too.

  Chapter 19

  As soon as Cara sat on the porch swing, Warrant climbed up next to her and tried to wiggle onto her lap.

  “What’s with you?” she asked, scratching behind his ears when he finally settled with half of his body stretched over her thighs. “Were you worried about me, too?”

  She’d been dealing with concerned sisters—and her honorary brother—all week since the whole Layla incident. She couldn’t really blame them, since she’d been kidnapped and then re-kidnapped and then was almost killed, but she was feeling a bit claustrophobic. Today was the first day that she’d been allowed to be alone, except for the furry white beast sprawled on her lap. She ignored the tiny voice in her brain reminding her that she didn’t really want to be alone. Even though Henry had only been gone a week, she missed him fiercely.

  With her toe, she moved the swing just slightly, since Warrant didn’t care for the rocking sensation, and enjoyed the peace. Even when their irate neighbor Mr. Petra glared at her from his screened-in porch next door, she just smiled and waved. His grumpiness was normal, and normal was so reassuring.

  A car cruised down the street, catching her attention. She watched it closely, not recognizing it. Instantly, she was on high alert, her mind throwing out possibilities. Was it treasure hunters? One of Jane’s sleazier friends? Had Detective Mill changed vehicles to stalk them more easily? The sun reflected off the windows, preventing Cara from seeing inside the vehicle.

  When the car came to a stop at the curb, she tensed, her fingers slipping into her jacket pocket and wrapping around her phone. The driver’s side door opened, and a large, familiar form got out. She relaxed, releasing her grip on her cell as he made his way up the front walk. Everything inside her warmed with pleasure at the sight of him.

  “You’re here,” she said, unable to stop a huge smile from spreading across her face. “In a suit, too.” He looked really good in that suit—even better than he had in his clingy wet long underwear or his FBI gear.

  “I’m here.” He paused at the base of the porch steps, actually looking uncertain. Warrant raised his head to look at Henry, then thumped his tail against the swing and dropped his muzzle onto her lap again. Henry cleared his throat, and Cara stared at him, completely thrown by his obvious awkwardness. “I’ve been assigned to the FBI office in Denver.”

  This made her smile even more broadly. Although he wouldn’t be in Langston with her, Denver was close enough to make her happy.

  After climbing the porch steps, he leaned against the railing in front of her. If she swung hard enough, her knees would touch his, and her whole body lit up at the thought of that tiny touch. A week had been too long. Her body was starved for him. “I’ve found an apartment in Langston,” he said.

  Her heart gave a happy little jump. “Why not in Denver?”

  If she wasn’t quite certain that he was physically incapable of blushing, she would’ve th
ought that a bit of red was creeping up from his collar. Despite his uncharacteristic shyness, he met her eyes boldly. “Because you’re here.”

  Now she was blushing, too. Her heart pounded faster than it had when she’d been kidnapped.

  “When I was undercover, I couldn’t do this, not without putting you in danger.”

  “Do what?” She swallowed, pretty sure she knew but needing to hear it from his own mouth. He’d been such an enigma, and she didn’t want to have to guess what he was feeling or thinking anymore. She just wanted him to say it out loud.

  “Ask you out.”

  There it was, as bald and obvious as she’d wanted, but now she realized that she had to reciprocate. “Okay. Right now? Because I want to change first to something with less dog hair on it.”

  He grinned, and it was beautiful. “Tonight?”

  “Sure.” She couldn’t stop herself from smiling back.

  “Tomorrow, too.”

  That made her laugh. “All right.”

  “And the day after that.”

  “Are you booking me up?”

  “Yes.” His smile faded into an intense look that warmed her from the inside out. “I want all your days.”

  She rocked the swing so that her knees brushed against his. “I think that can be arranged.”

  “Good.” Leaning forward, he placed his hands on either side of her legs, stopping the motion. She watched, still amazed that he was there, right in front of her, within grabbing distance. He moved closer until their lips were almost touching. Before he could kiss her, she stopped him with a hand against his chest.

  “Hold on.” She leaned back and gave him her best stern-teacher frown. “I didn’t hear a word from you for a week, and now you’re here, looking all sexy in your suit, trying to kiss me?”

  She tried very hard not to find the way he ducked his head adorable. After spending so much time with tough-guy Henry, however, she couldn’t stop her heart from melting at his show of uncertainty. A bashful Henry was basically irresistible. Somehow, she managed to keep from folding.

  “It took me longer than expected to get my life in order,” he said, settling back on the railing but holding her gaze. She marveled at how open his expression was, his impassive mask nowhere to be seen. The small glimpses she’d seen of this man while he was undercover were just a preview of who Henry Kavenski really was. “All the time we’ve spent together, I haven’t had anything to offer you. Just about everything about me was a lie—even my name.”

  That startled her. She hadn’t considered that even his name wasn’t real. “What’s your name?”

  “Benedict Henry Weaver.” His words came out in a rush, as if saying it was a relief. “Nice to meet you.” His smile—his real, true, not-undercover smile—creased his cheeks, and it was impossible for Cara to hold her stern frown in the face of the radiance of it.

  “Nice to meet you, too, Benedict Henry Weaver.”

  He winced. “Henry. Please.”

  Swallowing a laugh, she nodded. “Good thing I don’t call you Kavenski anymore.”

  “Yeah.” His smile slipped away as his expression turned earnest. “He’s gone, and now I’m just Henry Weaver, local FBI agent who’s not at all undercover, and who’s crazy in love with Cara Evelyn Pax.”

  The words jolted her. This was the last thing she’d expected after his week of silence. “You love me?”

