Red Hot Santa

by Cherry Adair

  “A temporary pain in my ass.”

  Leaning closer, Sam’s breath tickled her ear when he said, “More like a big pain. The guy’s like granite. Is he the one Barrett hired?”

  “Guilty,” Jack said from behind them. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

  “That’ll happen,” Meghan muttered as she entered her office.

  Five hours later, she was still acutely aware of Jack’s presence. Mainly because he was so friggin’ still. How did he do that? It was creeping her out and making it almost impossible for her to concentrate on the information Sam was sharing regarding the purchase of the adjacent building. Terri popped in and out, pointless interruptions that Meghan guessed were to grab a quick look at Jack and/or to accept the flirtatious looks Sam had been giving her assistant from day one.

  “Should we order in?” Sam asked.

  “Yes,” Jack answered for her.

  Meghan had her favorite bistro on speed dial. She requested the usual salads for herself and for Sam, then glanced over at Jack.

  “Burger and fries.”

  “Heart healthy,” she commented before giving his order.

  She and Sam worked out a few more kinks in the expansion plans before the delivery arrived. As usual, Terri was not at her desk, where the petty cash was kept, which meant Meghan had to hunt through the disheveled desk to find the envelope.

  Jack moved up and sat next to Sam as they cleared space for the food. His fries smelled heavenly and it was everything she could do not to reach over and grab a small wedge of fried heaven.

  “So,” Jack began, looking at Sam, “I didn’t know Barrett was telling people about me.”

  “I’m not people,” Sam responded easily.

  Touché, she thought, taking a bite of lettuce.

  “I encouraged Barrett to hire someone. It’s the prudent thing to do. Meghan is Beckham’s now.”

  “You’re a traitor, Sam.”

  “No, I’m your friend and I care what happens to you.”

  “How much do you care?” Jack asked.

  Meghan nearly choked on her tasteless salad as she tried to swallow quickly. “For God’s sake, Jack! Sam and I aren’t romantically involved.”

  Jack turned his gaze on her and calmly stated, “You were.”

  Chapter Five

  “YOU’RE OUT OF LINE,” SHE CHIDED.

  Jack noted the faint stain of color on her cheeks.

  She continued in a genuine huff, “This isn’t an inquisition and that is ancient history.”

  “Is it?” he pressed Sam.

  “Very,” Sam replied affably. “Not that we didn’t try,” Sam said, winking at her before looking in Jack’s direction. “Truth be told, Meghan and I nearly screwed up a great friendship by trying to turn it into a romance. Luckily for the two of us, we figured that out quickly. No harm done.”

  “So, it was an amicable breakup?” Jack asked.

  “There was nothing to break up,” Meghan insisted. “It was a short fling, fueled mostly by Father’s desire to pair the two of us. Geez, Jack. It was two weeks like, um, five years ago. Let it go.”

  He shrugged. Honestly, he wasn’t picking up any chemistry between the two of them at all. “So why do you dislike Casey?”

  Sam smiled patiently. “Dislike is a little . . . strong. We just never jelled,” he responded diplomatically. “I respect her, though. She was my best friend’s wife and my boss’s daughter. She’s devoted to Barrett and she adored Mike.”

  “I thought Meghan’s father was your boss.”

  Sam nodded. “He was. Before Mr. Beckham was my direct boss, I reported to Barrett. In fact, Barrett was the one who insisted Mr. Beckham move me up the corporate ladder.”

  “But you don’t like his daughter.”

  Sam made a noise that sounded a lot like a snort to Jack. “She’s spoiled, okay?”

  “Cherished,” Meghan corrected.

  Sam gave a humorless chuckle. “Self-absorbed.”

  “Sheltered,” Meghan countered.

  “I’m sure Meghan can give you a lengthy list of her positive qualities,” Sam suggested tactfully.

  “They’re like small children,” Meghan informed Jack as she tossed Sam a reproachful look. “Always have been. They’ve been sniping at one another for the better part of ten years. Made Michael crazy.”

  “I never start it,” Sam defended.

