Christmas Hostage (Christmas Romantic Suspense Book 1)

by Jane Blythe

  “You’re shaking, Hannah,” he reprimanded. “I'm scared you're going into shock.”

  Her big eyes just stared at him, but she didn't shrink away from him again as he wrapped his coat around her. With the heavy material draped over her, Hannah’s shaking calmed a little and her hands grasped the lapels of the coat and pulled it tighter.

  Her bloodstained hands.

  Before he could interview her, he needed to get that blood off her hands. He hated seeing blood on her; it brought back too many memories of a day he’d much rather forget. Leaving Hannah where she was, he went and found the bathroom where he wet a towel and then returned to her.

  Crouching at her side, he grasped one of Hannah’s hands and began to clean it. Part of him expected her to pull away, refuse to let him touch her like she had the last time they had been in the same room together. But she didn't. She just sat there and trembled and watched as he washed as much of the blood from her hands as he could.

  There was blood on her face, too. She had big smears on her cheeks where she must have brushed her bloody hands against them at some point. Taking hold of her chin, he angled her face so he could wipe away the blood that was there.

  Hannah’s big eyes grew bigger as he leaned in closer to make sure he had gotten all the blood off. Her breath was warm against his face, and he drew in the scent of her. A mixture of the cherry scented shampoo she always used and the vanilla perfume that was her favorite. The combination of the two reminded him of the cherry pies his grandmother used to make every Sunday when he was a child.

  It felt so good to be touching her after so long.

  But she wasn't his to touch anymore.

  He should release her.

  Instead, of their own accord, his fingers reached up and brushed across her damp cheeks, catching the tears that were still falling. His fingertips lingered there, not wanting to break physical contact with her, for his sake as much as hers.

  But at last, Tom let his hand fall away, and since he had her mostly cleaned up, he sat back on his haunches and studied her. She was ashen, her pupils dilated, her skin clammy, and when he had brushed his fingertips over her wrist while he’d been washing her hands he had felt her pulse beating way too fast.

  She was in shock.

  She needed to be examined and treated.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. He knew it was a stupid question. How could she be okay? But he needed to hear her talk. He needed to reassure himself that she was, in fact, all right. That she was strong enough to endure this just as she had endured everything else that had been thrown at her.

  Hannah nodded.

  Tom shook his head back at her. “Of course, you're not okay.” He kept his voice quiet so only she could hear him. “They held a gun on you, Hannah.” Again, moving of its own volition, his hand moved to trace the darkening bruise on her temple.

  This time she did flinch away from his touch, and he quickly snatched his hand back.

  She looked so small and scared and fragile, and he had to remind himself that Hannah was none of those things. She was the toughest person he knew. What she had been through would crush most people, and yet she had survived. And by the looks of her store, survived and thrived. Well, thrived businesswise. She was too thin and there were dark smudges under her eyes that he knew had nothing to do with the night’s events.

  Sometimes Hannah was too strong. She thought she could handle everything on her own, and acted like admitting you needed help was a bad thing.

  “I want to call the EMTs over to check you out,” he told her.

  “I'm not hurt,” Hannah said. Hearing her voice again made him shiver. Even scared and traumatized, her voice was the sweetest and most melodic sound he’d ever heard.

  “You’re in shock; you should be examined,” he countered.

  “No.”

  Tom sighed. That was his stubborn girl.

  Then he sighed again. She wasn't his girl anymore. She wasn't his concern. Her emotional well-being was none of his business, just the way she wanted it. He was here to do a job, that was all. And to that end, he needed to interview her to find out what exactly had happened here tonight. He would be able to get more out of her once she wasn't so preoccupied with the blood on the carpet and replaying in her mind everything that had gone on in this room tonight.

  “Do you think you can stand up?”

  Hannah shook her head.

  “I want to get you out of this room, okay?” He spoke slowly, making sure her shock-muddled brain was hearing him. “You shouldn’t be in here looking at your friend’s blood. I’ll help you up.” Tom stood and extended his hand.

  She didn't move. In her face, he could clearly see she was debating her options. She knew he was taking her out of the room regardless of any protest she offered, and she knew her legs most likely weren’t steady enough to support her, but she didn't want to accept his help. For some reason, the notion of letting him help her was repulsive to her.

  Eventually, she sighed, and having weighed her options, she grasped his hand and let him pull her to her feet. As soon as she was standing, she tugged her hand free, and just as he had suspected, her legs weren’t strong enough to hold her up right now. She teetered, then staggered forward and lost her balance, landing in his outstretched arms.

  * * * * *

  9:04 P.M.

  Hannah knew as soon as she was on her feet that standing up had been a bad idea. She wobbled all over the place. Seeking something solid.

  Then her knees buckled and she fell.

  Landing in a strong pair of arms.

  Arms that wrapped around her in a comforting warmth of familiarity and safety.

  She was pulled against a rock-hard chest, and although she knew it was a bad idea, she rested against it, letting those arms hold her up. Her head swam, and her stomach turned in a constant procession of slow somersaults. She wanted to move away, to stand on her own two feet, but she knew that right now that was out of the question.

