The Christmas Target

by Charlotte Douglas

  Ross bristled at her words. “You think I’m trying to influence your report?”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you.” Her face flushed. “I should have stressed that I have to make certain my own feelings don’t color my conclusions.”

  “That’s an exemplary attitude,” Fiona said soothingly, “but it shouldn’t preclude your enjoying yourself as our guest.”

  Jessica looked as if she wanted to say more, but didn’t.

  Chang Soo removed the dinner plates and brought in dessert. Ross finished off his crème brûlée in three bites and wished for something more substantial, like a hunk of warm huckleberry pie topped with ice cream. His grandmother, however, had always insisted on “civilized” dining, especially when guests were present. Ross caught the old cook’s eye as he refilled Fiona’s coffee cup, and Chang Soo winked, his customary signal that he’d set aside something extra for Ross in the kitchen.

  Fiona drank her coffee and laid her napkin beside her plate. “I know Jessica is anxious to begin, Ross. Why don’t you show her your office?”

  Jessica pushed hastily to her feet. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner, Mrs. McGarrett.”

  Ross left the dining room with Jessica on his heels and motioned her to precede him down the hall toward the rear of the house. At the last door on his left, he reached around her, catching the tantalizing exotic fragrance of her shampoo once again, and opened the door to his office with a flourish.

  He stepped back for her to enter first and stopped short at her gasp of surprise.

  “Your office!” Her low, sultry voice had risen an octave in alarm. “Someone’s vandalized it!”

  Chapter Four

  Jessica stared at Ross’s home office in dazed disbelief. Max had always insisted bad luck came in threes. Today she’d experienced a bank robbery and a car accident. The total disarray of the records she was supposed to examine was a third tragedy, a bitterly disappointing ending to a perfectly awful day.

  Piles of papers littered the antique rolltop desk and floor, and ledgers were scattered haphazardly across the room. Desk and file drawers stood open, their contents spilling in chaos onto the Navajo rug.

  “Who would have done this?” Jessica felt a whopper of a tension headache coming on, adding to the pounding her head had already suffered from the accident. She hoped she’d remembered to pack her Extra Strength Tylenol.

  She jumped, startled when Ross took her elbow, steered her around file folders stacked in leaning piles on the floor to a deep leather chair and motioned her to sit. He seemed unbelievably calm for a man whose office had just been trashed. Dealing on a daily basis with lawbreakers and the devastating results of their crimes must have given him nerves of steel.

  “Who would have done this?” He repeated her query in a reasonable tone, folded his long legs and sank into the matching chair across from hers. “I did.”

  She shook her head to clear the fog, thinking she hadn’t heard him correctly. “You vandalized your own office?”

  His slow grin, a mixture of sheepishness and amusement, and the effect it had on her pulse only added to her confusion. Had he purposely intended to sabotage her work? And if so, why?

  “I had planned to clean things up before you arrived,” he explained. “In fact, I was headed home for that very reason when the bank was held up today.”

  She cocked her head and regarded him with suspicion. “You mean this disaster wasn’t deliberate?”

  “Let’s just say my filing system leaves something to be desired.”

  Jessica surveyed the room with dismay. Her job would be hard enough with everything neat and in order. She’d hoped to return to Miami before Christmas. Now, as she surveyed the chaos that surrounded her, Easter seemed a more likely target date.

  Her expression must have given away her distress, because Ross leaned forward in his chair, big hands clasped between his knees, his brown eyes alight with apology. “I’m not good at clerical work under the best of circumstances, but this past year has been worse than usual. I’m sorry for the mess I’ve left you to deal with.”

  Worry creased the handsome plane of his forehead, and for the first time, she noted the hint of exhaustion in the slight slump of his broad shoulders. She struggled to keep her focus on business. “The ranch has had a rough year?”

  She hoped the financial toll on the ranch hadn’t been too high. In spite of her best intentions to remain objective, she couldn’t help liking Ross Mc-Garrett. She wanted to be able to recommend the transfer of the Shooting Star into his name.

