by Debra Webb
Returning to her temporary desk, she noticed a new email in-box alert flashing on her screen. Sinking into the chair, anticipating the worst, she clicked on it.
Congratulations, Chief Jensen. You win today’s skirmish but this war isn’t over.
There was an attachment. Against her better judgment, she opened it. A three-panel cartoon strip filled the screen. First a caricature of the bandstand in the park, then that picture overlaid with animated flames. The last panel was a sad little pile of ash topped with an oversize police shield sporting her badge number.
They’d do it. She felt it in her gut. This opening weekend or not, they had the will and resources to make her worst nightmare come true.
“Cowards,” she whispered to herself. “Bring it on.” She sent the file up the line to the federal agencies that were supposedly doing something helpful behind the scenes to break up the sleeper cell they had suspected from the beginning was in Belclare. While she was grateful the federal teams were taking care of all the bomb evidence out by the water, anytime they wanted to step in with some real, boots-on-the-ground help, that would be fine by her.
She leaned back, the springs on the worn-out chair squeaking in protest. Her department was crammed into half of their normal working space. Filmore had protected the building’s facade but wreaked havoc inside. Her officers were tired and more than a little edgy with all of the reacting they’d been doing.
They were stretched too thin with the extra patrols, and asking them to maintain that level indefinitely was unacceptable. She needed a new play, something offensive that would bring this war to a head. For her department, as well as for the community at large.
If the terrorist cell could create chaos using people from petty criminals to snipers to historical society presidents, she could sure as hell plan a resounding victory with the people on her side. Assuming there were people on her side.
That list seemed terribly short. Maybe it was better to use a neutral party.
For the potentially crazy idea that popped into her mind, a neutral party, one well versed in personal defense, was her best option. Her only option. She ran her fingertips along on the edge of the desk. She shouldn’t do it, shouldn’t put any civilians in the line of fire for any reason. Except the terrorists had done that for her and they didn’t show the first inclination of stopping.
The Lewiston family lived outside Belclare town limits and took advantage of the fact at every opportunity. Since becoming the Belclare police chief she’d tossed out more than one citation for an illegal whiskey still. The Lewistons just didn’t buy into the concept of law enforcement on private property. They were all excellent game hunters, blessed with perfect aim, and her officers knew firsthand they were always armed.
But each December the family got their legal act together and assembled the proper permits because the ideal place for their Christmas tree sales lot straddled a narrow smidge of the town line. Their reputation for offering the finest trees in three counties drew record numbers of buyers every year. Alongside the Christmas Village, it had become a symbiotic partnership benefiting both the Lewiston family and Belclare.
She flipped back through her file of threatening emails, finding the one she’d mentioned to Riley about the Christmas tree lot. No, it hadn’t been anything overt or direct, but the threat was phrased by someone who knew the Lewiston reputation for trouble the other eleven months of the year.
Damn it.
She should have considered that before, but now she would use it to her advantage. Resting her hands lightly on her keyboard, she measured her words carefully. If she could draw out the person planning all of this chaos, she could bring this to an end before anyone else—tourist or resident—got hurt.
There was no way to know for sure that the email would be read by the right person in time, but she had to try. When she was absolutely certain her invitation presented the perfect combination of bravado and temptation, she hit Send. As the message crossed cyberspace to the three most frequent addresses used on her hate mail, she murmured a prayer.
It was possible the feds would also catch wind of her idea, but it was a risk she had to take. To do nothing, to let this terrorist cell keep chipping away at her friends, her town and her confidence was intolerable. At least the Lewiston family could aptly defend themselves.
“Let’s have our own merry Christmas,” she muttered. “I’ll bring a one-size-fits-all ticket to prison for you.” She gathered her computer, cell phone and purse and said goodbye to everyone for the evening, but she didn’t go straight home.
Taking her time, she drove out to see the welcome sign, admiring the creative display that set the mood for the tourists she hoped would arrive en masse tomorrow.
Coming back through the center of town, she felt like a little kid as she passed each display. Transformed, each street had an individual holiday theme, ranging from fanciful to elegant. The decorating teams had delivered yet again. Because they were outsiders it would be so easy to blame the vendors and temporary workers for the trouble, but she knew better. Her instincts told her the root of this crime wave was local.
Filmore would be impressed and pleased with the end results and, for a moment, she entertained the idea of snapping a picture of Main Street to take to him. She drove out to the park instead. The ironwork at the park entrance had been lit with white lights and the garland wound with sparkling ribbon, much like the lampposts on her neighborhood street.
Thoughts of Riley followed her as she slowly moved through the park. He’d shown both heroism and expertise today at the dock. He’d revealed an interest and awareness of her work most men didn’t possess.
Maybe, as he’d said, he was just in the right place at the right time. Maybe he did plan to stay in Belclare because he liked the town. And when pigs started flying maybe she would believe him just because he kissed her so well.
There was more to the man and his story. As her pulse sped up, she realized exactly how eager she was to have some answers. Not only for the Wilks case, but for herself.
