by Geri Krotow
“No, but I didn’t stop by for you to feed me. I thought we could order in Chinese, my treat.”
“I thought I should avoid extra visitors to the house while I’m working undercover here in Silver Valley.”
“I think takeout from the Iron Wok is safe enough. We’ll keep the security detail on your property for the foreseeable future.”
“Normally I’d take you up on your kind offer, since their bean-curd stir-fry is my absolute favorite. But my mother left me a full dinner.” She opened the refrigerator and wasn’t surprised to see enough food to feed four people. “Look at that. It’s as if she expected I’d have company.”
“I may have told her I’d keep a close eye on you.” His casual stance in her kitchen, combined with how handsome he looked in casual civilian clothes, made it too easy to think they could patch up whatever relationship they’d had all those years ago. Or maybe even start a new one.
“You have to be careful saying things like that to my mother. She’s so eager for grandchildren she’ll make you your favorite foods and bring them over on a daily basis.”
She probably should have blushed at what she’d said, once she realized how it sounded, but Bryce had seen her take a bullet and he’d been the one to make sure the shooter didn’t have a chance to hit her again in a more vulnerable place. He deserved some honesty from her.
And she liked the sound of his laughter. Butternut did, too. She gently put her paws on Bryce’s chest and stretched out to her formidable length.
“Butternut, down!”
“She’s okay.” Bryce scratched her behind her ears, cooing to the dog like he’d done with their family pets when they’d both been teenagers. “But you’d better listen to your mother and get down for now, girl.” The German shepherd complied but remained at Bryce’s feet, staring at him with her most imploring expression.
“You’ve got a friend for life.” She put the glass dish with the chicken and rice in the microwave before she turned back to Bryce.
“You didn’t come here to only eat, though, did you?”
“No, not really. We need to get know each other better than we do, Zora.”
“You know more about me than a lot of people I’ve worked with before.”
“I know about who you were—I know virtually nothing of who you are today. And you know nothing about me.”
The look in his eyes sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine. But she’d be damned if she let him know it. She wrapped her arms around herself.
“It’s getting chilly in here. I’ll go start a fire.” Anything to distract her from her body’s reaction to Bryce.
Bryce hesitated, and she was afraid he’d say something about the blatant chemistry between them.
“Why don’t you let me do that? I know you can handle it, but you should go easy on your ribs. Save your strength for when we’re chasing down the bad guy.” He didn’t give her a chance to reply as he turned and walked into the larger area of the living room where the original farmhouse fireplace remained.
“Your chimney and flue are clean?” He started to stack logs from the basket into the pit, placing kindling underneath the larger, white-barked logs she and her father had split this autumn.
“Yes. I use it pretty regularly during the winter.”
“Did you do all the renovation on this place? It seems so modern, yet still looks like a nineteenth-century home.”
She laughed. “No, I’m not a fixer-upper, not by a long shot. The house was renovated by the previous owners, but then they got a job offer in California. They were eager to sell and I lucked out. I own all the property surrounding the house, and quite a bit down the road. I rent out the extra farmland whenever I can.”
“So you don’t need the money from the Trail Hikers.”
Obviously he’d been offered his contract. The Trail Hikers paid generously, because they felt they were hiring the best of the best. They also expected more.
“I don’t need the money, no, but my parents can use a little extra to make their retirement easier. I’m not doing it for the paycheck. My counseling work pays a decent wage. But it’s nice to be able to sock some extra away for them. They’ve done so much for me.”
Still kneeling next to the flickering flames, he looked at her with blatant curiosity.
“They did more than adopt you, didn’t they? They kept you safe from something bigger. Something more than being orphaned at twelve.”
“Yes.” After not talking about her past for so long, she found it ironic that she had to deal with it twice in the same day.
Three times, counting seeing your mother.
“Are you ready to tell me about it, or am I hoping for too much?”
Chapter 6
“Why don’t we eat here, where it’s warmer? I can bring our food out on a tray.” Zora’s hands were on her hips as she stood in front of him. As if she was prepared to do battle.
At least she hadn’t refused to share her past with him outright, so perhaps he was making some headway with her.
“Fine with me.”
He watched her as she turned and went back into the kitchen where the microwave was beeping. She’d matured into a beautiful woman. No longer the gangly, geeky teen whom he’d realized too late he cared for more than just a next-door neighbor. The blossoming figure he remembered from senior year had developed into the sexy figure Zora had now, whether in yoga pants or a hospital gown.
As he stood to join her and help carry their plates, a movement outside the picture window caught his attention. At the same moment, he received a text from the security detail.
We cleared her. A local florist. Delivery.
A florist? Maybe some belated get-well flowers for Zora. But who knew she’d been hurt except for SVPD and the Trail Hikers and her parents?
“I’ll get it.” He opened the front door to a woman, bundled for the freezing weather and holding a long box with a huge purple bow on it.
Kayla.
Shit.
