The Christmas Target

by Shirlee McCoy

  He introduced himself the same way he always did. Handshake, smile, business card. Once everyone was on the same page, he asked how the search had gone.

  Next thing he knew, he was being given the tour, through the hospital lobby and out into the swirling snow. It was amazing that the dog had tracked anything in this, but it still seemed to have the scent. Nose down, it moved unerringly toward the corner of the building, around the side and then into a back lot that stretched into an empty field. They crossed that and moved onto a paved street in the town’s main business section. Lots of buildings. Cars. Trucks. They passed a restaurant, a bank, a drug store, then went into the parking lot of a small movie theater.

  “This is it,” the K-9 officer said. “We have security footage from the theater’s external camera. It shows the vehicle and the guy getting into it.”

  “You’ve already seen it?”

  “Sure have.” The officer was young, maybe midtwenties, and he seemed eager to prove himself. “Got the make of the car, but not the license plate, off it. No visual of the perp’s face. If you want to take a look, I can check with the sheriff and see if he’ll approve it.”

  “That would be great,” Chance replied, eyeing the empty lot. He could see the tire tracks in the snow, nearly covered now but visible. The lot itself was behind the building and hidden from the street.

  The perp must have known that.

  Did that mean he knew the area? Or that he’d spent a few days staking it out, finding places where he could easily blend in and hide out?

  Too many questions and not enough answers. Chance wanted to see that footage. Once he got a make and model for the vehicle, he could send the information to Trinity, see if she could connect it with any of Stella’s known associates.

  Or any of Beatrice’s.

  It was still possible that the attacker was after Stella’s grandmother. Especially if Beatrice was right about rocks being thrown at the window. Boone had suggested inheritance as a motive, but Chance didn’t know of any family aside from Stella who might benefit from the elderly woman’s death.

  He frowned, pulling out his cell phone as he followed the officer and dog back to the hospital. He texted Simon to ask him to check for evidence under the window. Sure, the sheriff was going to do that, but Simon knew how to assess a crime scene without disturbing it, and Chance needed to know exactly what had happened at the house. Then he texted Trinity and asked her to do some digging into Beatrice’s family tree. Maybe someone, somewhere, would gain if Stella lost her grandmother.

  He had to find out, and he had to do it quickly.

  Whoever this guy was, he had motive, he had means, and he wasn’t messing around. Two attempts in a few hours meant he was also desperate.

  For what?

  That was the question Chance needed to answer.

  If he did, he’d have the answer to everything else.

  Except what he was going to do once Stella was safe and there was nothing standing between them but her reluctance to be hurt and his decision to let her walk away.

  SIX

  They wheeled Beatrice out for a chest X-ray at midnight. Stella followed the nurse and orderly through the quiet hallway and into the elevator, her body heavy with fatigue, her mind numb with it. Chance stood a few feet away, grim and silent, his jaw shadowed with the faintest hint of a beard. He met her eyes but didn’t speak. She knew he didn’t approve of her leaving the room to follow Beatrice. He’d wanted her to stay behind the closed door, Boone guarding her until he returned.

  Usually, she didn’t care about other people’s opinions. She did her thing, followed her gut. Generally with good results.

  Right now, though, she wasn’t thinking clearly, and that was a terrifying place to be.

  Chance, on the other hand, was clearheaded. He’d told her that the best thing she could do was stay in the room. Then he’d let it drop.

  Just like always.

  That was the way Chance operated.

  No fuss or muss. No debates. Just stating facts and expecting people to get on board with his logic because, most of the time, his logic was flawless.

  Of course, this wasn’t about logic.

  This was about love, and Stella loved her grandmother too much to leave her alone and confused.

  And she was confused.

  She’d spent most of the day and night asking where she was, what had happened, where Henry was.

  Even now, she was pulling at the oxygen mask, trying to drag it away so she could speak without her voice being muffled.

  Stella reached for her hand, but Chance already had it. “Better leave that mask where it is, Ms. Beatrice,” he said. “Your oxygen level is a little low.”

  “I’m sick?”

  “Yes.” He set her hand back on the gurney and patted it. “But you’ll be better soon.”

  “You’re Chance,” Beatrice said as if she were trying to hold on to the name and remind herself of who he was. “Stella’s friend.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You two went out a few times.”

  “Nana,” Stella cut in hurriedly. “Chance and I work together.”

  “I know that, dear, but you did date.”

  “Now you choose to remember things?” she muttered, and Chance laughed, steering her out of the elevator as the doors opened. They went toward radiology and Stella would have walked in, but the nurse shook her head.

  “Sorry. Only patients past this point. We’ll bring her out to you when she’s done. It shouldn’t be long.”

  They rolled her away, and Stella wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She’d spent most of the day sitting in the seat beside Beatrice or pacing the ICU trying to piece together how they’d gotten there. She’d run everything through in her mind dozens of times, and she still didn’t have any answers that made sense.

