Love, Lies and Mistletoe

Sighing, he got down on his knees and crawled beneath the stairs. The cold draft coming from the large, uninsulated space made him shiver. He hoped she didn’t have any snow globes among her decorations; they were probably frozen solid.

“They are all over in that far corner.”

Of course they were.

“Most of them are labeled.”

Most?

“If you’re not sure, open the top flaps. It should be easy to tell what’s Christmas stuff and what’s not.” She moved past him and straightened. “Thanks, dear. I’ll leave you to it.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head, not for the first time wondering if maybe staying in the city and putting his life at risk was such a bad option after all.

Of course the department hadn’t left him much choice. It was either get out of town while the gun smoke settled on the bust that had gone wrong or be permanently removed from the force.

Heading farther into the space, he grabbed several nearby boxes and propped open the door.

“Oh, Jake, please close that while you’re in there. That draft is really cold.”

Right. “Okay, Mrs. Kelly,” he mumbled, moving the boxes aside and letting the door close behind him.

He was grateful for his jacket and gloves as he moved toward the corner where she said the boxes would be. Dishes... Clothing... Christmas decorations—in a far back corner behind dozens of other boxes. He sighed. It had been a long time since he’d needed to dig out holiday decorations...and he’d been hoping to avoid any reminder of better, happier times. He reached for the boxes and tried to simply focus on the task ahead of him. He just needed to get through the season.

* * *

HEATHER DESCENDED THE refinished hardwood staircase at the Brookhollow Inn the next morning, skipping the third from the bottom step that always creaked, despite Victoria’s husband’s many attempts to fix it.

The inn had been Heather’s home for a year and a half, but when she’d moved in, she’d had nowhere else to be. Visiting the quiet, laid-back small town had seemed like a great break from her stressful life in the city, but the desire to move on was increasing each day, especially as her bank account balance dipped lower.

She scanned the dining room, but it was empty. The B and B’s occupancy rate had dwindled in recent months, since the weather turned colder and the roads were less than ideal to travel on. And they wouldn’t be filling up again until the week before Christmas, when the inn would be full with guests visiting local family for the holidays.

She turned the daily calendar at the check-in desk. Almost another year wasted, without figuring out a plan for her future.

Well, it was time.

She reached into her jeans pocket and retrieved the piece of register tape from the bar. Mike Ainsley and the position at Highstone Acquisitions might be the answer to that. Tucking it in her hand, she poked her head into the kitchen.

Empty.

She headed toward the back of the house, listening carefully for Victoria’s voice. Her friend habitually sat in the back sunroom, feeding her baby girl, Harper, around this time every day. Usually, her off-key singing voice could be heard torturing a lullaby, but today it was quiet. Maybe she hadn’t arrived yet.

One glance through the glass walls of the sunroom revealed that it was snowing heavily, big fluffy white flakes collecting quickly on the already-covered ground.

The grandfather clock in the front sitting room chimed. Nine o’clock. Cameron had texted to say Rob had reluctantly agreed to give his boss a heads-up that she would be calling and that Mike Ainsley was expecting her call at nine. Heading back to the front desk, Heather pulled her cell phone from her purse.

Crap! She had to start remembering to plug in her phone at night. The dead battery light flickered a second longer, then the phone shut off completely. Wonderful. She’d have to make the long distance call at the desk. Luckily, she’d recently taken over paying the B and B’s invoices, so she would know how much to reimburse Victoria for the call.

She wondered if her friend would accept a payment plan schedule.

But what if her friend noticed the acquisition firm’s number on the bill? She bit her lip.

Two minutes past nine.

Picking up the receiver, she heard nothing. No dial tone. The line was dead.

What the...?

Glancing at the display screen on the phone revealed the connection with the server was down. Fantastic. She jiggled the mouse for the computer and waited for the reservation screen to appear. Great, the internet was down, too.

She wanted to scream. Stupid weather caused this to happen often around here. How many times had she told Victoria’s husband, Luke, that the internet phone system may be cheap, but it wasn’t reliable? And now was not the day to have her point proven. 9:04. What had her sister said about Mike Ainsley? He was old-school and didn’t appreciate lateness.