  He shook his head, and a lock of thick brown hair fell over his forehead, giving him a boyish look that made him even more appealing. “The ranch is fine. You’ll figure that out for yourself—” he tossed her a twisted smile of apology “—if you’re able to plow through the mess I’ve made here.”

  Curiosity momentarily thrust aside her concerns over the paperwork pandemonium that surrounded her, but she stopped herself from asking prying questions. To obtain unbiased results, she had to keep her distance from the client. She couldn’t allow herself to become entangled in his personal problems.

  “You wouldn’t think Swenson County would be a hotbed of crime,” Ross said with a shake of his head, as if he couldn’t believe it himself. “But ever since SCOFF raised its ugly head, we’ve had more problems than this part of the country’s seen since Prohibition.”

  Crime had an effect on the economic climate of a region and would be relevant to her report, so Jessica allowed herself to ask questions. “What’s ‘scoff’?”

  Ross grimaced, as if he’d tasted something rotten. “An acronym for Swenson County Freedom Fighters.”

  “Freedom fighters? What freedom are they fighting for?”

  “Freedom from government interference in their lives—or so they claim. What they’re really after is freedom to do as they damn well please. They’re anarchists, plain and simple.”

  “And they’ve broken the laws?”

  Ross leaned back in his chair with a sigh of frustration. “I wish I knew.”

  “You’re the sheriff. If you don’t know, who does?”

  “Ever since this group distributed their manifesto on leaflets dropped around town, there’s been an increase in crimes—breaking and entering, assaults on government officials from judges to councilmen—”

  “But not on law enforcement?”

  His eyes darkened until they were almost black. “Not directly.”

  She waited, hoping he would explain, but he merely continued his previous track. “We’ve had a string of bank robberies—”

  “You think Santa’s a member of SCOFF?”

  He shrugged, his face grim. “So far, we have no way to tie him to the group. There’s also been at least one murder I’m pretty sure can be laid at SCOFF’s doorstep.”

  Ross’s eyes blazed with indignation and resolve, and Jessica was glad she’d done nothing to set the determined man in front of her on her trail.

  “So you’ve arrested them?” she asked.

  He snorted in disgust. “Might as well try to arrest smoke. It’s an ultrasecret group. We haven’t been able to identify a single member so far, much less pin anything on them. And they’re clever. More clever than the average criminal. When they commit a crime, they leave few, if any, clues behind.”

  “Can’t the people they’ve assaulted identify them?” In such a small community, Jessica couldn’t understand how any group could remain anonymous.

  “They wear disguises. Plus they attack their victims in deserted areas where no one else is around, so there’s never an eyewitness. By the time help arrives, the perpetrators are long gone.” He appeared to grow wearier as he spoke. “The psychological effect of their crimes is wearing my department down. People are asking why these criminals aren’t being caught. Wondering if we’re competent to do the job.”

  “Are you?” The question popped out before she could stop it, but Ross seemed undisturbed by her bluntness.

  “I
have the best team of deputies in the state. What we’re up against is domestic terrorism. Because these SCOFFers are local, they know how to hit and run, where to flee and hide. And they blend into the landscape and the community because they’ve always lived here.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  Ross pushed his fingers through his hair. “As sure as I can be of anything about their craziness. Somebody’s mad as hell at the local authorities. Swenson County’s not the center of the universe, so it makes sense the lawbreakers are local.”

  “As small as the population is, wouldn’t the process of elimination help?” Jessica suggested.

  “You’d think so,” Ross said with a sigh, “but so far, we don’t have one good suspect. We have so many characters here, people who go their own way and make their own rules—that’s why they like living here in the middle of nowhere—that if eccentricity pointed the finger, two-thirds of the county would be suspect.”

  “So what do you do?”

