The Christmas Target

by Shirlee McCoy

  “How bad is it?” Cooper appeared at his side, his gaze shifting from the bloody gauze to the blood on the floor and then to Chance’s face.

  “Not as bad as it could be. Not as good as I’d like.”

  “Camden didn’t fair so well,” Cooper responded, gesturing to the sheet-covered body lying a few feet away.

  “It was Stella or him, and it wasn’t going to be Stella.”

  “I know. I saw the whole thing. We’ll fill out the paperwork, but I can tell you for sure that no charges will be filed.”

  “You want my gun until that’s official?”

  “Yeah. Protocol. You’ll have it back once you’re cleared.”

  Chance handed him the Glock.

  “Thanks.” Cooper frowned. “It’s amazing what greed will do to a person. All Camden had to do was accept what Larry was willing to give and none of this would have happened.”

  “None of this would have happened if Larry had been honest with his wife from the beginning.”

  “Fear and greed, and now a mess to clean up and a man who could have been anything lying dead on the ground. It’s a shame and a tragedy. Makes me wonder why I do the job I do.”

  “To keep this from happening more often?” Chance offered, knowing how much it hurt to see the worst of life, to always view the world through lenses tainted from seeing atrocities, the most heinous of crimes. He fought that every day, worked hard to find the good in the midst of the tragedies. It was tough, though, and obviously Cooper was feeling that.

  “I guess you’re right about that.” He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll have to drive out and tell Karen that her father is gone.”

  “That’s hard news to give.”

  “Hard news to hear, too. She was a pawn in a game she didn’t know was being played.”

  She also committed several crimes for her father.

  Maybe she’d learned her lesson. Maybe she hadn’t. That wasn’t up to Chance to decide.

  Camden’s army buddy, on the other hand, needed to go away for a long, long time.

  “How’s Smith doing?” he asked. “From what I saw he survived the bullet.”

  “Looked worse than it was. It glanced off his collarbone. Lots of blood, but he’s still alive. Cursing up a storm and threatening all kinds of consequences.”

  “Like?”

  “Guess he thinks he can sue your organization and the Boonsboro Sheriff’s Department. He’ll be thinking differently once we book him and read him the list of charges.”

  “Does he know Camden is dead?”

  “I told him. That’s why he’s making threats. Like I said, he’ll shut up once he realizes how much trouble he’s in. I’m going to ride in the ambulance with him. He’s got a lot of questions to answer and a lot of crimes to answer for. I’m bringing the state police in, asking them to process and collect evidence. I don’t want the guy to get off on a technicality.”

  “That’s a good call.”

  “For the record, your team did good. You planning to stick around here? Or are you going to the hospital? I’m going to need to take your statement later. I can do it there or at the station.”

  “I’ll be at the hospital,” he responded.

  “I’ll call you when I’m finished with Smith. We can figure out a place to talk then. When Stella comes to, tell her I’m sorry things went down this way. I was hoping we’d get through this without any casualties.”

  “I’m not out,” Stella murmured. “So I won’t be coming to.”

  She opened her eyes, glanced at the IV the EMT was adjusting. She was pale as paper—her cheeks and lips devoid of color.

  “And things happen, right?” she continued. “We can’t know every variable, and we can’t plan for them all. So what’s to apologize for?”

  “The fact that you were shot, maybe?” Cooper said.

  “I’ve had way worse than this.”

  Chance smiled. This was the Stella he knew.

  “Okay. No apology then, but how about the next time Beatrice needs to be saved it’s from somewhere like a flower garden or a grassy meadow. No snow, no guys with guns, no chance for anyone to be hurt.”

  Stella chuckled, then groaned. “Save the jokes for when my arm isn’t about to fall off. I’ll be able to appreciate them better.”

  “You got it, kid.” Cooper unloaded Chance’s Glock, dropped the gun and the cartridge into an evidence bag. “The ambulance is getting ready to transport Smith. I’m heading out. You need anything before our meeting, let me know.”

  He walked away, and Stella reached for Chance’s hand, her palm cold and dry against his. “You weren’t lying to me, were you?”

  “About what?”

  “Beatrice. She’s okay, right?”

  “She seemed to be,” he answered carefully.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” she demanded, and he couldn’t lie to her.

  “She was upset. Her breathing was a little rough. Simon is on the way to the hospital with her. Trinity is going to meet them there.”

  “Rough how?”

  “I was a little distracted by the amount of blood you were losing to qualify the sound,” he said dryly.

  If she noticed his tone, she didn’t let on.

  “I need to find out if the X-rays were done.”

  “They were. The nurse had just wheeled Beatrice out of X-ray and handed her over to the orderly when she was taken.”

  “The orderly was Derrick or Camden?” she asked.

  “Probably. Cooper is looking into it.”

  “I’m glad the X-ray was done. I need to see if they’re going to put her on antibiotics. If she has pneumonia, she’s going to need a stronger treatment protocol.” She tried to sit up, and he pressed his hand to her shoulder, looked her straight in the eye.

