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Christmas Justice
“I can tell when you’re lying, Garrett. Your eyes grow dark, and the right corner of your mouth tightens.”
Would his mouth be hard or soft, passionate or gentle against hers when they kissed?
“I don’t want you,” he said as he moved closer to her lips.
“You’re bluffing.”
“You’re too trusting.” He lowered his mouth to her ear. “But I don’t have the strength to pull away.”
She smiled. “Now you’re telling the truth.”
With a groan he fastened his lips to hers. She didn’t hesitate. She clung to him and let his mouth drive away the memories of the past week. For this wonderful moment all she could think about was his touch.
He lifted his head. “Be very sure, because I won’t let you go all night long.”
Christmas Justice
Robin Perini
Award-winning author ROBIN PERINI’s love of heart-stopping suspense and poignant romance, coupled with her adoration of high-tech weaponry and covert ops, encouraged her secret inner commando to take on the challenge of writing romantic suspense novels. Her mission’s motto: “When danger and romance collide, no heart is safe.”
Devoted to giving her readers fast-paced, high-stakes adventures with a love story sure to melt their hearts, Robin won a prestigious Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award in 2011. By day she works for an advanced technology corporation, and in her spare time you might find her giving one of her many nationally acclaimed writing workshops or training in competitive small-bore-rifle silhouette shooting. Robin loves to interact with readers. You can catch her on her website, www.robinperini.com, and on several major social-networking sites, or write to her at PO Box 50472, Albuquerque, NM 87181-0472, USA.
With love to my aunts, Gayle, Earlene, Sissy (Lynn) and Barbara. I’m blessed to know you are always there.
No matter what.
Contents
Cover
Introduction
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Extract
Copyright
Prologue
Today was no ordinary day.
Normally Laurel McCallister would have adored spending an evening with her niece Molly, playing princesses, throwing jacks and just being a kid again, but tonight was anything but typical. Laurel let the wind-driven ice bite into her cheeks. She stood just inside the warm entry of her sister’s Virginia home, staring out into the weather to see the family off to the local Christmas pageant. Her fist clutched the charm bracelet Ivy had forced into Laurel’s hand.
A gift from their missing father.
He’d been incommunicado for over two months. Then suddenly the silver jewelry had arrived in Ivy’s mailbox earlier that day. No note, only her father’s shaky handwriting on the address label, and postmarked Washington, D.C. Laurel squeezed the chain, quelling the shiver of foreboding that hadn’t left her since Ivy had shown her the package. Her sister had told her they needed to talk about it. Tonight. The news couldn’t be good, but it would have to wait.
Bracing against the cold, she met her sister’s solemn gaze, then picked up her five-year-old niece. Laurel snuggled Molly closer. At the end of a bout of strep throat, the girl had insisted on waving goodbye to her mother. Ivy returned the farewell wave from across the driveway, apprehension evident in her eyes. And not typical mom-concern-for-her-youngest-daughter’s-health worry.
Laurel scanned the rural setting surrounding Ivy’s house. With the nearest neighbors out of shouting distance, it should be quiet. And safe. Laurel might only be a CIA analyst, but she’d completed the same training as a field operative. She knew what to look for.
Nothing seemed off, and yet, she couldn’t stop the tension knotting every muscle, settling low in her belly. For now, her sister and brother-in-law refused to let the trepidation destroy Christmas for the kids, but Laurel had recognized the strain in her sister’s eyes, the worry on her brother-in-law’s brow. Too many bad vibes filtered beneath the surface of every look her sister had given her.
Laurel touched the silky blond hair of her youngest niece.
Molly stared after her mother, father, brother and sister, her baby blues filled with tears. “It’s not fair. I want to go to the pageant. I’m supposed to be an angel.”
The forlorn voice hung on Laurel’s heart. She placed her hand on the little girl’s hot forehead. “Sorry, Molly Magoo. Not with that fever.”
Ivy bundled Molly’s older brother and sister into the backseat of the car. Laurel sent her sister a confident nod, even though her stomach still twisted. She recognized the same lie in her sister’s eyes. They were so alike.
