Christmas Justice

Molly pressed forward against her seat belt. “Can I have one, Sheriff Garrett?”

Hondo glanced at Laurel, his gaze seeking permission. She nodded and Hondo pulled a cookie from the bag. “Here you go, little lady.”

With eager hands, Molly took the treat. She breathed in deeply, then stuffed almost the entire cookie into her mouth.

Lucy giggled. “She’s hungry.”

Hondo placed a protective arm around his sister. “They’ve got to leave, Lucy. Let’s go in.”

She waved. “’Bye.” Hondo led her back into the house, treating her as if she were spun of fragile glass.

Garrett rolled up the window, lights still off. He turned down the street. “She was shot in the head a couple months ago. We didn’t think she’d make it.”

Laurel wiped several globs of chocolate from Molly’s mouth. “You’ve made a place for yourself in this town.” She resettled the sleepy girl against her body. “I’m sorry.” What else could she say?

“They’ll find someone else. Things will continue just as they did before I came to Trouble.”

The muscle at the base of his jaw tensed, but Laurel couldn’t tell if he really didn’t mind leaving or if something about this small town had worked its way under his skin. She didn’t know him well enough to ask, so she kept quiet and studied the route he took. Just in case.

He headed west down one of the side streets almost the entire distance of town.

Laurel couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “Where are we going?”

Garrett met her gaze in the mirror. “I’m taking the long way to the preacher’s house. The church auxiliary keeps it ready, hoping they can convince a minister to come to Trouble. It’s been empty for almost a year.”

“We’re just hiding across town?”

“Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight,” Garrett said. “Besides, I want to do a little searching online. See what I can discover about your sister.”

“There was never a news report on the car bomb,” Laurel said quietly. On the way here, she’d searched frantically at any internet café or library she could. She kept expecting some news story on an investigation, but she’d seen nothing except a clipping about a tragic accident. In fact, they’d simply stated the entire family had perished in a vehicle fire.

She hugged Molly closer.

They’d lied.

“That tells us a lot.” Garrett stopped in the driveway of a dark house, jumped out and hit a code on a small keypad. The garage door rose.

“Small towns,” he said with a smile when he slid back behind the wheel. “I check the house weekly.”

“Is it safe?”

“The men who took the shot will assume we’re leaving town. I would. And I don’t want to be predictable.”

He pulled the SUV into the garage. The automatic door whirred down behind them, closing them in. Laurel let out a long breath. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it.

“We’re safe?”

“For the moment,” Garrett said, turning in his seat. “We need to talk.” His gaze slashed to Molly, leaving the rest of the sentence unsaid. Alone.

“I know.” Laurel bit her lip. She didn’t know much. She’d hoped Garrett would somehow have all the answers, that he could just make this entire situation okay.

It wouldn’t be that simple. She clutched Molly closer. Laurel had no idea how they would get out of this situation alive.

* * *

THE INKY BLACK of the night sky cloaked Mike Strickland’s vehicle. Stars shimmered, but it was the only light save a few streetlights off in the distance. Trouble, Texas, was indeed trouble.

“They couldn’t have just vanished.” Strickland slammed his fist onto the dash of the pickup he’d commandeered. He’d switched license plates and idled on the outskirts of town, lights off, in silence. He tapped a number into his cell.

“They come your way?” he barked.

“Nothing,” Don Krauss said through the receiver, his voice tense. “There are only two roads into town.”

“But a lot of desert surrounding it,” Strickland muttered in response to his partner’s bad news. “We need satellite eyes.”

Krauss let out a low whistle. “You request it, the boss’ll wonder why.”

Strickland activated his tablet computer. The eerie glow lit the cab. “You see the history on this sheriff? Garrett Galloway?”

“Yeah,” Krauss said. “So?”

“It’s perfect.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, his backstory is perfect. He grew up in Texas. Went to school at Texas A&M. Joined the corps there. Got a few speeding tickets. Headed to a small town, ran for sheriff.”

“Like a thousand other Texas sheriffs.”

“Everybody’s got something. No late taxes, no real trouble. It feels wrong,” Strickland said quietly.

Silence permeated the phone. “What are you thinking?”

