Capitol K-9 Unit Christmas: Protecting VirginiaGuarding Abigail

by Shirlee McCoy

  Panic hit Abigail with a cold slap. “What did you do to him?”

  “He’s alive. In the hospital with a serious concussion. That’ll keep him away for a few days and if it doesn’t...well... And in the meantime...you and I have some business to finish.”

  “What do you want?” she asked, her prayers centered on Dylan and his safety, her mind whirling with what had been there in front of her all along. This man had controlled her father’s holdings, his investments and...his will.

  Benison leaned down and lifted her so hard, her dress ripped at the waist. “I want you to die,” he said with a cold indifference. “I never expected you to return to that old farmhouse, but you did. We had to come up with a plan to get you to leave again but then...that stupid little bodyguard Dibianu found out the truth and planned to warn you before I could...dispose of you.”

  Omar Dibianu had been her father’s bodyguard. It made perfect sense now. And he’d been so devoted he’d risked his life to save her, too.

  Benison was behind all of this. She stared at the emblem on his cuff link. The letters OBD carved in a filigree setting. Orson D. Benison? She’d seen that same emblem somewhere.

  “You killed my father?”

  “I had him killed,” Benison said. “A tragedy but...you see, we needed your land. We need more land for our cause.”

  “What cause?” Abigail said, tears falling down her face. “My father was always kind to you in spite of your difference of opinion on this country. He trusted you to take care of things. Why would you kill him for our land?”

  “He was getting too close,” Benison said, his face inches from hers. “He found information that would have exposed the Order of Destiny. I had no choice. And I have no choice with you, Abigail. That house you love so much? It’s on fire. Burning right now. With no close relatives, the land will revert back to me, per your father’s last wishes.”

  Order of Destiny. OBD. Poppy! Poppy had been wearing a medallion with the same initials on it. The O and the D with a swirling B in between.

  Abigail didn’t let on. “I don’t believe you’d burn down my home and my father wouldn’t leave anything to you.”

  “I had someone else set the fire. Your dear Poppy Sutton reluctantly put a torch to the place. She had to kill your nosy little assistant since Poppy’s carelessness is what made your father suspicious. And then CiCi asked Poppy about some papers she found in your office—papers I’m sure your savvy father left there for you. She wanted to show them to you and we couldn’t let her do that. You inherited everything but you’ll be dead and since I managed to set up a provision in the will, we can slowly work toward taking over the land. For our cause.”

  Abigail glanced around, frantic to see her home again. “You can’t burn down my home.”

  “Don’t believe me?” He yanked her arm, causing her to scream out in pain. “Come and see, dear girl.”

  He shoved her toward a boarded window and slammed it open. “Look to the west, over the tree line.”

  Abigail could see the brightly lit horizon, see the flames shooting up in the night sky. She screamed, twisted against his clammy grip. “Let me go. Why would Poppy set my house on fire?”

  “Because she’s one of us,” Benison said with a soft smile. “We’re building an empire, an army that will take back what this country has lost. But we need more land for training and housing. We need your land, Abigail.”

  He held her there at the window, with the cold wind blowing over her while she watched the flames growing into a white-gold arc. “We own close to five hundred acres that connect to your place but we need more land to train an army and you’re the only person standing in our way.”

  SIXTEEN

  Dylan found Tico at headquarters and opened the back hatch to let the eager dog inside. “C’mon, boy. We gotta find her.”

  He had Abigail’s scent on his clothes, that sweet floral scent that only reminded him of her goodness. Tico smelled it, too. They’d find her.

  He’d managed to get dressed and out of the hospital before anyone else could stop him. His head throbbed and his vision was still dotted with black spots but he wasn’t going to lie there and let them kill her.

  Because in spite of his concussion, he’d seen something that jarred him into action before he’d passed out.

  A limo had pulled up at the crash scene. Dylan remembered trying to get to Abigail, trying to call her name. The limo door had opened and he’d seen...Orson Benison sitting there.

  Then he’d passed out. Had the lawyer come to help? Or had he kidnapped Abigail to make sure she never talked to anyone again?

  Dylan had come back to the farm on a hunch after hearing the captain outside his room shouting orders into his phone. He figured the snipers had a hideout nearby and now he saw the smoke and flames when he reached the end of the lane to the Wheaton farm. Abigail! Dylan’s pulse hammered in his ear and a wave of dizziness hit him. He stopped the vehicle and let Tico out, then both of them ran toward the flames.

  When Dylan made it to the yard, a tall form came toward him. Captain McCord. “Ralsey, what are you doing here?”

  “I have to get to her,” Dylan said. “I have to—”

  The captain held him. “Listen to me. Listen. As far as we can tell, no one is in the house.”

  Dylan gulped a breath, blinked. “But you don’t know.”

  “We have new information,” the captain shouted over the sounds of sirens and firemen running back and forth. “The farm next door. We traced one of the IP addresses back to that location. Dylan, we think they might be holding her there.”

  “He’s holding her there,” Dylan shouted. “It’s Orson Benison, sir.”