One of the kids—it must have been Michaela—tossed a stuffed giraffe through the open car door. Ivy shook her head and walked a few paces away to pick up the wayward animal.
Laurel started to close the door. “Don’t worry, Molly. They’ll be back s—”
A loud explosion rocketed the night, and a blast of hot air buffeted Laurel. She staggered back. The driver’s side of the SUV erupted into flames. Fire and smoke engulfed the car in a hellish conflagration. Angry black plumes erupted into the sky.
God, no! Laurel’s knees trembled; she shook her head. This couldn’t be happening. Horror squeezed her throat. She wrenched Molly toward her, turning the little girl away from the sight, but Laurel couldn’t protect Molly. Her niece had seen too much. Molly’s earsplitting screams ripped the air.
No sounds came from the car. Not a shout, not a yell.
Laurel had to do something.
“Stay here!” She scrambled through the door, racing across the frozen yard. She glanced back; Molly had fallen to the floor in tears. Laurel squeezed her eyes shut against the heart-wrenching cries, then snagged her phone from her pocket and dialed 9-1-1. “Help! There’s been an explosion.”
Blazing heat seared Laurel’s skin. It wasn’t a typical car fire. It burned too hot, too fast. Laurel choked back the truth. This wasn’t just any bomb. This was a professional hit. A hit like she’d read about in dossiers as part of her job with the CIA.
Unable to look away, she stared in horror at the interior of the car. In a few minutes, nothing would be left. Just ash. They wouldn’t even be able to tell how many people had been in the car.
The phone slipped from her fingers.
Ivy’s family was gone. No one could have survived. Frantically, Laurel searched for her sister. Her heart shattered when she saw the smoking body lying several feet away from the car. She ran to Ivy and knelt next to her sister’s body, the right side blackened and burned beyond recognition, the left blistered and smoldering.
“Laur—” the raspy voice croaked.
“Don’t talk, Ivy.” Laurel couldn’t stop her tears. She could hear her niece’s wails from inside the house, but Ivy. God. Her clothes had melted into her skin.
Ivy shifted, then cried out in agony. “Stupid,” she rasped. “Not c-c-careful enough. Can’t...trust...”
“Shh...” Laurel had no idea how to help. She reached out a hand, but there wasn’t a spot on Ivy not burned. She was afraid to touch her sister. Where was the ambulance?
Ivy coughed and Laurel bent down. “Don’t give up. Help is coming.”
“Too late. F-find Garrett Galloway. Sheriff. Tell him...he was right.” Ivy blinked her one good eye and glanced at the fire-consumed vehicle. A lone tear pooled. “Please. Save. Molly.” The single tear cut through the soot, and then her eyes widened. “Gun!”
Laurel’s training took over. She plastered herself flat to the ground. A shot hit the tree behind her. With a quick roll, she cursed. Her weapon was locked up in the gun safe inside the house. A loud thwack hit the ground inches from her ear. The assault had come from the hedges.
“Traitor!” Ivy’s raspy voice shouted a weak curse.
Another shot rang out.
The bullet struck true, hitting Ivy right in the temple.
Horrified, Laurel scampered a few feet, using the fire as a shield between her and the gunman. She panted, ignoring the pain ripping through her heart. She would grieve later. She had one job: protect Molly.
Sirens roared through the night sky. A curse rang out followed by at least two sets of footsteps, the sound diminishing.
Thank God they’d run. Laurel had one chance. She flung open the door and grabbed a sobbing Molly in her arms. She hugged her tight, then kicked the door closed.
Through the break in the curtains, she watched. A squad car tore into the driveway. No way. That cop had gotten here way too fast. Laurel pressed Molly against her, then locked the dead bolt.
She sagged against the wall. “Oh, Ivy.”
“Aunt Laurel?” Molly’s small voice choked through her sobs. “I want Mommy and Daddy.”
“Me, too, pumpkin.”
Laurel squeezed her niece tighter. She had two choices: trust the cop outside or follow her sister’s advice.