“Bryce. Nice to see you. I have this address for a Reverend Colleen Hammermill, but I know Zora lives here. Skyline Drive and Cherry Creek, right?” Kayla looked warily at Bryce. He imagined being stopped by the officers farther down the driveway had thrown her off. While she didn’t look as angry with him as she’d been when they’d broken off their relationship six months ago, she wasn’t overly friendly, either.
“Colleen Hammermill?” That was Zora’s undercover name—how did flowers find their way here?
“Hi, Kayla! I’ll take them.” Zora had come up next to him and held her hands out for the box.
“Wait! Let me take that.” He gave Zora a look that he hoped reflected his concern.
“I know you’re not a minister.” Kayla’s comment implied that she knew a racier side of Zora.
Bryce ignored the jealousy that stirred.
Zora laughed and it sounded natural, although he heard a tiny catch in her breath. “Kayla and I know each other from yoga class,” she said. “How do you know each other?”
“We tried to date. It didn’t work out.” Was Kayla warning Zora? Damn it. “So you know this minister?”
“Yes, it’s my roommate from college. She’s staying with me for a few weeks, but she’s out at the moment. She’ll be excited to get these.”
“I have to say it was one of the more romantic orders I’ve filled since I opened the shop a month ago.” Why did Bryce think this was a dig at him, a snipe at how little he’d been available for her during their brief dating period?
“Oh?” Zora played it cool.
“Yes. A man called in the order this morning. It was on my answering machine, and he dropped an envelope off through the front mail slot. It was there when I arrived at the shop. He paid cash, leaving extra for what he said he hoped would be personalized service.”
“So that’s why you’re delivering. I didn’t think you usually did all of the driving yourself. Do you happen to remember his name?”
“No name
. Just the request and cash for delivery. He left his own note. All I had to do was put the order together.”
“Well, thanks so much.”
“I’ll need your signature.” Kayla pulled her glove off with her teeth as she held out a phone with a signature program on the screen.
“Of course.”
He waited until he was sure Zora was okay with the transaction. Like the pro she was, Zora handled the whole thing with aplomb.
“Thanks so much, Kayla.”
“Sure. And, Bryce, it was nice to see you again.” Kayla looked from him to Zora and back, her expression bemused. “I assume you’re here for work, right?”
“Actually, yes.” Kayla had seen the security detail and she thought Colleen Hammermill was staying here—which she was, in truth. Just not how Kayla thought.
Kayla shook her head. “You’ll never change, Bryce. See you!” She smiled at Zora before she turned and descended the porch steps.
Zora closed the door and looked at him, her eyes sparking with humor.
“Let me guess. You and Kayla have something going on, and you broke it off?”
“Had. Emphasis on the past.”
“How long ago?”
“A while. It was brief. I’m sure you got her zinger—she was disappointed in my work hours and unavailability to date. She’s absolutely right. I wasn’t there for her, couldn’t be. My work can get pretty intense.”
“Like it is now.” Her expression softened and he groaned.
“Don’t psychoanalyze me, Zora. I’m a detective. Long hours are part of the deal. You’ve learned that firsthand since being with the Trail Hikers, right?”
“I guess so.” Her eyes shifted to the box he held.
“What should we do with it?”
“First, we’ll take it to your entryway out back. Then we go from there.”
She followed him as he carried the box out to her mudroom and set it down. Butternut’s claws clicked on the hardwood and then on the slate-tiled entry floor.
“What do you think it is? We need to call in forensics, don’t we?” She held Butternut back, keeping her from getting too close to Bryce and the box.
“Yes, we’ll need a full team here. But they’ll have to come in waves, so that anyone watching won’t suspect what’s going on. So you met Kayla through yoga?”
“Yeah, I met her at the local gym when I first moved back. She went to high school with us, a few years behind.”
“How well do you know her?”
“She’s not a criminal, Bryce! You dated her, for heaven’s sake.”
Anger blurred his focus. He faced her. “We don’t know who’s a criminal and who’s not in a situation like this, Zora. This package is from someone who thinks that you’re a minister, and that you live here. We can’t rule out anyone, even when we both know them.”
“They’re probably from the shooter, right?” Zora wasn’t backing down.
“Probably. Maybe.”
“And they only know me as a dark brunette with a much larger profile. I had an oversize sweatshirt on over my vest, remember? They don’t know me.”
She stood toe-to-toe with him and didn’t blink.
“Yes. You’re right.” He placed his hands in his front pockets before he could do something stupid. Like touch her. “I’m sorry, Zora. We’re dealing with a lot of different threads here. You and I have to make sure we’re in sync and that our past doesn’t interfere with the operation. Even though I know you were in the navy and have military experience I’m still not used to the idea of you being an undercover agent. And now that I know about the Trail Hikers—well, it’s been a long few days.”
Understanding was reflected in her eyes and he was transported back to long hours spent in either of their bedrooms, doors always left wide-open due to watchful parents, listening to the latest band one of them had discovered. Zora had listened to all his dreams about college, his future. And he’d done the same for her.