  * * *

  Abigail stared up at the man who had presented himself as a Washington icon. Rich, powerful, concerned, caring. And evil.

  The Order of Destiny hoped to change the country. A vigilante fringe element that had the backing of some very powerful silent partners. And her sweet, trusting father had somehow stumbled on the truth so...they’d killed him. And they’d killed everyone else who’d found little clues of their actions—CiCi and Omar—and now they’d kill Abigail.

  But they had underestimated the strength of a Wheaton.

  She sat listening to Benison’s elaborate explanations and realized she was being held by a psychopath of the worst kind.

  “Why didn’t you kill me at the wreck site?” she asked now, trying to stall him.

  He shook his head. “We tried. Had to get out of there so we took you.” He leaned close again, his cold eyes moving over her face. “So I could make you see, give you one last chance to come to our side.”

  Abigail’s laughter echoed over the freezing cold barn. “I’d rather die.”

  “Okay then.”

  He jerked her up out of the chair and dragged her toward the back of the barn. “The stream will carry your body back toward your home. This unrelenting faction kidnapped you and brought you to your home and set fire to it. But you managed to get out. Only with the snow and cold, you grew disoriented and fell in the river.”

  Abigail closed her eyes to the chilling image. “And what is your excuse?”

  “Me, I’ll make it back to the city and my party, where I’ll explain that you’ve been taken and I’ll put on a sad, forlorn face.”

  She got the picture. “And after a few months, you’ll disclose the addendum to the will and you’ll take over my land.”

  “Yes, all perfectly legal and indisputable.”

  And forged.

  She searched for something, anything, to stop him. When he pushed open an old door, the blinding snow hit her like a wet, tattered blanket and she knew she had to make a break and run. She looked down at her dress and realized she was still wearing her sparkling dress shoes. He had her outside now
, tugging and pushing her toward the sound of the cold, flowing water. Abigail held back, waiting for her chance.

  And then as they stumbled over a rocky incline, she gathered her strength and lifted her three-inch shoe heel and slammed it down on the instep of his right foot, wedging the slender stiletto heel inside his shoe laces.

  And then she dug in her heel while Benison screamed in agony.

  After that, everything seemed to shift. She heard angry barking off in the distance, heard someone calling her name.

  Dylan and Tico! They’d found her.

  Benison slapped at her, his shocked expression etched in pain. He grabbed her close. “Goodbye, Abigail.”

  She waited, praying, as he pushed her up over the bluff, his hands on her waist. But before he gave her a final shove down into the rocky stream, a furry ball of pure rage lunged out of the woods.

  Abigail screamed and fell back, hitting the rocks, while Benison turned and put his hands over his face. Tico knocked him hard against the aged roots and jagged boulders and sank his teeth into one of Benison’s arms. The old man curled in a ball and cried out.

  But...no one was listening.

  Abigail looked up and saw Dylan, still in his dirty, torn tux. He reached down and lifted her up and without a word, he untied her hands and then he took her into his arms and held her shivering body against the solid warmth of his chest and wrapped his tuxedo jacket around her.

  “I love you,” he said against her hair.

  “I love you, too.”

  Christmas Day

  Abigail turned to admire the Christmas tree once again. It was a small tree, in a two-story row house in a quiet Brooklyn neighborhood. And it was the most beautiful tree she’d ever seen.

  Because Dylan was standing there beside her.

  His mother was in the kitchen creating some good-smelling dishes for their Christmas dinner and his father was in the small, comfortable den watching It’s a Wonderful Life.

  Dylan pulled her into his arms. “So...how does this work? You’ll repair the farmhouse first?”

  She nodded, touched. He still wasn’t sure about this but he was willing to try. “Yes. The snow and the built-in sprinkler system that Sam installed saved the house, but the kitchen and garage will have to be rebuilt. Poppy might be a criminal but she didn’t want to burn down that house while she was in her own quarters. I’m so thankful Louie was there and called the local fire department.”

  “Me, too,” Dylan said. “Then the captain and my team showed up after finding out about your neighbors. I heard him shouting orders at the hospital after he got the report.” He touched a hand to the bandage on her forehead. “I was so afraid you were in that house.”

  “You found me,” Abigail replied. “That’s all that matters.”

  “It’s over.” He kissed her there by the tree. “We’ve taken a lot of them into custody and the rest are scattered and fractured. Benison can’t buy his way out of this one. You’re safe now.”

  Abigail looked over at him. “And what about you, Dylan? Do you finally feel safe enough to trust me?”

  He looked flustered and then he smiled. “I brought you home to meet my parents. What do you think?”

  Abigail laughed and held him close. “I think I’ve finally come home, too. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas,” he said, his hand on her cheek.

  The fire crackled a new kind of warmth while the snow-covered world surrounded them in a white cocoon of hope.

  Then they felt a nudge at their feet. Tico, trying to get in on this. “I love you, too,” she said to the big dog. “Merry Christmas, Tico.”

