Cara Summers - Risking It All

“Yes,” she said. She did understand. She’d signed on for the job, and now it was over. She felt the prick of tears behind her eyes, and she blinked—but it was too late. The first drop slid down her cheek.

“Shit,” Tracker said as he pushed the laptop away and rose. “Natalie, don’t.” He drew her against him and held her. “I told him to wake you and explain it himself. But he—”

Natalie held herself stiff. She had to stop crying. There was no sense to it. She never cried. She hadn’t, not once, since her father had left.

“He’s coming back, Natalie. He told me to tell you—”

Tracker broke off when suddenly she used all of her strength to push away.

“What is it?” he asked.

She scrubbed tears away with the heel of her hand. “You called me Natalie.”

For a second a puzzled expression crossed his face. “Yes…oh, shit. Shit. Shit.”

“If you know I’m not Rachel Cade, then—” As Tracker continued to swear, Natalie remembered the moment when she’d been trying to hear the last part of the combination to Carlo’s safe. Chance had used her father’s exact words. “You can do it, Nat.”

He’d called her Nat. The sharp band of pain tightening around her heart had her rubbing her chest with her fist.

“He’s known all along, hasn’t he? That I’m Natalie, not Rachel Cade?”

“He…I….” It was pure panic that she saw on Tracker’s face now. Later, much later, she was going to remember that with some amusement. She promised herself that. But right now, there were too many other emotions spiking through her. One of them was anger, the cold, icy kind. That was the one she latched on to.

He’d known who she was from the beginning. And he’d played along with her because he liked the game. It had all been a game.

“He wanted to stay and explain—”

Holding up a hand, she said, “Enough. You don’t have to explain. I get it.” Then she held out her hand palm up. “Since I had to leave the Brancotti estate without packing, I’ll require cab fare to my apartment.”

“OOH, DETECTIVE NATALIE! Your hair! What have you done?”

The moment Rad had caught sight of her, he’d clapped two palms to his cheeks and stared. Now the majority of the people waiting for a table at the Blue Pepper was staring at her too.

“You’ve cut it.” Rad pressed the back of one hand against his forehead and the palm of the other over his heart. “You’ve cut your lovely hair!”

“Yes, I’ve cut my hair.” Natalie fluffed the ends with one hand. The color was back to normal. And so was she. That’s what she’d kept telling herself during the week she’d been back.

“It will grow in.” Rad spoke in the hushed tone of voice one might use to express sympathy at a wake.

Because she was pretty sure he was comforting himself and not her, Natalie found herself biting back a grin. “Hair has a tendency to do that.” Maybe her sisters had been right to insist that they get together for dinner. “Are my sisters here?”

“Sure thing.” Rad’s face brightened. “I gave them a table on the patio. They’re already enjoying the appetizer sampler.”

Natalie drew in a steadying breath as she followed Rad through the crowd and down the three steps. Being on the patio was a good thing. Better to face all your ghosts. Better to— Her heart nearly stopped as she stepped onto the dance floor. The salsa band was playing the same tune that she and Chance had danced to on the night that she’d taken him up on his first proposition.

Memories of that night and others streamed into her mind—the way he’d touched her, held her, filled her. The memories and the sensations hadn’t dimmed any more than the ache in her heart had.

But they would, she told herself firmly. And maybe she wouldn’t let her hair grow in. Maybe she could never be the same Natalie Gibbs she’d been before Chance Mitchell. So what?

Lifting her chin, she followed Rad off the dance floor.

“Here she is,” Rad announced as they reached the table.

Any confidence Natalie might have built up faded the moment she looked at her sisters. She could tell by the expression on their faces that she wasn’t quite back to the old Natalie Gibbs yet. In fact, what she saw in their eyes was what she’d been denying every time she let herself look in the mirror.

Rory had frozen in place with a stuffed mushroom halfway to her mouth. Rory never let anything interfere with her appetite.

Sierra had her hands clasped tightly together in front of her, the way she always did when she was really nervous or worried.

Hell. Natalie knew she looked like shit.

“Her lovely hair will grow back,” Rad said.

When silence continued to stretch at the table, Rad cleared his throat and said, “Well. How about I bring the drink of the week—a frozen pineapple margarita?”

Rory cut him off by raising her free hand. “Three very dry martinis with olives. And keep them coming.”

“Excellent choice,” Rad said as he hurried away.

Sierra took Natalie’s hand. “What happened to you?”

Natalie found she had to speak around a lump in her throat. “I’m fine.”

Rory set her stuffed mushroom down. “You have black circles the size of Wyoming around your eyes.”

“I’ve been working.”

“And not sleeping,” Sierra said. “Or eating. Tell us.”

Natalie sighed. A triplet could never have secrets. Finally, she said, “Sometimes when you risk everything for something, you don’t get it.”

And then she told them the whole story.

“THIS ISN’T MY HOTEL,” Chance said as Tracker eased the car to the curb in front of the Blue Pepper.

“We thought we’d have a drink first,” Tracker said. “Lucas is buying.”

Searching his mind for an excuse to bow out, Chance stepped onto the curb. Above the traffic noises on the street came the faint sounds of laughter and music from the patio. He recognized the song the band was playing. It was the same one that he’d danced to with Natalie three months ago. That’s when everything had started between them. No, he corrected himself as nervousness twisted in his stomach. Everything had started between them the first moment he’d seen her. Had that been when he’d fallen in love with her?

Panic slithered in to join the nervousness. “You guys go ahead,” he said. “I’ve got some business to take care of.” Truth was he had a plan to make. And he was lousy at them. “I’ll just take a cab—”

Tracker gripped one arm and Lucas the other. “Sophie’s holding our table.”

“And Mac will be very annoyed if we don’t bring you,” Lucas added. “Besides you owe us. I provided my boat and my chief of security for this little Florida caper of yours.”

“Yeah,” Tracker put in. “And don’t forget the effort I put into saving your sorry ass. My arches are still sore from those high heels I had to wear. The very least you owe us is a drink and the rest of the story.”

Chance sighed and let himself be led into the Blue Pepper. It was the last place he wanted to be. Memories of Natalie were already flooding his mind. The past week had been hectic, tying up the Ferrante diamond case in London and seeing to it that “Carlo Brancotti” was finally behind bars. Now, he needed a cool head to think.

“Ah, Mr. Wainwright. Welcome, welcome, welcome.”

At first, Chance couldn’t see who was speaking, but on the last “welcome,” a short man with spikey red hair burst through the throng of people waiting for tables.

“Hi, Rad,” Lucas said. “Is my wife here?”

“She’s with Miss Sophie. This way,” the man said as he waved a hand and led them up the stairs and into the bar.