Mistletoe Justice

Hopefully, he wasn’t much of a talker, because if he said anything to Wiggins about seeing her there...

As she began alphabetizing the time cards, worry gnawed at her. Her chances would be better if she hadn’t acted so guilty. Maybe she should just talk to the mechanic and ask him not to tell anyone about seeing her Friday night. But that would make her look even guiltier. No, she’d better keep her mouth shut and pray the mechanic did the same.

She had just finished payroll when a familiar voice drifted down the hall. And she almost dived under her desk again. Jimmy Fuller owned a large commercial construction company and bought aggregate from P. T. He also insisted on hand delivering his checks. It gave him three or four opportunities a month to hit on her.

Footsteps drew closer and Fuller’s athletic frame filled the doorway. With that deep golden tan and sun-bleached hair, he was used to women throwing themselves at him.

“Hello, beautiful.”

She laid the time cards on her desk. Let the other women have him. Those model looks were wasted on her. So were the pickup lines.

“Hello, Mr. Fuller.” She stayed with the formal address. He wasn’t much older than she was, maybe thirty-five to her twenty-six. But she wouldn’t get too chummy with him.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “Come on, Darci. When are you going to start calling me Jimmy?”

“Probably never. I’d only be encouraging bad behavior.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “I’m crushed. But I’m not giving up. If I keep coming in here almost every week, I’ll eventually talk you into going out with me.”

“You can tell yourself that if it makes you happy.”

He crossed her office and handed her a windowed envelope with a check inside. “No, what would make me happy is if you finally said yes.”

He started to laugh again, but his laughter turned to coughing. When he was finished, he pulled a cough drop from his pocket. “Excuse me. I’m getting over a bad sore throat. No love ballads today.” He unwrapped the lozenge and put it into his mouth. “I’m just now getting my voice back.”

Realization slammed into her. Fuller had lost his voice. Just like Wiggins’s visitor. She replayed phrases in her mind. The man had a slight Southern accent. So did Fuller. And Fuller had asked her out. Numerous times. Wiggins had said that she’d told him to take a hike. And she had, in so many words.

But did Fuller have feelings for her, like Wiggins claimed? Probably not. With guys like him, love had nothing to do with it. It was all about the thrill of the chase. Once they had what they wanted, the challenge was over and they were soon off on their next adventure.

But what did she know? Having not dated in five years, she was pretty rusty. Fuller was possibly the mystery man. She would try to avoid him. Of course, she’d been doing that for the past five and a half months. Easier said than done.

After Fuller left, she pushed both him and Wiggins from her mind and reached for the mouse. With her October entries made, it was time to print the financial statements. As the sheets fell into her printer tray, she opened the reports folder on her computer. The latest file was the report for September, presented at the October staff meeting.

She drew her brows together. Where was the report she’d created last week? Granted, she hadn’t gotten that far. It was mostly just notes of things she needed to include. But she would rather not have to start over.

Maybe she’d saved it to her local drive instead of clicking through to the server. A few seconds later, she heaved a satisfied sigh. There it was, under My Documents on her C drive...

Right below a folder titled D. Tucker Personal.

What in the world? She hadn’t created that folder. She had no reason to. She didn’t do anything personal at work.

She clicked on the folder and two files appeared. One was labeled Transactions. The other was untitled. They were both created Saturday, 8:58 and 9:01 p.m. She clicked on one, then the other, frowning at the security window that popped up. Both were password protected.

The air whooshed out of her lungs and she flopped back in her chair. There was only one reason for those files to be on her computer. Someone was setting her up.

The man with the raspy voice didn’t want her hurt. But Wiggins didn’t have to hurt her. All he had to do was frame her, making it impossible for her to go to the police without implicating herself.

A weight pressed on her chest, and she struggled in a breath. Burying her head in the sand was no longer an option. Neither was leaving P. T., at least until she made sure that nothing would follow her and eventually land her in jail. The problem was, she had no idea where to start.

The last one did. The words circled through her mind, as disturbing as when she’d first heard them. And her next step became clear—she needed to talk to the prior accounting manager.

