Deadly Christmas Secrets

by Shirlee McCoy

  He stood clutching a white paper bag and a cup holder filled with coffee cups.

  She didn’t have time to explain.

  She needed the truth, and if that meant going to York to get it, that was what she was going to do.

  ELEVEN

  She needed space. Logan understood that. He also understood that Harper was in danger. The space she craved could very well get her killed.

  He followed her through the hospital hallway, keeping some distance between them as she ran into the lobby. People were noticing her. Why wouldn’t they? She was beautiful, her hair spilling around her head in thick, wild curls, her eyes wide and haunted. She had a delicate look that belied her tough nature, but even the toughest people could break if they were pushed hard enough.

  He thought maybe she had, so he didn’t call out to her, didn’t tell her to stop. He hoped the need for self-preservation would kick in before she walked outside, but it didn’t seem as if that was going to happen.

  She reached the door, and he stopped her, snagging the back of her coat and pulling her up short.

  “That wouldn’t be safe,” he said, and she rounded on him, all the fury and frustration she was feeling reflected in the depths of her eyes.

  “I really don’t care,” she countered, yanking her coat from his grasp and turning to the door again.

  “Will you care if you die before you reconnect with your niece?”

  She was halfway out the door when he said it, and she hesitated there, the cold November air wafting in, carrying a hint of moisture with it.

  “She’s someone else’s daughter, too, Logan. Not just my niece and Lydia and Gabe’s daughter. If what that man said is true—”

  “We don’t know if it is or isn’t, and we won’t know until the FBI verifies the story. For right now, let’s just take things a step at a time.”

  “What steps?” she asked, finally stepping back inside and letting the door close. “What steps can ever lead us to a good reconciliation with this? Everyone is going to lose. You know that, right? If the couple truly believed they were adopting Amelia from her dying mother, if they’ve raised her for four years, loved her for four years—”

  “You’re borrowing trouble,” he said, cutting her off before she could go any further.

  “I know. I do. But...I just never expected this. Even when I got that package, when I saw the blanket, even then I didn’t think anything like this could be true. I just thought someone was taunting me, trying to hurt me for some reason.”

  “The reality is worse, Harper. Someone knew what happened to Amelia and used that knowledge to bring you out of hiding.”

  “I wasn’t hiding. Not really.” She brushed a few strands of hair from her cheek, her hand shaking.

  “No?” He touched her lower back, moving her the way they’d come, through the lobby and into the emergency room waiting area. It seemed safer there, but he knew it wasn’t. The deeper he got into this case, the more he thought everything that was happening was about revenge or anger or hatred. It was all too personal to be anything else. All too plotted out and connected. The package sent to Gabe, the one sent to Harper, the little hints at what could be. Whoever was responsible had a message to deliver, and Logan didn’t think it had anything to do with Amelia.

  “If I’d wanted to hide,” Harper said as they moved through the emergency department, “I’d have moved a lot farther away. I’d have closed out that PO box, and I’d have changed my name. All I really wanted to do was...” She didn’t continue, just rubbed the back of her neck and sighed.

  “What did you want to do?” he prodded, because he wanted to know.

  “The truth?” She stopped short, looked straight into his eyes. “I wanted to find out what life was really about, because it sure wasn’t about the job I’d worked so hard for or the people I saw for a couple of minutes every day. It wasn’t about money or stability or having a lot of nice things. It wasn’t about any of the stuff I’d thought it was about when I was a kid. Seeing my sister’s body lying in a morgue? It made me realize I’d spent a lot of years chasing after the wrong things. I left because I wanted to figure out what I should be chasing after.”

  “Did you?”

  She smiled at the question, her eyes tinged with sadness. “I guess I did. I realized that life wasn’t about chasing anything. It was about living. I wish I could have told my sister that.” She started walking again, her legs long and lean, her shoulders narrow. She looked more like an athlete than an artist, but he’d seen her work. He knew how much vision she had for it, the swirled paint and simple designs that seemed to reflect every color nature had to offer.

  “If you had, would she have listened?” They’d reached the room where Chance and Detective Willard waited, but he didn’t open the door, and she didn’t, either.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “Lydia was a little larger than life. She wanted the best and the brightest and the most beautiful things. Usually she got them.”

  “And you?”

  “Me, what?”

  “What did you want?”

  “Just what most people want—happiness, contentment, maybe a little peace.”

  “You didn’t have those things?”

  “Not when I was a kid. When I was an adult...I guess I didn’t appreciate them. Let’s go make our plan, because if we don’t do it soon, I really am going to take off on my own, go to York, track down the pastor and his wife and Amelia and figure all this out myself.” She opened the door and walked into the room. He followed, her words ringing in his ears.

  Happiness.

  Contentment.

  Peace.

  He knew what it was like to want those things. He’d longed for them during the years he’d been raising his brothers.

  Finishing their raising.