This wasn’t exactly her fault, but unless the other man had ever lived in a middle-of-nowhere town, he was probably not going to accept her excuses. Sitting in the chair, she noticed the old rotary phone on the corner of the desk. The phone lines should still work, just not the computerized system. Diving for it, she held her breath as she picked up the receiver.

Dial tone. Success. Thank God they’d kept the landline as a backup.

Man, this thing was heavy, she thought, retrieving the number and slowly dialing it. Good thing this wasn’t a real emergency. Finally, when the phone started ringing, she sat straighter, mentally rehearsing her pitch.

“Happy holidays. Thank you for calling Highstone Acquisitions, how may I help you?” a chirpy receptionist’s voice said.

“Hi, this is Heather Corbett. I’m calling for Mr. Ainsley.”

“Mr. Ainsley, Junior or Senior?” she asked.

Great, there were two of them. Thanks for the heads up, Cam. “Senior, I believe. Mike.”

“Mike is Junior. Michael is Senior. Which is it?”

Oh, come on. “The one in charge of hiring?”

“I’ll put you through to HR,” the young woman said in a tone that made it possible to imagine her rolling her eyes.

“Oh, no, actually Mr. Ainsley, Senior, I think, was expecting my call at nine,” Heather said.

“It’s ten after.”

It is now! “I know, I apologize. I was having technical difficulties this morning.” With a phone. Wow—could she sound any less competent?

“Hold the line,” the receptionist said.

A second later, the sound of voices outside the B and B caught her attention, followed by the scrape of a metal shovel clearing the steps. Victoria and her husband, Luke, were there. Heather’s eyes widened.

“This is Michael Ainsley,” a deep voice said on the other end of the line.

She swallowed hard, watching the front door, hoping her friends would remain outside long enough to get this man to agree to review her résumé. “Hi, Mr. Ainsley, this is Heather Corbett, Rob Ashley’s sister-in-law.”

“Yes, he said to expect your call.”

“Right, yes, so I’m interested in the opening for an acquisition agent that you have for the new year,” she said quickly.

Outside, slamming of the car door and more scraping.

“Well, we are hoping to fill the position in the next few weeks, preferably before the office shuts down for the holidays. We are closed from...hmm, let me find my calendar...”

Oh, my God! “Right, for the holidays, I understand. Anyway, I’d love to send you my résumé.”

“Well, before we get to that, I have a couple of questions.”

“Okay.”

“The most obvious one, of course, is why should we consider you for the position?” he asked, before erupting in a terrible fit of coughing.

“Um...” Still coughing.

“Sorry...give me...just a sec...” he said between coughs, and she could hear him set the phone down.

She closed her eyes and rested her head against her hand. Come on.

“Sorry about that. Terrible cold...it seems to have migrated to my lungs.”

“Terrible...just awful. To answer your question, though, I think I would be a great candidate for the position based on my years of experience in a similar role with Clarke and Johnston Acquisitions in New York City...”

“We do things a little differently around here, I’ll warn you.”

“That’s okay. I’m a quick learner, and I’m loyal,” she said and cringed. Sure she was; that’s why she was desperate to get this job and bail on one of her best friends.

The outside porch door opened, and her heart raced.

“We do appreciate long-term employees. Your brother-in-law has been with us probably the least amount of time and he’s been here...”

“Ten years, I know,” she said quickly, hearing the stomping of boots in the entryway. “Anyway, sir, I really would love to send you my résumé, and I’m available for a face-to-face interview anytime.” Not exactly true, but she would make time.

Any second now, Vic would enter, and she really wasn’t ready to tell her friend that she hoped to move back to the city. She’d rather wait to tell her once she knew for sure about the job...maybe by phone. She shook her head. Victoria deserved better after all their years of friendship. She would tell her...soon.

The door opened, and Victoria came in, carrying a wailing Harper in her car seat. Weighed down with the baby, a diaper bag and several grocery bags, she struggled to close the door.

“Do you have children?” Mike asked.

“Some help, please?” Victoria said at the same time.

“No!” Heather answered Mike’s question.