She logged on to the payroll program and brought up terminated employees. Claire Blackburn was near the beginning of the list. After pulling a Post-it from the dispenser, she jotted down the address and phone number. She would try to contact her tonight.

And maybe she should check out Jimmy Fuller. She logged on to the Division of Corporations website and did a search for his company name. Nothing strange there. The business address matched what she used for billing. James Fuller was listed as the president. The vice president was...Lori Fuller? Her eyes shot back up to the president information. Same address. Not only was Jimmy Fuller a sleazy womanizer, he was married.

Without warning, Wiggins’s doughy figure filled her doorway. She jumped and clicked off the site. His eyes darkened with suspicion as he stared down at her, eyebrows dipping toward the bridge of his nose, the edges of his mouth turned downward. When he crossed his arms, the gesture wasn’t playful, as when Fuller had assumed the same position a short time earlier. And it wasn’t done to show off rippling biceps, as she always suspected with the younger man. No, Wiggins’s pose was meant to intimidate. It was working.

“Goofing off, are we?”

“No. You startled me.” She held up the small stack of paper. “I just finished printing the financials.”

Wiggins shook his head, his eyes scolding. “I know what you’re doing. You’d best let sleeping dogs lie, or you’ll get bit.” Without giving her an opportunity to respond, he stalked down the hall toward his office. Except Wiggins didn’t stalk. More like swaggered—the cocky gait of a man who thought too much of himself.

What was he, psychic? How did he know she was snooping?

She reached for the mouse and moved her report to the proper location. Wiggins had never been her favorite person. When she’d applied for her job, she’d interviewed with Peter Turlong, the owner, who divided his time between their Florida and Georgia mines. But since acquiring a mine in South Carolina four months ago, he’d left the Florida location in Wiggins’s hands. He might live to regret that decision.

Meanwhile, everyone was forced to put up with Wiggins. He didn’t just run a tight ship. He micromanaged every employee there. And she was no exception. Every report she did, he went over with a fine-tooth comb.

But when he’d stood in her doorway glaring down at her, he hadn’t been concerned about her work performance. He’d been afraid she was snooping. A man with secrets had every reason to be afraid.

Wiggins was making a big mistake. She had her hands too full with her own issues to worry about the business of other people. But now that he had involved her, he’d left her with no choice.

First she would try to talk to Claire Blackburn. Then she would go to Cedar Key police officer Hunter Kingston, not in an official capacity, but as a friend.

And she would pray like crazy that she could find a way to escape the noose that was tightening around her neck.

TWO

Darci’s eyes shot open, and she lay tense and alert, the remnants of a nightmare still holding her in its grasp. In her dream, she’d discovered something important, although she couldn’t remember now what it was. She had looked up to see Wiggins watching her and she had run. She was still running when she awoke.

But it wasn’t the nightmare that had awoken her. It was something else. Every instinct she possessed seemed to warn her of impending danger.

She waited in the darkness, but there was nothing. Just a lingering sense of unrest, as if somewhere beyond her awareness, something evil had penetrated the security of her world.

Then a soft shhh pierced the silence, and her senses shot to full alert. Had the sliding glass door just moved back in its track? Muffled footsteps sounded on the vinyl tile floor, confirming her fears.

She thrust the covers back and sprang from the bed, ignoring the panic showering down on her. Her son lay sleeping in the next room, twenty feet from whatever menace had just entered their haven. She snatched her phone from the nightstand and paused at the doorway to peer down the hall. A flashlight beam made wide sweeps of her living and dining area. As long as he didn’t shine it down the hall... God, please protect us.

As she crept toward Jayden’s room, her heart pounded against her ribs, and her breath came in shallow gasps. Once inside, she silently closed the door and turned the lock. A night-light cast its dim glow through the room, over the sleeping form of her precious little boy. She needed to call 911 without alerting the intruder or awakening Jayden. Maybe from inside the closet.

Nestled between his clothes and a stack of toy-filled crates, she touched the three numbers. Moments later, a soothing voice came through the phone, and the panic she had managed to hold at bay broke through its bounds. Her words tumbled out in a harsh whisper, and she began to shake.