  That was how they always put it.

  Logan felt different. Or he had at the time. He’d felt as if he was sacrificing a lot to give his brothers what his parents would have wanted them to have.

  It had all turned out fine in the end, but there’d been times when he’d wanted to throw in the towel and call it quits. Even more times when he’d longed for the things Harper had mentioned.

  Simple things, but important ones.

  Maybe she could pursue them once she found her niece, or maybe she’d figure out that she’d had them all along.

  It seemed to him that someone living the way she had must know a thing or two about a simple existence, about appreciation for what she had, about contentment and peace.

  He stepped into the room behind her and was surprised to see Malone standing near the window.

  “I thought you were at the safe house,” he said, and Malone scowled.

  “Was. Then Stella showed up and told me she’d take animal-sitting duties.”

  “Stella doesn’t call the shots,” Chance said, a slight edge to his voice. “I do.”

  “You want me to leave, tell me to. Otherwise, how about we just focus on what needs doing?”

  “Meaning a trip to Pennsylvania?” Detective Willard broke in. “Because if that’s what you’re planning, it’s out of the question.”

  “Since when is traveling across state lines out of the question?” Chance asked conversationally. Which meant he was royally irritated by the detective’s pronouncement.

  “This isn’t about a simple trip, Mr. Miller. This is about interfering with an ongoing investigation.”

  “It’s about finding my niece, and I’m not willing to sit around and wait for other people to do that,” Harper spoke up, her tone firm.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to.”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to lock me in jail if that’s what you want me to do, because there’s no way it’s going to happen otherwise,�
�� Harper retorted, and Logan knew she meant every word.

  She was going to find the pastor and his wife.

  One way or another.

  “I’m not trying to keep you from your niece,” Detective Willard shot back. “I’m trying to keep you alive. I couldn’t do that for your sister, but I can do it for you. So you’re staying put until the pastor’s story is verified. Once it is, I’ll make arrangements for you to be escorted to York.”

  “That could take weeks,” she protested, and the detective shrugged.

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve got everything cleared.” He stood and walked to the door, pausing there to shoot Chance a hard look. “I suggest your organization stay out of this one, Mr. Miller. I know you mean well, but we’ve got protocol to follow, and getting in the way of that could cause problems.”

  “Understood,” Chance responded, his voice tight, his expression tighter. He didn’t like being told what to do, but he wouldn’t buck the system. He and his brother Jackson had spent too much time building HEART. The team had put too much energy into preserving its reputation. That was what got them into places others couldn’t go. It was what allowed them to move across borders. Without that, they were nothing.

  With it, they were trapped, forced to work closely with local police, follow their orders and respect their boundaries.

  Right at that moment, Logan wasn’t too happy about that.

  “Good,” Detective Willard said, seeming satisfied. No one else in the room was. Logan watched as the detective assured Harper that he’d keep her updated, said his goodbyes and left.

  “Well,” Malone drawled, snagging the white bag that had been abandoned on the table. “That went well.”

  “It went just fine, and the food is for Harper.” Chance grabbed the bag and handed it to Harper.

  “Fine?” She opened the bag, then closed it again. “If fine means that we’re all going to sit around twiddling our thumbs, then fine isn’t acceptable to me.”

  “I don’t believe in twiddling my thumbs.” Chance pulled out his cell phone and texted someone.

  “Then, what do you believe in?” she asked.

  “God. Family. Friends.” He paused, glanced at his phone and grinned. “And finding my way around protocol. Let’s head over to the safe house. We’ll come up with a plan there.”

  * * *

  Harper had no desire to go to the safe house, and she didn’t care squat about working around protocol. She had absolutely nothing to lose, and she was more than ready to head to York now, not an hour or two or ten from now.

  Somehow she ended up in Chance’s car anyway. Found herself squeezed between Logan and Malone. Again.

  No Picasso this time. No kitten. No Stella.

  Just three men, discussing ETAs and worst-case scenarios and a bunch of other things that she only barely paid attention to. She was more interested in the texts Gabe was sending her. One after another after another. Telling her that he’d been contacted by the FBI. Asking if she’d heard the news. Asking if she thought it could be true. Asking where she was and when she planned to return to his place.

  Never.

  She almost sent that, but she thought better of it.

  She typed I don’t know instead, pressed Send and waited for the next text to come through.

  Seconds later, it did:

  Where are you heading?

  To—

  Logan snatched the phone from her hands. Surprising, because she’d had no idea he was paying any attention to what she was doing.

  “Not a good idea to answer that, Harper,” he said.

  “You could have just said so instead of taking my phone.” She held out her hand, but he didn’t give it back.

  “Usually, people at our safe houses aren’t allowed to keep their phones. They can be tracked pretty easily that way.”

  “Going to the safe house wasn’t my idea. I don’t think I need to follow the rules for it.”