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Try to stand.”

  “I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”

  “Because you’re in no shape to, ma’am,” the EMT answered. He motioned for two of his coworkers who were standing by with a gurney. “You’ve lost too much blood. You try to stand up, and you’re going to fall over.”

  Stella frowned. “You don’t really think I’m going to let you roll me out on that gurney, do you? Because there’s no way—”

  Chance scooped her up before she could protest, set her on the gurney and leaned down so that they were eye to eye. He could see the golden tips of her red lashes, the tiny flecks of gold in her blue eyes. He could see the fine lines that fanned out from the corners of them, and the little scar at the edge of her brow.

  He could see her, every bit of who she was—stubborn and strong and determined to be there for the people she loved.

  “You want to check on Beatrice, right?” he asked.

  “Yes, but—”

  “This is the quickest way to get there.”

  She frowned, but there was a glint of humor in her eyes. “You’re clever, Chance. I’ll give you that.”

  “I’m also worried. Do me a favor and don’t make that worse by refusing to cooperate with treatment protocol.”

  She touched his cheek, shook her head. “You don’t have to worry about me, Chance. I’m going to be fine. What choice do I have? Beatrice needs me.”

  “I need you, too, Stella,” he admitted. “So how about we make sure you’re as okay as you say you are?”

  “You don’t need me, Chance. You’re the most independent, confident, accomplished person I know. The only thing you need is to loosen up a little, maybe wear those flannel shirts more often. Ditch the tie. Have a little—”

  He kissed her softly. Gently. Felt all the words die on her lips and the tension ease from her muscles, and he knew that everything they coul
d be together was right there in that moment—supportive, connected, loved.

  “What was that for?” she asked, and he brushed the bangs from her forehead, kissing the silky skin beneath it.

  “Just practicing.”

  “For?”

  “Mistletoe moments,” he responded, and she smiled.

  “You’re assuming there will be mistletoe.”

  “I’m not assuming. I’m planning.”

  She laughed at that, taking his hand and holding on tight as the EMT wheeled her out into the falling snow.

  EPILOGUE

  Christmas had exploded all over the house.

  Every nook and cranny was filled with it. Little trees. Big ones. Stockings and tinsel and lights. There were garlands on the banister and wrapped around the porch pillars. Pretty little pinecones, hand-painted with glitter, sat in a basket on the fireplace mantel right next to the photo of Henry and Beatrice that had been found with a cache of antiques in the trunk of Camden’s car. Someone had put a red bow on the corner of the frame and sat a porcelain angel next to it.

  Yep. Christmas. Everywhere.

  The old Stella would have hated it, would have wanted to avoid it like the plague.

  The new Stella?

  She was enthralled, amazed by the stunning beauty of it all.

  She stood in the parlor, looking at the tree she and Chance had helped Beatrice choose and thinking about how lovely it was. A blue spruce, its silvery needles the perfect backdrop for all the ornaments Beatrice and Trinity had hung on it.

  Karen had helped, too, but she’d been more somber than the other two, her sadness at losing her father, her disappointment in the choices he’d made, only partially hidden. She’d been given community service and three years probation. She’d also had to return every item she’d taken from Beatrice.

  She was facing it all with aplomb.

  She knew she’d been wrong.

  She knew her situation could be worse.

  But she sure wasn’t trying to be cheerful about things.

  A real downer was what Trinity had whispered in Stella’s ear.

  It was true, but Karen was family. She had no money and nowhere to go, and Stella hadn’t had the heart to send her away. She’d offered a room on the condition that she complete the community service work and go to weekly counseling appointments.

  Karen had agreed to the terms. She spent two hours at the community center every week, working with at-risk youth. She worked hard, and was keeping up with her schoolwork and her volunteer work at the hospital. Stella had high hopes that she’d get through the tragedy and become someone better because of it.

  Larry and Patty were discussing taking her in and allowing her to stay until her graduation, but the two needed some time to work through Larry’s betrayal and his lies.

  To her credit, Aunt Patty had been gracious.

  She hadn’t kicked him out of the house, hadn’t demanded a divorce and hadn’t told him that what he’d done was unforgivable. She was angry, though, and she’d been more than happy to tell Stella just how heartbroken she felt.

  Stella had watched her aunt cry. She’d hugged her. She’d promised that she’d stand beside her. No matter what she decided. In the end, Patty had decided that her marriage was worth fighting for.

  One mistake in forty-five years. A big one, but I still love him, and I can’t throw away all the good because of something that happened decades ago. That’s what she’d said to Stella when she’d asked for help finding a good marriage counselor.

  Stella had put out feelers, had gotten her aunt and uncle set up with twice-weekly counseling sessions.

  Tonight, Larry and Patty would be at church with their entire family. It was Christmas Eve, and they planned to celebrate that together.

  Stella was celebrating, too.