“Help me, please. Someone’s in my house.”

After verifying the address and promising that help was on the way, the dispatcher stayed on the line offering words of encouragement. They did nothing to still her pounding heart or calm her frayed nerves.

When she emerged from the closet, Jayden stirred, and she moved to the side of his bed. If he woke up, she would have to keep him quiet. He didn’t talk unless prompted, but he sometimes cried. As she watched, he drew in a deep breath and let out a sigh, then returned to the rhythmic breathing of sleep.

“Are you still there?” The dispatcher’s question cut across her thoughts.

“Yes.” She spoke in the softest whisper.

“The police should be there any minute.”

She swallowed past the lump of fear that had congealed in her throat and mentally ticked through the items in Jayden’s room. If only she had something she could use to defend them.

Jayden had a bat and a baseball. Unfortunately, they were made of plastic. And he had a pistol, but it shot foam Nerf balls. Her best bet was to pray that the intruder didn’t kick down the door before the police arrived.

Sirens sounded in the distance, and she sagged against the wall. A few more minutes. Actually, the intruder had likely already run out the back door.

The squeal grew louder then died. Law enforcement was out front. She released a pent-up breath. Once the officers were inside and she knew for sure the intruder was gone, she would open the bedroom door.

Jayden sat up suddenly and climbed from the bed. She circled around and caught him before he reached the door.

“Sweetheart?”

He turned toward her, his eyes wide in the dim glow of the night-light.

“Mommy’s right here.” She picked him up and held him against her chest. Little arms went around her neck, and she pressed a kiss to the top of his head, breathing in the berry scent of his shampoo.

In another part of the house, the sliding glass door slid back farther in its track and footsteps sounded against the vinyl floor, multiple sets this time.

The last of the tension fled. She thanked the dispatcher and ended the call. A few minutes later, a knock on Jayden’s door accompanied a deep male voice.

“Levy County Sheriff’s. Everything’s clear. It’s all right to come out.”

When she emerged from the room, two deputies stood in the hall. The older one smiled down at her. “Are you all right?”

“A bit shaken up, but fine otherwise.” She squeezed Jayden more tightly.

“And the little guy’s okay?”

She returned the deputy’s smile. “He didn’t wake up until you guys got here.”

He stepped back to let her pass. “We need you to look around and see if anything is missing.”

She made her way toward the living room. She wouldn’t bother checking her room. If the intruder had come down the hall, she would have heard him. Except for the two bedrooms, the vinyl tile ran throughout the house.

She stepped into the combined living and dining area. The deputies had turned on the lights. Envelopes lay strewn about the small dining room table. She pointed that direction.

“They went through my mail.” When she’d laid it there, it had been stacked in one neat pile. But as near as she could tell, they hadn’t taken any of it.

She circled the kitchen, still holding Jayden. All the cabinet doors and drawers were closed, just as she’d left them. So far, nothing appeared disturbed, other than her mail. She crossed the room to the living area. Six files sat in a stack on the coffee table. Except they weren’t as neat as when she’d gone to bed. It was as if someone had checked the labels, sliding each file over a half inch to see the label beneath.

She nodded toward the stack. “I think he touched these.”

“What’s in them?”

“They’re vendor and customer files, work I brought home with me yesterday.” Hopefully, he wouldn’t press her further.

Before leaving the office, she’d pulled files for four other customers and two vendors who had asked her out, just in case the mystery man was someone other than Fuller. If Claire had stumbled across Wiggins’s secrets, the proof was likely contained in the paperwork at the mine. But after poring over each file and researching the companies online, she’d come up with nothing.

And her attempts to call Claire weren’t any more successful. She couldn’t even leave a message. After Claire’s outgoing message, a computerized voice announced that the mailbox was full.

Darci sighed and met the older deputy’s eyes. “I don’t understand how they got in.”

“Through the slider.”

She had guessed that much. “But I had it locked.”

“It wasn’t very secure.” He led her back through the dining area to the door. “I would recommend getting a Charley-Bar. Or at the least have someone drill a hole and put a pin through here.” He indicated a point several inches from the top, where the frames of the two doors crossed.

