Red Hot Santa

by Cherry Adair

  And so three days before Christmas her guests arrived. She dressed in a red-velvet Christmas dress, one with a pretty bow at the back. She’d decorated her single-story house with twinkling white lights that wrapped all around the porch and her landscaping. Inside she’d hung ribbons and bows and the occasional sprig of mistletoe, with her tree sitting in a corner of the cozy family room. She didn’t live lavishly. She would never live lavishly. But she was proud of her little home and happy to show it off.

  At least she wouldn’t be alone tonight.

  Stop it, she warned herself. It was over between her and Chance, not that there’d ever been anything between them. At least not on his part.

  “It looks great,” Abigail, her office manager, said as she arrived, her short blond hair intersected by reindeer antlers, her blue eyes shining with pleasure. “You’ve gone all out.”

  “I have, haven’t I?” Kait asked, following her gaze. They both stared at the Christmas tree. Kait loved old-fashioned lights, the bright blues and greens and reds. She loved tinsel and had tossed plenty of it on the boughs of her tree, so that the sweet-scented pine glittered like a casino.

  “That poor tree,” Abigail said, her sequined Christmas sweater sparkling as she turned back to Kait. “I’m surprised the branches haven’t broken.”

  “I spent a fortune at Wal-Mart.”

  “Well, better you than me packing it all up a few weeks from now.”

  Which made Kait smile, a smile that faded. A part of her had been hoping to show the tree to Chance.

  She threw herself into her party then, making sure there was plenty of eggnog to go around. And then, later, she had fun handing out presents, each of the gifts chosen personally. No generic gift baskets for her. She loved her employees as much as she loved the animals she helped.

  “Good Lord, who is that?” Abigail gasped.

  Kait followed her gaze, jerking upright so fast she sloshed eggnog over the rim of her glass.

  “Chance,” she gasped. Chance wearing faded blue jeans and a bright red jacket and hat—a Santa outfit. If she hadn’t been so damn mad at him she would have laughed. She turned away, myriad emotions filling her. Humiliation. Embarrassment. Anger. She wasn’t ready to face him. If she did, she might just sock him.

  He caught up to her right at the entrance to her kitchen. “Kait,” he said, catching her hand, turning her back to him.

  Every one of her employees knew something was up. Silence settled over the room.

  “Chance,” she said softly, sharply.

  “You’re mad.”

  She flicked her chin up. “Why should I be mad that you finally got around to seeing me?”

  “The First Noel” was playing in the background; wrapping paper from the presents was strewn about. He looked so damn silly standing there with a Santa hat cocked off the side of his head.

  And so damn good.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be.”

  “I told myself a hundred times to leave you alone. That what happened between us was all imagined.”

  “Yeah? That’s what I told myself, too.”

  “No, it wasn’t. You knew it was special. That’s why you’re so mad.”

  Her heart stopped in her chest, then beat so hard that adrenaline rushed through her body.

  “Oh, yeah?” she asked.

  “So I decided to test out a theory of mine.”

  “Oh? What’s that—”

  He kissed her.

  Someone gasped. It wasn’t her, though that’s exactly what happened in her mind: She gasped and then drew back and tried to push him away.

  Only she didn’t do it. That feeling had overcome her, that feeling that surfaced when they’d touched—a feeling of coming home.

  But at last sanity returned. She jerked her lips away. “Why the heck didn’t you call me?”

  “Because I didn’t want to get involved with anybody. I told myself I didn’t need the complication. Because I’d convinced myself the Agency needed me more than I need you.”

  “And does it?”

  “No, Kait. It doesn’t. I need you.”

  Her heart stopped again.

  “I don’t know what this is between us, Kait,” he said softly. “I don’t know where it will lead, but I don’t want to ever let you go again.”

  Oh, Chance.

  “Can you ever forgive me, Kait? Can you give us a second chance?”

  Could she? Dare she? He’d left her high and dry. Would he do it again?