  Things had been fine since her grandfather’s funeral. She hadn’t sensed any trouble. Aside from Beatrice’s health, there’d been nothing to worry about. Just everyday things to take care of. Even that hadn’t been difficult. Her great-uncle Larry was a financial planner, and he knew exactly what Beatrice had, what Henry had left her and how long she could support herself without digging into retirement funds.

  A long time.

  Probably much longer than she’d live.

  That had surprised Stella. Henry had been a pastor, and he hadn’t made much money. She’d learned to live frugally when her grandparents were raising her. The house was beautiful. The antiques it contained stunning. But they were Beatrice’s heritage, an inheritance from a father and grandfather who’d left her much wealthier than Stella would have ever guessed.

  Stella’s childhood had been nice, but modest. She’d had what she needed. Nothing more. No big parties or expensive clothes. Nothing excessive. She’d worked for her own car, and she’d paid for the gas and insurance on it. She hadn’t minded. She’d been too grateful to her grandparents to ever complain that she didn’t have the fanciest or most expensive things.

  “Worried?” Chance asked, his hand settling between her shoulder blades.

  “About Beatrice? Yes.”

  “About everything,” he responded.

  She turned to face him and realized just how close they were. Barely a breath between them, his bright tie at eye level, hanging loose. She tugged at the end of it, pulling it from his neck and tucking it into his shirt pocket.

  “It’s a little late in the day for a tie, don’t you think?” she asked, avoiding his comment because she really didn’t want to go into all the reasons why she was worried.

  “It’s a little late in the day for avoiding my questions, don’t you think?”

  “Probably,” she admitted, turning away, not wanting to look into his beautiful eyes. She knew what she’d see there. The
same compassion and understanding she saw when he was questioning clients or reassuring a victim. He had a way of making people open up to him.

  She didn’t like opening up to anyone.

  She didn’t like feeling vulnerable.

  She hated being on the receiving end of pity.

  She’d felt all of those things in the past few hours, and she needed some time to regroup, get herself together, take a little control back.

  “Not talking about it isn’t going to make it go away,” Chance pointed out as she dropped into one of the chairs.

  “Talking about it won’t help, either.”

  “Stop lobbing volleys, Stell. If we’re going to find the guy who attacked you, we need to work together.”

  “We are working together. I told you everything I know.”

  “Not Noah’s contact information.”

  “Are we back to that?” She sighed, pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them.

  “You need to trust me to handle things the way they need to be handled.” He sidestepped the question, got right back to his point.

  “Unless I’ve missed my guess,” she muttered, turning her head just enough to meet his dark blue eyes, “you’ve already obtained Noah’s full name, his address, his last known whereabouts. So why bring this up again?”

  “You’re not the only one who’s worried. I don’t want to see anything happen to you or your grandmother, and I can’t do my job effectively with one hand tied behind my back.”

  “I’m not tying anything. I’m setting boundaries.”

  “Boundaries that are going to get you killed.” His words were calm, his voice quiet, but the irritation in his eyes was impossible to miss.

  “You’re angry about nothing, Chance. If I’d thought that Noah—”

  “You have a concussion. Do you actually believe you’re making a rational assessment of the situation?” He stood, pacing across the room, his hands shoved into the pockets of his suit jacket.

  “Probably not,” she admitted. “But I know Noah well. We’ve been friends for years. There’s no way—”

  “There’s always a way, Stella,” he said gently, and she had a cold, horrible feeling that he knew something she didn’t.

  “What did you find out about Noah?”

  “His ex-fiancée filed for a restraining order two days ago. She said he’s been abusive and violent for the past year.”

  “I don’t believe her. Noah is about the least violent person I know.”

  “She had proof enough to convince a judge that she needed the order of protection.” He stalked back toward her, his legs long and muscular beneath his black dress pants. Most days he looked like an easygoing businessman, but Stella had seen him fight. She’d seen him win against powerful opponents. She knew just how dangerous he could be, and just how smart.

  If he was worried about Noah, she should be worried, too.

  But...Noah?

  They’d been friends for a decade. She’d seen him at his best and at his worst, and she’d never ever seen him lay a hand on anyone.

  “I’ll talk to him. See what the order of protection is all about.” She didn’t have her phone with her, but there was one in Beatrice’s room.

  “He hasn’t been at his apartment in a week. And my guess is he won’t be answering his cell.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Trinity talked to a few neighbors, called his work. Noah took a ten-day vacation. It started a week ago.”

  “And?”

  “I’m interested to see if he returns home in three days and goes back to work.”

  “He will,” she insisted, but she wasn’t really sure. “He’s just looking for a change. He told me that. He’s tired of climbing the corporate ladder. He’s been talking about rejoining the DC police department.”

  “That will be difficult to do with a restraining order out against him. A restraining order he apparently felt no need to mention to you. Why do you think that is?” he asked, his expression cold and hard.

  “I’m not sure, but I’m guessing you’re going to give me some ideas.”

