Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Praise and Awards
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
Thank you…
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Snowflake Kisses
Marianne Evans
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Snowflake Kisses
COPYRIGHT 2014 by Marianne Evans
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.
Contact Information: [email protected]
All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version(R), NIV(R), Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com
Cover Art by Nicola Martinez
White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC
www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410
White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC
Publishing History
First White Rose Edition, 2014
Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-463-3
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
I dedicate Snowflake Kisses...to YOU.
In the pages of every book I create, you're the one I work for, sweat for, rejoice for and cry for. You're the best. You're a reader, and you're about to turn the page and begin a journey from my heart to yours. God bless, and enjoy!
Praise and Awards
This talented author satisfies both heart and soul
~ NYT Bestselling Author Ruth Ryan Langan
“…Peter and Alexa are absolute magic.” ~ 5-Ticket Review, Love 2 Read Novels on Finding Home
Finding Home, Winner, Selah Award for Best Novella
Devotion, Winner, Booksellers Best Award for Best Inspirational Novel & ACRA Heart of Excellence Award
Hearts Communion, Winner, Christian Small Publisher Book of the Year and ACRA Heart of Excellence Award
Do not withhold your mercy from me, Lord; may your love and faithfulness always protect me.
Psalm 40:11
1
I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. Dear Lord, help me. I don’t want to die.
The cold steel tip of a gun pressed into Vanessa Colby’s ribcage, masked perfectly by the black clad, indistinguishable body of a thief. All about her hummed the bustle and verve of a snow-kissed London night. Shoppers pushed to and fro, oblivious as the Christmas season launched into high gear. She was trapped with her front side thrust against the open doorway of what she now realized was a getaway car.
“I’ve been watching you, duchess.”
“I’m not royalty; I’m simply a personal shopper who—”
“Shut up!” Hot, damp breath hissed against her ear, prompting a roll of nausea. “I know what you are. You’re a looker. You’re quite the sexy shaker and mover with all your well-endowed clients.” He emphasized the words well-endowed just hard enough to make them sound lascivious. Growing implications curdled Vanessa’s blood. “Make one more sound and your pretty little face won’t be so pretty anymore.” The words were a whispered warning that invaded her nervous system and slipped a cube of ice-cold dread through her body. “Move so much as a muscle and you’re going to take a nice long ride with us to a spot where we can dump your delicious body wherever we wish. Someplace you’ll never be found.” He hummed—a dark, sick sound. “Once we’re finished with you, that is.”
The man’s free hand slithered against her waist, sliding the silk and cashmere of her blouse and shawl upward into a messy wad. Vanessa gagged.
His wide, rough hand reached her neck.
His breath skated against her cheek.
Her world went into a tailspin, and she wobbled, but he tightened his hold.
“You smell so good, duchess. Maybe we’ll have some fun with you anyway, no matter what you do.”
Cold air curved against her exposed midsection. The business end of the revolver dug deeper.
“What would you think of that, huh?” He shoved her against the open doorway.
Vanessa almost fell to her knees. She whimpered—and Vanessa Elizabeth Colby never whimpered. Expertly blocked from public view, her gaze darted left and right, seeking any means of escape from this nightmare.
The thief seemed to sense her fear, and feed off it, because he began to snicker. “I just love it when a woman sweats despite the cold. Throw those bags you’re hauling onto the back seat. All of them. Now!”
For the first time, his voice rose, but apparently not loud enough. No discernible reaction came from those who passed by; any onlooker would likely figure she was just a holiday shopper standing before the entrance of Harrods, loading merchandise into a car. Vanessa licked her lips; she grabbed for air in shallow, desperate sips.
So, this hoodlum wanted the stash of designer clothes she carried—and the jewelry that accompanied. What Vanessa held was nearly fifty-thousand pounds worth of extravagant purchases just made by the Countess of Willembaech. Fine. He could have them. Vanessa tossed the bags into the car and squeezed her eyes shut, prayed in earnest.
Jesus, I know I’m fairly new to Your Kingdom of believers, but please hear my prayer. Please let me live.
Be still, precious child. I am your help and your strength.
The assurance of God’s presence somewhat soothed her. Vanessa swallowed and attempted calm. “I don’t know who or what you are. You can get away right now. You’ve got what you’re after. Please just leave me—”
A sickening thud accompanied by a loud, pained groan echoed through the airway, and suddenly Vanessa was released from the gunman’s grip. He toppled into a heap. His weapon clattered to the ground, bounced against the curb before it disappeared beneath the car.
Confusion ruled Vanessa’s mind as a squad of security personnel rushed forward through the doorway of the store behind her, efficiently interrupting the escape of the gunman’s accomplice and driver.
Thanks to…
“Are you all right, miss?”
