Covert Christmas

by Marilyn Pappano

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  Cam shook his head. “Not really. Are you still tired?”

  “Not really.” She used his own words and gave him a wry smile. “I’ve been resting my eyes. Why?”

  “Nothing.” Cam stared at the brandy in his glass. “So why don’t you tell me about your private life. What have you been doing for the last ten years?”

  “Are you asking if I’m married or involved?” The idea that he would be curious was intriguing. “I’m neither. Never married. I was too busy working my way through school and then starting my career. Recently, undercover work hasn’t left much of an opening for, uh…entanglements.”

  “I imagine. But about your schooling. I thought—”

  Tara felt the heat flare in her face and the anger pushing at her patience, but she fought to bank them. “You thought your parents paid my way through school in return for breaking it off with you. Still believe that? As I tried to tell you then, scholarships and government loans helped me pay my own way. I never took a dime from them.”

  She caught the surprise and rebuke in Cam’s eyes and was about to put up her hackles and continue the fight that had been interrupted ten years ago. But in his typical politically correct style, Cam’s face dimpled into a huge grin before she could say a word.

  “Good for you for making it through on your own,” he murmured. “I always said you were the smart one and a hard worker.”

  His parents hadn’t thought so. They’d been stunned when she turned down their offer of a bribe. That was the only word for what they’d offered. It had made her so angry. And had embarrassed her even though in the end, they were probably right to try ending the relationship.

  But his parents were dead now, and she wasn’t here to fight with Cam. If he really believed her or not, she needed his help. Moreover, he seemed to need her too. He’d saved her life this afternoon, and Tara wondered if she could do anything to help him in return.

  What was he really after with his questions? As a trained investigator, she clearly saw the underlying angst and hunger in his eyes. The hunger she understood. It was everything she could do while sitting beside him not to jump into his arms and rip off his clothes.

  As kids they’d been such a hot couple, unable to keep their hands off each other. For years she’d tried to block those images and the fire they’d caused deep inside her gut, but she had never really been successful.

  It was the angst in his eyes now that caused her the most concern. Something very strange was going on behind those startling, glacier-green eyes.

  She set her glass down on the side table and folded her arms over her breasts in order to keep her hands to herself. “Where’s your daughter tonight? Is she safe from the storm?”

  His light-green eyes turned deepest emerald, almost black. “Chloe is fine. She’s spending her birthday and Christmas with her maternal grandparents down in Juniper.”

  Look at his eyes. Clearly that was another sore spot. What on earth was going on inside this man whom she had loved nearly all her life?

  “Chloe. That’s a nice name.” Maybe she could get him talking. “Were you planning on joining her in Juniper for the holiday before the snow arrived?” The storm could’ve put a chink in his plans, too, and that was what was wrong.

  “I was on my way back from dropping her off when I spotted you.”

  “Wait.” Tara looked around the room at the obvious lack of Christmas cheer. “You were planning on spending the holidays alone? Up here on the mountaintop with no family and no decorations?”

  Sipping his brandy slowly, Cam was quiet a long time. Too long. She was about to ask him something else or to make another remark when he murmured, “It’s the way I spend the holidays now. The way I want it. Being alone. I devote Christmas Eve to the memory of my wife. Not with celebrations, but with reflection and contemplation.”

  Huh? Tara had been a detective too long to take those comments for anything but what they were—guilt. Plain and simple.

  Surely she could make Cam explain why, but she’d better take things slow. “How does Chloe feel about you skipping her birthday and Christmas?”

  “She doesn’t understand. She’s too young. But she will some day.”

  “I see. Do you buy her gifts? Spend time later with her?”

  He didn’t answer but stood to stir the coals and add another log.

  “Four is too young,” Tara said, letting him hear the condemnation in her voice. “Too young to understand why her daddy doesn’t love her. Why he blames her for her mother’s death.”

  He spun and came back to the couch. “I do love her. But…” When his eyes came up to meet hers through the firelight, his face was full of anguish.

  She couldn’t help herself. With her heart aching for him, she reached over and touched his cheek. Instead of pulling away, he leaned against her palm.

  “She’s starting to look just like Mandy, Tara. I can’t…I can’t bear to look at my own child anymore.”

  Oh, her poor love. He was such a good person and this was tying him in knots, turning him into something he had always hated. “Maybe you should tell me about the night Chloe was born. Tell me what really happened.”

  Cam gave in and closed his eyes, wearily leaning his head against the couch cushions. “Mandy had been having a difficult pregnancy and needed bed rest and complete quiet. At the eighth month, we were both holding our breaths, waiting for the emergency we feared was coming.”

  He cleared his throat but kept his eyes closed against the terrible images running in his head. Did he have the courage to tell this tale to Tara?

  Yes. But only to Tara, and he’d only just realized that. “I knew her life was in danger, but when she encouraged me to continue with my job like nothing was wrong, I didn’t argue. There wasn’t anything I could do to help her. It was so frustrating sitting around and watching the hours tick by.

