Page 22 of Risk It All
Unexpectedly, he laughed, the sound a scornful huff. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to bring a knife to a gunfight?”
She stayed silent, his attempt at a joke just making her more uneasy.
“Too bad Kavenski doesn’t care what happens to you.”
Even though she’d already known that Henry was somehow involved, the sound of his name from her kidnapper’s mouth made her tense.
“Thought he was more into you than that, did you?” he asked, but Cara barely heard him. He was raising the gun again to point directly at her chest. “Guess we made the same mistake. Abbott’s going to be disappointed. Sorry about this.”
Her muscles tightened as she prepared to dive out of the way, even as she knew it was hopeless. She couldn’t dodge a bullet. At this range, there was no way he could miss.
As his finger curled around the trigger, Cara knew that black barrel would be the last thing she’d see.
Chapter 7
Henry Kavenski loomed behind the kidnapper, snaking a huge arm around the other man’s neck and hauling him back away from Cara. The gun went off as the man’s arms flailed in surprise, and Cara jerked in anticipation. She had no way of knowing if the bullet had missed her, or if she’d been hit and adrenaline kept her from feeling the pain, but she couldn’t just stand by and watch. Holding her knife outstretched in front of her, she lunged toward the grappling men. As she paused, not wanting to accidentally stab her rescuer rather than the kidnapper, Kavenski twisted the gun out of the man’s grip. The kidnapper elbowed him hard in the gut, but Henry just gave a grunt before swinging the gun toward the other man’s temple. The butt connected with a thud, sending the kidnapper to the floor. Tense and ready, Cara stared at the downed man, expecting him to jump back into the fight, but he lay limp and still.
Kavenski stood over the unmoving stranger, but his intent gaze was focused on Cara. As their eyes met, she felt a crashing wave of relief broken by a tiny bit of residual fear. After all, there was a chance she was wrong about him, and he wasn’t any less deadly than the man currently sprawled across the floor.
At least he’s not pointing a gun at me, she reasoned, and the last bit of wariness crumbled away into nothing. Kavenski had never tried to hurt her and had saved her life twice now. She shifted her weight as she continued to stare at him, still not quite believing that he was here and she wasn’t dead. Her legs still felt unsteady, but it was a huge relief to have her limbs unbound again. She held Kavenski’s gaze in silence, keeping her eyes off the limp figure on the floor, not wanting to think about if he was unconscious or…worse.
“Is that a bread knife?” Kavenski’s question made her jump, his words abnormally loud after the long, tense silence.
She glanced down at the knife in her hands, still outstretched in front of her. He was right. Her weapon was a bread knife. Although the serrated edge had been sharp enough to cut her zip ties, the tip wasn’t even pointed. It curved into a harmless half circle that would be dangerous only to defenseless loaves of bread. “Yes.” The word came out as a sad little croak, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “It was the only thing available.” She gestured toward the drawer she’d found it in. “The kitchen isn’t very well stocked.”
His eyes closed for several seconds, his face unreadable, and Cara wished she could hear his thoughts. On paper, he didn’t seem like a guy she should trust, but this was the second—possibly third—time he’d saved her life. It was no wonder she wanted to throw herself into his burly arms and take comfort against his rock-hard chest.
She gave her head a small shake, needing to knock her brain back to normal.
“Let’s go,” he said before she could straighten out the tangle of her thoughts. “More will be coming.”
“More?” The word came out as a groan, even as she crossed the cabin toward Kavenski. “How many kidnappersarethere?”
“Too many,” he answered grimly, waving her toward the door. “Abbott can afford an army.”
She made a wide circle around the unconscious man, horror-movie images flashing through her mind. A part of her was certain that just when she relaxed, he’d reach out and grab her ankle. The thought made her shiver. It was as if Kavenski’d had the same thought, since he yanked the other man’s hands behind his back and secured them with a zip tie he’d pulled out of his pocket.
As she watched him secure the man’s legs next, she couldn’t help but ask, “What’s with everyone having such a ready supply of zip ties?”
He glanced up, the corner of his mouth tucking in. That expression was becoming familiar, but she still wasn’t sure if it hid irritation or amusement. “Don’t you?”
“Maybe I should.” She’d definitely decided to carry a pocketknife and an extra cell phone and to possibly invest in a medical alert bracelet like Norah wore…and maybe start hauling around a gun and some hand grenades.
Giving the last zip tie around the man’s ankles a final tug, Kavenski frisked him, removing a cell phone and a folded knife from the unconscious stranger’s pockets. He straightened and gestured toward the door, his gaze running up and down her body in a way that was both clinical and intensely intimate. “You injured?”
“No.” She glanced down at herself. So much adrenaline was running through her that she wasn’t positive she’d feel it if one of her legs fell off. As she did, her head gave a particularly vicious throb, reminding her of her headache. “Just a little groggy. They shot me up with some kind of sedative twice—at least twice.” She shivered as she corrected herself. The thought of being injected with something while she was unconscious was somehow even worse than being aware of when the needle went in.
Stepping forward, he cupped her jaw and gently turned her face up until her startled gaze met his. His other hand covered her eyes for several seconds, blocking the light long enough for Cara to start feeling awkward. He dropped that hand but kept the one cradling her face as he studied her eyes. She stared back, knowing he was checking to see if her pupils were reacting, but still feeling her stomach twist with familiar attraction and something dangerously close to affection. His eyes softened, his gaze warming as he went from studying her pupils to actually looking ather. His fingers stroked over her cheek, just the smallest movement, but filled with such unexpected tenderness that her legs went shaky again—but not from fear or adrenaline this time.
When he finally released her, she couldn’t hold in a disappointed sigh. Even though she knew it was not an optimal time for them to be gazing into each other’s eyes, she still missed the feel of his hand against her face.
“I’m okay, then?” she managed to ask, pretending the quaver in her voice was caused by the close call with death and not his touch.
He gave a slight lift of his chin, which she took as an affirmative. Her skin still felt chilled with the absence of his warm hand, but she pushed away the sensation. Now wasn’t the time to get all stupid over a guy—especially this guy.
“You’ll live,” he said, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a small bottle of ibuprofen. Popping off the lid, he shook two tablets onto his palm and held them out to her.
She accepted them with a wry smile. “You got your own?”