She’d never opened up completely, and he’d accepted it. He’d craved her friendship enough to overlook just about anything that bothered him about her.
“It has been a rather shocking reunion, hasn’t it?”
Her lips twitched as she spoke and he couldn’t help it. His laughter erupted in a burst of relief that she could joke under such dire threats.
“Your humor proves that you’re cut out for this kind of work, I’ll give you that. I don’t even want to comment on how easily you still read me.”
She nodded and looked him over in a way he’d never, back when they were in high school, imagined a woman could look at a man.
“You’ve grown into your job, too, Bryce, from the looks of it. For the record—I can’t read you like I used to. We’re different, we’re not kids. Now, are you going to stand around chatting or are you going to call in your forensics team?”
She didn’t want to talk about anything too personal, and he respected her focus on the job.
He scratched his chin.
“Let’s wait on that. First, the only person who handled this was Kayla—since we know her and she’s a legit florist, we know we’re not dealing with an explosive. And only her prints will be on this.”
“Except for the note the suspect left for her to include.”
He nodded. “Right. Let’s get gloves.” Zora disappeared and came back with two sets of purple gloves. Once indoctrinated to the Trail Hikers, each agent was issued a standard evidence-collecting kit. It was generic enough that it wouldn’t seem suspicious if found by normal civilians.
After they’d each put on latex gloves, he undid the ribbon and took the huge purple bow from the box.
Zora worked beside him, lifting the cover.
White tissue paper.
Under which were a dozen long-stemmed roses. Seemingly innocuous, except for the colors.
He heard her gasp.
“What?”
“The colors—they’re the colors of Advent candles.”
“Purple, pink and white?”
“Yes.”
She nudged him aside and pulled out a small white envelope that was tucked into the stems, whose thorns had been removed.
“Be careful with that.”
She had the temerity to glare at him.
“I got decent enough training from the Trail Hikers, don’t you think?”
“Right.”
He looked over her shoulder and forced himself to ignore her scent, the soft tumble of her red hair. Her gloved fingers quickly opened the note.
The envelope contained a single card with a Christmas emblem on the corner. It looked like something more personal than standard florist stock.
With each candle lit, one less before Christmas.
The last Sunday will have seen the fourth lit.
And by the time white is lit, Christmas will be pure again.
“How many Sundays until Christmas?” he asked Zora as she walked out of the mudroom and into her kitchen. He followed and as she grabbed her calendar, he called his up on his cell.
“One. Because of the way the days fall, we have four Sundays of Advent and then Christmas a few days later—all in December,” she murmured as she flipped the page into December. Apparently her schedule was as busy as his as she hadn’t touched the paper calendar since October. “The pink candle is for the third Sunday, which we’ve already had. The white is the one lit on Christmas. At least, that’s what I saw last year when I went with a friend to an ecumenical service. My parents celebrate their faith in the more traditionally Catholic way, but the symbolism’s all the same.”
The wheels in Bryce’s head were turning.
“He’s already killed two, and you would have been number three.”
“But I wasn’t—so there could be two more, including me, he wants dead. One for each remaining Sunday of Advent, and then Christmas. And like Claudia thought, he wants to have the last one be a big deal, very public.”
“Are you sure about the Advent colors?”
/> Patience battled with the exasperation in her eyes.
“We’ll double-check it, of course, but Anna and Adam raised me Catholic once they adopted me. A lot of Christian denominations use the Advent wreath and candles to signify the approach of Christmas—we always had an interdenominational Advent wreath and candles in the navy chapels and on board ship. The pink candle is for the Sunday that’s halfway through Advent. The center candle, if there is one, is white and represents that Christ is born—Christmas.”
He stared at the roses. One had been left white, while the others had been hand-dipped into pink and purple dye of some sort. As if the killer had demanded delivery by a certain date and Kayla had to use whatever she had in stock.
“We need to get the note turned in for handwriting analysis after we check for prints. Although it’ll take too long to get the results on the handwriting. We need to get him now.”
“We’ll also analyze whatever note he left with Kayla, in the envelope with the cash.”
Zora shook her head. “No, she said he’d left a message on her shop’s voice mail.”
“Even better. Maybe we can get the call traced.”
“Yes, but, Bryce...we can’t wait on the results.”
“No.”
“I mean, are you thinking what I am?”
“That the next, and last, Sunday of Advent is in six days? And Christmas is a few days later?”
“Yes.”
* * *
They ate the reheated but now cold chicken dinner as they waited for the first officers from the SVPD forensics team to stop buy. While each police officer was trained in forensics, the precinct practiced the common protocol by having its own specialized team consisting of officers who received more in-depth training. They also maintained contact with regional criminal forensics labs that proved vital in time-sensitive cases.
“The FBI will want the information, too. They might get the evidence correlated more quickly.” She hated to mention the feds to Bryce, as she knew it could be a point of contention with local LEA, but Bryce simply shrugged.
