Risk It All

by Katie Ruggle

  Also By Katie Ruggle

  Rocky Mountain Search & Rescue

  On His Watch (free novella)

  Hold Your Breath

  Fan the Flames

  Gone Too Deep

  In Safe Hands

  After the End (free novella)

  Rocky Mountain K9 Unit

  Run to Ground

  On the Chase

  Survive the Night

  Through the Fire

  Rocky Mountain Cowboys

  Rocky Mountain Cowboy Christmas

  Rocky Mountain Bounty Hunters

  Turn the Tide (free novella)

  In Her Sights

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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2020 by Katie Ruggle

  Cover and internal design © 2020 by Sourcebooks

  Cover art by Kris Keller

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  www.sourcebooks.com

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Previously…

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  A Sneak Peek at Into the Fray

  Chapter 1

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  To Jessica Smith, Rachel Gilmer, Susie Benton, Dawn Adams, and Mary Altman:

  you know what you did.

  Previously…

  Cara Pax and her four sisters are bounty hunters, running a fledgling business out of their beloved family home in Langston, Colorado. All was well until their mother, Jane, stole a priceless necklace and skipped town…after using their house as collateral for her bail bond.

  Now, shady bondsman Barney Thompson holds the title to their house, and he’s willing to use it to coerce Cara and her sisters into chasing dangerous skips for him. To make matters worse, every thief and treasure hunter in the Rockies thinks the necklace is hidden in the sisters’ house…including Detective Jason Mill, the potentially crooked Denver cop assigned to the case.

  Cara dreams of being a kindergarten teacher, but right now it’s all hands on deck. She wants to do her part for the business and to save her family’s home, but to really help, she needs to bring in a big, money-earning skip…

  Which is why she’s breaking into accused killer Henry Kavenski’s motel room.

  Chapter 1

  Cara tried to act casual as she walked along the motel’s cracked, weedy sidewalk, but she knew she looked exactly like what she was: a kindergarten teacher—well, almost—who was scared out of her mind. If she told her sisters what she was about to do, they’d yank her home and tie her to a chair to keep her safe. Now that their home and bounty-hunter business were under threat, however, she needed to do more to help.

  But of all the cases to take, why did she have to pick a killer?

  Stopping at Room 87—the green door with suspicious dark-red splatters that had dried across it—she took a quick glance around before pulling her lock-pick kit out of her pocket. Her fingers trembled, making her fumble the picks.

  “Stop it,” she muttered. “You’re good at this. Quit being a chicken.”

  This was her chance. She’d watched Kavenski get on the one-ten bus, but she wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone. She needed to plant the tracker in his things before he returned…and potentially caught her in the act. The thought of him walking in on her made her shake even harder. Finally, though, the dead bolt released with a click, and she exhaled hard, relief and a fresh surge of nerves coursing through her. She’d done it. Now she just had to go inside.

  She reached for the door handle, the metal cold and slightly greasy to the touch. It gave under her hand, and the door swung open. Her heart thumping in her ears, she peered into the dim space, the smell of mildew and stale cigarette smoke tickling her nose. Her feet didn’t want to move. Once she stepped over the threshold, that was it. When she was inside, she couldn’t pretend she’d been just another motel guest, innocently strolling past.

  Stop hesitating, she told herself firmly. Go. Blowing out a silent breath, she shored up her eroded courage and stepped inside.

  A hard hand clamped down over her shoulder and shoved her into the room before she could even suck in a breath to scream.

  Her fingers tightened around the lockpick in her right hand and the tension tool in her left. She spun around, the soles of her shoes catching against the worn scruff of the carpet, and held the two tiny steel tools up in front of her as if they were weapons. As Henry Kavenski—who looked even more enormous close up than he did from a half block away—shoved the door closed, she locked her knees to keep them from shaking. Cold sweat prickled along her hairline as her brain frantically scrolled through everything she had done wrong. She wasn’t prepared. She should’ve brought a Taser or even some pepper spray or, better yet, backup. Her sisters were going to be so pissed she’d gotten herself killed in such a stupid way.

  From the hard set of Henry Kavenski’s mouth, he wasn’t feeling particularly merciful.

  They stared at each other without speaking, the only sound Cara’s heart thundering in her ears and the rapid breaths she couldn’t seem to slow. Despite her panic, she still noticed the details that she’d missed during the weeks spent tracking him from a distance. The scruff on his face was just slightly darker than the sun-bleached, tousled hair falling across his brow. His jaw was solid, almost blocky, his nose and mouth drawn with aggressive slashing lines, but the tops of his ears came to the slightest point. That unexpectedly elven detail didn’t fit with the rest of his solid form and rugged features. Henry Kavenski was more an ogre or giant.

