Christmas Male

In spite of the dim lighting, D.C. caught the glint of light on metal and watched. The second one raised his arm and springing forward, brought a gun down hard on the other one’s head.

D.C. pulled out his revolver as he broke into a run. “Stop. Police.”

The person holding the gun whirled and raised his weapon just as uneven ground made D.C. stumble and fall. He landed hard on his bad leg. Dispassionately, he heard a whiny thud and watched a chunk of bark hit the grass inches in front of him. Close, D.C. thought as he rolled to the other side of a tree. Very close.

Still on the ground, he ignored the pain in his thigh and took aim with his own weapon. But the figure was already racing away. The sidewalks on either side of the garden were still filled with tourists, and firing a shot would be too risky.

Hauling himself to his feet, D.C. dialed 911 and relayed his situation as he ran haltingly in the direction the armed man had taken. He exited the gate in time to see a figure wearing a Santa hat disappear into the backseat of an unmarked van. The Mall was lit brightly enough for him to see that there were two other people in the vehicle, one behind the wheel and another in the passenger seat.

The engine roared and tires squealed as the van raced away toward Fourth Street and peeled around the corner. It would be useless to give chase, D.C. thought. Even if his leg had been at one hundred percent, the van was moving too fast. He rubbed his thigh. Now that the adrenaline was fading, the sharpness of the pain was coming through. Loud and clear.

He turned back, and as he limped across the ground toward the fallen figure, he caught a few glimpses of the ice rink. Thanks to the volume of the music and the fact that the person with the gun had used a silencer, the skaters seemed blissfully unaware of the little shoot-out. He leaned down to retrieve his cane and then continued toward the figure on the ground.

The man was lying on his side, one arm flung out, a red scarf obscuring his features. D.C. knelt down beside the body. It was the hand that caught his attention first. The fingers were long, slender and delicate-looking. He checked for a pulse, found it steady. Carefully drawing the scarf aside, he confirmed his suspicion—this was a woman.

And he knew her.

Lying before him was Private Amanda Hemmings, General Eddinger’s administrative assistant at Fort McNair. Small world, D.C. thought.

Examining the fallen woman more closely, he noted the gash on the back of her head oozing blood. And the bruise on her forehead told him she’d hit it, as well, when she fell. He took her hand and patted it. “Private Hemmings?”

No response.

“Amanda?”

Silence again. She’d obviously been hit hard. Above the music from the rink, D.C. caught the faint sound of a siren.

What was Private Amanda Hemmings doing here wearing a Santa hat and red scarf? And why had someone attacked her?

It was a puzzle—and D.C. loved them. He was taking out his notebook and pen when he saw it—just two or three links of gold sticking out of one of the pockets in her jacket. But he’d seen those chain links before. Very carefully, he drew them out.

Excitement surged through him. There hanging at the end of the necklace was the Rubinov diamond.

BAH! HUMBUG!

Though she didn’t utter them aloud, the words blinked on and off like a neon sign in Fiona’s mind. Impatient and annoyed, she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel of her car while she waited for a group of tourists to climb aboard the bus she’d been following down Constitution Avenue.

Even though it was nearly five forty-five and the sky had darkened over half an hour ago, the traffic around the National Mall hadn’t let up. She shouldn’t have taken this route. But she hadn’t quite been able to put that officer out of her mind. What was even more annoying was that each time she thought about him, the feelings she’d experienced returned—the shortness of breath, the rapid pulse. How could she be so intensely attracted to a total stranger?

She’d succeeded in coming up with a rational explanation for the…unsettling experience. It had been a combination of all the media hype around the diamond together with the Christmas season with its promises of wishes coming true. Add to that the fact that she was at loose ends because she wasn’t in the middle of a case, and it made sense that her imagination would react in such a strange way to the diamond…and the army officer.

And damn it, while she’d been thinking of him, her car had somehow found its way to the National Mall. Again.

She spared a glance for the tourists who had formed a line on the sidewalk that ran behind the sculpture garden next to the National Gallery. She seemed to be the only one in a hurry to get somewhere. She stared at them, willing them to pick up the pace as they slowly boarded their bus. It didn’t work.