“Seriously?” Victoria shot her a look before noticing she was on the phone. “Oh, sorry,” she said, setting the crying baby girl on the floor and shutting the door against the cold breeze.

“Okay...because we expect our employees to travel quite a bit,” Mike said.

Heather plugged her other ear against the earth-shattering wails. “I understand. That’s not a problem.”

Victoria unharnessed Harper from her car seat, and the crying stopped immediately.

Finally.

“Who are you talking to?” she mouthed.

Nosy much? Heather shook her head, hoping Vic would move on.

She didn’t. Instead, she bounced Harper on her shoulder as she paced in front of the desk.

“Okay, send me your résumé, and I’ll have a look,” Mike said.

“Great. Where should I send it?” she mumbled into the phone, turning her back to Victoria.

Please, let the email address be an easy one that she wouldn’t have to write down.

“Michael...underscore Ainsley...underscore nineteen...not the numerals, actually spelled out...at Highstone...no, wait... Did I say the nineteen?”

Heather sighed. “Yes.” Forget it, she’d ask her brother-in-law for the email later.

“Great. So, Michael...underscore...” The man’s voice broke into another fit of loud, throat-ripping coughs.

Victoria moved to stand in front of her, her eyes wide. “They sound terrible—who is that?” she asked. “And why are you on the rotary?”

“Hey, anyone notice that the connection for the network is down?” Luke asked, entering a second later.

Heather nodded and gestured at the receiver in her hand.

“I’ll try to fix it,” Luke said, coming around the desk.

Sure, why don’t they all hang out there?

He glanced at her with a frown. “Who’s dying on the phone?”

She was.

“Sorry, Heather. Did you get that email?”

“Yes, sir,” she lied. “Thank you. I’ll send it right away,” she said quickly, hanging up the phone.

Oh, my God.

Victoria was staring at her.

“What?”

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” she asked, still bouncing Harper on her shoulder.

“No, of course—” She stopped. She couldn’t lie to her friend. “Yes...as fast as my little legs can go.” She stood and hugged her. “I’m so sorry, Vic.”

Victoria waved a hand. “Don’t be. I knew this wasn’t a permanent situation. It’s fine,” she choked out, as tears formed in her eyes.

“Oh, Vic—don’t do that!”

“They’re happy tears, see?” She faked a weird, grimace-type smile.

Luke laughed behind the desk. “Yep, those are happy tears.”

Heather shot him a look. “Nothing is definite yet. I haven’t even sent my résumé.”

“What company is it?”

“Highstone Acquisitions.”

Victoria’s eyes widened. “That’s wonderful! I applied there three times when I worked for Clarke and Johnston.”

Heather frowned. “I never knew that. Why didn’t you tell me? My brother-in-law works there—I probably could have gotten you an interview.”

“You were dating our boss, remember? Not exactly a trustworthy vault back then,” she said, looking envious. “So if Rob works there, you’re sure to get the position.” She didn’t sound thrilled.

“Not necessarily,” Heather said, but she prayed Victoria was right.

“Well, if you need a reference or anything...”

“No offense, Vic, but I don’t think I’ll be adding front desk clerk to my résumé.”

“I meant a coworker reference from when we worked together at Clarke and Johnston,” she said, playfully slapping her arm.

Heather smiled at her friend. Nearly all traces of the high-powered, New York City woman had disappeared from her over the past few years, except for the tiniest spark in her eyes when she talked about her former life in the city. “Thanks,” she said.

“I’m going to go feed the baby now,” Victoria said, choking up again as she left the room.

“No crying!” Heather called after her.

Luke checked the phone and then pointed at her. “You’re going to be crying if you remind Victoria again about how much she loved her life in New York.”

CHAPTER TWO

“WHAT ON EARTH is that old lady doing?” Jacob mumbled, leaning low in the driver’s seat of his squad car to peer through the windshield. The people around here made no sense to him.

Rolling down the passenger-side window as he slowed the car and pulled to the side of the road in front of Ginger Snaps, the bakery he avoided on Main Street, he called out, careful not to startle the woman and extra careful not to use the nickname he’d assigned to her. “Ginger! Mrs. Norris—what are you doing?”