After the past two months... She slipped the bracelet from her father into her pocket, then snagged a photo from the wall. Her sister and family, all smiles. She had no choice. The high-tech bomb, the cop’s quick arrival. It smelled of setup.
Laurel raced through the house and grabbed Molly’s antibiotics and the weapon from the gun safe, half expecting the cop to bang on the door. When he didn’t, Laurel knew she was right. She peeked through the curtains. Her sister’s body was gone. And so was the police car.
The flames sparked higher and Laurel nearly doubled over in pain.
The sound of a fire engine penetrated the house. No time left. She snagged the envelope her father had sent and stuffed it into a canvas bag along with a blanket and Molly’s favorite stuffed lion.
She bundled Molly into her coat, lifted her niece into her arms and ran out the back door. Laurel’s feet slapped on the pavement. She sprinted down an alley. Shouts rained down on her. Smoke and fire painted the night sky in a vision of horror. One she would never forget.
She paused, catching her breath, the cold seeping through her jacket.
“Aunt Laurel? Stop. Mommy won’t know where to find us.” Molly’s fingers dug into Laurel’s neck.
Oh, God. Poor Molly. Laurel hugged her niece closer. How could she explain to a five-year-old about bad people who killed families?
Laurel leaned against the concrete wall, her lungs burning with effort. She wished she didn’t understand. She wished she could be like Molly. But this wasn’t a child’s cartoon where everyone survived even the most horrendous attacks. Reality meant no one had a second chance.
Laurel had to get away from the men who had shot at her, who had killed her sister and her family.
But Laurel didn’t know what to believe. Except her sister’s final words.
Which left her with one option. One man to trust.
Garrett Galloway.
Now all she had to do was find him.
Chapter One
Normally Trouble, Texas, wasn’t much trouble, and that was the way Sheriff Garrett Galloway liked it. No problems to speak of, save the town drunk, a few rambunctious kids and a mayor who drove too nice a car with no obvious supplemental income.
Garrett adjusted his Stetson and shoved his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket to ward off the December chill. He’d hidden out in Trouble too long. When he’d arrived a year ago, body broken and soul bleeding, he’d trusted that the tiny West Texas town would be the perfect place to get lost and stay lost for a few months. After all, the world thought he was dead. And Garrett needed it to stay that way.
Just until he could identify who had destroyed everyone he loved and make them pay. He’d never imagined he’d stay this long.
But the latest status call he’d counted on hadn’t occurred. Not to mention his last conversation with his mentor and ex-partner, James McCallister, had been much too...optimistic. That, combined with a missed contact, usually meant the operation had gone to hell.
Garrett’s right shoulder blade hiked, settling under the feel of his holster. He never left home without his weapon or his badge. He liked to know he had a gun within reach. Always. The townsfolk liked to know their sheriff walked the streets.
He eyed the garland-and tinsel-laden but otherwise empty Main Street and stepped onto the pavement, his boots silent, no sound echoing, no warning to anyone that he might be making his nightly nine o’clock rounds.
James McCallister’s disappearance had thrown Garrett. His mentor had spent the past few months using every connection he’d made over his nearly thirty-year career, trying to ferret out the traitor.
Big risks, but after a year of nothing, a few intel tidbits had fallen their way: some compromised top secret documents identifying overseas operatives and operations, some missing state-of-the-art weapons. The door had cracked open, but not enough to step through.
Garrett didn’t like the radio silence. Either James was breaking open the case or he was dead. Neither option boded well. If it was the first, Garrett contacting him would blow the whole mission; if the second, Garrett was on his own and would have to come back from the dead.
Or he could end up in federal prison, where his life wouldn’t be worth a spare .22 bullet.
With his no-win options circling his mind, Garrett strode past another block. After a few more houses, he spied an unfamiliar dark car slowly making its way down the street.
No one drove that slowly. Not in Texas. Not unless they were up to no good. And no one visited Trouble without good reason. It wasn’t a town folks passed through by chance.
His instincts firing warning signals, Garrett turned the corner and disappeared behind a hedge.
The car slowed, then drove past. Interesting.