“You saw his moves. He didn’t learn those in college. Maybe Laurel McCallister didn’t get here by chance. Who comes this close to nowhere on a whim?” Strickland glanced around. “And we’re at the frickin’ end of the earth.”

“Still doesn’t help to explain if the boss asks about using the satellite.”

“I’ll say it’s a hunch.”

Strickland could almost see his partner’s indecision. “You gotta learn to take risks, Krauss. If we don’t get rid of those two, we’re dead. But if my hunch is right, and Garrett Galloway isn’t just some hick sheriff, we might be able to feed the boss something new.”

“And save our skin. I like it.”

“Keep digging on Galloway. Even the best slip up sometimes.”

“I’m on it. What do we do until then?”

“I’m contacting headquarters. I want to see a sweep of this part of Texas from the time we arrived until now. This place is dead at night. I want to know who’s been moving around and which way they went.”

“This could go to hell real fast, Mike.”

Strickland scratched his palm. “We just need one break, Krauss. One opening, and our targets won’t live long enough to disappear again.”

* * *

A DIM LIGHT illuminated the preacher’s garage. A plethora of boxes provided too many invisible corners and a variety of spooky shadows along the walls. Laurel shivered, but slid out of the car anyway. She bundled Molly into her arms before following Garrett into the preacher’s house. He carted in the supplies while she scanned the kitchen, studying each corner, each potential hiding place, each possible weapon. One thing she’d learned in her job: details mattered.

Laurel stepped into the living room. A front door and a sliding glass back door. Not exactly secure. And, of course, doilies everywhere.

The muscles in her shoulders bunched and she cocked her hip. Molly grew heavier and heavier with each movement. She walked back into the kitchen. The decor erupted with grapes and ivy.

So very different from Garrett’s house. She’d seen enough of the place to know it hadn’t been a home to him, just a way station.

With a sigh, she sat down at the table, shuffling Molly in her lap. She and Garrett needed to talk, but not with Miss Big Ears listening to every word. Molly let out a small yawn. The girl had to be exhausted, but she wouldn’t be easy to put down. Even then, the nightmares came all too easily. “Do you have any milk?”

“Warm?” he asked, searching through a couple of cabinets. He pulled out a small saucepan before Laurel could answer.

She nodded. Molly sat up and rubbed her eyes, a stubborn pout on her lip. “I don’t want milk. This isn’t home. I want my mommy and daddy. I want Matthew and Michaela.”

Laurel froze. Molly hadn’t mentioned her brother’s and sister’s names since they’d left Arlington. She blinked quickly and cleared her throat. “I want them, too, honey. But we have to hide. Like a game.”

“I don’t like this game. You’re mean.”

The girl’s lower lip stuck out even farther and her countenance went from stubborn to mutinous. She crossed her arms, and all Laurel could see in her niece’s face was an enraged Ivy. Some might think she could wait Molly out, but her niece could be as tenacious as...well, as Laurel herself.

“It’s late, Molly.” Her tone dropped, words firm and short. She didn’t want to have another drawn-out adventure getting the little girl to bed. Before the car bombing, it had taken some cajoling, at least two stories and two tiny glasses of water before she could get the child to close her eyes. Now...Molly didn’t fall asleep until her poor body simply rebelled. “It’s time for bed.”

“Then why aren’t you having hot milk, too?” Molly scrunched her face and crossed her arms.

Garrett turned around. “We’re all having warm milk, and I made you a very special recipe,” he said, adding a dash of sugar and a little vanilla and nutmeg to the cups he held.

He set a plastic cup in front of Molly and a glass mug in front of Laurel, then brought over a plate of vanilla wafers. The aroma mingled in the air around them, and Laurel sighed inside. It smelled like home and family. She swallowed briefly, her eyes burning at the corners.

Garrett took a seat, the oak chair creaking under his weight. His large hands rounded the cup. He raised it to his lips, sipped and stared at Molly. She glared back, but when he licked his lips, dunked a vanilla wafer into his cup and bit down, she leaned forward and took a small sip from her cup.

Molly’s eyes widened a bit and she tasted more. “Wow. That’s yummy. But I want chocolate chip.”

“Glad you think so.” He slid one of Hondo’s cookies toward the little girl and she gifted Garrett with an impish smile.