The woman was standing on a plastic step stool on the icy ground outside her bakery, holding on to the side of the building for support and using the end of a broomstick to swipe at the large icicles hanging from the awning.

She stopped and turned to look at him. “I’m clearing the awning of icicles. You threatened me with a fine if I didn’t do it, remember?” she snapped.

“You’re eighty years old. You shouldn’t be doing that. I meant ask someone to do it for you.” He’d noticed her granddaughter, Leigh, and her husband going inside the bakery at least once a week. And he was sure the guy was renting the space above the bakery for an office. Some bestselling author or something. Jacob may not care about the goings-on in town, but little escaped his notice.

“I’m seventy-seven,” she said, resuming her attempt to knock them loose, swinging the broom haphazardly.

He swallowed a curse and climbed out, sliding his hands into his gloves. “Get down, please,” he said, taking her elbow to assist her.

“Don’t get fresh with me, young man.”

Wow. “Just making sure you don’t break your neck on all of this packed snow that I’m pretty sure I asked you to have cleared weeks ago,” he said, taking the broom.

“I’ll do that next,” she mumbled.

He shook his head as he opened her bakery door and waved her inside, trying not to breathe in the delicious smell of gingerbread and cinnamon.

She muttered something under her breath as she passed him, and he couldn’t be sure that it was an insult aimed at him, but it certainly wasn’t “thank you.”

“Hey, Sheriff Matthews, when you’re done over there, could you maybe come do mine, as well?” Tina Miller, or Nosy Nelly, as he liked to think of her, called to him as she wrote on the specials board outside Joey’s Diner.

He gave a mock salute and continued working. The day before, he’d issued twenty-four-hour warnings to the business owners along Main Street to clear their awnings of these dangerous icicles. By the look of things, everyone had ignored him. Except Ginger. Well, they wouldn’t be laughing when an icicle fell on a passerby, and they were suddenly smacked with a lawsuit.

Oh, what was he thinking—no one sued anyone around here. A New York City boy from the time he could walk, he was so far out of his comfort zone in Brookhollow, he couldn’t even remember what his comfort zone felt like. But it certainly wasn’t this sense of being watched from afar and speculated about on a regular basis. He’d told himself that he was being paranoid, and that was natural given the extreme circumstances. But after his conversation with Heather the night before, he knew that wasn’t the case. People were watching and speculating and judging.

After clearing the awning, he went inside the bakery and immediately wished he hadn’t. The tempting aromas were almost too much to resist. But diabetic from the age of eight, he rarely consumed sweets or refined carbs. Keeping his blood sugars under control was his first priority. “Here are your broom and your step stool,” he said, leaving them inside the door.

“Did you want a muffin or something?” Ginger offered begrudgingly.

“No. What I want is for you to ask your granddaughter or her husband to come clear the walkway...or at least put salt or sand on it or something.” He was wasting his breath. No one around here listened to him. He was just the big-city, hotshot cop who didn’t understand about small-town life. Well, they were right about that. And unfortunately, uncleared walkways and awnings just didn’t compare to drug deals and dangerous criminals on his scale of what mattered. But unfortunately, this was what he was reduced to dealing with...and he was still a cop, for better or worse.

“Will do,” she said, rushing to the kitchen at the sound of the oven timer.

“No, you won’t,” he mumbled, heading back outside.

As he returned to the squad car, his glucose monitor beeped. Great, he was low. He could have had a muffin. He sighed as he checked the numbers. Three point four and dropping. This stupid disease was responsible for all of this, he thought, the memory of his last day undercover never too far from his mind.

His blood glucose monitor had been beeping that day, too, revealing that his sugar levels were dropping steadily for almost an hour. He’d searched his vehicle for a juice box or a granola bar...an old doughnut or candy...

But found nothing.

He hadn’t expected to be waiting that long for Leo Gonzales to emerge from the warehouse. Most exchanges happened quickly, so as not to draw attention. All Jacob had needed was visual confirmation that Gonzales was dealing with Mario Lorenzo, the drug lord they’d been chasing, and he’d have everything necessary to put the man away for a long time. His two-year undercover stint would be over and he could resume some semblance of a life after debriefing and resocialization.