Great! Fiona clamped down on the urge to lean on her horn. It wasn’t the bus driver’s fault that she was late. Nor could she blame him for the traffic snarl or because she was on her way to an obligatory Christmas party that she’d done her best to get out of.

Her boss, Natalie Gibbs-Mitchell, had refused to take no for an answer. And the fact that her captain was expecting a baby any day added what Fiona felt was a lot of unfair pressure.

When her cell phone rang, Fiona glanced at the caller ID. Speak of the devil…

“Don’t even think of chickening out on me,” Natalie said.

“I swear I’m on my way. I’m running late because I stopped by the National Gallery earlier today and saw the diamond.”

“And?”

“You’re right. It’s beautiful.” But it wasn’t an image of the necklace that filled her mind. It was the face of the stranger she’d seen over the display glass—that lean face with the ruggedly handsome features.

“And now that you’ve seen it, what do you think of the legend?”

When she felt the little flutter of panic, Fiona ruthlessly shoved it down. “I think the legend is making this one of the most popular exhibitions ever.”

Then she changed the subject. “I’m also running late because my meeting at Walter Reed hospital took longer than I expected.”

There was a beat of silence. “And that would be my fault?”

Fiona could picture Natalie on the other end of the call, her expression cool, her brows raised. The image made Fiona smile. “If the shoe fits…”

It had been her captain who’d put her in charge of the department’s Christmas toy drive. But it had been her own idea to recruit volunteers to patrol the high-traffic tourist attractions in D.C. In each location, they handed out brochures explaining the drive and describing where and how to drop off toys.

The response had been phenomenal. She glanced beyond the line of tourists. Even now, one of her volunteers might be passing out brochures somewhere on the streets that connected the Smithsonian museums. In spite of her aversion to all things Christmas, she was enjoying the chance to give a needy kid a better Christmas than she’d had.

“Everything’s quiet at the station. I checked,” Natalie said.

“Me, too.” Fiona was on duty tonight and she’d been hoping for a mugging or an assault. No such luck.

She had the police band radio on in the hope of a last-minute reprieve. There’d been a rash of snatch and runs plaguing the Georgetown area. Heck, she’d even settle for a domestic disturbance. It wasn’t that Fiona wanted a murder to investigate on the Friday before Christmas, but a little mayhem would have been perfect.

Along the sidewalk, the line of tourists seemed to be getting longer instead of shorter.

“You can’t work all the time, Fiona.”

“I know.” Natalie was hosting a Christmas party at the Blue Pepper, a popular bistro in Georgetown, and Fiona knew most of the people who would be there. More than that, she liked them—her colleagues, Natalie’s sisters, their husbands and friends.

It was the Christmas part that bothered her. As far as she was concerned, the best part of the holiday season was being able to put it behind her for another year.

“Fair warning. Now that you’ve been to see the Rubinov, Chance will probably grill you about its security.”

Fiona closed her eyes and bit back a sigh. Natalie’s husband, Chance, investigated high-profile art and jewelry thefts for an insurance company, and he’d consulted on the security setup for the Rubinov. So it only made sense that he’d want to get her take on how well the protection was holding up, given the crowds of people who’d been in to see it. At least, that had been one of the reasons Natalie had used when she’d nagged Fiona to go see the diamond.

But she hadn’t paid one bit of attention to the security while she’d been in that exhibition room. She’d been too caught up in the stone…and the man…

Ruthlessly, she once more shoved the image of the stranger’s face out of her mind. Ahead of her, the bus began to move.

“How much longer will you be?” Natalie asked.

Forever, Fiona thought. Please. She knew very well that wishes weren’t always granted at Christmas, but maybe…just this once. All she wanted was a case—one that would last through the holidays.

The bus in front of her coughed up exhaust and began to crawl forward.

“I’m moving now,” she said. “My ETA is twenty minutes.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Natalie said and disconnected.

The call came through as she was inching her way toward Ninth Street. Shots fired in the sculpture garden at the National Mall. She was only a couple of football fields away. Thank God.