  “Neither does Casey. And Michael would want the two of you to be helping each other now. He loved both of you.”

  Jack was getting the picture and it wasn’t a pretty one. He wondered how often Meghan had refereed moments between her brother’s wife and his best friend. In his experience, it was never good to be in the middle of that kind of triangle.

  “So, Sam,” Jack began, pushing away his plate, “any thoughts on who might be killing off the Santas?”

  “Not a clue. But the guy downstairs is pretty brave. He took the job knowing we’ve lost two Santas so far.”

  “So far?” Meghan choked, apparently still unwilling to accept the possibility that this wasn’t over.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Sam backpedaled. “And don’t look so horrified, Meghan. I’ve got two plainclothes security guards on him. He’s safe. Nothing will happen.”

  She dropped her head into her hands and Jack felt genuinely sorry for her. He felt a few other things as well—none of them part of his duties or reflective of the code by which he’d agreed to live under the terms of his employment with the Agency. Still, he couldn’t seem to help the tractor beam drawing him to this woman. He was a trained observer, normally limiting his observations to those necessary to do his job. But with Meghan, he couldn’t seem to keep his mind from wandering down paths that were clearly marked off-limits and dead end.

  If he’d been playing it cautious, he’d get on the phone and insist Roz send someone else to watch over the stunning blonde with the Santa crisis. The mere thought of bailing on her now wasn’t working. It would include admitting that for the first time in ages, his interests weren’t strictly work related.

  Okay, so he’d just make sure he kept everything on a purely professional level—no more trips into her bedroom, nothing that wasn’t strictly necessary for him to protect her from whoever had her in their sights.

  His little mental pep talk was interrupted by the poorly timed arrival of another guest.

  A tall young woman waltzed into the room and he was reaching for the weapon concealed in his ankle holster when he recognized her from yesterday. Ten seconds in the presence of Casey Trent-Beckham and Jack had to admit he was coming down on Sam’s side. The smile she offered didn’t feel genuine and he’d never seen such an expertly made up woman in his life. She was perfect—too perfect.

  Offering a small, well-jeweled hand in his direction, she gushed, “It’s so lovely to formally meet you. Daddy explained how he hired someone to look after Meghan after we left here. He had to, since his only instruction to that point was to tell me to show up and drag him out.”

  “I got the feeling that was orchestrated by your dad. And for the record, Santa’s probably the one who needs looking after,” Meghan inserted, coming around her desk to give Casey a quick hug. She noticed instantly that Casey looked tired. More tired than usual. Apparently she still wasn’t sleeping. Brushing a few strands of chestnut-colored hair from her friend’s face, Meghan couldn’t help but frown. “Great makeup, but I know there are dark circles under there. You really should see someone, Casey.”

  “I will,” Casey promised, appeasingly. “Forget me, how are you doing?”

  Sam stood then, tossing what was left of his lunch into the trash. “I’ve got some calls to return. Let me know when you’re free.” He left abruptly and without even so much as acknowledging Casey with more than a nod of his head.

  As soon as he exited, Casey leaned forward and whispered, “Can’t you send him on a buying trip to the Antarctic?”

  “Be nice,” Meghan pleaded. “Can I have Terri get you s
omething? Coffee, tea? Something to eat?”

  Shaking her head, Casey shifted her Prada bag to the opposite hand. “I can’t stay. I really just dropped in to make sure you were okay. Besides, Mother has decided that staying busy will keep me from thinking about Michael. So, I’m off to some pointless gathering of the Something-Something-Something Library Something to volunteer my services to do . . . something.”

  Meghan smiled. “I’m sure your mother has your best interests at heart.”

  “Impossible,” Casey said with a small wave of her hand. “My mother doesn’t know what my interests are.”

  “True. Maybe you’d like to take Jack with you? He’s probably bored out of his mind just sitting here watching me.”

  “No,” Jack insisted, leaning back in his seat in order to make eye contact. “And to quote you, feel free to talk about me instead of to me.”