  Tico woofed in agreement and then did a circle in front of the fire. Abigail took in the sweet scene of the dog, the fire and the tree. Then she kissed her holiday hero.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from MURDER UNDER THE MISTLETOE by Terri Reed

  Dear Reader,

  I am happy to be a part of this two-in-one with my friend Shirlee McCoy. It’s always fun to take secondary characters and tell their stories, and that is what I did with Dylan Ralsey. His profile intrigued me, and I wanted to give him a strong, interesting heroine who could make him see his worth. Abigail seemed to fit the bill. These two characters had a lot to work through since they came from different backgrounds. But they made it through. I hope you enjoyed this story, and I’m wishing you a wonderful Christmas season and the best New Year!

  Until next time, may the angels watch over you. Always.

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense story.

  You enjoy a dash of danger. Love Inspired Suspense stories feature strong heroes and heroines whose faith is central in solving mysteries and saving lives.

  Enjoy six new stories from Love Inspired Suspense every month!

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

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  Murder Under the Mistletoe

  by Terri Reed

  ONE

  “Good night, sweet boy.” Heather Larson-Randall leaned in to kiss her six-year-old son’s forehead.

  “Night, Mommy.” Colin snuggled deeper beneath the thick comforter. He lay in the twin-size bed in the room that once had been Heather’s.

  Gone were the decorations of her adolescence—posters of the latest celebrity heartthrob and her 4-H ribbons and trophies. It had taken the past three days to transform the room in a superhero motif that would have made Ken, her late husband, proud.

  A cold draft skated across the back of her neck. The late November night had grown chilly, but at least the northern Idaho rain had abated for now. The weatherman had predicted a drop in temperature over the next few days. Fitting for this year’s Thanksgiving. She just needed to get through the day for Colin’s sake. Then she could concentrate on Christmas.

  Hopefully celebrating the birth of Jesus would take her mind off her brother’s tragic death.

  She also hoped they had snow by Christmas morning. Colin loved the snow. And, as always, her life’s priority was Colin.

  She moved to the bedroom door. The creak of the old farmhouse’s hardwood floor beneath her feet followed each of her steps, echoing the hollow, lonely beat of her heart.

  “Mommy?”

  Pausing in the doorway with her hand hovering over the light switch, she smiled patiently at her son. Colin looked so much like Ken with his dark brown hair falling over one eye and his dimpled chin. She ached with love for her son and regret that he’d never know his father. “Yes, sweetie?”

  Her late parents had taught her that replacing the word what with the more positive yes when talking to children created a strong, effective bond. The proof was in how close her family had been.

  Colin’s big blue-green eyes stared at her intently. “Do you think Uncle Seth is with Daddy and Grandma and Grandpa?”

  The innocent question speared through her like a hot poker. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep the tears of grief at bay. Five years ago, just before Colin’s first birthday, her husband had been killed while serving his country in Afghanistan, leaving Heather to raise their son alone. She’d made sure every day that Colin knew his father had loved him. Adding to her grief, her parents had been killed in a freak car accident when Colin was four.

  Now, two years later and five days ago, she’d lost her younger brother, Seth, to what appeared to be a cocaine overdose.

  She struggled to comprehend how Seth had fallen back into using drugs after being clean the past couple of years. He’d had so much going for him. A fiancée he adored, half the tree farm and a bright future
. She didn’t know what had sent him running back to the abyss.

  Placing one hand on her chest, she leaned against the doorjamb, needing the strength of her childhood home to keep her upright when the grief pressing down on her threatened to send her to the floor in a heap. “Yes, dear. I’m sure they are all together.”

  A familiar tide of anger washed over her. Anger at God for allowing the tragedies that had left her and Colin alone in the world. On the heels of the anger came a flood of guilt for blaming God. Sometimes it was hard to cling to her faith when the world tried to knock her down.

  The cell phone in the pocket of her plush robe buzzed.

  “I’ll come back to check on you in a bit,” she told Colin, then flipped off the light and stepped into the dimly lit hallway to answer the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Your brother’s death isn’t what it seems,” a rough, low voice said into her ear, sending a chill down her spine. “Leave the farm. It’s not safe.”

  Her breath hitched; her mind reeled. “What? Who is this?”

  The line beeped, then went silent.

  A tremor from deep inside worked its way out of her.

  Leave the farm. It’s not safe.

  She put a hand on the wall to steady herself, feeling the familiar fuzzy velvet texture of the flock wallpaper. This couldn’t be happening, not now with Seth’s death hanging over her like a cloud of doom.

  His death had been ruled an accidental overdose.

  Even if she wanted to leave the farm, she and Colin had nowhere to go. The day she had learned of Seth’s death, she’d given up her job and the apartment in Washington State to move back to Idaho.

  Now the Christmas tree farm was her and Colin’s only home. Their livelihood. Without the farm she wasn’t sure what would happen to them.

  Seeds of fear burrowed in her chest and took root. She quickly made her way downstairs, checking that the doors were securely locked. She peered out the front picture window. The full moon, big and round and shining brightly, bathed the sea of Douglas fir, grand fir and noble fir trees stretching over forty acres of land on the tree farm that had been in her family for three generations.