Page 6 of Risk It All
What had started out as a simple—if dangerous—skip retrieval had gotten a lot more confusing. Remembering his final warning look, she gave an amused huff. If he didn’t want her to investigate him, he shouldn’t be so fascinating.
* * *
A few days later, Cara paused, pretending to check her phone as she fought to push away the urge to jump back in her car and drive away as fast as she could. She’d only been to Dutch’s Bar once, but that had been in the middle of the day with Molly. At night, it was exponentially creepier. The warehouses surrounding the bar seemed to loom over the space, creating shadows where any number of dangerous people could be lurking. The bar, which had looked nondescript and slightly dingy in the full sunlight, now gave off a menacing air, making Cara sure she wouldn’t be welcome or safe there. That didn’t matter, though. She was determined to follow through on this new job, and that meant checking out Abbott’s possible hangouts…including Dutch’s.
She slid her hand over the lump the Taser made in her jacket pocket. The presence of the weapon gave her courage, and she pulled up the photo of Geoffrey Abbott, getting his image freshly lodged in her brain. Slipping her phone back in her other pocket—the Taser-less one—she pulled back her shoulders and strode toward the entrance.
Her confidence wavered as the bouncer eyed her suspiciously, his sharp gaze running over her. The way he frowned as he stared at her midsection made her paranoid that he could see right through her jacket to the Taser in her pocket. She hoped that he wouldn’t conduct a pat down, and then wondered if that would be legal for a civilian. Making a mental note to look up the Colorado statute as soon as she had a quiet moment, she focused on the big guy in front of her.
His hand extended, palm out, and Cara offered her driver’s license, bracing herself for what she knew was coming. Even though she was legal by almost four full years, she was used to the disbelieving squints. Her small stature and baby face—including dimples—made her appear younger than she was. She’d pulled her dark hair back into a severe bun, to keep it out of grabbing range as well as to make her look more like a serious professional, and she hoped it didn’t make her look like a teenager playing dress-up.
The bouncer’s gaze flicked back and forth between her and the license several times, and his frown deepened.
Cara sighed as she dug out her wallet. “That really is my authentic, legal license. See? The same birth date as on my student ID.”
“Why are you here?” the bouncer asked in a warning rumble.
“Uh…” She didn’t expect to be questioned about her motives before she even got inside the place. What kind of dive bar was this? “To have a few drinks, maybe dance a little. Do, you know, bar things.”
“Bar things,” he repeated expressionlessly, and she nodded too quickly.
“Bar things.”
His sigh was deep enough to make his enormous shoulders sag for a moment, and she was pretty sure she was about to be sent away. To her surprise, he handed back her IDs and motioned toward the door. “Don’t blow anything up.”
“I’ll do my best.” She would’ve made a comment about how that was a strange thing to say, except that a skip Molly was chasing had blown a hole in the bathroom wall just a few weeks ago. Besides, she was just glad the bouncer hadn’t searched her and found her Taser.
Slipping inside before he could change his mind, Cara looked around, getting her bearings. Filled with people, the bar seemed smaller than she remembered. Loud old-school rock pounded through the space, and the usual beery, sweaty bar smell filled her nose. She’d half expected the music to screech to a stop when she entered, everyone turning to stare, but no one even seemed to notice her.
She took a few deep breaths before moving toward the bar. She’d planned better this time. This was simply a reconnaissance mission. Even if she spotted Abbott, she wouldn’t try to make contact. The most she’d do was follow him to his car and get his plate number.
The bartender—a redhead who resembled Jane a little too much for comfort—gave her a suspicious look but handed over the beer Cara ordered without any fuss. Clutching the cold bottle a little too tightly, she wove her way through the throng toward a shadowed booth in the back. From there, she’d be able to watch the crowd while staying somewhat hidden.
Preoccupied with searching for Geoffrey Abbott, she was right in front of the booth before she realized it was occupied.
“Oh! Sorry. I thought this was empty.” Even as she apologized and started to turn away, she recognized the man sitting in the corner where the shadows were the deepest, and her head snapped back around. Her first thought was that the gloom was playing tricks on her eyes, because there wasno waythat was Henry Kavenski.
As much as she blinked, though, the face did not change. It was indeed her first attempted skip, possible killer and definite dog rescuer. Cara stood rooted to the spot. She continued to stare, unable to process the fact that, now that she wasn’t following him around town, Henry Kavenski just happened to pop up right in front of her. Her stomach was doing an odd fluttering thing that it definitely shouldn’t be doing—not now, and never for this guy. He glared back at her, expressionless except for the slight tightening of his lips.
“Hi.” Of course she said that. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” She held back a sigh. Of course she said that too. She was so mortifyinglynotsmooth, especially around Henry Kavenski.
“Didn’t I tell you to quit following me?”
Maybe it was because there was more long-suffering exasperation in his tone than actual anger, or maybe it was because she was relieved to see a familiar face in this intimidating bar—even if it washisface—but once again, her mouth worked before her brain could stop it. “Yes, but it’s really your fault I haven’t stopped.”
His eyes narrowed, which had the unfortunate effect of making him even hotter than he already was. “My fault.” Again, the little threatening rasp he gave the words should’ve been scary enough to send her scooting out of the bar and back to the safety of home, but she couldn’t stop thinking about him diving in front of cars to save a tiny little floof of a dog.
“Yes.” Her mouth was operating all on its own. “For being too fascinating.”
“It’s my fault for being…too fascinating.” Resting his elbow on the table, he rubbed the spot right above his temple, making her wonder if he had a headache. She immediately had the urge to feed him a couple of painkillers and massage his neck, but she quashed those tender impulses immediately. Dog rescuer or not, she barely knew this guy—thisskip. Even despite that, though, she didn’t want to walk away from him quite yet.
“Mind if I sit down?” Once again, the words were out before she’d considered whether they were a good idea or not. It was as if her normally repressed impulsive side took over the second she was in Henry Kavenski’s company.
He blinked, his face poker-straight and his lips compressed, but he didn’t say no, and that was good enough for her. Cara slid into the booth next to him, careful to leave space between them so she didn’t intrude on his personal bubble. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Sitting.” A part of her was impressed with her audacity, while the rest was screaming a warning that she was going to get herself killed. After all, maybe it was just dogs he liked, and he had no problem offing people. The couple he’d been accused of murdering—Lance and Bettina Mason—had been a seemingly innocuous pair…at least on paper. There’d been enough evidence to charge Kavenski with homicide, and Cara knew she needed to be cautious. Just because he was the most attractive, and interesting, person she’d ever met didn’t mean she should throw all logic out the window. On the contrary, her inappropriate crush should make her even more wary.
“There’s an entire empty bench over there.” He flicked his hand at the other side of the table.