  The warm stain on her cheeks remained even after Casey left the room, leaving nothing but the ghost of her perfume behind. Meghan returned to her seat and slipped her shoes off. “I’m sorry about before. I’m usually not rude; I’m just unaccustomed to having someone in my space at all times.”

  He shrugged. “Get used to it. At what point are we going to cancel your party?”

  She pretended sudden and intense interest in the paper in front of her. “When hell freezes over.”

  “Meghan,” he groaned on a breath of exasperation. “I’m the security expert and I’m telling you, a party right now is a stupid move.”

  Part of her knew that and part of her was seriously pissed at having her intelligence called on the carpet. Easier and less scary to go with the second part. “Stupid?”

  “Very,” he replied bluntly. His eyes bore into her from across the short distance. “Two days isn’t long enough to do complete background checks on the guests. Then I’m assuming we’re talking caterers and waiters and—”

  “I know virtually everyone attending and I’ve used the same caterer for years.”

  “Is there some reason you’re going out of your way to make my life difficult and yours optional?”

  She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. He had an amazing ability to make her feel like a fool. After what felt like an eternity of silence, she tried a different tack. “What steps can I take to make the party more secure?”

  “Cancel it.”

  She silently counted to ten. “Short of that? Look, Jack, in reality, we don’t even know if the Santa killer is a threat to me. It’s not like there’s anything concrete so far.”

  “Two dead bodies in your store and a fatal automobile accident that killed your brother and should have killed you are pretty good indications.”

  She drew her lower lip between her teeth and released it slowly. “The crash was an accident. The police said so, and the accident reconstruction company said as much, so move on. I have to—”

  “What accident reconstruction company?”

  She shrugged, feeling uncomfortable under the glaring intensity of his gaze. “I sent the accident report to a private company that specializes in reconstructing car accidents. I only did it because Barrett made me paranoid. Which, by the way, is exactly why he hired you. Barrett has never believed it was an accident.” She reached into her bottom desk drawer and pulled out the large manila envelope, then passed it across to him. “Read for yourself. The tire blew out and debris from the tire ruptured the gas line. That’s why the car exploded when it hit the barricade.”

  She sat quietly as Jack poured over the pages she had barely managed to skim. She didn’t want to know all the details. Couldn’t was more accurate. She didn’t want to think about Michael’s last moments.

  Her stomach clenched. “So, can we forget Barrett’s theory that the accident was some sort of failed attempt to kill off the Beckham heirs?”

  “Hardly,” Jack said, looking up from the documents. “If anything, this report makes me more suspicious than ever.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it doesn’t feel right.”

  “I’m not following you,” she admitted. “The cover letter very clearly states that their computer reconstruction of the crash proves it was an unfortunate accident.”

  “I see that.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “I know what it says, but I’d like to send it off to a friend of mine to review, okay?”

  She nodded, all too happy to have a reason to rid herself of the report.

  He put the report back into the envelope and, as he was disposing of the last bit of his lunch, said, “Tell me about the first Santa.”

  “He was a nice guy,” she recalled fondly, shifting one grieving memory for another. “Worked for Beckham’s for several seasons. The day he died, he’d come in early.”

  “Why?”

  Meghan thought back. “He had to fill out payroll forms, get a locker—usual stuff.”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary?”

  She shook her head. “I only saw him for a minute or two. We happened to be in the employee lounge at the same time.”

  “Why?”

  “I was getting coffee and I teased him for using the last packet of artificial sweetener.”

  Jack stroked his chin and she noted his brow furrowed into deep lines before he spoke, suggesting, “Could have been how he was poisoned.”

  “That would have made the killer very, very lucky, don’t you think? I mean, it’s a communal room.”

  “Take me there,” Jack instructed.

  Slipping her shoes back on, Meghan led him past Terri’s still-unoccupied desk, down the corridor, toward the etched glass doors marked PRIVATE.

  As they walked, Jack glanced into the open offices and read nameplates on the closed doors, confirming his memory of the schematic Roz had provided. The executive offices included Meghan’s, Sam’s, Human Resources, Legal, a conference room, and a small kitchenette. The administrative assistants all had space outside their respective bosses’ offices. Fairly standard.