  “We wait. Sooner or later, whoever’s behind these crimes will grow overconfident. He or she—or they—will slip up and make a mistake. It won’t have to be a big one. Just enough to put us on the right trail. Then we’ll have them.”

  Jessica could sense how his responsibility toward the citizens of Swenson County weighed on him. She also wondered how he found time to run the Shooting Star, a question she would have to raise in her report.

  Ross straightened in his chair and squared his shoulders. “Our local crime spree, however, isn’t your problem.” He waved his hand, encompassing the room with his gesture. “But this mess is. I’ll get started on it now.”

  “Tell me how I can help.” Jessica assured herself it wasn’t concern for the clearly bone-tired sheriff but her eagerness to complete her assignment that motivated her.

  He scratched his head and surveyed the room as if contemplating a puzzle. “If you have a suggestion, I’m open to it.”

  Jessica rose and picked up the nearest loose paper, a receipt for cattle feed bought the previous year. “First, we group everything by year—”

  The door of the office banged open, and a blur of golden curls and pink flannel nightgown streaked inside and scrambled onto Ross’s lap. “Daddy, Daddy!”

  Ross cuddled the toddler, and the little girl wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips. Jessica felt a strange twinge in her heart at the picture they made, a tiny tot and a gentle giant of a man, obviously devoted to each other.

  Ross kissed the child back, then settled her on his lap and gazed at her as if he couldn’t get enough of her. “Granny said you were asleep.”

  “I waked up.” The toddler’s eyes, the same soft gray as pussy willows, caught sight of Jessica, and the girl turned suddenly shy, hiding her face against Ross’s shirt.

  “This is Miss Landon,” Ross said. “She’ll be staying with us for a while.”

  The toddler, obviously uncomfortable around strangers, peeked at Jessica with one eye.

  “This is Courtney,” Ross explained. “She’s usually in bed by now.”

  “Hi, Courtney.” Jessica felt a sinking feeling in her stomach and hoped her work would keep her out of the little girl’s way. Jessica knew nothing about children and found Courtney even more intimidating than the incredible mess in Ross’s office.

  “Wanna make a snowman,” Courtney said, momentarily ignoring Jessica to plead her case with Ross. “A big one.”

  “We’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” Ross said easily. “It’s dark outside now. Maybe tomorrow Miss Landon will help you.”

  Jessica felt the color leave her face. She’d traveled to exotic foreign countries, tackled strange languages and customs, but she’d never had to navigate through the unknown territory of dealing with children. Not even with Max’s grandchildren, who’d been well into adolescence when she entered his firm.

  And as for playing in the snow, she’d sooner have a root canal. Only now were her feet thawing from her previous exposure to the cold. She couldn’t be happier if she didn’t have to leave the house until it was time to drive to the airport for her flight home to warm, sunny Florida.

  Courtney’s puckered face expressed the doubts Jessica felt. Her little-girl radar must have picked up on her guest’s misgivings. “Want you, Daddy.”

  “I’ll help,” Ross promised. “Right after I show Miss Landon the ranch.”

  “Can I come?” Courtney batted her eyelashes at her father, a maneuver that had apparently worked well for her in the past.

  “Not tomorrow, Cupcake,” Ross said.

  “I not Cupcake,” the girl insisted. “I Cour’ney.”

  “You’re my Courtney Cupcake,” Ross said, “and it’s too cold for you to be outside for as long as it’ll take to show Ms. Landon the ranch.”

  Good thinking, Jessica thought. Too cold for me to be outside that long, too. But her job included an assessment of the property, and Max wouldn’t accept anything but a thorough report. She wondered if the general store she’d seen in town carried thermal underwear.

  “Besides,” Ross was saying to the girl, “if you go with us, who would stay with Granny?”

  Courtney thought for a moment. “Okay.”

  As if summoned by the mention of her name, Fiona appeared at the doorway. “I thought I heard that little scamp. What are you doing out of bed?”

  Courtney climbed onto her knees and hugged Ross again. “Kissing Daddy good night.”

