Page 60 of Risk It All
A yell from behind them echoed distantly in Cara’s ears, but she was too busy fighting the grip on her arm. She fumbled for the gun, hoping frantically that she would knock it away from Layla. The gun went off, a sharp bark, surprisingly loud for what Cara had thought a silenced weapon should sound like, and she felt a sharp slice of pain along the top of her shoulder.
“FBI! Drop your weapon!” There were shouts coming from all directions, but the words didn’t make any sense to Cara’s brain. She grappled for the gun, grabbing Layla’s wrist with both hands and ignoring the pain as the other woman clawed at her arms.
Layla’s narrowed eyes went wide for a fraction of a second, and Cara saw a completely terrified Norah holding a jagged piece of concrete that she’d just crashed into Layla’s head. In that split second of distraction, Cara lost her grip on Layla’s wrist. Looking furious, Layla aimed the gun at her again.
“Hit her again!” Cara shouted, breaking Norah out of her paralysis. She raised her chunk of concrete, but Cara knew her sister would be too late. Layla needed less than a second to pull the trigger and bury a bullet right into Cara’s chest.
Before the gun went off, an enormous shape hit Layla from the side, tackling her to the ground. As she went down, Layla’s head bounced against the pavement, and she went limp. Cara could only stare at the two figures on the ground, unable to comprehend that she was alive and Layla was unconscious andHenryhad just saved her life…again.
Norah let the chunk of concrete tumble to the ground, and the heavyclunkit made when it hit seemed to release Cara’s paralysis. Suddenly, they were swarmed by people in protective vests with FBI emblazoned on them.
“Cara!” The big guy in an FBI jacket who’d just tackled Layla pushed himself to his feet, leaving the unconscious woman to the other agents. He swept Cara up in an enormous hug, moving her away from Layla’s fallen form, and she hung limply in his grip, her brain trying to process what was happening.
“Henry?” she finally managed to say, her voice breathless from how tightly he was squeezing her. “Aren’t you in jail? Why are you dressed up like an FBI agent?”
He finally set her down, although he kept a firm grip on her upper arms. Either he was shaking, or she was shaking, or they both were shaking, because she could feel her body vibrating almost violently. He moved his hands to cup her face, and she determined that they were both trembling right before he kissed her, hard.
She wouldn’t have imagined that anything could distract her from the fact that she’d almost been shot in a dirty alley, but Henry was doing a pretty good job of making her forget everything except the feel of his mouth on hers.
When they finally separated, she couldn’t look away from him. They stared at each other for what felt like a long time before she finally cleared her throat. “FBI?”
“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 textslickety-splitfrom 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?”
