by Rebecca York
Marie handed out flutes of champagne and some sparkling water in flutes to Katie and Rufus.
“To all of us and to Jenkins Cove,” Brandon toasted. “This Christmas brings us the best presents of all — love and the resolution of the terrible crimes that have haunted Jenkins Cove for years.”
They all clinked glasses and Lexie sipped her champagne. How had she ever considered that Brandon had anything to do with the operation? It seemed that Ned Perry had been trying to blackmail him over a property the foundation had wanted to buy for a women’s shelter. Hoping to keep the price down, Brandon hadn’t wanted competitive bidding on it.
Ned had been killed because he’d overheard Doug Heller giving Hans Zanko instructions to answer the ad for survivors. Zanko had been the one to attack Lexie at her house. He’d already been arrested.
Phil Cardon had turned out to be nothing more than a petty thief who’d planned to hock Cliff’s trophy.
Isabella had tried landing Cliff for herself by spying for him. She’d told him and Doug Heller about the key. Her employment had been terminated.
“I went to see Cliff this morning,” Brandon said. “At his request. Simon, he asked me to tell you that he planned to sign over his share of Drake Enterprises to you.”
Simon started. “I thought the government was seizing his assets.”
“All but the business. Cliff inherited his half, and the other half is mine. His dirty money went into the manor and his cars and boats. At any rate, I want to continue concentrating on the Drake Foundation. I hope you’ll consider taking charge of Drake Enterprises.”
For once, Lexie thought, Simon seemed apprehensive.
“I don’t know anything about running a company.”
“I can help there,” Brandon said, “until you’re up and running on your own. If we don’t get it together fast, a whole lot of good people will be out of work.”
“Give me at least a minute to think about it,” Simon said, but he hugged Lexie to him and she knew this was exactly what he needed to feel useful.
“You’ll do fine, boy!” Rufus said, raising his glass to Simon.
“I heard Cliff would probably plead out to get a lesser sentence,” said Michael, ever the investigative reporter. “His final actions in saving you all plus the fact that he didn’t commit any of the actual murders will be considered in his favor.”
Aunt Sophie shook her head. “Cliff was always a brash boy, looking for attention. Who knew how far he would go to get it. At least he wasn’t directly responsible for anyone’s death.”
“Not that it exonerates him,” Marie added.
Lexie was glad Cliff wouldn’t be looking at the death penalty, which would have been an added burden for Simon and now Katie. After what their daughter had been through, she and Simon had told Katie the truth about everything.
Katie had taken it all in stride like the preteen she proudly claimed to be, Lexie thought, smiling.
“Happy?” Simon murmured into her ear.
“I couldn’t be happier.”
Simon pulled Lexie off into the hall under the mistletoe and kissed her soundly.
When they came up for air, he said, “I never stopped loving you. I want to start my life fresh, as if the last thirteen years never happened. I promise I’ll never leave if you’ll make an honest man of me.” With that, he pulled out a ring with a very large emerald. “I know a diamond is more traditional, but I wanted something that would remind both of us of our daughter’s eyes.”
Lexie held out a slightly shaking hand, but Simon steadied it and slipped the ring on her finger.
“When you agreed to stay,” she said, grinning, “I thought I couldn’t be happier. I was wrong.” Her pulse skittered. Now she didn’t just have to dream about being happy with Simon. “I don’t have nearly as spectacular a Christmas gift for you.”
“You already gave me one.” He looked to Katie, who shone as brightly as any ornament on the Christmas tree. “But I wouldn’t mind if you gave me another one of those.”
Simon kissed her again, and Lexie realized that her whole life was about to change.
She couldn’t wait.
The End
A Note from the Author
I hope you enjoyed Christmas Delivery, a story that I loved. If you could leave an honest review for the Unforgettable Christmas Dreams collection on Amazon, we would all appreciate it. Reviews are a great way to find new readers.
Since you are in a Christmas mood, I’ve included a peek into my new Christmas story, Red Carpet Christmas (Club Undercover Book 5) which was just published…
Excerpt from Red Carpet Christmas
Chapter One
“The Chicago Philanthropic Club is different from other charitable organizations,” Simone Burke told the reporter during an interview at Red Carpet Christmas, her organization’s annual holiday fund-raising event.
“Every public relations maven says the same thing about her organization,” the reporter said.
Maven? An image of a much more mature woman popped into Simone’s head.
“We award money for worthy projects, yes, but we don’t actually cut a check for the organization,” Simone said. “Instead, we pay the vendors directly. That way, money can’t be redirected away from the approved project. Ah, but there’s our fearless leader, Lulu Hutton—she’s the one next to the Christmas tree.” She motioned to catch the attention of the silver-haired matriarch who wore her age and money with class. “I’m sure she would like to speak with you.”
Simone’s smile stayed plastered to her face until the reporter crossed Club Undercover’s upper level where the items for the silent auction were laid out, mostly on tables decorated with holly and big red bows and branches of pine. The request for this year’s auction items—give up something you love for charity.