  But as she stared into his eyes she knew the answer: In his eyes was the soul of a very special man, one she knew without a doubt she could love.

  And in truth—they needed each other.

  “Chance, I—”

  He kissed her again, and Kait realized that he was afraid of her answer. And so she kissed him back, his big body softening, and the moment their lips touched she knew she’d made the right choice.

  I love him, she found herself thinking. As bizarre and unbelievable as that might sound, she’d fallen for him.

  And the most amazing thing of all, he’d fallen for her. It was there in his eyes for all the world to see. When he drew back her employees saw it. She saw it. She had a feeling their families up in heaven saw it.

  And then he bent and whispered the words in her ear. Kait closed eyes that suddenly had tears coming out of them. This couldn’t be happening. This really, truly couldn’t be happening.

  But it was.

  She didn’t know where it would lead, but it was real. He was real. And he was here, in her arms, where she hoped he would stay forever.

  Epilogue

  “DR. KAITLYN LOGAN?”

  Kaitlyn suppressed a grin as she pretended to study the charts in front of her.

  “Are you Dr. Kaitlyn Logan?” the man repeated.

  At last she looked up, meeting the gaze of the man who stood in the doorway. “Actually, I’m not. I’m Dr. Kaitlyn Owens, so if you’re about to shoot me with meat tenderizers, I’m afraid I’m not your girl.”

  The man came into the room as Kait leaned back in her chair, her hand resting against her protruding belly.

  “You look like Dr. Kaitlyn Logan—except for the belly, of course.”

  “Yeah, well, some man knocked me up. Can you believe that?”

  He came to her side, Kait’s teasing smile turning to one of happiness as she stared up at him.

  “Lucky man,” he said.

  “No,” she answered. “Lucky woman.”

  “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

  “Because not only did I find a man willing to dress up in a Santa suit for me, but he has the most amazing job.”

  “Yeah,” Chance said, drawing her into his arms. “Making you happy.”

  “You do make me happy. Even if you do have to go off and rescue damsels in distress on a regular basis.”

  “It’s not just damsels.”

  “Was it a man this time?”

  He shook his head. “A couple.”

  “But you helped them.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  “Yes,” she said, turning sideways so she could snuggle better. “But I wish you didn’t have to.”

  “Kait—”

  “Shh,” she said, leaning back to place her fingers against his lips. “Don’t say it. I know.”

  “I’m taking fewer missions, staying closer to home—”

  “I know,” she said.

  “But you still worry.”

  “I still worry.”

  “You know why I do it.”

  “I know why you do it,” she said. Chance watched as her eyes filled with warmth, the planes and angles of her face softened by her pregnancy. “And how can I stop you from doing something that ultimately brought you to me?”

  He smiled down at her. “You’ve always understood.”

  “I do. But I miss you. Especially on days like today, when I have an ultrasound and the doctor asks me if I want to know what sex our baby is.”
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  He felt his heart quicken, felt his whole body tense as he waited to hear whether she’d found out or not.

  “Do you want to know?”

  “I’m not sure I do,” he surprised himself by saying.

  “Well, if you change your mind . . . ?”

  She slipped out of his arms.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, smiling and laughing a bit as he pulled her back. “Okay. Go ahead. Tell me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  She smiled, but it was a smile unlike the ones that had come before it. A soft smile full of tenderness and love. “We’re having a—” Her chin tipped down. She looked up at him through suddenly teasing eyes.

  “Kaitlyn—”

  But then the teasing look faded. She reached up and placed a hand against his cheek. “We’re having a girl, Chance. A beautiful baby girl. You should have seen her. She was perfect.” And then her eyes were full of tears. Her lips wobbled a bit. “So completely perfect,” she said softly.

  “Oh, Kait. I’m sorry I missed it.”

  “No,” she said, her nose sounding clogged. “Don’t be sorry. You were doing what you should be doing—helping people. Saving lives. Little Samantha will be so proud of her daddy.”