Punching a number into her cell, she pulled onto a grass verge at the same time as she told the dispatcher she was nearly on the scene. Then she plucked her gun out of her evening bag and ran toward the well-lit ice rink.

Chapter Two

D.C. FELT THE PRESENCE of the other person before he saw or heard a thing. And he sensed danger. Neither surprised him. Combat experience honed a man’s perceptions. He didn’t glance up from the notes he was taking and didn’t slow the movement of his pen, but all his other senses went on full alert.

He was pretty sure that it wasn’t the man who’d taken a shot at him. Private Hemmings’s assailant had been too intent on escape. D.C. couldn’t hear anything other than the still-approaching sirens and the music from the ice rink. Still he felt the threat increase with each passing second. He’d only felt this way one other time. It had been in Baghdad. And he’d learned later that he’d been in the crosshairs of a high-powered rifle.

He let his gaze slide to his gun, which he’d set on the ground. His cane lay next to it. Either one would prove a useful weapon…if he could get to them in time.

“Don’t even think about it.”

D.C. let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. The voice was husky, authoritative and definitely female. It also meant business.

“D.C. police. Raise your hands and keep them where I can see them.”

D.C. did as he was told. As he lifted his gaze, the first thing he saw was the shoes. Cops were wearing interesting footwear these days. Hers were expensive-looking with killer heels and they were moving purposefully toward him. They should have slowed her down, but they didn’t. A black coat that flared out as she moved revealed a short red dress and legs that made his gaze want to linger. But the gun she held professionally in both hands was a bit distracting, especially since it was aimed at his most vital organ.

The moment he saw her face, recognition slammed into him like a bare-fisted punch. It was her. His mystery woman. Her face was as striking as he remembered. Delicate features and porcelain-colored skin contrasted sharply with a stubborn chin and a slash of cheekbones that suggested strength. A cop’s strength?

Finally, he met her eyes head-on. He registered their color—aged whiskey. Then his cataloging slammed to a halt as he experienced the same raw, primitive desire he’d experienced earlier.

Evidently, lightning could strike twice. His eyes narrowed as she stopped in front of him. He was pretty sure that the danger he’d sensed earlier had nothing to do with the gun and everything to do with the woman.

Who the hell was she?

“PUT YOUR HANDS UP.” Fiona was happy to see that her weapon was steady. Because she wasn’t steady at all. From the first moment she’d spotted him kneeling next to the body, she’d recognized him. And she’d experienced the same intense, impulsive urge to go to him that she’d felt earlier. Instead, she’d halted in her tracks and taken a moment to gather herself before she’d moved toward him.

The 911 caller had identified himself as being in the military police and had promised to stay on the scene. The gun on the ground next to him and the way he was scribbling in that notebook suggested he was a cop. Still, she’d have to make sure. That was when he’d glanced up and met her eyes. She’d very nearly stopped dead in her tracks again.

Who the hell was he? And how could he have this kind of effect on her?

“Mind if I use my cane?”

“Just give the gun a wide berth.”

“I called this in. The victim here is a woman. She’s taken a blow to the back of the head and she may have hit her forehead on the edge of the sculpture when she fell. She’s unconscious. Her breathing and pulse are steady.”

As he spoke, he rose in a smooth series of movements that told Fiona he’d practiced it often. She noticed more details than she had in their earlier encounter. He was larger than she remembered, well over six feet with broad shoulders and a swimmer’s body that went well with his lean face. But it was his eyes that grabbed her attention.

Again.

They were the darkest gray she’d ever seen. His gaze was direct and very intense. Not much slipped by those eyes, she could tell. And staring into them was a mistake. The pull he seemed to effortlessly exert on her tightened, and she barely kept herself from walking into his arms.

Impatience bubbled up. She had a job to do, and she would think of how he affected her…later. Better still, she wouldn’t think of him at all. “You want to tell me the rest of what you know, Sergeant?”

“It’s Captain D. C. Campbell.” He moved a hand toward his pocket, then paused. “I have ID.”

Which she should have asked for already. “Go ahead.”