He winked at Molly, who downed another gulp. Laurel couldn’t resist, even though she detested the drink. She chanced a taste. The nutmeg and vanilla hit her tongue with soothing flavors. “Mmm. How’d you come up with this recipe?”

“My wife invented it, actually. Put our daughter to sleep.” A shadow crossed his face, then vanished just as quickly. “They’re gone now.”

“My mommy and daddy and brother and sister are gone, too,” Molly said with a small yawn. “I hope they come back soon.”

Laurel bit her lip to keep the sob from rising in her throat. “Is there someplace I can settle her down?”

Molly’s body sagged against Laurel. A few more minutes and the little girl wouldn’t be able to fight sleep any longer.

“Pick a room,” Garrett said. “I’ll check the perimeter and secure the house.”

He strode toward the door.

“Garrett,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Laurel. Thank me when this is over. Until then, I may just be the worst person you could have come to for help.”

* * *

GARRETT STOOD SILENTLY in the kitchen doorway as Laurel padded into the living room.

“She asleep?”

Laurel whirled around. Then her head bowed as if it were too heavy for her shoulders. He could see the fatigue in her eyes, the utter exhaustion in every step.

“She was bushed. It’s been a rough few days. She just downed the last of her medicine, so hopefully the strep throat is gone.”

He tilted his head toward the sofa. “You look ready to collapse. Have a seat. My deputy’s been busy tonight calming the town. He received a report of an SUV speeding out of town early tonight. I told him to keep out of sight but watch for it. If they’re smart, they’ll dump the vehicle.”

“But they won’t give up,” Laurel said.

“I doubt it.”

Laurel lowered herself to one end of the sofa, twisting her hands on her lap. “You work for the agency? With my father?”

Garrett sat in the chair opposite her. “In a way.” No need to volunteer that he was off the roll. If the agency didn’t think he was dead, he’d probably be awaiting execution for treason.

Just one of many reasons he shouldn’t allow himself to get too close to Laurel.

But even as he faced her, he felt the pull, the draw. And not because she was gorgeous, which she was, even with that horrible haircut and dye job. Beauty could make him take notice just like any man, but that didn’t turn him on half as much as how she’d fallen on top of Molly to protect her.

She was a fighter—a very good thing. She’d have to be for them to get out of this mess alive.

Which put her off-limits. That and the fact that she was James’s daughter.

“Your father trained me,” Garrett said, trying not to let himself get lost in his attraction for her. “He saved my life, actually.”

Laurel tucked her legs beneath her. “I thought it had to be something like that. I used to watch Dad train in the basement when I was a kid. I recognized that move when you dived to the ground.” She rubbed her arms as if to ward off a chill. “Ivy worked every night to perfect it. In spite of Dad.”

“I heard about the destruction to his office. I don’t think James wanted her to join up.”

“He was furious, but Ivy has...had,” she corrected herself, “a mind of her own.” Her voice caught and her hands gripped her pants, clawing at the material. “Dad raised us to be independent. She wanted more than anything to follow in Dad’s footsteps. She wanted to make the world safe.”

Laurel’s knuckles whitened and she averted her gaze from his. Every movement screamed at him not to push. Garrett could tell she was barely holding it together, and if she’d given him the slightest indication he would have crossed the room and pulled her into his arms and held her. Instead, he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, studying her closely. He hated to ask more but he needed information. He had to know. She might not even be aware of the information she possessed. “Where’s James, Laurel?”

Her breath shuddered and she cleared her throat. “I don’t know. He stopped calling or emailing two months ago. Then out of nowhere a package arrived this week. He sent a charm bracelet to Ivy.”

This week. So if James had really sent the package, he’d been alive a week ago. Garrett’s shoulders tensed. “Did you bring it?”

Laurel pulled a silver bracelet from her pocket. She touched the small charms and the emotions welled in her eyes. Reluctantly she handed it to him. “Ivy shoved it into my hand as she was leaving that night...” Her voice broke. “She said it was important.”

He studied the silver charms. Nothing extraordinary. A wave of disappointment settled over him. Surely there was something here. He studied each silver figure, looking for a clue, a message from James. A horse, a dog. A seashell. Several more. Nothing that Garrett understood, but he’d bet Laurel had a story to tell about each one. The question was, did any of those stories have a hidden message? He handed her back the treasure.