The longer he’d been under, the harder it had been to remember who he really was. He tried to visit his family—his sister and nephew—a weekend every month or a few stolen days over the holidays, but it had been getting tougher to leave the cartel unnoticed. Tougher to leave the persona behind and become Uncle Jacob again. Then to go back to being a drug-pushing thug.

Deciding to work undercover hadn’t been easy for him, knowing he’d have to leave his family for long periods of time, but he’d gone into policing to make a difference, and despite the extreme living conditions and having to pretend to be something he despised, he was so close...he was making a difference...

The door to the warehouse opened, and he sat straighter, but Gonzales exited alone, scanned the area, then went back inside. It wasn’t enough. He needed to see Gonzales and Lorenzo together.

The monitor had beeped.

Crap. He needed to eat. But he’d waited two years for this opportunity; he couldn’t leave now. Three SWAT team vehicles were parked two blocks away, awaiting his signal. He couldn’t sacrifice two years of weight gain, drug use and hurting people when they were so close.

Searching his duffel bag in the backseat, he found half a chocolate bar. Who knew how long it had been in there, but he didn’t care—he needed to get his sugars up.

He scarfed it down, but twenty minutes later, his blood sugar continued to drop again.

Two point one. Stress often had this effect on his body.

Sweat collected on his back beneath the bulletproof vest he wore and ran down his forehead. His mouth was dry and his hands unsteady.

Come on. Come out.

Fifteen minutes passed. The monitor continued to beep relentlessly, and his vision started to blur. He glanced at the reading. Under one. Even if they did come out, there was nothing he could do now except signal. He would be completely useless in helping to arrest these guys.

He prayed he wouldn’t lose consciousness before he could at least do that much.

His head swayed, and he fought to focus as the warehouse lights went off.

What? That wasn’t right. Where were they? Was there another entrance into the building? He’d scoped the place out the night before. He reached for his radio, but it fell to the floor on the passenger side of the car.

When he reached for it, his vest pressed against the steering wheel and sounded the horn.

Oh, no.

The warehouse door opened, and Gonzales and Lorenzo exited, Gonzales’s gaze landing directly on Jacob, as if he knew he’d be there. Jacob grabbed the radio and hit the button for the signal as gunfire rang out and his world went black.

That day, four months ago, would have put an end to Mario Lorenzo and his cartel if the drug lord hadn’t escaped before the SWAT teams arrived. Now all that would put the man behind bars was Jacob’s statement, which was still under evaluation because he’d lost consciousness immediately after the visual confirmation, making his observations questionable. While Gonzales had been caught with enough evidence to put him away, the head of the operation was still a free man until a court case could be scheduled, and Jacob had his day on the witness stand.

Shutting off the vehicle, Jacob jogged across the street to Joey’s. The diner’s fifties-style décor, complete with red leather bar stools and a jukebox in the corner, was seriously something out of the movie Grease, but he had to admit the food was better than anything he’d ever tasted.

The place was packed. Every table and booth was occupied, and even the stools at the counter were all taken. The plates piled with eggs, pancakes, sausages and toast passing by him, as Tina and her daughter, April, delivered the meals, made his stomach growl and his mouth water. His monitor beeped again. He could get something to go. Sit in the car and eat until his blood sugar returned to normal.

Going to the register, he waited. He knew what he wanted. Eggs Benedict and a side order of bacon. Two side orders of bacon.

Tina moved past him and rang in an order.

“Hi, can I place an order to go?” he asked.

She didn’t glance up as she said, “You’ll have to give me like ten minutes, we’re backed up in the kitchen.”

Once his blood sugar level started to drop, it went down quickly. He didn’t want to pass out in the busy diner. So far, he’d been successful in keeping his diabetes to himself...except for Mrs. Kelly who’d found one of his needles in his bathroom when she’d been cleaning. He cringed at the memory. She had accused him of being a drug addict and had refused to give him back his insulin until he’d explained everything to her and then reassured her, he could clean his own apartment. “Can I at least order now?”

“I told you, you’re going to have to wait. Tables get priority over takeout,” Tina said.