The Cop Who Stole Christmas (Tall, Hot & Texan)

by Christie Craig

  He moaned, his earlier problem now a limp non-issue.

  Her gaze shot back to his face and reddened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . .” She scrambled to her feet.

  He tucked his hands between his legs and moaned as silently as he could.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “That’s probably . . . Bethany.”

  He tried to sit up, but couldn’t. Damn, she got him good.

  Swallowing his moan, he heard her open the door and forced himself into a sitting position.

  “Hi,” he heard Savanna say. Hands still between his legs, pain all the way in his gut, he glanced toward the door. Jake Baldwin stood there, staring at him, a box of donuts in his hand.

  “You okay?” Jake asked.

  Was his expression that bad? Probably. He nodded.

  “I’m . . . I’m . . . Excuse me.” Savanna took off.

  Mark watched her hotfoot it out of the room, his t-shirt swishing around her legs. Then he noticed Jake watching as well. No doubt assessing the fact that she was wearing Mark’s clothes. Not that he cared all that much. His balls throbbed too much to care.

  Mark lowered his head and breathed through his teeth, waiting for the pain to subside. Gripping his hands tighter between his legs, he heard Jake move closer.

  “You look like you got kneed in the balls,” Jake whispered.

  Mark nodded again.

  “She do it?” Jake asked, surprise in his voice.

  “Accident.” He held up one hand.

  Jake laughed. “You know, I married the last girl that kneed me in the balls.” He dropped into a living room chair and set the donuts on the coffee table. “I brought breakfast.”

  Mark took a deep breath. The throb decreased to a dull ache. He raised his head. “What’s up?”

  Jake looked toward the hall. “I spoke with the lead investigator, Tom, a bit ago.”

  “And?”

  Jake motioned toward the hall. “You were right.”

  Mark inhaled. “I like the sound of that. But about what?”

  “She didn’t do it. She’s completely off the hook.”

  Mark shifted his legs. “They have cameras at the service station where she bought gas?”

  “Yup. And the cemetery had some vandalism recently so they put up cameras. She was just where she said she was.”

  “Good.” Mark noted the amount of light streaming through the living room window, he looked at the time. It was almost eleven. He looked up at Jake. “You got anything else?”

  “They are looking hard at two people for this. A Juan Ardito and Amanda Adams. Miss Adams admitted to having an affair with the vic. She also admitted to leaving the hotel last night. She says she went to meet up with another friend. A married friend. They are checking her alibi. She’s worried he’ll deny it because of his wife. Mr. Ardito claims he was home alone. But he lives in one of those richified gated communities with cameras that your kind live in, and says he didn’t leave. Cops were collecting the tapes.”

  Mark cut his eyes up at his partner, frowning at the slam against him, then he recalled Savanna saying the owner of the Mexican restaurant had a thing for her. Right then, he decided he didn’t like the guy.

  “But Ardito indicated that one of the other gals, a Bethany—who is a lawyer and is at the station being questioned now—came right out and said she’d kill Clint.”

  Mark let the info roll around his brain. “Do you know what they drive?”

  “You still think the car you saw driving past could have been the perp?”

  “The timing’s right,” Mark said.

  “That might be why they want you to come back down to talk to them.”

  Mark’s phone rang. He reached for it on the coffee table, but when he saw the caller ID, he turned it off and looked back up at Jake.

  “Is that them?” Jake asked. “I told Tom I’d come tell you.”

  “No, but I don’t know why they want to see me. I gave them everything I got.”

  “Yeah, but you know how this works. We just keep poking the witnesses hoping they’ll give us something else.”

  Mark frowned. “I know, but it’s a lot more fun when you’re the poker and not the pokee.”

  Savanna’s cat swayed into the room and circled Jake’s feet. “Ugly cat,” he said, but dropped his hand to pet it. “At least Macy’s cat, Elvis, has a nose.”