“I’ll do that.” And the sooner the better. She’d never been nervous about staying alone. But knowing someone had come into her house while she and Jayden slept changed everything.

The deputy moved to unlock the front door. “We’ll dust the slider for prints, along with your dining room table and coffee table. And we’ll see what we can pick up on your mail and files while we’re at it.” He swung the door open and turned back around. “Any idea who might have done this?”

Her gaze traveled back to the files sitting on the coffee table. Wiggins. He wouldn’t have done it himself, but he was behind it. After slipping the files into her bag, she had glanced up to see him standing in her doorway. She’d hoped he hadn’t seen anything.

Apparently he had.

She opened her mouth to say so, then had second thoughts. What if Wiggins had already redirected any trails of wrongdoing to her? What if she got an investigation started and it led to her arrest?

She shook her head. “I can’t think of anyone.”

Guilt pricked her. But she wasn’t lying. She really didn’t know who had broken in to her house.

The deputy studied her. She’d hesitated too long.

“If you think of anyone, let us know.”

She gave him a sharp nod.

Already it was starting. Wiggins was making sure she didn’t talk. He didn’t have to threaten to make her disappear.

The thought of going to jail and leaving her parents to raise her child was enough to seal her lips so tightly a crowbar couldn’t pry them open.

* * *

Conner followed Kyle up the stairs at Natures Landing Condominiums, pleasantly full from dinner. All week long, he’d hoped for an opportunity to talk to Darci. There was something about her, a sweet innocence that was at odds with the idea that she could be involved in anything sinister. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became—she was in trouble.

But both times their paths had crossed in the employee break room, Darci had brushed him off and hurried back to her office. He hadn’t followed. Though he’d tried to come up with a plausible reason why the mechanic would need to meet with the accounting manager, he’d drawn a blank.

Then yesterday, a fellow employee had mentioned that Darci had a son and spent weekends at her parents’ place in Cedar Key. So as soon as he’d gotten off work tonight, he’d packed two bags, loaded up Kyle and embarked on a minivacation.

Kyle reached the top of the stairs and ran full speed toward their room, excitement bubbling over. In fact, he’d been buzzing with eagerness from the moment they hit Cedar Key. Conner smiled. He would enjoy it while it lasted. All too soon, they would head back home and he’d have the old Kyle back—the sullen boy who found fault with everything anyone did for him.

But Conner couldn’t blame him. Overnight, he’d been ripped from his home and friends in Crystal River and dragged to Chiefland. No wonder the kid was messed-up. And it was far from over. Next week they had Thanksgiving to get through. Four weeks after that, Christmas. By then, he’d probably be back with his grandparents. That had been the initial plan. But a week after Claire’s disappearance, Conner’s stepdad had had a heart attack, followed by a quadruple bypass, and his mom couldn’t care for both of them.

When Conner got to the door, Kyle was still struggling with the lock, so he reached up to help him. Five seconds later, Kyle burst into their rented condo. Conner sighed. Too bad kids didn’t come with troubleshooting guides, because this one needed fixing, and he didn’t have the manual, tools or experience to do it. He’d never planned to be in this position. His determination to keep his relationships casual had guaranteed that he would never have to take on the role of husband or father. Until now.

With his stepdad’s heart attack, Kyle’s care had fallen on him—the least qualified man on the planet. His own father had been loud and abusive. The stepdads that followed hadn’t been any better. Once his newest stepdad fully recovered, Conner could give Kyle back. Meanwhile, he’d be saddled with an angry, rebellious kid, and Kyle would be stuck with the world’s sorriest excuse for a father.

By the time Conner closed the door, Kyle had settled himself on the nearest bed and snatched the remote from the nightstand. Bursts of sound filled the room as he advanced through the channels.

“Get your pajamas on and your teeth brushed first.”

With a groan of protest, Kyle flung himself to his feet, then lifted the Avengers duffel bag onto the bed. “Then can I watch whatever I want?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Did your mother let you watch anything you wanted?”

Kyle fished through the bag and pulled out a pair of pajamas. “No.”