  Sam. His sister’s name.

  “Kait,” he said softly.

  “We always said—”

  “But you don’t have to do it.”

  “Yes, I do. Samantha Amanda Owens. After your mom and sister. It’s a fitting name for a little girl whose father—”

  He kissed her. She kissed him back immediately, her taste just as sweet and wonderful to him as it’d been the first time their mouths had touched.

  God, he loved this woman.

  He’d been so damn lucky to find her. She was his gift from heaven. His miracle. Sometimes he even thought she was his reward for the horror he went through all those years ago. She and the baby were his family, his only family, and he vowed to protect them like he’d vowed to keep other innocents from harm.

  She pulled back, murmuring, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” he said softly. And then his eyes caught on the computer monitor on her desk. Red dots were sprinkled across a map of Northern California.

  “How are they doing?” he asked.

  She half-turned, peering down at the screen. “So far not a single one of them has strayed from their migratory path.”

  “In other words, it’s working.”

  She looked up at him. “Did you ever doubt it would?”

  “Never,” he said, about to kiss her again when something stopped him. “What is it?” he asked.

  She glanced back at the screen. “I just worry someone will take what I’ve done—”

  “—And turn it into something bad,” he finished for her. “I know. And it’s a possibility. I won’t lie. But that’s what I’m here for, Kait. That’s what all of us are here for. To make the world a better place. You’re doing it with your birds, and I’m doing it with my military background. Together the two of us are a hell of a team.”

  She grabbed his hand. “Together the three of us are a hell of a team.”

  And when she reached up on tiptoe and placed a kiss against his jaw, Chance felt tears come to his eyes. He’d never thought to have this. Never thought to have the love of a woman like Kaitlyn. He loved her with a fierceness that took his breath away. And now that she was pregnant, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to slow down a bit, maybe take even fewer missions.

  They kissed. Chance pulled her closer. Yeah, he found himself thinking. It wouldn’t hurt at all to stay closer to home.

  “I love you,” she murmured again.

  “I love you, too.” And just in case she doubted his words, he tried to show her just how much without using words. And then he showed her again later than night, and the next day, too. Chance vowed to prove his words every day of his life.

  And he did.

  KILLER CHRISTMAS

  Kelsey Roberts

  Prologue

  “OH SHIT! SANTA’S DEAD.”

  Although Meghan Beckham’s heart jumped into her throat, she forced herself not to look up from the semi-cluttered desk in spite of her assistant’s panicked tone. Terri Smith—as she’d learned in the past six months—panicked easily and often. Calm was Meghan’s watchword. Since her brother’s death it seemed everyone was either counting on her to exhibit the serenity of a Madonna or shatter into a million pieces. No middle ground was acceptable. She took a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  “Not possible,” Meghan said, affixing her signature to a memo that would authorize her gaggle of attorneys to begin buying the buildings on either side of the store.

  “Santa died yesterday.” Meghan paused to shove her reading glasses back into place. “We sent flowers to his widow, and you were right here when I called his wife and offered the whole family our condolences and anything they wanted from the store, remember?” The man had worked for Beckham’s for two seasons, and his death had shaken her, reminding her of her own long-denied need to mourn her brother’s death. But there hadn’t been time. There still wasn’t time. Everyone was counting on her. “So, yes, Terri, I’m aware he d—”

  “No, ma’am!” Terri cut in.

  That got her attention. Meghan peered up to find the girl she’d inherited from her brother looking even more pale and flustered than usual. It wasn’t that Terri was unattractive, though a trim and a few highlights would do wonders for her hair. New clothes were easy. Beckham’s was the landmark store in Palm Beach—had been since 1924.

  “He’s dead, ma—Miss Beckham.”

  “Got that yesterday,” Meghan insisted, feeling her stomach begin to churn. Where is my antacid? “He had a heart attack on his coffee break. The agency was supposed to send a replacement this morning.”

