Christmas is Killing (A Croft & Croft Romance Adventure Book 3)

by Morgan Kelley

  With that, he raced out of the room to spend Christmas with the Crofts.

  * * *

  When security called up to their condominium, it was Greyson who opted to go down to get Randall Mason. He wasn’t allowing Emma out of his sight for a second, and that meant even in the building alone.

  With the potential of a cop being on the take, he knew it could mean another shot at her to teach him a lesson. He was more than happy to give her today to relax, but once the holiday was over, she was getting a guard dog, twenty four seven. When it couldn’t be him, it would be his partner.

  That meant even when this case was over. Curtis was going to be a detective in training, whether they liked it or not.

  Was it a bit extreme? Yeah, but it didn't matter. His wife’s life was his top priority.

  As the elevator opened, there stood a smiling man who probably looked the happiest that he’d ever seen. It amused Croft that he was dressed like Hugh Hefner in the smoking jacket and silk pajamas.

  “You looking for some bunnies, Hef?” he asked, laughing and waving at the men in security.

  “She said to wear my pajamas and I am. What do you sleep in?” he asked, in a really good mood, as they rode up in the elevator.

  “I sleep with Emma. What do you think I wear to bed?”

  The man started laughing. “Good point! Thank you for inviting me to your home,” he said cheerfully.

  “You’re more than welcome.”

  “Why?” he asked suddenly. “Is it because we made an agreement?”

  He glanced over at him. “Let’s have a little conversation from business man to head Fed. My wife has the biggest heart on the face of the earth. She’s gentle, kind, and sweet. Emma wanted you here today, and I can’t say no to her. Now, that being said, if you hurt her, betray her, or endanger a single red hair on that head of hers, they will be pulling you away from the vultures in the desert. Do I paint a vivid enough picture on this fine Christian holiday?”

  The man grinned. “I would have said the same thing to anyone who was near my wife too.”

  “Then, we have a lot in common. As long as you’re here to celebrate the holiday, eat breakfast, and make her happy by watching sappy Christmas movies, you’re welcome in our home. Leave any ulterior motives at the door, or it’ll be the last time you ever see her again.”

  “I have no intention of harming her. In fact, I feel very protective of her myself.”

  Yeah, that didn't make him entirely happy.

  “Stop worrying. I’m sure you could take me,” Mason teased.

  Oh, he would do more than that if need be. Stepping out, they walked to the door. “Are you ready for the food fest?” he asked, opening the door.

  He absolutely was.

  Breakfast was fun.

  Emma made all the things that she knew her husband would love, but would also suspect she’d been stuffing with tofu. What he didn't realize was that she stopped trying to feed him it weeks ago, only because she didn't want to stress him out any more than he already was in life. It was fun to watch him wonder which muffins had sticks and twigs in them, and which didn't.

  Granted, he was still getting flax and shredded veggies in things, but he wasn’t any the wiser, so why tell him?

  “Emma, those where the best muffins that I’ve ever had,” Randall Mason said, handing her the box he’d brought with him. “I believe you requested these.”

  “I’m glad you liked them,” she replied, giving him a kiss on the cheek and taking the box.

  “They were healthy,” muttered Croft. “I can feel the heart happy mojo going on in my body,” he said grinning.

  “Babe, that’s the cholesterol from the bacon. You’re getting them confused again,” she teased back.

  Emma handed her husband his box. “Those are the things that shall never be mentioned out loud,” she added, laughing. “Want me to get the humidor for you?”

  Croft rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Do I get to smoke one in here?” he asked.

  Returning from the tree, she placed the humidor in his lap and kissed him on the lips. “If we open the patio doors so some of the smoke gets sucked out, yes.”

  “I can’t wait for my man den to be built.”

  Briggs was hopeful. “Can I smoke one too?”

  Both men stared at him. It was Greyson who finally teased him first. “You don’t just smoke one. You have to earn it. You know, serve in a war, get shot, or get the babe.”

  Randall added, “Or make a few billion.”

  Emma shook her head. “I see a hazing in your future, Curtis. You better put up your guard.”

  Croft patted his lap and Emma eagerly complied.

  She loved cuddling against him. Seeing the look of dejection on Curtis’s face, she whispered in her husband’s ear.

  “Promise?” he asked, enjoying the offering that she just put on the table. When she nodded, he grinned. “You can have one.”

  “Really?” The man bounced excitedly. How often was he going to get to smoke a Cuban cigar in his life?

  “Emma bargained for you, but because all negotiations are top secret, we can’t discuss it further.” He knew that wasn’t ever going to happen.

  Randall was curious himself. “What did you offer, Emma?”

  Croft started wiggling his eyebrows. “She promised to be my cigar wench for the rest of my life.”

  Emma giggled. If she believed her husband was being derogatory towards women, she would have kicked his ass for using the term, but Emma knew he was teasing her.

  “I need to get me one of those,” Randall said.

  Emma carefully placed the Cuban cigars in the humidor, and slipped off her husband’s lap. First, she went to their guest and offered him one. He chose, and she clipped it and handed it to him. When she flicked the zippo open, she could feel her husband’s eyes on her.