  Yeah, the cat may be ugly, but he had a beautiful owner, Mark thought. The memory of how she felt on top of him had him wondering what might have happened if Jake hadn’t shown up. Would they still be all tangled up on his sofa?

  • • •

  After changing clothes and brushing his teeth in his master bath, Mark walked back into the living room expecting to see Savanna. She wasn’t there. Jake had made coffee and was eating a donut.

  “She hasn’t come out?” Mark grabbed his own donut.

  “Nope.”

  Mark finished eating and poured himself some coffee, all the while surmising why Savanna could still be in hiding. He finally hit on a reason. “Can you call your buddy and see if I can get her in the house to pick up some clothes and personal items?”

  Jake reached in his jeans for his phone. “Sure.”

  Mark went and knocked on the bathroom door. “Savanna?”

  The door swung open. She had a desperate look on her face. “Is Bethany here?”

  “Not yet,” he said.

  She bit down on her lip. “I’m sorry for . . . for hitting you in the wrong place.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Jake made coffee and brought donuts. You want to come and have a cup?”

  She looked down at her shirt. “I don’t really feel appropriate.”

  “You’re fine,” he said, but he liked the fact that she hadn’t worried about it with him last night. Of course, she’d probably still been in shock at the time, but he wanted it to mean something.

  Her face reddened. “He probably thinks we were sleeping together.”

  Mark grinned. “We were.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I know.” He hesitated. “I can offer you another robe.”

  She grimaced. “You trust me not to lose another one?”

  He grinned. “Come on.” He led her back to the guest bedroom where he’d stored the house coats.

  “Oh, good news. All your alibis came back clear. You’re no longer their top suspect.”

  She bit down on her lip. “I guess I should be relieved, but considering I was innocent, I figured they’d come to that conclusion.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s still good to have it proven.” He waved toward the robes hanging in the open closet. “Color preference?”

  “I don’t care,” she said.

  He snagged her the green one, yanked the tag off, and handed it to her.

  “You really should cut the tags off,” she said. “You might rip it.”

  “I’ll try to remember that when I loan you the next one,” he said. “Jake’s calling the detective in charge to see if I can get you in to collect some personal items.”

  “That would be wonderful.” She slipped the robe on. She looked good in that color. “I feel so . . . homeless right now. I don’t have underwear, or a toothbrush.”

  Underwear’s optional. His gaze lowered for one second. “Not true,” he said, smiling. “You’re wearing a pair of my boxers.”

  “No offense, but I prefer my own,” she said, half smiling in return.

  Damn she was pretty. But she was still his neighbor. He pushed that thought away. “I think I have a new toothbrush. This way.”

  He saw her glance at his bed as they moved through his room and he couldn’t help but wonder if her mind had gone the same place his had. Them . . . there. Them . . . there . . . minus the underwear.

  Moving into his bathroom and away from his thoughts, he reached into the cabinet and grabbed a pack of toothbrushes with one left in it. “Here ya go. And here’s some toothpaste.” He passed her his tube.
>
  “Thanks.”

  They stared at each other for a second. “They’re asking me to come back to the station for some more questions. You make yourself at home. Raid the fridge. I shouldn’t be too long.”

  “Should I lock the door when I leave?” she asked.

  “Leave?” The word tasted bad on his tongue.

  “Bethany should be here any minute.”

  “Yeah, lock the door, but. . .” Shit! He didn’t want her leaving. “You know, they should be done with your house anytime.” It was a bit of a lie. They’d probably have it taped up for at least another day. “You could just stay here.”

  “The officer last night said it could be as long as a week.”

  Okay, he was caught. “I don’t think it’ll be that long.” But the idea of having her here a week sounded good. Really good. He might even take some of his vacation days and . . . celebrate Christmas with her. He hadn’t realized how lonely he’d really been until now.