  Once outside the restricted executive area, there was a second conference room and a series of offices for the buyers for each department as well as a long, narrow locker room, restrooms, and then finally the lounge area.

  “Where do the hallways lead?” he asked.

  “Storage,” she replied as they entered the lounge.

  The room was small—a half-dozen round tables and chairs—and smelled like coffee and popcorn. There were two people seated at the far table. One was a woman Jack put in her late fifties, who immediately snapped closed her compact and stopped touching up her lipstick when she saw Meghan. The other was an African American man about half that age in a tan uniform.

  “Afternoon, Miss Beckham,” they said in unison.

  The security officer’s chair legs scuffed against the polished tiled floor as he stood in polite acknowledgment.

  “Relax and finish your drink, Darius,” Meghan insisted, waving him back into his seat as she moved to the table, smiling as she addressed them. “When are your grandchildren coming, Harriett?”

  The woman beamed, answering quickly, “They’ll be here the twentieth. Break’s over. I’ve got to get back to the floor.”

  “I’ll go down with you,” Darius added, quickly gathering up his soda can and tossing it into the garbage can. “Have a nice day, ma’am.”

  Jack was glad the room had emptied; it gave him an opportunity to look around without spectators. Meghan started for the door as he was reaching for the refrigerator’s handle. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I have work to do,” she reminded him, placing her hands on her hips.

  Nice hips. Nice legs. Nice everything. He gave himself a little mental slap. “In a minute.”

  Nothing out of the ordinary in the refrigerator. Sodas, coffee creamers in a variety of brands and flavors, half-eaten takeout, a few fruits and vegetables, and some general-purpose condiments. The cabinets were equally unremarkable.

  “S
eriously, Jack,” she said, her words a tad more insistent. “I’ve got things to do.”

  He didn’t need to turn around to know that her eyes had narrowed slightly and her pretty lips were pursed. It was her irritation face.

  He began opening the cabinets, finding an eclectic assortment of items, mostly grab-and-run foods—power bars, energy bars, candy bars, granola bars, and diet bars. Most things were labeled with the owner’s name or initials. In the last cabinet, above the well-utilized coffeepot, he found supersized boxes of sugar packets and artificial sweeteners. Taking them down, he opened them and discovered that one was less than half empty. The other nearly full.

  Turning, he met her impatient eyes and asked, “Who buys these?”

  “We get them with our other office supplies,” she explained. “Terri is supposed to check them and restock as needed—which is probably why we ran out the day Santa Number One died.”

  “Were you out of sugar or just the artificial stuff?”

  She sighed. “Both. I remember he apologized to me and said he normally used sugar but since there wasn’t any—what?”

  Jack grabbed her by the hand and hurried her back down the hallway. “I think it’s time we had a little chat with your assistant.”

  Chapter Six

  “YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE, JACK!” MEGHAN INSISTED as she tried to keep up with his long strides. Forget the strides, most of her attention was fixed on the feel of his large hand holding hers. Or more accurately, on memorizing the feel of his callused palm and the warmth of his skin.

  Forget him making sense! I’ve totally gone off the deep end. Here I am with the possibility of a killer in my midst and all I can think about is how it would feel to have his callused palm pressed against me. Now who isn’t making sense?

  “Sure I am,” he remarked when they arrived at Terri’s still-empty desk. “Is this woman ever where she’s supposed to be?”

  Jack dropped her hand, which was more disappointing than Terri’s complete lack of work effort. “I’m not sure what you think she might have done. How can you think she masterminded some sort of grand scheme—”

  “Can you just get her here?”

  Be happy to, because I take orders from you and I don’t have anything else on my plate right now. One thing Meghan knew was how and when to pick her battles. This wasn’t one of them. The sooner Jack got whatever it was out of his system, the sooner she could get back to work. “I’m sure she’s in the building,” she said, grabbing the phone off the desk and pressing the button for the operator. Quickly, Meghan asked that Terri be paged. Just as quickly, Terri appeared in the hallway, slipping out of Sam’s office.