The party was just beginning, but already the main floor of the club below was filled with Chicago’s rich and famous—those who could afford the three-hundred-dollar-a-person entry. Twinkling lights embellished the club’s red-and-blue neon decor, and music echoed in the cavernous space. Glancing back to see the reporter engrossed in her conversation with the organization’s chairwoman, Simone finally took a deep breath and let down her guard.
Doing her best to get back into the swing of things eight months after her husband’s death was every bit as difficult as she’d imagined it would be. She could get her mind on other things successfully as long as she was interacting with someone. But the moment she was alone, the worries and questions resurfaced.
David had said he was going to be late because of a case that needed his attention. Used to the hours of a successful criminal lawyer, Simone had gone to bed without him. Only to be awakened at dawn by a life-changing phone call. Someone had spotted the rear end of David’s car sticking out of the lake. Trapped by his seat belt and a smashed-in car door, her husband had drowned.
According to the authorities, the weather had been bad, and David had been speeding. His car had spun out of control. Police suspected there might have been a collision—scrapings of black paint from another vehicle found on David’s car might have been the result of a sideswipe in a parking lot or on the street. Or maybe it had been a hit-and-run on the expressway. With no witnesses, no other proof of another vehicle’s involvement, the authorities had ruled the tragedy an accident.
As far as the insurance company was concerned, though, the jury was still out.
Simone couldn’t believe fate would have taken away her best friend and the best father a woman could wish for her son. Perhaps she felt guilty that she hadn’t loved him better, at least not in the way he’d wanted. Not in the romantic way he’d loved her all these years.
She’d had that once, but that had been another lifetime ago.
“You’re sad. Is there something I can do to help?”
Simone turned to look at the striking woman who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Tall and statuesque with shoulder-length mahogany hair, she wore a barel
y-there crimson dress with stilettos to match.
“I’m fine,” Simone told her. “Just too much on my mind.”
“Yes…” the woman said. “I can see that. I’m the club’s hostess, Cassandra Freed. Cass.” She aimed a hand with scarlet nails at Simone. “If there’s anything I can do for you…”
“Simone Burke, public relations.”
When she shook the hostess’s hand, an odd sensation shot through Simone. Something about the way Cass was looking at her so closely made her uneasy, so she quickly withdrew her hand.
“If I think of anything,” Simone said, “I’ll let you know.” Then the significance of that name hit her. “Cassandra Freed. Aren’t you the woman who made it possible for us to have our fund-raiser at this club? I heard the owner wasn’t crazy about the idea.”
Cass grinned. “It took a little convincing, but Gideon agreed when he heard that you plan to support Umbrella House.”
Umbrella House was a shelter for abused women and their children, and it was one of the primary organizations scheduled to benefit from the fund-raiser.
“This Gideon sounds like a man with a conscience.”
“And a good heart,” Cass said, then shifted gears. “You didn’t come for a look-see at the club with the rest of the committee.”
“I had a last-minute situation with my son Drew,” Simone lied. “Teenagers can be quite a handful.”
No way did she want to admit she’d been on an interview for a job she wasn’t going to get.
“Drew,” Cass mused.
The club’s hostess had that look again, as if she wanted to say something about him.
Uncomfortable, Simone said, “I heard there were a few last-minute donations for the silent auction. I thought I would check to see what they were.”
Smiling, she stepped away from the hostess, thinking that was the end of that.
But Cass joined her. “Some very generous contributions.”
They passed a table holding a large basket of fine wines from a man’s personal cellar, a pair of South Sea black pearl earrings displayed in a shell from a woman’s inherited jewelry collection, a brochure to the hottest new resort on Paradise Island—the auction item was a vacation for two that a couple had meant to take themselves.
All items were supposed to mean something personal to the giver, expressing the true spirit of Christmas.
“Ooh, something I would like to own myself.” Cass pointed to an Erte collar necklace of gold and diamonds, unusual because the centerpiece could be removed and worn as a brooch. She picked up the card and sighed. “Two thousand’s the starting bid. A tad out of my price range.”
All of the items were pricey. The club had provided security guards—two men dressed in green elf costumes milled about the room. Plus, the bartender serving drinks at the nearby bar appeared formidable, as well. Perhaps of Native American ancestry, with coppery skin and hawk-like features, the man wore his long black hair pulled back and tied at his neck with a leather thong. No one was going to steal anything on his watch, Simone thought.
Most of the items to be auctioned were small, but a few pieces weren’t table-friendly. A Tiffany floor lamp from someone’s living room threw soft light across one end of the balcony; a narrow Victorian desk from another person’s office stood sentry at the other.
“I haven’t seen that before.” Simone approached the burr walnut piano-top davenport desk that had been one of the late donations. The piece was only two feet wide, and she had the perfect spot for it in her living room. “I would love to bid on that piece.”
If she could afford it, of course, which was unlikely considering her circumstances.
Simone opened the top to find a tooled red leather insert on an adjustable ratchet slope. She figured a hidden catch would release a secret storage compartment—common to this type of desk—but she couldn’t immediately find it. Then she checked the descriptive card and realized the bidding started at $3,500. Definitely out of her price range.