  “So when our office needed to transport a prisoner on Christmas Eve day to stand trial in Denver, I volunteered so the deputies could stay with their families. I figured nothing would happen to Mandy on Christmas Eve, anyway. She’d been feeling a little better and her parents had arrived to be with her after the baby came. I knew they planned a big get-together up here for the holiday. They were due for dinner in a few hours. I kept telling myself nothing could go very wrong in just an afternoon.”

  “But it did, didn’t it?” Tara’s voice was soft. Comforting.

  He didn’t deserve her sympathy—didn’t want it. “I was too lost in my head, worrying about Mandy and the baby coming. Not paying close enough attention to my surroundings.” He swallowed down the curse he usually spat out over his own stupidity.

  He was used to shouldering the blame silently, but Tara needed to hear all of it. She needed to really understand what a bastard he was.

  “At a rest stop, the prisoner’s buddies attacked my sheriff’s cruiser. Before I knew what hit me, my prisoner was escaping and I was being roughed up and left for dead by his two pals.”

  “Oh, Cam. That’s not what I thought you would say at all. I’m so sorry. Is that how you hurt your knee?”

  “How’d you know…?” In the past, Tara had always known everything about how he was doing—both physically and emotionally—they’d had that kind of connection without saying a word. “Mandy’s parents kept the truth out of the papers, trying to save my law enforcement career. But the assault left me with a broken kneecap and two shots in the head. I was in a coma for six weeks. Near death for a while. When I got out, I had to take disability leave. Actually, I was ashamed to face the world after making such a huge mistake. And worse, my wife was…already buried.”

  Tara took his hand in her own. “You don’t have to finish this.”

  “Yeah, I think I do.” There was a time when Tara’s enchanting voice and sweet way alternately soothed and stirred him. Now, it scraped at his memories and left him raw.

  “If it wasn’t for my careless inattention—” He swallowe
d his hurt and went on. “You see, after someone called Mandy and told her I was in the hospital and close to dying, she panicked. Ran to her car and started down the mountain to come for me. Her parents found her on their way up an hour later, still in her car, bleeding and unconscious. The doctors delivered Chloe just as Mandy took her last breath.”

  Tara’s cheeks were wet, her eyes still full of tears. “Cam…that wasn’t your fault. You did nothing—”

  “Stop it.” He pulled his hand away. “You sound like Mandy’s parents. But I know the truth.” She was making him out to be a hero and a good husband, but he’d never been either one.

  And no one else, especially Tara, would ever know all of it. The real reason he hated himself and was beginning to hate his innocent daughter. The truth of what kind of bastard he really was.

  Feeling the frustration, the heat, the pain of his guilt, Cam tried to shake some sense into Tara. He gripped her shoulders and shook her hard.

  “Open your eyes, Tara. See what’s…” The look on her face. The love in her eyes. The understanding. It choked the words right out of his mouth and blurred his vision.

  He didn’t want her understanding or her sympathy. He wanted her back out of his life, but the conflict was killing him.

  Lowering his head, he took her mouth with a fierce kiss. It wasn’t at all the same as the tender kisses of their early years. And he didn’t put his heart and soul into it the way he had always dreamed their first kiss after so many years would be. Oh no, not hardly.

  Instead, he punished her mouth. Punished her for not being his wife, the way they’d always planned. Punished her for letting his parents destroy everything good they’d once had. Punished her for coming back into his life and making him feel alive again.

  Shocked by Cam’s surprise assault, Tara gave as good as she got. This wasn’t the kiss of a heartsick, grieving man. No, his kiss was wild, desperate—exactly as she had been feeling. A little wild. A lot desperate.

  Grabbing hold of the front of his shirt with both hands, she held on while the storm inside him battled at her senses. She had loved this man since she was seven years old. She would not back away from him when he needed her most.

  Her heart hurt for him. Hurt for both of them. As much as she needed him physically, her heart was breaking over not being able to make his pain go away.

  Tara’s cheeks were drenched in tears. Tears she hadn’t let herself cry in years. So many tears now. Too many. In a moment she realized half these tears belonged to Cam. But that idea made her cry all the harder.

  Cam suddenly broke the kiss and shook her by the shoulders again. “Damn you, Tara. I want you so badly, I can hardly breathe. Damn you. Damn…”

  “Love me, Cam. Make love to me the way it used to be. I need you. And you need…”

  She couldn’t see him clearly through her tears. And words were becoming impossible. Every minute of regret and longing was falling from her eyes like a sudden rainstorm.

  Want me back, my love.

  “I can’t. Won’t. You ask too much, dammit.” Cam grabbed her up close to his chest, and held her tightly inside his embrace so she couldn’t see his face.

  She cried, now harder than ever, for their lost years and the gulf between them. For the relationship that would never be repaired. Tara exhausted herself crying against his shoulder, as nothing else in the world—not a lonely little girl needing help—not a hitman waiting for his kill—could keep her mind from falling into the deep blackness of their empty past and bleak future.

  When she finally grew cold, she opened her eyes. And found herself alone. A creeping gray dawn blocked the windows, and the fireplace was dark and cheerless.

  Where was Cam? Was it morning? Had they slept all night holding on to each other?

  She restarted the fire and then went to search for him. The door alarms were still armed and she doubted he had gone out to the animals. So where…?