Snow started falling as Abby reached the bandstand and this time she did pull over and park. Vendor booths were scattered around behind the sloped green where Belclare residents enjoyed concerts and performances by the community theater. Santa Claus and his elves would take requests from ten to four. The Ferris wheel would run all day and into the night for the next three weeks, its colorful lights a beacon of holiday happiness.
She would not let anyone wreck that for the citizens she protected or for the tourists.
Getting out of her car, she enjoyed the utter quiet as big fat flakes caught in her hair and eyelashes. After soaking up the peaceful moment and letting it restore her battered nerves, she used her phone to take a few pictures. But she already knew the truth. The sick little cartoon from her email had been drawn up based on this year’s bandstand display.
Provided the tourists were brave enough to come out despite the troubles in Belclare, tomorrow this area of the park would be crowded with people enjoying the carnival atmosphere in this winter wonderland. And if everything went according to plan at the Christmas tree lot, they would safely enjoy the experience and have happy memories to cherish.
Satisfied she could pull off her plans, she drove home. Turning into her neighborhood, she passed house after house with decorated Christmas trees in the windows. She really needed to put up her tree.
It seemed every front window on her street sported a decorated tree. Calder’s window had a tree blooming with colorful lights and, without taking a closer look, Abby knew it would be sporting lengths of paper chains and macaroni garlands made by the excited hands of a happy child.
She pulled into her driveway and stopped her car next to Riley’s truck. He’d plugged in the lights for her outdoor display, but her empty window looked like the Grinch had come by. Even Mrs. Wilks and Riley had managed to decorate their trees today despite bombs, hospital visits and police reports.
There was nothing more sh
e could do tonight to net the terrorist cell. She might as well get busy and pull down the artificial tree from the attic.
The light came on over Riley’s back door and she watched, mesmerized with the way his body moved as he stomped into his boots and slipped his arms through the red vest he always wore.
He walked up to her car and reached for the door handle. She hit the unlock button and let him open the door for her. “Such service,” she said, stepping into the cold air.
“I’ve been watching for you,” he said, a wide smile on his face. “You looked great at the press conference.”
The snow fell on his hair and shoulders, sparkling before melting.
“Thanks. Weren’t you at the hospital?”
“Sure, but they released me right away.” He held out his hands for her inspection, but she was looking at the scrapes on his face. “Just a few scratches.”
The criminals had called this a skirmish, but Riley’s face had taken a beating. She reached out, not quite touching the butterfly closures across one lean cheekbone. It was a miracle his eyes had been spared.
Riley turned his face and brushed his lips across her palm. “I have a surprise for you.” He walked backward toward his house, as if he couldn’t stand to take his eyes off her.
Feeling inordinately flattered by that, she felt herself smiling back at him. Until an echo of Gadsden’s voice intruded with the reminder that Riley might be working for the terrorists, too. “Why?”
“I need a reason?”
Everyone had reasons and agendas for the things they did. She didn’t want to cloud the moment with work and worry, but she didn’t want to be a fool if his handsome face hid a sinister purpose. “I guess not.”
“Wow. You must be tired.”
“Why do you say that?” She stepped forward, hopelessly drawn to him despite the risk. Maybe because of it. She told herself she was just anticipating the surprise.
“You gave up the questioning too quickly.” His eyebrows bobbed up and down. “I was kind of expecting an interrogation.”
“All right.” He’d opened the door and she had to follow through. “What are you up to?” Way to start strong, Abby.
He grinned. “Wait right there. Don’t move.”
“Uh-huh.” She folded her arms across her chest, hoping she wasn’t being a complete idiot.
He disappeared behind the house and worry clogged her throat when she heard a scrape and rustle. “Are you okay?” Should she go for her gun or just dive in to provide backup for whatever he’d encountered?
“I’m fine,” he called. “Stay put.”
Fine. “I saw Mrs. Wilks got her tree up and...” She lost her train of thought as Riley came back into view. Or rather, as an enormous, fresh fir tree came into view, propelled by Riley’s untied boots. “What’s that?”
He leaned around the tree. “It’s a real Christmas tree.” His smile chased away every question and doubt hanging over her. No one harboring ill intent could look so happy over something as sentimental as a Christmas tree. Completely weak as rationalizations went, she let instinct have its way. That single expression changed her whole evening, erasing the turmoil of the criminal element plaguing her town.
The rich scent of the fresh-cut evergreen rolled over her, renewing her in the quiet snowfall. “It’s huge.”
“Mrs. Wilks helped me pick out all three of them at the Lewiston farm. She said they always have the best trees.”
She swallowed down a resurgence of fresh doubt at the coincidence. “Three?”
“Yeah. One for her, one for me, and this one for you.”
“I saw the windows when I pulled in,” she said.
“We’ve probably been almost as busy as you.” He set the tree down between them. “Of course, we’ve definitely had more fun. If you don’t want it I’ll find it another home.”