“Tell me about the figures.”

She walked through a series of memories. A trip to the ocean with the family right before her mother passed away. Their first dog and his predilection for bounding after fish in freezing mountain streams just to shake off and soak everyone. A horse ride that ended in a chase through a meadow. Her voice shook more with each memory, but the hurt didn’t provide anything new. Garrett couldn’t see a connection.

He let out a long, slow breath. He had to ask. “How did Ivy die?”

Laurel stared down at the floor. He knew exactly how she felt. Sometimes even looking at another human being could let loose the tears. After Lisa and Ella, he hadn’t allowed himself to give in to his emotions. He’d shoved the agony away, buried it in that corner of his mind where it wouldn’t bring him to his knees. Garrett had focused on revenge instead. He’d had to in order to survive.

But since Laurel had landed underneath him on the streets of Trouble, the pain he’d hidden had begun scraping at him, digging itself out.

She didn’t look up. She simply twisted the denim fabric in her fists. “The explosion burned Ivy almost beyond recognition. She lived. She gave me your name. Then they shot her in the head.”

Her voice strangely dispassionate, she went through every detail. When she told him about the single cop’s arrival, Garrett closed his eyes. At least one law-enforcement officer on the take. Probably more.

Asking for help was out of the question. And with James AWOL, they were on their own. She knew it. So did Garrett.

Laurel lifted her lashes and silent tears fell down her cheeks. She wouldn’t be facing this alone. In a heartbeat, Garrett knelt at her feet. He pulled her into his arms and just hugged her close.

She clung to him with a desperation he understood. Her fingers dug into his arms. The tiny tremors racing through her tore at his heart. Laurel’s heart was broken, and she had a little girl who needed her to be strong.

Laurel needed him, but his body shook as the memories assaulted him. How many nights had he dreamed of his wife and daughter calling out to him, begging for him to save them? But Laurel’s pleas were real, in every look, in every touch as she clung to him.

The similarities between Ivy’s death and his wife’s and daughter’s couldn’t be denied. He’d find the culprits this time. They wouldn’t get an opportunity to hurt anyone else.

Garrett stroked Laurel’s back slowly, but she didn’t let him go. Her grip tightened.

His pocket vibrated. With one arm still holding Laurel close, he tilted his phone’s screen so he could see it. He blinked once at the number. The country code was too familiar. Afghanistan.

“Hello?” He made his greeting cautious, unidentifiable. This was Sheriff Garrett Galloway’s phone and number. No one from Afghanistan should know it. That was a life he’d hidden away.

“Garrett?” A weak voice whispered into his ear. A voice he knew.

“James?”

Laurel froze in his arms.

“Garrett, listen to me. The operation has been compromised. Go to Virginia. Get my daughters to safety. They’re in danger.”

“James, Laurel is with me. What’s going on? Where have you been?”

“Oh, God,” James cursed. “Ivy knows too much. You have to get her out of there.”

Garrett nearly cracked. He didn’t want to tell his old friend the worst news a man could receive. Garrett knew the pain of losing a child. Your heart never recovered.

Laurel snagged the phone away from Garrett. “Daddy?” she shouted.

“Laurel, baby. Don’t believe what anyone tells you,” James said, his voice hoarse. “Promise.”

Shouts in Arabic reverberated through the phone. “Find him!”

“Laurel,” James panted. “Remember. Ivy’s favorite toy.”

A spray of gunfire exploded through the speaker.

The phone went silent.

Chapter Three

The phone slipped from Laurel’s hand. Her father couldn’t be gone. “Daddy?” Her knees gave way and she slid to the floor. She looked up to Garrett. “Get my father back, please.”

Garrett scooped up the phone and pocketed it. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

He slid his arms beneath her and lifted her. Laurel grasped at him. Her mind had gone numb. She couldn’t feel a thing.

With silent steps he carried her to the sofa and sat down on the smooth leather, anchoring her beside him. “Laurel.” He used a finger to force her to meet his gaze. “Stay with me, honey.”

Her body shuddered, and she couldn’t stop the trembling. This couldn’t be happening. She wanted to bury herself in Garrett’s arms and just forget everything. Pretend the past few days hadn’t happened. But she couldn’t.

Molly. Molly needed her.