“Then I won’t, either.”

“Is that so she won’t be mad at you if she comes back?”

If she comes back. “Yeah, something like that.”

At first it was when. Now, six months later, it was if. At seven years old, the kid was already facing reality.

Kyle disappeared into the bathroom and came back out two minutes later, dressed in his pajamas, toothbrush and toothpaste in hand. The clothes he took off were probably on the bathroom floor, and his teeth were likely not as clean as they should be. But tonight, Conner chose to let it go.

Once Kyle had settled himself back on the bed and resumed his channel search, Conner picked up the duffel, then shook his head. The entire bag was now a wadded, twisted mess. If he left it like that till morning, the kid would go through the weekend looking as if he’d just crawled out of bed.

Conner pulled out a shirt and folded it, then removed a pair of shorts. When he reached for another item, he hesitated. He had uncovered the corner of a book.

He glanced at his nephew. Kyle wasn’t a reader. He knew how to read, but he didn’t do it for pleasure. And since school was out all next week, he’d told Kyle his homework could wait till later. No way was he getting a jump on it. He was a major procrastinator, unless it involved video games.

Conner pulled out the book, then drew his brows together. Kyle with a diary? It was hard enough to get him to do his assignments. He’d never keep a journal.

Which meant the book had probably belonged to Claire.

Anticipation surged through him. During that quick phone call the night she disappeared, all she’d told him was that she’d found something. She hadn’t given him much to go on. Maybe the details he needed were in her diary.

He opened it to the first page. Definitely Claire’s handwriting.

“No!” Kyle’s scream reverberated through the room. Before Conner had a chance to prepare, Kyle leaped up and slammed into him, knocking him onto the bed. “That’s Mommy’s. You can’t have it.” He snatched the book and held it to his chest as tears welled up in his eyes.

“It’s okay, buddy.” Conner kept his voice low, soothing. “I was just straightening your clothes.” He lifted a hand and smoothed back Kyle’s hair. “I won’t take it without your permission.”

Kyle calmed, then swiped at his eyes, as if embarrassed to be seen crying. “You promise?”

He held up a hand. “Scout’s honor. But I’ll read it to you, if you’d like.”

Kyle shook his head. “I don’t need you to read it. I can read it myself. We’re learning cursive.”

Conner frowned. He wasn’t surprised. The private school he’d put Kyle in had a good reputation. And his sister’s handwriting was impeccable. He’d have to try another tack.

“Will you let me read it? Mommy wouldn’t mind. She was my sister, you know.”

He cringed at his choice of verbs. No matter how he tried to cling to the hope that Claire would one day walk back into their lives, he still found himself thinking of her in the past tense.

Kyle didn’t seem to notice. “No, it’s a special book. Just me and Mommy can read it.”

Without waiting for a response, Kyle climbed back into bed and slipped the diary under his pillow.

Conner sighed. If he was going to get a look at what Claire had written, it was going to have to be after Kyle went to sleep. Unfortunately, tonight Kyle would probably outlast him.

For the next hour, Conner drifted in and out while Kyle watched TV. Then he awoke with a start. He’d fallen into a heavier sleep, even started to dream. He sat up and looked over at Kyle. The bedside light was on and the TV still played, but Kyle was fast asleep.

He stood and circled around to the other side of Kyle’s bed. He was sprawled out in the middle, his head between the two pillows. The scowl that usually marred his face during his waking hours was gone in sleep. He looked at peace, as if his biggest worry was whether Santa would bring him that favorite toy for Christmas. As if heartache hadn’t so recently touched his young life.

When Conner started to slide his hand under the pillow, guilt pricked him, and he pulled back. Kyle had made him promise he wouldn’t take it. Well, he wasn’t taking it. He was just borrowing it.

But if Kyle caught him, he would never trust him again. He would probably even hate him, at least temporarily. Conner frowned. He’d be less likely to get caught if he could slip another book under the pillow in its place. He had only one with him, a spy thriller he’d thrown in at the last minute. It was close to the same size as Claire’s diary, just a little thicker. It was even a hardback.