  The season. The joy of renewal and hope.

  Love.

  She smiled, running her hand down the pretty dress Trinity had helped her pick out. Her arm was still in a cast, the cracked bone knitting itself back together, but she’d still managed to shimmy into the outfit, make her hair look presentable and put on a little makeup.

  Trinity had approved.

  Trinity had come to stay for a while. Supposedly to help Stella while she healed, but Stella thought it had more to do with Beatrice. The two had bonded over Little Women and Christmas decorations. Tomorrow, Trinity would make the drive to DC to spend Christmas with her family.

  Tonight?

  She was in Boonsboro, helping Beatrice get ready for Christmas Eve service.

  The doorbell rang, the sound of it making a dozen butterflies take flight in Stella’s stomach.

  Chance.

  He’d had work in DC for the past couple of days, but he’d promised to attend Christmas Eve service with her.

  He never broke a promise. She’d always known that about him.

  Now she knew even more.

  She knew all the little things that made him special.

  That he loved to walk through the snowy woods.

  That he preferred marshmallows in his hot chocolate.

  That he loved her and he always would.

  She rushed to the door and opened it, and then she was in his arms, the warmth of his embrace filling her heart with joy.

  “You made it,” she murmured against his lips.

  “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” he responded.

  “The world is full of wonderful things,” she said, her good arm wrapped around his waist.

  “Not as wonderful as Christmas with you,” he responded, and she laughed.

  “Is your family upset that you and Trinity aren’t spending Christmas Eve with them?”

  “Actually,” he said, “they aren’t because I invited them here.”

  She pulled back, looked into his eyes. “Are you kidding?”

  “Do I look like I am?”

  “Chance...” She didn’t even know what to say because she’d been thinking about his family, about how hard it would be for them to have two members gone on a holiday that they always tried to spend together. She’d felt guilty for that, but Beatrice had fought two bouts of pneumonia, and she couldn’t travel. Stella had tried to convince Chance not to come, but he’d wanted to be there, and she’d wanted him to be, and all of her protests had been weak and a little ambivalent.

  So, yes, she’d been thinking about his family, worrying about them. But she hadn’t expected them to show up on her doorstep.

  She was ready to commit to Chance.

  She was ready to move forward with him.

  She wasn’t sure she was ready to meet his folks.

  She smoothed her hand down her dress, eyed the closed door.

  “Are they outside?” she asked, wondering if a dozen Millers were pressed against the wood, waiting to enter.

  “Yes. We drove here together. I ran it by Beatrice and she approved. Didn’t you notice Trinity and Karen cleaning the guest rooms?”

  “I thought they’d gone on a Christmas decorating frenzy. I had no idea they were getting ready for company. Are your parents here, too? Or just your siblings and their kids?”

  “They’re here,” he confirmed, and she suddenly felt a little sick and a little excited and a whole lot unsure.

  “You should have told me—” she began, but he shook his head and smiled.

  “Beatrice and I decided that it would be best to keep you in the dark. She didn’t want you to be nervous.”

  “Nervous? I’m... I don’t know if I’m ready.”

  “For making new memories?” he asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, kissing her again, that one sweet touch of his lips chasing away her anxiety. “Because that’s all this is, Stella. A chance t
o fill all the darkness with light. To see all the beautiful things that have come out of the difficulties.”

  “It’s also an opportunity for me to look like a total idiot. I should have bought more food—”

  “Taken care of.”

  “Gotten gifts for everyone.”

  “Done.”

  “Chance,” she said, laughing at the joy of having him there, “you make it really difficult to come up with reasons to panic.”

  “No need to panic, Stella. It’s not your style. Now how about we open the door and let the crew in? It’s cold out there tonight.”

  “Was that the doorbell?” Trinity called from the top of the stairs, Beatrice beside her, her face beaming with happiness.

  She looked beautiful and content and at peace, and Stella’s heart filled with thankfulness that she’d survived, that they’d get to have Christmas together.

  “Are they here?” Trinity continued. Chance opened the door, and a dozen people piled in. Men. Women. Kids. All of them smiling and laughing and chatting.

  Stella was laughing, too, holding Chance’s hand as he tugged her to the doorway that led into the parlor.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. “You haven’t introduced me to everyone.”

  “They know who you are,” he responded, smiling as he pulled something from his pocket.

  A box.

  Pretty blue velvet.

  Old.

  He opened it, and the house went quiet.

  Or maybe the sounds just faded away, because there was a ring inside. A pearl surrounded by emeralds and rubies. Dainty and delicate. Beautiful.

  “Chance—” she said, her heart welling up, filling with all the things she’d thought she’d never have—love and family and forever. All the fear of losing, of hurting, of saying goodbye lost in the joy of having this moment with him.

  “Christmas colors. For our first Christmas together,” he said.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, kissing her softly, the ring still in his hand. “I love you enough for forever, Stella. I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone but you. Will you marry me?”