Vanessa didn’t bother to turn; she wasn’t ready to face or acknowledge her benefactor yet. Instead, she sagged against the car while police lights sent blue strobes pulsing against the stately buildings and shops of Brompton Road. Her back remained trained to the famed green awnings of her store—normally her comfort and haven. She continued to gasp for air, swaying heavily as the world blurred. Black spots danced through her vision. Dizziness formed a haze that overwhelmed. Her legs buckled at the same instant a pair of strong arms captured her at the waist and behind the knees.
Just as Vanessa was lifted off her feet—in no more than a heartbeat of time—her world faded to black.
****
“Peter, I’m so embarrassed.” Vanessa’s throat was dry, which made her words sound like crunching gravel.
“Vannie, hush up and re
st.”
Lying flat, drifting slowly to awareness, she focused on the face of her twin brother, Peter Colby. She groaned as she shifted to her elbow and brushed shaky fingertips through strands of hair that were tacked to her cheeks. She gazed at a ceiling dotted by overly bright, recessed lights. Next, she noted a couple of familiar abstract paintings on a nearby wall and realized she was in the employee lounge on the fourth floor at Harrods.
The admonishment from Peter was as tender as it was gruff, redolent with his ever-present affection. Vanessa’s return to consciousness did a good job of stoking her adrenaline. Memories rushed through her in a wild, kaleidoscopic swirl, leaving her sickened by residual panic and overcome by a helpless sense of terror.
Fully alert now, her pulse thudded and pushed as her blood flow kicked into overdrive. Her nostrils twitched as she recalled the astringent burn when an ammonia capsule had been used to rouse her from a dead faint.
Vanessa Colby, swooning.
She groaned all over again, rubbing at a knot of tension centered along the back of her neck. By careful design, her defining characteristics were regal sophistication, a collected cool and calm under pressure. Sass, too. Always sass and spark. Now this? Oh, how her head throbbed.
“Miss Colby?”
A low, velvety summons, touched by an American accent, interrupted Vanessa’s inner diatribe. She snapped to attention and turned her head to address…
Wow! What a magnificent looking man…truly. The thought rolled in, a cresting wave. So did a starburst of attraction that neatly cleared several layers of mental cobwebs.
“My name is Jackson Merritt. I’m an associate of your brother, and I was fortunate enough to intervene. Are you all right?”
Are you all right? That very same voice had asked her that very same question just seconds before she passed out.
Vanessa’s breath caught as she experienced the phantom sensation of being lifted into his strong, capable arms. In the here-and-now, she blushed, her senses way off kilter, her skin overly warm. Suddenly, she was grateful to be reclining, stretched upon the overstuffed cushions of a comfortable couch. Jackson Merritt seemed unperturbed by her gaping, but Vanessa couldn’t help herself. She attempted to rise, but he pressed her shoulders gently backward. Vanessa couldn’t muster much of a will to fight.
“Miss Colby, please be still. You need to rest.”
Precious child, be still.
For some reason, the moment of God-speak she recalled from earlier, when she had been praying for her very life, played through Vanessa’s mind. Once more, she experienced a mysterious, unexpected connection to her benefactor.
So, this was the man who had smartly and thoroughly disposed of the threat against her. Jackson Merritt. The man was captivating—tall, with short brown hair and dark eyes. The fine weave of a gray, three-piece suit caught her eye. As a fashion consultant, Vanessa admired the neat, polished image he projected—right down to the playful pop of color that came from a red pocket square and matching tie. In a random way, she wondered if the accessories were worn in homage to the upcoming Christmas holiday.
Vanessa felt her eyes go wide. Christmas. The countess. The merchandise. What had happened to…
Although the world spun when she lifted to her elbows once again, this time Vanessa forced herself all the way to a sitting position. “I need to talk to Dawn”—she expelled a shaky breath—“I mean, the Countess of Willembaech. The goon who accosted me was after her jewelry and the gown she plans to wear for tomorrow’s charity gala at Her Majesty’s Royal Theater. The jewelry alone cost over twenty-five-thousand pounds. I have to see her. I have to apologize. I have to—”
“You have to rest.” Jackson was firm. “There’s nothing to worry about. The countess’s valuables are all set, and she’s got them. The thieves are in custody, so all that’s needed now is your testimony. Do you feel up to discussing what happened?”
Vanessa keyed on Jackson once more, loving the timbre of his voice, the accent. It was smooth and rich like chocolate done warm. Still, she puzzled. Who exactly was this gentleman? Before she could respond, a security detail from the store, along with a pair of uniformed policemen moved forward, seeming ready to take her statement.
“I…I suppose I can. First, may I please have a cup of tea?”