  The scene touched Jessica. The child plainly adored her father, and Ross was smitten with his young daughter. Their affection made Jessica painfully aware of the lack of love she’d had in her own life. Even as a small child, she’d received scant attention from her parents. Their indifference had created a hole in her heart she’d never been able to fill. She had to admit that Courtney was a lucky little girl, so readily loved by her father and Fiona. Jessica wondered where the girl’s mother was. She hadn’t been at dinner, and no mention had been made of her absence.

  “Be quick,” Fiona said to her great-grand-daughter, but not unkindly, “so I can tuck you in again.”

  She cast a glance around the messy room and gave a discreet shudder at the shambles. “Now, Jessica, you know Ross’s dirty little secret. He has the organizational skills of a gnat—when it comes to paperwork, that is. But he’s really very good with people.”

  “Fiona,” Ross said with an exaggerated sigh, “I wish you wouldn’t talk about me as if I weren’t here.”

  His grandmother smiled, her affection for her grandson as clear as his love for his daughter. “I haven’t said anything I haven’t told you a hundred times. Come along, Courtney. Good night, Ross, Jessica. I’m turning in early tonight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  With Courtney’s hand tucked in hers, Fiona disappeared down the hall.

  “Now—” Ross raked his fingers through his hair and looked around the room in confusion. “Where were we?”

  “Do you have any boxes?” Jessica asked. “We’ll need them to begin sorting.”

  “I think Chang Soo has some in the pantry,” Ross said. “I’ll get them.”

  THREE HOURS LATER, with the majority of the paperwork filed into boxes dated by year, Jessica was beginning to see what the room looked like under its avalanche of clutter. It was a handsome room, a man’s room with walls paneled in honey-hued knotty pine, a butter-soft leather sofa and chairs, shelves filled not only with books, but with treasures and memorabilia—a Sioux dream catcher, several moss agates, a few rodeo trophies and a bird’s nest.

  A striking Ansel Adams print of rugged mountains reflected in a peaceful lake hung above the fireplace, where Ross had built a cheerful fire after clearing away the paper hazards. Jessica reached for a picture frame, facedown on the mantel, and set it upright. Ross McGarrett’s handsome face stared back at her. His arm was around a young woman, barely out of her teens, who held a newborn infant in her arms.

  “Your wife?” Jessica asked.

  Ros
s glanced at the photo, and his expression was unreadable. He nodded. “That’s Kathy.”

  “Will I meet her?”

  He slumped into a chair and fought visibly against a consuming weariness. He lifted his head and met Jessica’s eyes, his face etched with sadness. “Kathy died over a year ago.”

  Nothing like putting my foot in my mouth, Jessica thought. The man’s private life was none of her business. And his dead wife was without doubt a painful subject. His loss was written all over his attractive face.

  “I’m sorry,” Jessica said.

  He appeared to shake off his sorrow. “You’ve had a terrible day, and it’s late. I’ll finish up here. You go to bed.”

  Jessica almost started to argue, but her fatigue had caught up with her. She wondered how she’d find the energy to climb the stairs to the guest room. And Ross looked as tired as she felt.

  “Why don’t we finish this together in the morning?” she suggested, surprising herself. If she encouraged Ross to work into the night, she’d be that much further ahead tomorrow, that much closer to completing her report and returning home. But she didn’t have the heart to push him. Maybe her fatigue was affecting her brain, she rationalized, and hoped a good night’s sleep would make her more objective.

  Any attempt at objectivity flew out the window with Ross’s response. His broad smile dazzled her.

  “You’re sure you don’t mind?” he said. “I could use some shut-eye.”

  “Good night.” Jessica turned to leave.

  Ross caught her by the hand. “You got off to a rocky start, but I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”

  The strength of his grip and the warmth of his skin against hers sent a tingle up her arm. It had to be her tiredness making her loopy, she told herself. He was only a man after all, just Max’s client, a widower she’d never see again after her work here was complete.