  Tom Drake.

  What were the chances that her ex-husband would turn up here tonight?

  The odds had to be astronomical.

  And yet, here he was.

  Holding her, soothing her fears, calming her pounding heart, guiding her shock-addled brain back to reality.

  This was wrong.

  She had to get away from him. Letting him hold her was only going to make this so much harder than it was already going to be.

  Lifting her hands to Tom’s chest, she pushed until he loosened his hold. When he didn't release her, she tipped her head back so she could look up at him. The light brown eyes that stared back at her were swirling with emotion, but then he shuttered them and they went blank.

  Hannah felt her heart drop.

  Nothing had changed.

  She was stupid for allowing herself to believe for even a second that things could be different.

  When she pushed at his chest again, Tom let his arms drop to his sides this time. She took a step backward, and was swamped by a rush of dizziness so severe she could do nothing but moan and crumple.

  Again, when she fell, her landing was in the same pair of strong arms.

  This time they swung her feet up off the ground and carried her out of her store.

  As soon as they stepped out into the night and the cold air hit her, Hannah felt the cobwebs begin to clear from her head. The blood was gone, the gun was gone, the fear that had held her in its icy grasp began to lessen, and she felt herself returning to her usual self.

  “Put me down, Tom,” she ordered, pleased when her voice sounded strong and confident, not the weak, quivering mess it had been before.

  “You fainted, Hannah,” he shot back, his voice harsh.

  “I’m okay,” she said firmly.

  “Fine. Whatever.” He let her slide slowly down his body till her feet touched the ground, then kept his arm around her waist until he was sure she had her bearings.

  When Tom finally withdrew his arm, she very nearly to
ppled over again, but through sheer strength of will managed to remain on her feet and fairly steady. She drew in long, slow, deep breaths of the winter air and slowly, bit by bit the dizziness began to fade.

  She was still shaking, though; she hadn’t been able to quell it since she first saw the guns.

  Guns.

  For a moment, it all came rushing back. The fear, the panic, how close she had come to dying.

  If the cops hadn’t shown up when they did, she would be dead right now.

  Jeff could still die.

  And all because she had frozen.

  “Your friend will be okay.” Although it had been three years since they’d divorced, apparently Tom was still able to read in her face what she was thinking. “The bullet missed his heart and his lungs,” he continued, turning her to face him, taking hold of one of her arms and slipping it into the sleeves of his coat, which was still draped around her shoulders. As he slipped her other arm in and buttoned it up, dressing her as though she were a child, he said, “He was lucky. A couple of inches either way, and he could have died instantly.”

  She shivered.

  So close.

  So close to dying.

  Hannah had to push the thoughts away before they consumed her. The cops had come, and their sirens had scared the robbers off, and all of them had made it out alive.

  “I'm going to take you over to get checked out by the medics,” Tom announced.

  That snapped her back to her senses. She wasn't hurt. She didn't need a doctor. “I told you I was okay.”

  “You have a bruise.” He lifted his hand as though to touch the mark like he had done back in her store, but this time his hand stopped before it made contact with her skin.

  “It’s nothing. He just shoved the gun into my head. I’ll be fine,” she insisted.

  “Hannah, you were held hostage, with a gun to your head. A gun. You know you need to be checked out.” He sounded annoyed. She was very good at annoying Tom.

  She couldn’t think about the gun right now. If Tom was here, then the FBI was involved. She’d heard about the other armed robberies at jewelry stores throughout the city. Whatever else Tom was or was not, he was a good agent, and he would find these men before anyone else got hurt, but to do that, he would need her statement. She wanted to just do it and get it over with, then go home, swallow some sleeping pills, and go to sleep.

  “I’ll give you my statement first.”

  “Hannah,” he frowned at her.

  “I'm not arguing with you, Tom. Ask me whatever questions you have, and then I’ll let a medic look me over before I go home.”

  “Well, we’re not doing it out here. We’ll sit in the back of my car.” He took her arm with a gentleness that was at odds with the irritated tone.

  He had been so gentle with her inside, too. The way he had cradled each of her hands as he wiped the blood off them had caused a fresh wave of tears to cascade down her cheeks. No one had ever been as gentle with her as Tom had. Then when he had turned his attention to cleaning her face, she had wanted nothing more than to curl up in those arms that had at one time been her only solace when the world was crumbling around her.

  “Here you go.” He had steered her to a dark sedan, and now opened the door and guided her into the back seat. He closed the door then walked around to the other side and climbed in. A woman with shoulder-length light brown hair climbed into the driver’s seat, turned on the engine, and then the heater. “You’re still shaking, Hannah,” Tom said, his voice soft again.

  She didn't need to tell him that being held at gunpoint was the cause. He knew it. He knew why she had a phobia about guns. He knew everything about her.

  “Chloe, can you get me some blankets?” he addressed the young woman in the front seat, his eyes never leaving hers. Once they were alone, he searched her face. “Are you really okay? I know how horrible that must have been for you.”