Jackson moved to fulfill the request, which quickened Vanessa’s pulse. A response to being cared for by him. And, he moved with a grace and agility that captured her imagination. Standing at the beverage service counter, he looked over his shoulder. Dark brown eyes—nearly coal—struck tingling and awareness into her spirit.
“Do you take your tea plain?”
“Yes, please.”
Moments later her fingertips curved around a ceramic mug featuring the iconic scrawl of the Harrods logo. Blessed warmth moved through her hands and up her arms. Jackson sat next to her and propped his elbows on his knees. Leaning forward, he looked into her eyes while she tried to organize her thoughts into words that would explain what had taken place.
“The Countess of Willembaech rang my mobile this morning,” Vanessa began, orange and spice scent tickling her nose on curves of steam from her cup. “She was desperate for a shopping consult. She’s a regular of The Penthouse, not to mention a wonderful client whom I adore, so I was happy to oblige. My regard for her is the only reason I carried the purchases to her car personally rather than assigning the task to a courier. Dawn was running late, and I wanted to be sure she was settled properly.” Vanessa’s lips trembled. “I also wanted to wish her a happy Christmas before she left.”
“So she was bringing the car around?”
Vanessa nodded at Jackson’s prompt. His presence made it easier to avoid the way the gathered officials scribbled and tapped notes into electronic devices, visibly hanging on her every word. “Yes. I had no idea we were being watched.” Vanessa’s words wavered. “The man who accosted me had been prowling through the store; he said he had been watching me with my royal clients. How a man like that could have gotten anywhere near The Penthouse is beyond comprehension.” Vanessa shuddered. “I’m sure he wanted nothing to do with me.”
“This is horrible—and I’ll certainly explore the incident to its fullest.” A representative of department store security stepped forward, stuffing a notepad and pen into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “The problem is, until someone actually presents a threat, they’re free to go where they wish within the store.”
“So you took the countess’s purchases to the front entrance.” Jackson spoke up. “You walked outside, and that’s when he grabbed you?”
Peter released a low, mild curse. He scowled, too, although he rested a stabilizing hand against Vanessa’s shoulder. She nodded and gladly took hold of his fingertips to absorb a bit of comfort. “I walked outside, scanned the line of cars in front of the store, and before I knew it, I was shoved forward and thrown against a parked, running car. He told me to dump the merchandise inside.”
“Did he threaten you in any other way?”
The police officer’s question prompted a chill of goose flesh to dance against her arms. “Yes, but I think he wanted to intimidate me more than anything else. I have no doubt his goal was the merchandise.” She peered at Jackson. “That’s when Mr. Merritt here made his valiant debut. I’m more grateful than I can ever say.”
A spot of ruddy color came to life against his cheeks. He ducked his head and shrugged. Charmed and fascinated, Vanessa watched him as the policeman shifted his emphasis to Jackson and asked, “What was it that tipped you off, sir?”
“I happened by just as the thief spoke somewhat loudly. I heard him tell her to toss the bags, and I could tell his tone was threatening. It only took a second or two to realize Miss Colby was in trouble, so I stepped in.”
“Thank God,” Peter interjected.
Vanessa nodded. “And Mr. Merritt is being far too modest about the fact that he possesses faultless instincts and observational skills.”
“He
’s also too modest to explain that he took the man out with a double blow to the shoulders that left our would-be-thief flat and unconscious. I didn’t realize until today that he’s black belt trained.”
Vanessa’s head snapped around following Peter’s added details. Her brother nodded in answer to her unspoken surprise. “He’s ace, and heaven knows I’ll be minding my step around him in the future.”
Jackson rolled his eyes. “C’mon. Enough. I was in the right place to be of assistance; that’s all.”
His quiet humility enveloped her, but so did an increasing sense of curiosity. Black belt trained? Wow.
“I’m so sorry to seem rude when I most certainly owe you an enormous debt of gratitude, but, who are you exactly?”
Peter’s rolling rumble of laughter filled the air. “Jackson is the Chief Operating Officer of Colby Intellilink, North America.” Peter pulled a small chair forward and positioned it next to Vanessa. “He runs the ship in the States, and I get all the credit, so matters work out quite nicely in that regard.” The two men laughed and bumped fists. “Jackson is a mastermind of all things info-tech. I couldn’t manage abroad without him.”
Sheepish, Vanessa rubbed her temples. She had completely forgotten about this part of Peter’s trip home from America. “Sorry. That’s right; you told me the head of American operations would be accompanying you home for the holidays. I’m afraid I’m way too distracted.”
“Completely understandable.”
Jackson’s assurance eased her nerves. Vanessa folded her arms tight against her midsection. Her purple wool skirt was askew. Her white silk shirt was un-tucked and sloppily aligned. Brows furrowed, she also realized she had no idea what had become of her shawl…the cashmere piece was one of her favorites.
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