“I want it,” she said quickly. “It’s perfect.” She returned to her car for her purse to hide the unexpected nerves flooding her system. It had been such a long day and this was the perfect way to wrap it up. Or maybe she was losing her mind and had surrendered to the inevitable.
He looked the tree up and down. “I picked up a new tree stand since I couldn’t be sure where yours was.”
“Sounds like you thought of everything.”
He hitched a shoulder. “I’m a detail guy.”
“Yes. I’ve noticed.” She unlocked her back door and let him wrestle the tree inside.
“Which way?”
“Down the hall and to the left.”
She was impressed when he didn’t knock anything over or off the walls as he maneuvered down the narrow hallway. It brought back an unwelcome reminder of the mess they’d found at Mrs. Wilks’s house.
Another realization struck her, but she waited until he had the tree safely leaning between a chair and the wall. “You took her tree-shopping and helped her decorate to keep an eye on her, didn’t you?”
He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Guilty as charged.”
“I bet you even helped her clean up the mess in her house.”
He shrugged. “Is that a problem?”
“No.” It was thoughtful. Kind.
“She’s one tough lady,” he said. “But no one should deal with that alone. Besides, she gave me more cookies.”
“Lucky man,” Abby said, laughing. She was enjoying the normalcy of this moment. Standing here with him, she had the strangest sensation things might be okay. Who’d have guessed a stranger could make her feel this safe and stable in the midst of such a violent assault on Belclare?
“I’ll just go get the tree stand.”
“How does leftover lasagna sound?”
His gaze locked with hers, then drifted slowly to her mouth. She hoped it meant he wanted to kiss her as much as she wanted to kiss him.
“Delicious.”
“Okay. I’ll—” she hitched her thumb over her shoulder to the kitchen “—just get started on that while you put the tree in water.”
Riley didn’t move right away. He looked around the room. “You want it centered in the window, right?”
“Please.”
“I can do that.” He looked at her ceiling, then her furniture. Then his eyes landed on the flowers from Deke on her coffee table. His eyebrows snapped together in a hard scowl. “An admirer?” He tipped his head to the lavish arrangement.
“Not even close,” she said. Her warm mood burst like a bubble. “It was a friendly gesture from Deke Maynard.”
“Sure.”
She slipped out of her coat and hooked it on the hall tree at the front door. Deke was the furthest thing from her mind with Riley filling up her front room. “It was meant as encouragement.”
“That’s some serious encouragement,” he said softly. “You know, if I’m poaching here—”
“Poaching?” She cut him off, bristling at the archaic choice of words. “I’m not endangered wildlife, Riley.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “One minute you’re buying me a Christmas tree—with a stand—and the next you think I’m playing around or something.”
He stepped forward but stopped when she held out a hand. “That is not what I meant.”
“Then clear it up right now,” she demanded.
“I like you.” He took another step, stopping just as his chest brushed her fingers. “I want you,” he added, his gaze hot on her. “I go after what I want, what I like. Sometimes I come on a little strong.”
Her mind reeled at his speech. Her indignation faded. She was more surprised her knees didn’t buckle. He was an arm’s length away and her imagination leaped into overdrive, her mind on how his hands and mouth would feel if he closed the distance and kissed her. Did men come any hotter than this one? “I kissed you first,” she muttered. “That should have been a clue.”
His mouth twitched. “I remember. But I’m new in town and I don’t know all the dynamics. What I do know is th
at I don’t like sharing.”
Where this was coming from dawned on her then. “Danny told you I meet with Deke every week.”
Riley bobbed his head, but his eyes didn’t leave hers.
“It’s coffee. As friends.” She reached back and pulled out the pins holding her hair up in a bun. Slipping the pins into her pocket, she raked her hands through her hair. It didn’t escape her notice how Riley’s eyes tracked every move. “He’s talented, and very shy. He’s also extremely influential.”
“I heard the ads.”
“Precisely my point. He’s been very supportive. The flowers were a nice surprise from a friend.”
“He delivered them personally?”
It seemed an odd thing for him to latch on to. “You just delivered a tree,” she pointed out. “Deke is only a friend.” She might have briefly hoped for more, but in the presence of Riley she understood exactly how lonely she’d been. Deke might have eventually been more, but not now. “It was important to me to maintain that friendship for Belclare.”
“Got it.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” He raised her hand from his chest to his lips. “You are a brave, gorgeous woman. Can you blame me for assuming there was competition?”
She rolled her eyes, though the compliment warmed her from head to toe. She pulled her hands free. Giving in to temptation, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Go get the stand. I’ll get dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You don’t ever have to say that to me again,” she said, leading him back down the hall to the kitchen.
She found an apron to protect her skirt and kept herself on task, starting the oven and prepping a salad to go with the leftover lasagna. It was a comfortable time as Riley worked, bringing in the tree stand and a handsaw. A prepared man was a treasure, she thought absently as she slid the lasagna into the oven.
Riley called her to the front room for an opinion. “Well?”
“It’s beautiful.” She wasn’t sure how, but he’d managed to find the perfect tree. It fit the space beautifully. “You sure don’t waste any time.”