As she inspected it, he continued, “I’m currently stationed at Fort McNair running the military police unit. It’s my day off, and I’m here on an outing with my mother and sister. They’re skating.”

Fiona thought of the two women she’d seen with him in the exhibition and recalled her impression that they’d been related.

Narrowing her eyes, she slipped her revolver into her evening bag. “You want to get to the good part?”

“Sure thing.” Humor flashed in his eyes.

Even as she knelt beside the body to verify the pulse, the sirens stopped. D. C. Campbell kept his report on the altercation between the two people he’d observed detailed, yet concise. One person had mugged another person on the National Mall.

“Did her attacker get away with anything?”

“No. He took one shot at me, then seemed to lose his nerve.”

The woman was lying half on her side, her face in profile, and something tugged at the edge of Fiona’s mind. She located a wallet and was about to check the victim’s ID when he said, “I know her.”

She glanced up at him. “Who is she?”

“She’s my general’s administrative assistant—Private Amanda Hemmings.”

A memory clicked into place in Fiona’s mind. She remembered the young blonde woman in uniform who’d stepped into her office, bubbling with enthusiasm, so eager to help with the toy drive. Fiona frowned down, first at the ID and then at the woman. She still looked young and very defenseless. Something tightened around her heart. “I know her, too. I only met her once. She’s one of the volunteers helping with the D.C. Police Department’s toy drive. That’s the reason she’s wearing the Santa hat. The hats were her idea. All my volunteers are wearing them.”

“The man who attacked her was wearing one, too.”

Spotting two uniforms hurrying toward them, Fiona frowned, then rose, pulled out her ID and held it out to them. But she never took her eyes off of D.C. “He was wearing a hat, too? That’s odd. I wonder what was behind the attack.”

“I have a clue.”

When he pulled the necklace out of his pocket, she stared. Even in the dim light, the large blue diamond in the pendant glowed. Without thinking, she cupped her hands and held them out. “It’s the Rubinov, isn’t it?”

“That would be my guess.”

As he placed it in her hands, his fingers brushed against her palm. It was a momentary contact—accidental, casual. But Fiona felt the impact—a stirring mix of heat, pleasure and promise—right down to her toes. Closing her fingers over the necklace, twin impulses grabbed her. One to step forward, the other to turn and run.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw two medics hurrying toward them with a stretcher. But before she turned to deal with them, she met D. C. Campbell’s eyes again. There was a heat in them that nearly matched the fiery glow in the center of the diamond. There was no physical contact between them anymore, but her skin still burned where his fingers had brushed against it. Neither of them moved.

“Interesting,” he said, letting his gaze drop briefly to the stone, which she still held in her outstretched palm. “You’re aware of the legend.”

“I am.” She had to push the words through a very dry throat, and the effort had her lifting her chin. “I believe in legends about as much as I believe in Santa Claus.”

“It will be interesting to see where this leads.”

Nowhere, Fiona thought as she fought a pump of panic. But she didn’t say the word aloud. Instead she turned her attention to the medics. She’d handle D. C. Campbell later.

OH, IT WOULD DEFINITELY lead somewhere, D.C. thought. Two people didn’t experience the kind of connection they’d just felt and walk away from it.

D.C. stepped away from Amanda Hemmings, giving the medics room to check her over. The older of the two, a plump woman in glasses, glanced at him. “You find her?”

“I saw it happen,” D.C. said. “She was struck on the head from behind with a gun and fell down hard. Looks like she hit her head on the edge of the sculpture. She’s been out ever since.”

“Good to know.” The woman went back to her job.

D.C. glanced over at the ice rink. From his position, he could see that some of the skaters had lined up along the edge, their curiosity aroused by the sirens and the flashing lights. One of the uniforms was taping off the scene while two others were keeping those still strolling along the Mall from entering at the other side of the garden. He couldn’t see either his mother or his sister, although he would soon, he suspected. Once they spotted him in the middle of this, they’d be right over.