  “So much. I don’t even care that it happened so fast. I love your kindness and the way your logical mind works and that stern-teacher voice you use sometimes and how you got so offended that I cheated at Battleship. I love how brave you are, and how you’re so loyal to your sisters.” He leaned in again. “So can I kiss you now?”

  “As long as you promise never to leave again.” The memory of the last hellish days without Henry replayed in her head, allowing her to scowl at him in spite of the ecstatic butterflies dancing in her belly. “It’s been a rough week.”

  “I’m sorry.” He grimaced as he palmed her cheek gently. “I wanted to be someone you’d consider being with.”

  She smacked his shoulder lightly. “Dummy. Even when you were accused killer and bail jumper Henry Kavenski, I was seriously considering being with you. I love you.”

  “I know.” That wry quirk of his lips was achingly familiar, and it did crazy things to Cara’s heart.

  “You do, do you?” Although she tried to play it cool, her voice came out husky.

  “Sure. You told me you don’t not love me. It’s the logical conclusion.”

  She laughed before leaning forward and grabbing a handful of his very nice suit jacket. Tugging him close, she met his hot gaze. “Kiss me, Benedict Henry Weaver.”

  “Happily.”

  Epilogue

  Norah Pax stared at the door. It was fairly nondescript, as doors went, but what was on the other side frankly terrified her. She paced the alley, five strides north and then five strides south, back and forth ten times until she was in front of the entrance again. She was relieved that there wasn’t any window for someone to see her strange behavior.

  Just as she had that thought, the door to the neighboring business—a café—opened, and a man with a full garbage bag stepped into the alley. Giving her a curious but friendly look, he started to raise his free hand. The thought of having to make conversation with this stranger terrified her even more than what was behind the door. Ducking her head and pretending she didn’t see the guy, she yanked open the door in front of her and stepped inside.

  It was…quieter than she’d expected. No rock music blared, and no muscle-bound men tossed their weights noisily back on racks. There were only mats and a ring and equipment neatly stacked against the far wall. It even smelled nice, not like the mix of body odor and vinyl that most gyms had.

  Only one person was there—a very large, muscular person—and he was staring right at her, scowling.

  “What do you want?” he barked.

  She didn’t mind the directness. It was comforting, really, that he didn’t hide his purpose in politeness. “I need to learn to fight.”

  “Why?”

  “So I won’t be useless next time someone tries to blow up or shoot my sisters.”

  His glower didn’t lighten as he studied her with eyes as dark as night. “Come in, then,” he finally snapped, and Norah started to smile.

  This might just work out after all.

  Read on for a sneak peek at the next book in the thrilling Rocky Mountain Bounty Hunter Series.

  Into The Fray

  Chapter 1

  Norah wanted to close her eyes, but they refused to cooperate. Instead, she stared fixedly at the fist swinging toward her face, even when the knuckles got so close that she went cross-eyed.

  The fist stopped abruptly, close enough that Norah’s eyelashes brushed against the battered knuckles. The gym was completely silent until her belated indrawn breath broke the quiet. For the thousandth time, she mentally gave thanks that no one else was there. It limited the potential embarrassment, at least. Physical pain, Norah could handle. Mockery, not so much.

  “If you’re not going to block, you should at least move your face.” His voice had a raspy edge to it that distracted her for a moment, just long enough for her eyelashes to flick against his knuckles three more times.

  When the meaning of his words finally registered, she pulled her head back and her focus away from that huge, scarred fist. She hadn’t expected the almost-hit to come so fast. It hadn’t given her time to think through each step of blocking his punch, so she hadn’t done anything—not even duck. That had always been her issue when Felicity, one of her sisters, tried to teach her self-defense. If she wasn’t able to run through her mental what-to-do checklist, her brain froze until it was too late. That was probably part of the reason she’d almost watched her sisters die multiple times over the past few weeks.


  He dropped his arm to his side and regarded her with his head cocked slightly to the right. Although he was frowning, that had been his default expression since she’d walked into his gym yesterday, so she didn’t take it personally. “It’s better to move before the punch lands.”

  When he paused, she figured he was waiting for her to say something. There really was no necessary response, however, since everything he’d just said made sense. Still, in the interest of moving on to the next step, she gave a nod and said, “Okay.”

  His scowl deepened. “Don’t just agree. Do it next time.”

  She studied him as she mentally debated how to respond. It was an interesting face to look at, with his almost-black irises and prominent cheekbones and the scars mottling the left side of his neck and jawline, but she couldn’t really enjoy it because the majority of her focus was on what to say next. Okay hadn’t gone over well, so that was out, but that was usually her go-to phrase when she wanted someone to stop staring at her and continue. She tried, “I will.”

  To her satisfaction, that seemed to do the trick. Although his expression was still snarly, he took a step back and settled into the defensive position he’d just shown her—base solid and hands ready to protect his face. Despite his burly form, he looked light on his feet, and she knew from their very short acquaintance that he could move surprisingly fast. One of his slashing black brows lifted in a soundless command. Twitching her tank top into place, she moved to mimic his stance.

  They were only ten minutes into their first session, but the position already felt natural. It just made physiological sense, and there was nothing that Norah appreciated more than when things were logical. If only punches didn’t come so quickly, she was pretty sure she’d actually be able to remember how to counter them.

  “Let’s try this in slow-motion,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. He started extending his arm, the muscles stretching out from their bunched positions. Even when he wasn’t flexing, though, his arms were huge. As his fist gradually drew closer to her face, she ran through the steps in her head.