  It was making it hard to concentrate.

  Next, she moved to Curtis and offered him one too. She handled his the same way and helped him light it.

  When she turned, her breath caught in her chest as her husband was watching her with his eyes wild with need.

  “My turn, Emma.”

  She went to him and held out the humidor. When he picked one, he stared up at her and the message was clear.

  Emma clipped his cigar and blushed as she lit it. The man just had this ability to heat her body with just his eyes. When she finished, she placed the humidor safely aside and went to open the patio doors.

  Croft waited for her to return. “Have a seat, honey,” he said, alluding to her taking her place in his lap again.

  “Who knew you’d come to Vegas and get your own cigar girl?” Briggs laughed. “Now she needs one of those outfits like in the casinos.”

  Croft pointed at him. “Stop picturing my woman in that or I’m taking the Cuban back.”

  “Yeah, I’ll get right on that. It’s my brain and my fantasy.”

  As he prepared to make a comment, his phone started ringing. “Hell! The damn FBI even needs my attention on Christmas too.”

  Emma scooted up out of his lap as he crossed to his phone. “I’ll be back,” he said, needing to take the call.

  Curling back into his spot, she snapped her fingers to have the cat join her. “Curtis, I need to talk to Mr. Mason alone, can you go get some coffee?” she inquired sweetly.

  “Sure, Emma.” He took his cigar and headed for the kitchen. Emma watched him get coffee, and then head out to the balcony to give her privacy.

  “What’s on your mind, Emma?” he asked, puffing away.

  “I need to talk to you about something,” she said, staring at him. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  He shook his head. “Is that why you invited me here?”

  Emma looked confused. “No, I invited you here to spend Christmas with us, but since my husband is busy, I figured I’d do this while we have privacy.”

  He believed her. “Continue.”

  “Are you doing anything illegal tha
t we should know about before we tighten our ties to you?”

  He began laughing. “Here, I thought you’d beat around the bush.”

  “Do you see the man I’m married to? We don’t beat the bush, we run it over here,” she retorted, laughing.

  “Yes, I get that.”

  “So, answer the question and stop stalling.”

  Mason shrugged. “I don’t have my hands in anything too illegal. I may hedge someone out of a business contract, or play dirty, but rarely do I break the Ten Commandments.”

  “I need to know.”

  He leaned forward, wondering why. “Care to share what’s bothering you?”

  “I need to keep him safe. I believe whoever is screwing with him wants to make him bleed. I need him to be safe. If he finds the person who abducted me, I don’t want him to do something that we’ll regret.”

  Randall understood what she meant. There was no doubt Greyson Croft would break the law for Emma.

  “Can you help me protect him?” she asked, lowering her voice. “Please? I’m going out on a limb to say that I trust you, and we’re letting you be part of our family. Help me keep him out of danger. ”

  He believed her sincerity and was enamored by the offer of being in their family. Mason hadn’t judged her wrong. Everything he’d placed into motion was going exactly as planned.

  “Deal.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Christmas

  Mid-Morning

  Vice was working on Christmas. Why? Because what other day of the year did people think the cops weren’t watching them? This was their biggest prostitution and drug bust day of the year. Now they just needed to figure out their game plans and go from there.

  As they sat in their squad room, they began their morning meeting. It would have been perplexing to watch, if you weren’t a cop. There were men dressed like bums, smelling just as bad and women dressed like twenty dollar dates.

  Ahhhh, the world of the cop was entertaining.

  “We have some news. The dealer we popped the other night is willing to sing. The only thing is that it’s not related to drugs.”

  Everyone groaned.

  The captain continued, “He said he knows where there’s a body dump location.”

  That caught Brynn’s attention, since this was her area. “Is he sure?” she inquired.

  “Well, I’m glad you asked, Detective. Pick a partner and head on out with him to go play ‘Christmas morning corpse hunt’.”

  Everyone looked away from her, praying not to be on death duty. Most of the men in there hated homicide. They’d rather smell vagrants than watch maggots make love to a victim.

  Oh, she already knew who she was picking. “I think I need Maguire’s help on this one. He told me the other day he’s an expert on stiffs.”

  The man groaned. He couldn’t believe how he was going to be spending his day. “Shit.”

  Everyone, including the captain laughed. “He’s all yours.”

  “Be still my beating heart,” she teased, trying to find humor after having so many aches in it. “Don’t worry, Maguire. Chances are that it’s not a body. You know how snagged criminals will talk to just buy time from lock up.”

  He stood. “Great. We get a date to the dead body prom. I’m so damn lucky.”

  “Stop your bitchin’ and I’ll let you drive.”

  “Terrific. Merry Christmas to me.”

  Once at the general location, both detectives scanned the area. It didn't look like a dumping site. It looked like an empty lot that the neighbors tried to make look less barren.

  The only thing that appeared to be planted there were weird grasses.

  “This is a huge waste of time. We could be out catching pimps and hookers, and here I am playing in the dirt with a death catcher.”

  “You’re a charmer, Maguire. I’m surprised no one’s snatched you up and made you king of the castle.” Brynn began looking at the ground.