She saw that Nikki Albright, a new divorcée with an apparently generous settlement, had already made the first bid.
Sighing, Simone closed the top, then noted the desk had been donated by Teresa Cecchi, wife of the man who’d been David’s law partner.
She felt some resentment, but thinking about Al Cecchi would only spoil her evening, so Simone put him out of mind. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t run into him this evening. She glanced over at Cass, who was staring at her strangely until something on the floor below drew the hostess’s attention away from her.
“Oops, the boss wants to see me. Nice meeting you, Simone,” Cass said, heading for the stairs. “Remember, if you need anything, tell any of the wait staff or bartenders, and if they can’t help you, they’ll let me know.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”
She turned to look over the crowd in time to hear an angry voice demand “Where the hell is Galen?”
Great. Al Cecchi. And he sounded angry.
Galen O’Neill, chair of the silent auction, stood frozen in the middle of the room. In her forties, Galen was a pretty, petite woman with dark red hair, green eyes and skin that normally glowed with color. As Al Cecchi cut through the crowd toward her, Simone noticed the woman turn ashen.
Al wasn’t a particularly big man—his ego was the biggest thing about him—but he could be intimidating.
“What is it, Albert?” Galen asked, sounding choked.
“The desk.” Al’s olive skin darkened all the way up his receding hairline, making his already sharp features even less appealing. “It’s mine!”
“Um, yes, keeping with the theme of giving up something that means something to you. So generous—”
“I want it back!”
Galen started. “Um, you’ll have to take that up with your wife, since she’s the one who actually donated it. I saw Teresa just a while ago…” She was looking around, her manner desperate.
“Take the damn sign off the desk!” Al shouted. “It’s not for sale!”
“But Teresa gave it to us,” Galen argued.
“Because she was angry with me. And delusional! That desk was my mother’s. Teresa’s trying to get back at me by giving it away!”
“Please, Albert, don’t make a scene.”
Indeed, everyone in the area seemed to be focused on the argument.
“I don’t care who hears me! I will hold you personally responsible if I don’t get Mama’s desk back!”
Galen was shaking as she said, “I—I’m afraid you’ll have to bid on it.”
“Fine!” Al stormed over to the desk, practically running into Simone. She moved out of the way, and he picked up a pen and quickly scribbled his bid. “That should do it until I find Teresa and get this straightened out.”
“Really, there is no way to get the desk back other than win the bid,” Galen squeaked to his retreating back.
“You won’t let someone else have it if you know what’s good for you!”
Simone had no doubt Al would try to circumvent paying for the desk. He was the antithesis of generous, as she well knew. He was refusing to release any money—David’s share of the law firm—to her. She was certain Al would try to find a way to negate the small fortune David had brought into the business before he’d died, thereby cutting her out completely. She suspected she might have to hire a lawyer of her own to get what Al owed her and Drew.
If she was a different type of person, she would simply sic her brother Michael on him. For the first time in her life, she was tempted to use her family connections.
Before Simone could move away, another member of the Philanthropic Club, Nikki Albright—Marilyn-blond and statuesque in a gold lamé number—slithered over to the desk and scribbled another bid. “If Cecchi thinks he’s getting this desk back, he’s got another think coming,” she told anyone within earshot. “I don’t care how much I have to bid to keep it away from him!”
Nikki’s bitter tone made Simone wonder what Al had done to h
er. “I’m sure it will all work out for the best,” she murmured.
“You ought to watch your mouth, my dear,” a man said in a low, cultured voice.
Simone recognized Nikki’s ex-husband. Sam Albright wore a perfectly tailored gray suit, the cut of his blond hair making him look distinguished.
“Why? What are you going to do to stop me from talking, Sammy?” Nikki demanded, pushing her way past him.
“I’m not beyond finding ways of dealing with unpleasant situations,” he warned. “You’ve had a taste of that before.”
He watched her through narrowed blue eyes for a moment before shaking his head and moving on. Nikki looked genuinely frightened.
Simone rubbed a chill from her arms. What a bully. She made her way downstairs, looking for reporters and intending to steer clear of them. On the main level, guests gathered in small groups, sat at tables or boogied on the dance floor.
At least half of the crowd was middle-aged or older so the deejay was playing old seventies’ rock tunes. Simone liked the music better than the incessant hip-hop that used to come from Drew’s room at all hours. Her son had been driving her crazy with his music until she’d cut a deal with him that he would wear headphones when she was home.
Halfway down the open-backed staircase, Simone stopped when she spotted Cass talking to a man who looked disturbingly familiar. This must be the boss the hostess had mentioned. He was tall and muscular and handsome. Even from a distance she could see his chiseled features framed by slicked blue-black hair. Her stomach knotted and her throat tightened.
He looked like a mature version of…
She forced herself to continue down the stairs, only she couldn’t take her eyes off the man. Before she reached the club floor—as if he knew she was staring at him—he lifted his face and met her gaze.
A wave of dizziness swept through her and almost made her stumble.