Could be a relative from out of town, but Garrett didn’t like changes. Or the unexpected. He headed across a dead-end street, his entire body poised and tense, watching for the car. He reached the edge of town and peered through the deserted night.
Nearby, he heard a small crack, as if a piece of wood snapped.
No one should be out this way, not at this time of night. Could be a coyote—human, not the animal variety. Garrett hadn’t made friends with either one during the past year.
He slid his Beretta 92 from his shoulder holster and gripped the butt of the gun. Making a show of a cowboy searching the stars, he gazed up at the black expanse of the night sky and pushed his Stetson back.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a cloaked figure ducking behind a fence: average height, slight, but the movements careful, strategic, trained. Someone he might have faced in his previous life. Definitely. Not your average coyote or even criminal up to no good. James McCallister was the only person who knew Garrett was in Trouble, and James was AWOL.
The night went still.
Garrett kicked the dirt and dusted off his hat.
His muscles twitchy, he kept his gun at the ready, not wanting to use it. This could be unrelated to his past, but he needed information, not a dead body on the outskirts of his town. What happened in Trouble stayed in Trouble, unless the body count started climbing. Then he wouldn’t be able to keep the state or the feds out.
He didn’t need the attention.
He could feel someone watching him, studying him. He veered off his route, heading slightly toward the hidden figure. His plan? Saunter past the guy hiding in the shadows and then take him out.
He hit his mark and, with a quick turn on his heel, shifted, launching himself into a tackle. A few quick moves and Garrett pushed the guy to the ground, slid the SIG P229 out of reach and forced his forearm against the vulnerable section of throat.
“What do you want?” he growled, shoving aside his pinned assailant’s hood.
The grunts coming from his victim weren’t what he’d expected. With years of experience subduing the worst human element, he wrestled free his flashlight and clicked it on.
Blue eyes full of fear peered up at him. A woman. He pressed harder. A woman could kill just as dead. Could play the victim, all the while coldheartedly planning his demise. He wasn’t about to let go.
The light hit her face. He blinked back his surprise. He knew those eyes. Knew that nose.
Oh, hell.
“Laurel McCallister,” he said. His gut sank. Only one thing would bring her to Trouble.
His past had found him. And that meant one thing. James McCallister was six feet under, and the men who wanted Garrett dead wouldn’t be far behind.
* * *
THE PAVEMENT DUG into Laurel’s back, but she didn’t move, not with two hundred pounds holding her down. He’d taken her SIG too easily, and the man lying on top of her knew how to kill. The pressure against her throat proved it.
Worse than that, the sheriff—badge and all—knew her name. So much for using surprise as an advantage.
She lay still and silent, her body jarred from his attack. She could feel every inch of skin and muscle that had struck the ground. She’d be bruised later.
Laurel had thought watching him for a while would be a good idea. Maybe not so much. Ivy might have told her to trust Garrett Galloway, Sheriff of Trouble, Texas, but Laurel had to be cautious.
The car door opened and the thud of tiny feet pounded to them. “Let her go!” Molly pummeled Garrett’s back, her raised voice screeching through the night in that high-pitched kid squeal that raked across Laurel’s nerves.
He winced and turned to the girl.
Now!
Laurel kicked out, her foot coming in contact with his shin. He grunted, but didn’t budge. She squirmed underneath the heavy body and pushed at his shoulders.
“Molly, get back!”
The little girl hesitated, sending a shiver of fear through Laurel. Why couldn’t her niece have stayed asleep in the car, buckled into her car seat? Ever since that horrific night four days ago, she couldn’t handle Laurel being out of sight, knew instinctively when she wasn’t near.
Suddenly, Garrett rolled off her body, slipped her gun into his hand and rose to his feet with cougarlike grace. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt either of you.” He tucked her weapon into his pants and stared her down.
She sucked in a wary breath before her five-year-old niece dived into her arms. “Are you okay, Aunt Laurel?”
She wound her arms around her niece and stared up at Garrett, body tense. “You’re my hero, Molly.” She forced her voice to remain calm. At least the little girl hadn’t lost the fire in her belly. It was the first spark Laurel had seen from her since the explosion.