  He held his breath. She didn’t say she accepted his offer, but she didn’t turn it down. Damn if he didn’t want to reach out and brush a strand of hair from her cheek. Hell, they’d drank after each other, seen each other naked, and slept together—minus the awesome sex and yes, he’d already figured out it would be awesome—but right then a simple touch shouldn’t feel like crossing a line. But for some reason it did.

  Probably because he didn’t know where this was going. Hell, he didn’t know where he wanted this to go.

  “Well, uh, I’ll be in kitchen. You can use this bathroom or the guest.” He walked off.

  “Mark?”

  He looked back.

  Her smile came with a ton of gratefulness. “Thank you, again. For everything.”

  Right then he knew, not so much where he wanted this to lead, but where he didn’t want it to lead. He didn’t want her leaving. Now all he had to do was convince her to stay. But how?

  Chapter Eight

  When Savanna walked out, her neighbor’s partner was gone. Mark told her they’d already gotten permission for her to grab a few things. Savanna didn’t know which was worse, to go over dressed in her orange prison garb, or in her neighbor’s T-shirt and boxers that were three times too big, covered with a man’s silk robe. She opted for the robe getup.

  “Coffee?” he asked.

  The smell filled the room. “That would be nice.”

  He pulled out a mug from the cabinet. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Black,” she said.

  He handed her the Christmas mug. Savanna’s gaze shifted to the cup, her breath catching as she watched Santa on the mug lose his pants. “Where did you get this?”

  “Get what?”

  “The cup. I had one like it, but it broke and I was sort of hoping to replace it.”

  He moved closer. “Is that the one with Santa losing his pants?”

  “Yeah.” He probably thought she was crazy. But she didn’t care.

  “I think Macy, Jake’s wife, gave it to me.”

  “You wouldn’t know where she got it, would you?”

  “Not for sure, but I’ll ask if you’d like.”

  “That would be great.”

  After a few minutes, Mark walked her across the street. At her own door a thought hit and she stopped. “He’s gone right?” She still had the images flashing in her head—she didn’t need to see it for real. She started shaking.

  “He’s gone.” He ran a hand down her forearm. The touch was welcome, it offered the resolve she needed not to run.

  Two officers met them at the door, and Mark and one of the other men followed her into her bedroom. She grabbed an overnight bag and packed some essentials. When choosing underwear she did so quickly, slightly embarrassed having male eyes on her trying to match a couple of bras and panties.

  Then again, making underwear selections was no more embarrassing than waking up on top of Mark Donaldson. On top of a perky Mark Donaldson with his morning rise-and-shine ready to rock and roll. Or kneeing him in the balls, or seeing the guy naked, or puking on his feet. How about his seeing her in her bathrobe, wearing a blue mask and mayonnaise hair. Her time with him was one embarrassing moment after another.

  Well, not all of them. She recalled them sitting on the sofa and talking about their parents. That hadn’t been embarrassing. It had been . . . nice, almost meaningful.

  Was she ready for meaningful with a guy? Her heart picked up its pace. She’d considered jumping back into the dating pool, but now that the opportunity appeared right next door, she hesitated.

  Then she realized how absurd it was that her ex-husband had been killed, in her place, that she was possibly being set up for murder by someone she considered a friend, and instead of worrying about that, she was fretting over her crush on her neighbor.

  She needed a reality check. She glanced over at Mark, concern for her showing in his eyes. Her stomach did that flutter thing that always happened when she liked a boy. Okay, she needed a reality check really fast.

  Or maybe that was what this was all about. An escape from reality. Focusing on her neighbor was a distraction from all the other shit. In a week or two, she might look at him and not feel so . . . so fluttery.

  He moved in. So close his spicy male scent filled her air space. “You okay?”.

  “Fine.” She dropped another bra in her bag. “I just need to grab my makeup.” She paused. “Oh, and my purse and cell phone.”

  “I think they still have your phone. I’ll ask and see when you can get it back. They should do it soon since your two alibis checked out.”

