Page 16 of Risk It All
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.
She’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 SpringsGazettearticle. 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 exaggeratedyuckface. “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.”