  “Dead too.”

  “The replacement Santa?”

  Terri nodded. “As a carp.”

  Meghan shot to her feet. “This is not possible,” she repeated what was becoming her mantra de jour. “This is horrible,” she gushed on a rush of air. “Has someone called nine-one-one? Notified next of kin? Called the police?”

  “Miss Beckham?” Terri interrupted. “He’s not just dead. It’s worse.”

  “What could possibly be worse than dead? Very dead?” Meghan was losing her grip.

  “A knife. Sticking right out of his belly that no longer jiggles like a bowl full of jelly.” Terri spread her arms. “A really big knife. A seriously big knife.”

  A knife—God help her—was not death by natural causes. Not by any stretch of the imagination. “Back up. Have the police been called?”

  “Yes.”

  She rounded the desk, catching the pocket of her vintage Chanel suit on the corner. She heard the riiiip of fabric and didn’t care. Employees and customers would be arriving and she didn’t want them traumatized, nor did she want to compromise the dignity of the poor dead Santa. “Please, Terri. Please tell me he isn’t propped up in the middle of the Christmas display where everyone can see him.”

  “No, ma’am. I mean, no, Miss Beckham.”

  Relief washed over her. That was something, at least.

  “He’s in the front window.”

  Chapter One

  “NOT GOING TO HAPPEN,” MEGHAN SAID EMPHATICALLY as she scribbled her nearly illegible signature on a check. She ignored the dismissive snort from Barrett Trent, who relaxed in the chair opposite her desk.

  Terri was sitting on a sofa in the outer office. Meghan knew this because she could see the scuffed heels of her assistant’s shoes through the crack in the door. Terri should have been at her desk, but she obviously had moved to the small settee, not even bothering to conceal the fact that she was listening in on the conversation.

  Barrett had lost weight in the two years since a serious heart attack and accompanying quadruple bypass had grudgingly forced him into early retirement. He was still a dashing man, even though he�
�d traded his hand-tailored Italian suits for crisp, colorful golf attire. The canary yellow shirt and pleated navy shorts revealed skin tanned by lazy afternoons at the club. At sixty-two, his light brown hair was just beginning the transition to gray at the temples.

  “It’s already happened,” he stated with the same authority he’d wielded during his long tenure as Beckham’s in-house counsel. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  Meghan’s hand stilled, poised above the neatly typed check to Yardly Investigations. She didn’t recognize the vendor, but was so distracted by Barrett’s announcement that she tossed the check aside momentarily to glare at the older man. “You don’t get to make decisions around here anymore,” she reminded him gently. “Especially not bad ones.”

  Barrett smiled patiently and looked at her in that I-know-what’s-best-for-you, fatherly fashion that made it almost impossible for her to stand her ground. Almost.

  “No, Barrett. It’s the height of the Christmas season. How would it look for me to be walking around the store with some muscle-bound, gun-toting, minimum IQ, moronic bodyguard glued to me? It would scare the customers who aren’t already too scared to shop here because of the . . . incidents.”

  “It’s—”

  “Oh . . . wow,” Terri gushed loudly from the outer office.

  Meghan glanced toward the partially opened door and frowned. “Excuse me for a moment,” she apologized, standing and straightening the wrinkles from her just-a-tad-too-short Lilly Pulitzer skirt to the most appropriate length she could manage given the small amount of fabric she had at her disposal. “I need to have a few words with my assistant.”

  You’re and fired would be good. And, in spite of the fact that she couldn’t function without an assistant at this time of year, she might have said them.

  One glimpse of the tall, dark, incredibly gorgeous man sucked every bit of oxygen from her lungs. Wow? Wow didn’t even begin to cover it! It took her a few seconds to recover.

  “This totally hot guy says he’s here to see you, ma’am,” Terri announced. It was as close to an appropriate introduction as the young woman ever ventured.