She fisted the material of her jeans, fighting to calm the quake that threatened to overtake her. She had to know. Slowly she lifted her gaze to meet his. “My father? H-he’s dead, isn’t he?”

Laurel hated the words coming out of her mouth. The last bit of childish hope, that her father would rescue her and Molly, disintegrated into a million tiny pieces.

Garrett’s face resembled a stone statue. He gave nothing away from his expression. He didn’t have to say anything.

A burning crept behind her eyes and she pressed the heels of her hands against them, trying to curtain the emotions. “God.”

James McCallister had always been invincible. But after the past few months, when she and Ivy had been braced for the worst, for a few brief moments tonight Laurel had gotten her father back.

Now she’d lost him again. Maybe for good this time.

“So many bullets flying,” she said, her voice hushed. “How could he possibly survive?”

He hugged her close. “James is smart. And resourceful. If anyone can survive out there, your father can. Right now, I’m more worried about you.”

Garrett pulled a small leather case from his pocket and unzipped it before grabbing a small screwdriver. He pulled his cell from his pocket and opened the phone. Quickly, he popped the battery and a small chip from the device and tossed it onto the coffee table before tucking his kit back in his jacket.

“You removed the GPS.” The truth hit her with the force of a fist to the chest. “If they’re tracing his calls, they know our location. That’s what I do for the CIA. Track locations from cell towers and satellites.”

“Then you know we can’t stay here.” Garrett stood.

Laurel swiped at the few tears that had escaped. “How long do we have?” She wasn’t stupid. She made her living analyzing data. A price came with being connected at all times. Cell phones, computers, tablets, internet—everyone left a trail. She rose from the couch, her body slightly chilled once she left the warmth of his. She shouldn’t get used to it. She knew better. “I’ll get Molly.”

At her turn, Garrett touched her arm, stopping her. “I’ll see you through this.”

Laurel paused. “I’ve driven clear across the country, and a phone call from Afghanistan is bringing whoever killed my family down on top of us...and you. How can it ever be all right? How can I ever keep Molly safe?”

The question repeated over and over in her mind. She knew better than most people how easy it was to track virtually anyone down. Biting her lip, she hurried into the bedroom and wrapped the blankets around Molly. There was no telling where they’d end up.

Molly squirmed a bit. “Aunt Laurel?” she whispered.

“Go back to sleep, Molly Magoo.”

“I had a bad, bad dream,” she said.

“I’ve got you,” Laurel whispered. “I won’t let you go.” She hugged Molly tight, humming a few bars of “Hush, Little Baby.” Thankfully, Molly snuggled closer, yawned and settled back to sleep.

Laurel exited the bedroom, hurrying to the garage door. It squeaked and she paused, praying Molly wouldn’t wake up.

Her niece didn’t budge. The dim garage light shone down. Garrett shoved a few last boxes into the back of his SUV and opened the back door, a tender expression when he looked at the sleeping girl in Laurel’s arms pushing aside the intensity of just a moment ago. “You better do it. Better if she sleeps.”

Laurel gently settled Molly onto the backseat, snapping the seat belt around her.

Garrett closed the door, his movements almost too quiet to hear. “Watch her. I’m going to wipe the house down.”

Laurel gave him a quick nod and he disappeared into the house. When he returned, he stuffed a microfiber cloth into his jacket pocket, hit the garage-door opener and slid into the SUV beside her. “Fingerprints would make it too easy for them,” he said. “You’re on file with the FBI because of your clearance, and so am I.”

With a quick turn of the key in the truck, the engine purred to life. He quickly doused the automatic lights and pulled out slowly.

After pressing the outside code, the garage door slid down. The house appeared vacant again.

Laurel looked through the windshield, right, then left, then behind. Tension shivered between them.

Garrett maneuvered onto the deserted street, still without headlights. Trouble had gone to sleep. He didn’t plan on anyone waking up as they left town.

He didn’t need lights to see anyway. The church auxiliary had gone and wrapped every lamppost and streetlight with garland and twinkle lights, ribbon and tinsel. With each gust of wind the decorations clattered against metal, leaving his neck tense and his hair standing on end.

He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. God, he hated Christmas. Hated the memories it evoked. But at least the bulbs lit their way through Trouble.