Taking out his cell, he punched in the number of his general, Myra Eddinger. While he filled her in on what he knew so far, he kept his gaze on the mystery woman who’d taken charge of the crime scene. She radiated competence the way she radiated sensuality. Even at a distance of twenty or so feet, the intensity of the pull he’d felt when he’d first seen her still hummed and sizzled like an electric current in his blood.

“You’re sure the necklace is the Rubinov?” General Eddinger asked.

“Either that or an excellent copy.”

“Best guess,” Eddinger demanded.

“It’s the real McCoy.” His gaze never wavered from his mystery woman because it was what he was feeling for her that was fueling his certainty. He wasn’t totally sure he bought into the legend, either. But something was definitely happening between them. If the necklace hadn’t been involved, he might have chalked what he was experiencing—what they were experiencing—up to some really excellent chemistry.

But he could have sworn that the blue stone had brightened when he’d placed it in her hand—just as it had brightened in the display case when he’d first seen her.

And when his fingers had brushed briefly against her palm, what he’d experienced had gone beyond desire to something that bordered on recognition.

She shot a look his way, and the moment their eyes met, everything else faded. General Eddinger’s voice became a hum in his ear. The faces of those standing on the edges of the scene blurred. And the light dimmed as if he were on a stage set. In that instant, there was only her.

He was only released from the spell when she turned away and put her cell phone to her ear.

“Are you still there, Captain Campbell?”

“Yes. Our connection faded just for a moment,” he lied.

“If you’re right on this, then Private Hemmings has played some role in the attempted theft of the century. Everything I know about her tells me she wouldn’t have done anything purposely to steal that diamond. I want to know just how it ended up in her pocket. So I’m going to make a few phone calls and arrange for you to work along with the Washington police on this case. I’ll expect you to get to the bottom of it.”

“Yes, sir.” And that’s what he should be focusing on. But for a moment his thoughts were directed on the woman he would now be working with. Knowledge was always power.

She wasn’t as tall as he’d first thought. Maybe five foot four without the killer heels. And then there were those legs. Looking at them for more than a few seconds was enough to stimulate some very interesting fantasies. The current one was generating enough heat to keep him toasty warm.

D.C. gave himself a mental shake. She was still distracting him from more important things—such as following General Eddinger’s orders. If what he suspected was true, the Rubinov diamond must have been stolen from its display case shortly after the exhibition had closed at 5:00 p.m. He and his family had been in the last group to view the necklace.

It must have been almost five as they’d followed crowds toward the exit doors. He searched his mind for the details of what he’d seen as they made their way out. The one thing he did recall was a tall woman with straight blond hair having a heated conversation with an older woman and a group of youngsters. As they’d passed by, his mother had frowned. When he’d asked her about her reaction, she’d said that the blonde was acting like a bully. Some of the kids had needed to use the bathrooms, but the woman had been adamant that the restrooms were closed.

D.C. smiled as he recalled the incident. Nancy Campbell had strong ideas about how children should be treated.

Afterward, they’d come directly to the sculpture garden and his mother and Darcy had gone in to get skates. No alarm had sounded.

D.C. shifted his gaze to Amanda Hemmings as she was being carried away to a waiting ambulance. How in the world had she ended up with the Rubinov diamond in her pocket?

“Lieutenant?” It was a seasoned-looking man in a uniform who called out, and D.C.’s mystery woman strode toward him. The man had to have at least fifteen years on his lieutenant, and though D.C. couldn’t catch what they were saying, there was an ease in the way they communicated that suggested respect on each side.

So she was a lieutenant. And he didn’t even know her name. Amusement moved through him. He was definitely slipping. Putting all his years of investigative training to use, D.C. managed to extract not only her name, but a little background information, as well, from one of the uniformed men taping off the area.

Her name was Fiona Gallagher. She’d been working in Washington for five years, she was well respected, and she had a reputation for doing everything by the book. Before that, she’d worked in Atlanta. She’d been transferred to Washington specifically to work in the high-profile crime unit. D.C. stored the information away, then shifted his position so that he could lean against one of the sculptures. His leg deserved a little TLC after his abortive run after the armed man. But the initial pain he’d felt was already easing.