  Then, she spotted it. “See that white patch?” she offered, pointing over to the left.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s a fungus. You find it over bodies when they’re buried in shallow graves.”

  He didn't like the sound of that. “If it’s decaying up here, what the hell is it going to look like down there?” he asked, pointing to the ground.

  “It will be about ten times worse. I hope you didn't have breakfast today.”

  “Oh shit, that bad?” Now, he was worried.

  Brynn laughed, as she called in the CSI’s to dig up her new case. “It looks like I’m officially back working homicide.”

  “Can I go back to vice now?”

  She laughed. “No, so stop being a big wuss.”

  * * *

  They both slept in because there wasn’t much shuteye going on at night. Rolling over in her bed, Paris watched her sleep. Her hand was tucked under her chin, and her lips were swollen from a night of debauchery.

  Part of him wanted to smile, the rest of him wanted to weep. They’d had their fun, and now it was going to cost them.

  It was time to pay the piper.

  “You’re staring at me,” she mumbled, sliding closer to him to cuddle. Her body was sore, and she was exhausted. Yet, Tessa wanted to be near him.

  It was worth risking more sex.

  “Sorry.”

  Already, she could hear the tone in his voice. Gone was the man on fire, and in his place was the regret. It hurt and wounded her heart.

  “Want me to ask the question, Paris?” she inquired as she opened her eyes and stared right into his. “Was this a one-time Christmas fling?”

  He didn't have to answer.

  Tessa was a smart woman, except when it came to her heart. She got the hint and slid back from his body to give him space.

  “You know we can’t date or be a couple, Tess. It’s against the FBI rules.”

  She didn't speak. He just threw the rulebook at her to get out of dealing with the truth of what they had just done.

  When she couldn’t believe that it could possibly get worse, he then dropped the bomb.

  “It was a mistake.”

  Those words stung like nothing else in her life. Didn't he get that? “You should go, since I’m a mistake,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “I won’t keep you any longer.”

  His heart thudded in his chest at her response. “Tessa.”

  “No, you should really go. I think you got all that you can out of me. I was a convenient one night stand, but now it’s daytime.”

  Her words shocked him. “I didn't mean…”

  “When I get out of the shower, be gone. I don’t want to deal with this right now.”

  Paris watched her climb out of her bed and cross the room to bathroom. When she turned to look at him, his heart ached at what he had just done.

  “Merry Christmas, Paris. Now, get the hell out.”

  With that, the door slammed and he stared at it. Yeah, this was exactly what he meant by mistake. When you mixed sex with work, then you got a shitload of mess to clean up.

  Hopping out of bed, he pulled on his pants and walked to the door. He could hear her crying, and he didn't know what to do.

  “Tess, I’m…”

  “Go away, Paris. You said all you needed to say. I get it. I’m a mistake. You aren’t the first person to believe that in my life. I just didn't think that I would hear it from you, and definitely not on Christmas Day. This is one to remember.”

  What he wanted to do was break down the door and explain that he didn't mean it the way it sounded.

  He could never hurt her.

  What she had given him was a gift, and what he’d given back was misconstrued words, filled with pain.

  Shit! Why was he so awkward when it came to these things?

  He rested his forehead on the door and made his choice. He’d give her some time to cool down and come back later. They needed to fix this before work tomorrow.

  The last thing that they needed was to try to play FBI
with this vicious brew bubbling between them.

  * * *

  As the CSI’s did their thing, Brynn stood not far from the open gravesite. It definitely wasn’t deep and that generally meant that whoever dug it, was in a hurry.

  Her vice partner stood there horrified at that scene that was unfolding. This was one of the reasons that he didn't ever want to be a homicide detective. They got the glory for a reason. WHO in their right mind wanted to play around in the internal organs of a two-week-old dead body?

  There was only one answer.

  It was someone who was insane.

  Brynn glanced over. “Are you going to puke?” She didn't tell him she was sick herself. This was payback for all the chauvinistic comments that he had made the last couple of days.

  “Yeah, I think I may. You?”

  “Nope.”

  Doctor Steele Bentley glanced up and lifted a brow in curiosity. When she winked at him, he started to laugh. Okay, he’d play along.

  “How about you tell me what we have, Doctor?” she inquired.

  “You have a male with his head beat in, Detective. Other than that, I can’t give you much more right now.”

  Brynn needed something. “TOD?”

  He thought about it. “Nope, but I’m sorry.”

  “If Emma were here, you’d be spilling the beans. What’s she got that I don’t, Doc? Tell me the truth. Does she bribe you?” Brynn teased.

  “Actually, Detective Croft and I understand each other. I have an excellent working rapport with her. Plus, she brings us donuts and coffee on Mondays. You should take a page from her book. The ME and the lab techs that you work with like carbohydrates,” he paused, rooting around in the shallow grave.

  “Did you find something?” she asked.

  “Yes, and I’ve been searching for it too,” he answered, picking up something fleshy. “I found his missing penis.”

  That was all it took. Maguire rushed to the grass and began tossing his cookies.

  Brynn followed him over. “Are you okay?”

  “No! This is the worst Christmas ever. I’d rather be trying to pick up a hooker with an STD.”