  New tears were clogging her throat. She didn't want to think about the night that she knew was seared into both of their minds forever. She wanted to erase it from her memory and her life, just like she wanted to forget tonight. “They shot Jeff because of me. Because I couldn’t give them the code,” she whispered.

  Tom’s eyes went fierce. “That is not your fault, Hannah. You know that. You still freeze up at the sight of a gun?”

  When his gaze dropped down to his waist, hers followed. She saw the bulge under his sweater and knew it was his weapon. Involuntarily, her shaking intensified. She knew Tom would never use his gun on her, but now that he had drawn her attention to it, she couldn’t look away.

  “Do you want me to give it to Chloe and ask her to stay outside while we talk?”

  She shook her head, her eyes still fixed firmly on Tom’s waist.

  “Hannah.” He hooked a finger under her chin and forcibly—although carefully so as not to hurt her—tilted her face up. “I'm so sorry you had to go through that. I'm sorry I didn't find them before they hit your store.”

  That was the Tom she knew.

  The man who took responsibility for everything that happened around him.

  The man who wanted to save everyone even when they didn't need saving.

  “I’ll be okay,” she reminded him. And she would. She was scared and she was in shock, but she would get through it. She was strong.

  “I know you will.” He gave her a half smile.

  His eyes were just unshuttering when his partner returned, passing a stack of blankets to Tom. Hannah expected him to wrap them around her, but instead he simply passed them to her, his eyes empty again. She took them and wrapped both around herself, cocooning herself in a little bundle of warmth. Warmth that couldn’t seem to penetrate through to the cold deep inside her.

  “What time did you close up tonight?” Tom asked.

  “Seven.”

  “Did you lock the front door?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any other employees?”

  “Just Jeff and Vincent who were there with me.”

  “What did you do when you closed up?”

  “I went to the office to start on paperwork.” Tom’s questions were helping her to calm down. Focusing on facts meant she didn't focus on her emotions. He had always been a details man. It made him good at his job but also hard to live with sometimes. He wanted to plan everything out, down to the tiniest detail, and when he lost that sense of control, he didn't know what to do.

  “What did the others do?”

  “They put all of our most expensive jewelry into the safe like we do every night.”

  “Do they have the code to the safe?”

  “No, but they don’t need it. I open it and then they put everything away and close it when they’re done.”

  “You triggered the silent alarm at seven nineteen. Is it usual to have everything packed away in the safe that quickly?”

  “It was maybe a little quicker than usual.”

  “How did you know the robbers were there?”

  “I saw them on the CCTV screen in my office.”

  “Why didn't you leave? You could have run out the back door. Why did you stay?”

  The first hint of emotion edged into Tom’s voice. Whatever had happened between them, he still cared about her. Just not enough to have stayed. He had turned his back on her, walked away when she needed him the most. She couldn’t forget that. “Vincent was still in there.”

  “You were in the workroom when the cops arrived. Did you go in there or did the robbers take you in there?”

  “I went in. I thought I could warn Vincent before they got there.”

  “What did you see when you walked in?”

  Hannah shivered as the scene recreated itself in her mind. “Two men with guns.”

  “Are you sure it was two men?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did they say?” Tom’s voice had gone soft again.

  “They wanted the code. I wanted to give it to them. No amount of jewelry is worth someone�
��s life. But I couldn’t make my mouth work.”

  “How much is the stuff in the safe worth?”

  “A couple of million, maybe.”

  “A couple of million?” Tom repeated, his eyes growing wide.

  She just shrugged. She didn't care about that right now, not while Jeff was in a hospital because of her.

  “Did the men address each other with names?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What about you or either of your employees, did they use your names?”

  She thought, but wasn't sure, the gun had blocked out everything else from her mind. “I don’t think so.”

  “What was their demeanor like? Were they calm? Were they anxious or nervous? Were there any arguments between them?”

  She dropped her eyes to her lap, feeling useless that she couldn’t answer any of those questions. “I don’t know. All I saw were the guns.”

  “Did Jeff come into the room with you?”

  “No. I thought he’d gotten away. I was surprised when he came in.”

  “Why did he come in?”

  “He gave them a code.”

  “I thought only you had the code.”

  Hannah nodded. “He made one up. They got angry; that’s why they shot him.” Her breath hitched as the sound of the gunshot rang in her head.

  “Why did they leave?”

  “The sirens. We heard the sirens, and they just left. I ran to Jeff as soon as they were gone. There was so much blood. I thought he was going to die, because he had tried to save me. They were going to start shooting me until I gave them the code. There was so much blood,” she intoned, remembering the feel of it on her hands as it seeped through the coat she’d held to Jeff’s wound.

  “But he’s going to be okay,” Tom reminded her. “Did you get a look at them?”

  She shook her head. “They wore jeans and black hoodies. They had balaclavas on so I couldn’t see their faces. I'm sorry, Tom, I don’t have anything helpful to give you.”

  “You did fine.” He patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Okay, interview is over for now. You can give an official statement in the morning. Now, you go and get checked out, then you go home and get some rest. Is there someone who can stay with you tonight?”