  “Actually,” Chance cut in, “you do. We use this place a few times a year, and I’d hate for it to be compromised.”

  “I won’t tell Gabe where I’m going.”

  “You don’t have to say a word. The phone will say everything for you.” Logan switched it off and held it out to her. “Keep it off until we’re on the road again.”

  “I don’t like being ordered around, Logan.”

  “I don’t like being shot at, but it happens all the time.”

  That made her laugh, the sound bubbling up and spilling out before she knew it was happening.

  “There,” he said, smiling through the darkness. “That’s better.”

  “What?”

  “You were wound up so tight, I thought you’d bust. Now you’re looking more relaxed.”

  “Maybe so, but I still don’t like being ordered around.” She shoved the cell phone into her pocket and eyed the dark road that stretched out in front of them. “And I’m not really happy about going to the safe house.”

  “I know.”

  “So how about we turn around and go back to the city? I can rent a car, head out on my own. That’ll keep all of you from getting into trouble and keep me from going insane.”

  “This won’t take long, and it’ll be worth it,” Logan assured her.

  “How is waiting going to be worth it?”

  “I have a friend who works for the FBI. He’s clearing things for us,” Chance responded. “Give him a little more time, and you’ll have a private invitation to cross the Penn state border and head to the pastor’s house.”

  “You know where that is?” she asked, her heart jumping, her pulse racing.

  “Not yet, but I will, and once I do, we’ll be clear to go.” He pulled off the main road, heading down a narrow dirt path that led through thick trees. Branches scraped the top of the car and scratched at the windows, but Chance didn’t seem bothered by it.

  They bounced up a hill, down it, the woods opening into a wide clearing, an old farmhouse sitting smack-dab in the middle of it. A lone light shone from one window. Other than that, the place looked empty and not all that inviting.

  “Finally,” Malone muttered as they pulled up in front. “I’m taking a nap. You hash everything out. Wake me up when we’re ready to actually do something.”

  He was out of the car and in the house before Harper could unhook her seat belt.

  “Sleeping is probably a good idea. You look exhausted,” Logan said as he opened his door.

  “That’s like the pot calling the kettle black.”

  He chuckled, getting out of the car and offering her a hand. She took it, the warmth of his palm sending a shiver of longing through her—longing for all those things she’d wanted an eon ago, all the things she’d been so certain she’d have with Daniel.

  She moved away, wiping her palm against her jeans as if somehow that could wipe away the warmth lingering where his hand had been.

  He noticed, his dark gaze dropping to her thigh, a half smile curving his lips. “You can ignore it for a while longer,” he whispered in her ear as they made their way up rickety porch stairs. “But then you’re going to have to face it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do,” he said, urging her into the house.

  The place was nicer on the inside than it was on the outside, the walls painted a subtle buttery yellow, the wainscoting bright white. There were no pictures on the walls, no rugs on the floors. Just an old-world charm that made her think of simpler times.

  “It’s nice,” she said to no one in particular.

  “Nice enough for a few hours of rest and regrouping, that’s for sure.” Chance closed the door, locked and bolted it. There were security cameras hanging from the corners of the ceiling, and Harper imagined the
re were more outside.

  She ignored them the same way she was avoiding Logan.

  “My friend probably won’t hear from his supervisor until the office opens. How about you get some rest while we’re waiting?” Chance suggested. “There’s a bedroom upstairs. Several of them, actually, but the one right at the top of the stairs is decked out for a guest—clothes in the drawers, and some should fit you. Soap and shampoo in the bathroom. You need anything else, let me know and I’ll make sure you get it.”

  She would have refused, but she could feel the weight of Logan’s stare, could still hear his words echoing through her head.

  He’d been right, of course. She’d known exactly what he was talking about, and she’d known he was right. At some point, she was going to have to acknowledge what she felt every time she was near him. At some point, she was going to think about what that meant, what it could mean, if both of them wanted it to.

  At some point, she’d have to do that, but right now she was going to use Chance’s offer as the perfect excuse to do what she wanted—run.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, not daring to look at Logan. “I think I’ll do that.”

  Then she took off up the stairs, ran into the first room she saw, closed the door and locked it.

  TWELVE

  Four hours, five minutes and fifteen seconds.

  Sixteen.

  Seventeen.

  Harper watched the hands of an old clock on the wall and counted the amount of time that she’d been lying on a bed, waiting for...something.

  She wasn’t even sure what she was waiting for.

  Not for someone to knock on the door and ask if she was okay.

  That had happened about five minutes after she’d locked herself in. It had been Logan, of course. He’d knocked twice after that. Both times she’d told him she was fine. Both times he’d walked away. Left her to deal with things the way she wanted.

  Which was good. Great, even.

  She hadn’t wanted to talk to Logan or Chance or Malone. She hadn’t wanted to listen to Stella imply that hiding in her room was the easy thing to do.