  She blinked, pulling her racing thoughts back in line. He still hadn’t said a word, and she wasn’t sure whether that meant she should be more or less terrified
. Their mutual silence did give her a chance to come up with a plan—a fairly dumb plan, but at least it might give her a chance to get out of this alive.

  “Who are you?” Her voice shook, but she figured that was only natural.

  His scowl deepened. He still didn’t make a sound.

  Her trembling worsened, fingers tightening around the lock-picking tools. She tried to tuck them behind her in a way that looked natural, but his gaze followed the movement. His eyes met hers again, and she fought to keep from quailing beneath that stone-cold glower. Up until this moment, her foray into fieldwork had seemed like a game. Now that she was caught, just a few feet from a professional killer, it didn’t feel like a game anymore. This was just flat-out terrifying, and she scrambled to think of some way she could escape alive.

  “What are you doing in”—she mentally grabbed for an imaginary friend’s name—“Martin’s room?”

  His head cocked just slightly in question, although those eerily light eyes didn’t soften.

  Cara cleared her throat, using the excuse to take a precious few moments to scrabble for composure. It helped slightly, but she knew that all the time in the world wouldn’t magically give her nerves of steel. She’d never envied her twin sister’s badassery more. “I came here to surprise him. Uh…Martin.” Why was her brain working at turtle-slow speed? She knew she’d think of all kinds of credible stories as soon as she left the room—if she managed to leave.

  The reminder that these could easily be her last minutes alive spurred her to keep going. “I passed my test. My…” She held her hands in front of her, forcing her fingers open to reveal the slim tools. “My locksmith test. Martin gave me some tips when I was practicing for it, and I thought we could go out to celebrate. Mexican. He loves Mexican.”

  What are you doing, dummy?

  She made herself stop adding made-up details about her nonexistent but very helpful friend and finished weakly with “This is his room.”

  Kavenski still didn’t say anything. He didn’t even twitch. Instead, he continued to glare at her with those chilly eyes that reminded her of what he was…a killer. A pro. He was most likely contemplating the easiest way to dispose of her body.

  Her imagination raced, her heart pounded, and she struggled to swallow around a suddenly dry throat. The air in the musty room thickened as dread filled her.

  His considerable bulk blocked the one and only door, and the window was covered by heavy polyester drapes. Even if she took him off guard with a sudden dash, there wouldn’t be enough time for her to open the window—if it was openable.

  Tension twisted her insides until it was difficult to breathe. She had to say something, or the silence would smother her.

  “What are you doing in Martin’s room?” she demanded again. Even though she was positive he knew her story was a complete lie, it was all she had.

  When he shifted his weight, she flinched, but he just leaned back against the door and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Before Cara could do more than twitch toward the window, he dropped his arms to his sides. She froze, her gaze never leaving his face. The chill in his eyes was still there, but there was a slight droop to his mouth that made him look suddenly human…and extraordinarily tired.

  “Are you okay?” The words were out before she realized how ridiculous they were. Still, her mouth kept moving, as if it were separate from her brain. “Have you been sleeping?”

  He blinked.

  “Not that it’s any of my business if you have or not.” Why are you still talking??? her brain screamed at her, but it was no use. This freight train had left the station and was hurtling down the tracks. “Now, if it were Marvin, my friend, then it would be my business, but you’re not Marvin. You’re a stranger. A stranger I don’t know. Not that you’d be a stranger if I did know you, so, um, you don’t have to answer that, if you don’t want to. Don’t feel obligated.”

  “Martin.” His voice was unexpected. Deep and smooth and perfect for narrating adventure movies or commercials for gourmet chocolate.

  “What?” That unexpectedly delicious timbre threw her off. It didn’t match what she’d expected a killer to sound like.

  His chest lifted with a silent sigh as he straightened away from the door. “Martin. Not Marvin.”

  She tensed at his movement, but he just stepped sideways, opening a path to the door. “Right. Martin.” She couldn’t believe that she’d messed up her fictitious friend’s name. It was a stressful situation, yeah, but surely she could keep track of her made-up lock-picking study partners for five minutes.

  “You need to stop following me.”

  Great. Not only had he caught her breaking into his motel room, but he was aware that she’d been tracking him across town. Her sisters were right. She was not cut out for fieldwork. If she managed to survive this encounter, it’d be best if she just stayed home and researched. That was what she was good at, not the chasing, tackling, and wrestling parts of bounty hunting.

