Cara Summers - Risking It All

“How long will you need?” Chance asked.

“As much time as you can get me.”

He raised her hand and pressed his lips against her fingers. “You’re very good at this game of deception we’re playing.”

She gave him a quick glance and caught the intent look in his eyes. For one moment, she wondered if he knew that she wasn’t Rachel Cade.

“We’d better get back to the house,” she said.

Chance didn’t move. He merely studied her for a moment. He might be losing his focus, but she wasn’t losing hers. He was very glad that he’d brought her to Florida with him.

“Carlo is going to wonder if we don’t get back,” she said.

“Let him,” Chance said as he remembered the way she’d looked when he’d first seen her here on the beach. “Let’s go wading first.”

“Wading?”

The surprise on her face pleased him. “You take your shoes off and walk in the water.”

“I’m familiar with the concept. I just don’t get the purpose.”

The dryness in her tone had him shooting her a sideways glance. “Fun. Once we go back to the house, we’re Calli and Steven. Right now, we can be whoever we want. Didn’t you ever skip school and play hooky as a kid?”

“No.”

Chance grinned at her. It was his Natalie who’d answered. He was certain of it. “No. Of course not.”

Her chin lifted. “And you played hooky a lot?”

“You might say that my early life was pretty much one long game of hooky.” He walked to the shoreline, toed his shoes off and then leaned down to take off his socks.

“How so?” she asked, kicking off her sandals and joining him.

“It’s a long story,” Chance said.

“I can wade and listen at the same time,” Natalie pointed out.

They began to walk. The sun beat down on their shoulders and arms, and the lukewarm water lapped at their ankles. “My mother moved around a lot, mostly within London and the south of England. But a few times, she followed a band to Scotland or Wales. She was what you would call in America a groupie—and she was especially fond of young groups that were just starting out. Sometimes, they’d give her work, repairing and laundering costumes or passing out flyers. I got to help with that.”

Natalie frowned as she slipped her hand into his. “She took you with her?”

“She was only sixteen when I was born, and she didn’t have any family. Most of the time she supported the two of us by waitressing. She thought that was the best kind of job because she could bring home food. Plus, it was something that she could do just as well in one town as another.”

Chance shot her a look and saw that the frown had deepened on her face. “It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. She was pretty and she laughed a lot. And she loved me. It wasn’t until I got to the orphanage that I started to go to school regularly.”

“Orphanage?”

Chance shrugged. He rarely let himself think about that part of his life, and he never talked about it. He wasn’t sure why he was now except that what they were doing reminded him in a way of that early part of his life before the orphanage. “One night she never came home. Police came to the door the next morning. She’d been struck by a bus on her way home from a concert.”

Natalie simply turned and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry. How old were you?”

“Twelve.” Chance found that it was hard to get the word out because once again feelings were swamping him. He felt his body stiffen, not in defense but in surprise. There was none of the fire that he usually felt when she held him. In its place was a steady warmth and a sweetness that seemed to squeeze his heart. Her head was pressed against his chest, her arms wrapped around him, and he could have stood like this, just like this for a very long time.

Slipping a finger beneath her chin, he lifted it because he had to see her eyes. He could see sympathy and affection and a question.

“Chance?”

He wanted more than anything to kiss her. To lower his head, press his mouth to hers and lose himself in her. But if he did, he knew he would lose something that he would never get back. At the last second he set her away from him.

She turned away, but not before he saw the hurt in her eyes. He had his mouth open, his hand outstretched when he realized that the name in his mind, on his lips, was Natalie.

He barely had time to swallow it when he heard the crack and felt the burning sting in his shoulder. The next shot hit the wet sand not three feet from them.

“Run.” Grabbing her hand, Chance fixed his gaze on the line of palms half a football field away and dragged her with him.

NATALIE STRUGGLED to swallow her fear as they raced for the cover of the trees. Sand sprayed up less than a yard to their right, and Chance’s grip on her arm tightened. “Sprint.”

Fighting to keep her breathing even, she felt the pull in her calves each time her foot sank into the sand and struggled for traction. Fifty yards became forty…thirty…twenty. There was another spray of sand, this one to her left. Finally, they reached the first line of trees.

Chance kept up the pace until palm leaves closed in on them and the sand at their feet became completely covered over with vegetation. Beach had become swamp in an instant. They would have to go more slowly now or run the risk of falling or twisting an ankle.

“Follow me,” Chance said. It was only when he took the lead that Natalie saw the blood on his shirt.

“You’ve been hit.”

Chance pulled the shirt off his shoulder and glanced down at the wound. “It’s just a scratch. C’mon.”

Natalie pressed a hand against the knot of fear that had formed in her stomach. The mark was angry-looking and it was oozing blood. But he was right, she told herself. It was just a scratch. And she wasn’t going to let herself think about the fact that it might have been worse.

They walked swiftly in silence for a while. Natalie tried to keep her mind blank and focus on putting one foot in front of another. Moving as fast as he could, Chance cut a path through the vegetation by tamping down palm fronds and grasses. Now only thin spears of sunlight pierced the darkening gloom, and damp heat pressed in on them. Natalie felt a trickle of sweat run down her neck.

Something moved under her foot. Stifling a scream, Natalie reached out to grab a fistful of Chance’s shirt.

“What?” He stopped and turned so fast that she bumped into him.

“Nothing,” she said.

When he merely studied her for a minute, she lifted her chin and repeated, “Nothing. Go.”

She was just not going to let herself think of what might be under her bare feet, not while a gunman might be after them. Snakes had always scared her, but they weren’t nearly as dangerous as whoever was using them for rifle practice.

“This way,” Chance said and made a sharp right turn.

She hoped he knew where he was going, because the oval expanse of black water to her left had her thinking of another kind of danger that lurked in the Florida swamps. Alligators. Hadn’t she read that wherever there was water, you could bank on finding one—or more?

No. She tore her gaze away from the water, fastened her eyes on Chance’s back and made herself think about who had shot at them. Brancotti? Had he somehow seen through their disguises? But how?

If it wasn’t Brancotti, who else could it be? Keeping her gaze fastened on Chance’s back, she pictured each one of the people she’d met at the dinner party the previous night.

Her favorite suspect would have to be Armand Genovese. A man with mob connections wouldn’t even have to pull the trigger himself. He’d have easy access to a professional hit man.