  “Maybe the change he really wanted is you in his life, Stella. Maybe he was looking for a little more than what you were willing to give. Maybe he didn’t tell you about the restraining order because he didn’t want to scare you off, and when you stopped seeing him, maybe he got a little angry. Maybe he wanted a little revenge.”

  “That’s a lot of maybes, and a lot of speculation about a guy who isn’t around to defend himself.”

  She did not want to believe that Noah had anything to do with the attack.

  She didn’t believe it.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall, voices drifting into the waiting area. She thought the nurse and orderly had returned with Beatrice, but Simon strode into the room, his black hair falling across his forehead, his light-colored eyes cutting from her to Chance and back again.

  “Law enforcement is finished at the house. I locked up.” He handed Stella her purse. “The keys are in there. I tossed your phone in, too, but I don’t know if it’s charged.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How’s your grandma?” he asked, a hint of a Southern drawl in his voice.

  “We’re waiting on X-rays. Was someone out in the hall with you?” She was sure she’d heard voices.

  “Yeah.” His gaze shifted to Chance. “Don’t blow a gasket over this, Miller.”

  “Over wh...?”

  Chance’s words trailed off as a pretty young woman walked into the room. Tall, slender, honey-blond hair, freckles. The same dark blue eyes as her brother.

  Trinity Miller.

  There was absolutely no doubt in Stella’s mind that Chance really was going to blow up about it because he’d hired Trinity to work at headquarters. He’d never had any intention of letting her work in the field. He’d told Trinity that. He’d told Stella that. He’d told everyone at HEART that. He’d lost one sister, and he had no intention of losing another.

  Stella understood that.

  She supported it.

  Trinity was young. She was a little naive. She’d spent most of her life being protected and cared for by her very well-meaning family. She had no business walking into the kind of situations HEART went into every day.

  Stella had talked to Trinity about it, explaining everything in detail, telling her just how dangerous this line of work was and just how easily she could break her family’s heart by being hurt or killed.

  Stella had thought Trinity understood, but here she was. In the flesh. And unless Stella was mistaken, she had a gun holster strapped on beneath her coat.

  * * *

  Chance had taught his sister to use firearms.

  He’d taught her self-defense.

  He’d taught her everything she needed to know to survive, but there was no way in the world he was going to let her walk into this situation.

  He didn’t know why she’d come.

  He didn’t know what she thought she was going to add to the investigation beyond the information she’d already dug up for them.

  What he did know was that she wasn’t going to stay.

  Not if he had anything to do with it.

  “Go home,” he said.

  Trinity had the nerve to sashay across the room, kiss his cheek and smile.

  “It’s good to see you, too, bro.”

  “Bro?”

  “Would you rather me call you ‘Killjoy’?”

  “I’d rather you were back at headquarters,” he retorted, not bothering to keep the edge out of his voice. He had enough to worry about. He didn’t want to add his sister to the list.

  “You said you needed someone to take Boone’s place. Here I am.” She opened her arms wide,
and he could see her shoulder holster under her thick pink parka.

  “You are not taking Boone’s place,” he said, and she frowned.

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Did you tell Jackson you were coming?” He sidestepped her comment, knowing that she hadn’t consulted with their brother. Jackson was the co-founder of HEART, and he was just as protective of Trinity as Chance was.

  “I left a note at the office.”

  “Coward,” he muttered, and her smile broadened.

  “No. Just smart. I figured by the time he read it, it would be too late for him to sabotage my car or come up with some busy work for me to do.”

  “That would have been fine by me. In case you haven’t gotten the hint, I don’t want you here.”

  “Because you don’t think I can handle it. But I can.” She brushed past him and wrapped her arms around Stella.

  “I’m so glad you’re all right,” she said, and Chance knew she meant it from the bottom of her heart. He still wasn’t going to let her take Boone’s place. He’d call Jackson and have him send someone else, but it wouldn’t hurt for Trinity to stick around. She’d be good for Stella, and she’d be good for Beatrice. She had that kind of personality—the kind that made people comfortable. He appreciated that about her, but she loved her family and friends with the kind of zealous loyalty that could get her into all kinds of trouble if she let it.

  “Thanks, sweetie,” Stella said, extracting herself from the hug and smiling at Trinity. “But your brother is probably right. You should go home.”

  “Give me a break, Stella. You’ve seen me on the gun range, and you’ve seen me in training. You know I can handle this. Besides, I have some information that I thought you might be interested in.”

  “About Noah?” Stella’s smile fell away, and she took Trinity’s arm, dragging her to the seats and pulling her down into one.

  “Actually, no. The last record I have of him is a plane ticket he bought two weeks ago. Baltimore–Washington International to Dallas–Fort Worth.”

  “Fort Worth? I wonder who he knows there,” Stella murmured.

  Trinity shrugged. “I have no idea, but I can tell you this. Your uncle has a lot to gain if something happens to your grandmother.”