  Cara deflated with a soft sigh, kicking herself for failing so spectacularly. Then she noticed he was eyeing her with the slightest hint of amused resignation, and she realized she hadn’t responded to his accusation. Oops.

  “Following you? What are you talking about?” It was weak, she knew, but everything about this interaction was throwing her off. She didn’t know if he was going to kill her slowly and painfully or give her tips on shadowing fellow criminals. It was disconcerting. “I’m here to meet…uh…?”

  “Martin,” he offered helpfully.

  “Right.” She eyed the door and then snapped her gaze back to him. It was so tempting, having the path to the exit clear, but she worried that he was just setting a fun little trap for her. Still, she dared take a step forward. When he didn’t grab her, she edged forward again. “Since Martin isn’t here, I’ll just go find him.”

  Despite those icy eyes and the hard line of his mouth, she was pretty sure he was amused. Strangely, she wasn’t as terrified of Kavenski as she’d initially been, and she wondered if she was in shock or, perhaps, under the effect of some fast-acting strain of Stockholm syndrome. Telling herself to wait until she was safely outside the motel room to analyze her jumbled emotional state, she took another cautious step toward the door.

  Then he moved, and she froze, her mind clamoring that she should’ve known it was too good to be true. Of course the brutal killer with the ice-cold stare wouldn’t just let her walk away after catching her breaking into his room. She’d fallen into his trap, and now she was within grabbing distance, and she was going to die.

  When his hand grasped the doorknob instead of reaching for her throat, she stared at him, both relieved and befuddled. With a twist of his wrist, he yanked the door open and looked at her expectantly. A hard breath shuddered into her lungs. Had she not been breathing this whole time? She supposed it was an easy thing to lose track of while waiting to be murdered.

  “Oh…um.” She took the final step to the now-open door. “Thank you? Sorry for…ah, intruding.” Slipping through the opening, she hurried away from the room, jumping as she heard it close behind her with a loud snap. Although she managed not to run, she walked fast enough that it hardly mattered. Her heart still wasn’t convinced that she was out of danger, and it pounded in time with her footsteps as she tried very hard not to break into a sprint. It was only after she’d reached her car and was cocooned in the familiar safety of the driver’s seat that the danger really hit her, and her breathing sped up until she was taking in short, rapid puffs of air.

  That was the closest she’d ever come to dying. I’m such a bounty-hunting failure! If it had been Molly or Felicity or Charlie trapped in the room with Kavenski, her sisters would’ve had him tackled and cuffed before he could even glare. It was mortifying that the only reason Cara managed to escape was because a known killer had stepped aside and opened the door.

  As her breathin
g gradually slowed, she started the car, her fingers trembling just a little now. “It’s okay,” she told herself out loud. “You just need to walk before you can run. Work your way to the upper levels, rather than jumping right into them.” It was clear, now that she’d seen him in all his up-close power and glory, that Henry Kavenski was not a skip for a beginner bounty hunter. He’d known that she’d been following him, and he’d obviously set her up, intending to catch her breaking into his room. She needed to find a skip who was a little less deadly and a lot more dumb.

  Remembering to bring her Taser would be a good idea, too.

  As she pulled away from the curb, Cara felt a strange curl of disappointment in her belly. She should’ve been relieved by her decision to leave Henry Kavenski to other braver, more experienced bounty hunters, but a part of her didn’t want to give him up. After following him around and learning everything she could about him, she’d become, oddly enough, a touch possessive.

  She firmly quashed the thought. It was time to focus on a new skip, one whose worst crime was jaywalking or tearing the tags off mattresses.

  Pressing down on the accelerator, she left the run-down motel and Henry Kavenski far behind.

  * * *

  Two days later, Cara was regretting her decision to leave Kavenski to the professionals…well, the more professional professionals. She clicked through the pile of jobs she’d lined up and made a face. None of them were even close to the bail bond he’d skipped on, and the fifteen percent fee seemed paltry compared to what they’d get for bringing in Kavenski.

  “That’s the problem, genius,” she muttered to herself, tapping the side of her laptop with an anxious fingertip. “You’d have to actually bring him in.”

  With a Taser or her sisters’ help, she probably could manage that, but the real issue was that a part of her honestly didn’t want to. There weren’t a lot of murderers—or criminals of any sort—who would’ve just let her walk away unharmed. It made her wonder if he really was the vicious killer he was accused of being.