  “Are they still looking at you as a suspect? Is that why you have to go back in?”

  “No, they just want to confirm some things.”

  “So they think Mandy did this?”

  “Both she and the owner of the restaurant—the one that has a thing for you—are still persons of interest.”

  She clutched the bag to her. “I can’t see either of them doing it. I just can’t.”

  “I know it’s hard to believe that. But someone did it. And it was someone who heard what you said at the restaurant.”

  “What about just some customer?”

  “They would have to have known who your ex was and where you lived.”

  She frowned. Another heart pounding thought hit. Had whoever done this been in her bedroom? Had they touched her things? “This is so messed up.”

  He dropped his hand on her shoulder. “I know, but it’ll get figured out.”

  She looked up. “Are you nice to all murder suspects? Is that in your job description as a homicide detective?”

  He grinned. “Only the ones who wear sexy underwear.” He glanced down into her drawer.

  She elbowed him.

  He chuckled and caught her arm. “Hey, I’ve already been beat up by you once today.”

  His fingers smoothed over the silk of his housecoat. Their eyes met. It was happening again. They were having one of those nice/meaningful moments. Not because he was flirting or talking about her underwear, but because she knew he’d said it to help her over the moment’s panic. It worked, too. And she appreciated it. A lot.

  “Don’t leave tonight,” he said. “Stay.”

  She hesitated. “I . . .I’ve inconvenienced you enough.”

  “It’s not an inconvenience.”

  “But . . .”

  “You can sleep in the extra bedroom, I just . . . like your company.”

  “But . . .”

  “Okay, how about you wait at my place today. When Bethany shows up, visit with her, but stay and let me take you out to dinner and if your house isn’t released yet, I’ll take you to her place. Deal?”

  She nodded. But for the life of her, she didn’t know if it was the right thing or not.

  • • •

  Was it a date? Or was he just being nice? Those two questions kept whispering through her mind—along with the image of Clint.

  Mark left as soon as they got back to his place. Savanna watched him leave
and then went and grabbed a cup of coffee—in the Santa mug. She wondered if he’d sell it her. She stared down at the donuts and her stomach growled.

  The crusty sugar melted on her lips. The soft center danced on her tongue. She went to take another bite and felt the jelly center burst. And not just in her mouth. She glanced down and saw a big plop of fruit goo on the green silk housecoat.

  “Crap!” Having already lost one of his robes, the thought of ruining this one hit hard. She turned to find a paper towel when the doorbell rang.

  “Bethany.” She took off across the living room—fruit goo and all. She yanked open the door wanting and needing her best friend. It wasn’t Bethany.

  An older woman stood there. Not one strand of her gray hair stood out of place. She wore an expensive suit, matching shoes, and a frown.

  “Where is my son?”

  “He . . . he went to the police station.”

  Her gaze fell to Savanna’s boobs, or maybe to the large blob of donut jelly on the housecoat she’d given her son. “I was . . . the jelly donut leaked.”

  “He’s not at the police station. I just came from his work.”

  “He’s at Piperville Police station. Not the one he works at.”

  “Please tell me they aren’t arresting him.”

  “I don’t—”

  “There was a murder across the street. I’m told he’s a suspect.”

  “I—”

  “I warned my son about the riff raff he’d find in this neighborhood.”

  “Uhh . . .”

  “Who are you, anyway?”

  “I—”

  “What are you doing wearing my son’s robe? What? Can’t you talk?”

  Savanna swallowed. I’m the riff raff. “I’m a neighbor.” Savanna prepared herself for questions about the murder.

  “Are you trying to sleep your way into my son’s bank account?”

  Savanna’s mouth dropped open. That wasn’t the question she’d expected. She tried to find the proper way to tell Mark’s mom that it was none of her damn business, but something about standing there, wearing the Christmas gift the woman had given her son, garnished with fruit goo, and wearing her son’s underwear, left her a little insecure.