  A sound on the front porch poured a shot of cold fear through her still-sleepy veins. She dived back into the great room for her backpack and rescued her weapon from the inside pocket. Maybe the hitman had found a way through the mountain of snow.

  But when she chanced a look out to the porch, nothing was there but ice and beyond that the blizzard, still raging. Then she heard the noise again and this time saw a shower of snow coming from the roof and mixing with the swirling, windblown flakes.

  Cam. Cleaning off the porch roof? Of course. Who else?

  Tara put away her .38, dashed into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, then made her way to the front bedroom upstairs. She spotted Cam’s silhouette through the frosty window as he wielded a snow shovel and balanced on the roof of the front porch. There was nothing she could do to help.

  Sighing and suddenly starving, she started back down to the kitchen. When she hit the bottom of the stairs, the depressing atmosphere of the house suddenly began to prey on her nerves. How many more days would she be stuck here with a man who refused to give her a real chance? A man who even refused to have Christmas, for pity’s sake?

  Cam had always loved the holiday season, just like she did. How could he deny himself, deny his daughter, the joy of Christmas in their wonderful home? Especially over guilt for something that was not his fault.

  Well, she would not deny herself. No way.

  If she was stuck here, and couldn’t have Cam, she would at least have Christmas.

  After Cam warmed up over a breakfast of the oatmeal Tara had fixed while he was on the roof, he excused himself and went to feed the animals. Breakfast had been a desolate affair and he was happy for the excuse to leave and get out of the chilly atmosphere of the warm kitchen.

  He knew Tara was as miserable as he was, but he refused to talk about it with her anymore. Last night when she’d begged him to make love to her, and he’d needed her so badly he thought death might be the preferable way out, everything suddenly became clear.

  He was ashamed of what he’d become and what had brought him to it. He could barely face Tara now, knowing the truth. She hadn’t taken his parents’ money. But the guilt of what he’d been still haunted him.

  Stomping back into the kitchen, he was ready to confront her. To tell her to keep her distance while they were forced into this close proximity. He didn’t care if she understood his reasons or not. No questions. He would find a quiet place upstairs to be alone while she stayed downstairs on her own.

  As he searched her out to tell her his new plan and couldn’t find her, he worked up a good steam of mad. He hadn’t asked for this. She’d interrupted his life, not the other way around. He wouldn’t force her to leave, but he’d only let her stay until they could reach the sheriff. After that, she could go. Out of his life again, the same way she went before.

  Yes, he still loved her and wanted her. But that was the whole problem. By the time he realized the door to the attic stairs was standing open, he was all geared up for an argument. Storming up the stairs, Cam rounded the last corner with his fists tight, ready to pick a fight so he wouldn’t be tempted.

  The sight that greeted him punched him smack in the gut. Tara was sitting on his grandmother’s antique chaise longue, holding a box of Christmas ornaments on her lap. She looked so—so much like family, it stopped him cold.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Remember these?” She held out two of the handmade tree ornaments they’d once made together.

  “Stop it, Tara. I don’t want to remember.” It hurt too much. “Put that junk away and…”

  He grabbed her by the wrist, and something in his mind just snapped.

  Chapter 5

  Cam was pissed. She had no right to drag out old memories and wave them in his face. Neither one of them was the same person as when they’d made those ornaments.

  Glaring at her, he suddenly experienced swamping waves of lust and deep need, washing over him like the winter winds over the mountaintops. Past melted into present, and the lost years crumbled t
o dust.

  “You’re not the same sweet girl I knew,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “I’m not sweet—or soft. Not anymore. You’ve changed, too. But every time I look at you I still hear music.”

  “Stop that!” She had to stop.

  “You’re angry? At me?”

  “I’m mad as hell at you. At me, too.” He jerked her up and ornaments went flying. “I don’t want to need you this much.”

  Dragging her lush body against him and pulling her bottom against the hard ridge of his erection, he let her experience the truth of what he was feeling. “I hate you for coming back and making me crazy.” He plastered his mouth against hers and backed them against the wall.

  “I need you, Cam,” she whispered against his lips. Looping her arms around his neck, she flattened her breasts to his chest. “You need me.”

  Blinded by furious desire, he ripped her T-shirt up and over her head. “I don’t…I don’t…”

  She stood naked to the waist, gazing at him, and he was lost. Taking one of her peaked nipples into his mouth, Cam plundered her with caresses. He let his hands roam over familiar territory as they willed. He allowed the wild man inside him to come out of his dreams.

  He stopped touching her only long enough to release his zipper. Even with his eyes locked on her face, he knew Tara was wiggling out of her jeans. This was crazy. They shouldn’t—he didn’t own any condoms and couldn’t have stopped long enough if he did. So help him, he couldn’t bring himself to let her go for one second. Not now that he had her this close.

  Completely naked now, she began climbing his legs in a frantic effort to wrap her long limbs around his thighs. As she sidled closer, his bad knee buckled. He twirled them both around so he could brace her back against the wall.

  This was his Tara in the flesh. His. At last.

  She locked her legs around his waist and he reached between them to position his erection to her wet opening. God, the heat between them was incredible. He let the fiery flames engulf him.