Molly clutched at Laurel but glared at Garrett.
He struggled to keep a straight face and a kindness laced his eyes as he looked at Molly.
For the first time in days, the muscles at the base of Laurel’s neck relaxed. Maybe she’d made the right decision after all.
Not that she’d had a choice. There’d been nothing on the national news about her family. No mention of gunfire or Ivy being killed by a bullet to the head. There had been a small piece about an SUV burning, but they’d blamed a downed power line. That was the second Laurel had known she was truly on her own.
Until now.
She hated counting on anyone but herself. She and her sister had been schooled in that lesson after their mother had died. With their father gone, Ivy and Laurel had been pretty much in charge of each other.
But Laurel was out of her league. She knew it. She didn’t have to like it.
She held Molly closer and studied Garrett Galloway. Something about him invited trust, but could she trust her instincts? Would this man whose expression displayed an intent to kill one moment and compassion the next help her? She prayed her sister had been right, that he was one of the good guys.
Garrett tilted back his Stetson. “I could have...” He glanced at Molly, his meaning clear.
Laurel got it. She and Molly would be dead...if he’d wanted them dead.
“...already finished the job,” he said harshly. “I’m not going to.”
“How did you know my name?”
He raised a brow and slipped his Beretta into the shoulder holster and returned her weapon. “I know your father. Your picture is on his desk at...work.”
His expression spoke volumes. She got it. Garrett had worked with her father in an OGA. While the CIA had a name and a reputation, her father’s Other Government Agency had none. Classified funding, classified missions, classified results. And the same agency where Ivy had worked. Alarm bells rang in Laurel’s head. Her sister had sent Laurel to a man working with the same people who might be behind the bomb blast. And yet, who better to help?
Garrett held out his hand to her. “You look like you’ve been on the road awhile,” he said. “How about something to eat? Then we can talk.”
Laurel hesitated, but what was she supposed to do? She’d come to this small West Texas town for one reason, and one reason only. To find Garrett Galloway.
She didn’t know what she’d expected. He could have stepped off the set of a hit television show in his khaki shirt, badge, dark brown hat and leather jacket. Piercing brown eyes that saw right through her.
If she’d imagined wanting to ride off into the sunset with someone, it would be Garrett Galloway. But now that she’d found him, what was she going to do with him?
He didn’t pull back his hand. He waited. He knew. With a sigh, she placed her hand in his. He pulled her to her feet. Molly scrambled up and hid behind Laurel, peering up at Garrett.
He cocked his head at the little girl. Laurel sucked in a slow breath. Molly’s face held that fearful expression that hadn’t left her since they’d run from Virginia, as if any second she might cry. But then her eyes widened. She stared at Garrett, so tall and strong in his dark pants and cowboy boots, a star on his chest.
He was a protector. Laurel could tell and so, evidently, could Molly.
Garrett met her gaze and she recognized the understanding on his face. “Come with me,” he said quietly.
“I have my car—”
He shook his head. “Grab your things and leave it. If anyone followed, I don’t want them to know who you came to see.”
“I was careful. I spent an entire extra day to get here due to all the detours.”
“If you’d recognized you had a tail, you’d already be dead.” His flat words spoke the truth of the danger they were in. He walked over to the vehicle and pulled out the large tote she used as a suitcase, slinging it on his shoulder opposite his gun hand. All their belongings were in the bag. “Until I’m certain, we act like you have one.”
Laurel stiffened. In normal circumstances she could take care of herself and Molly. As if sensing her vulnerability, Garrett stepped closer.
“You came to me,” Garrett said. “You may have blown my cover. You need to listen.”
He was on assignment. She should have known.
She prided herself on her self-reliance, her ability to handle most any situation, but his expression had gone intense and wary, and that worried her. Ivy had been a skilled operative. She had always been careful, and she was dead. Laurel had to face reality. She’d jumped into the deep end of the pool her first day on the run and Garrett Galloway was the lifeguard.
