by Jill Shalvis
There was no one more proud or stubborn than Molly.
Well, except for maybe him.
But as time went on, he found himself not just wanting to know what had happened to her, but needing to know. He had the feeling it was bad, but as his own past wasn’t exactly filled with happy memories, he’d never pushed because he knew what that felt like.
He had the means to dig into her past. At Hunt, they had the best of the best search programs. Some were so intense and invasive, he could have found the day she’d been conceived and how many cavities her dad might’ve had at the time. Lucas had used those programs without remorse or regret when it came to work and digging into the scum of the earth as needed.
But he’d never been able to bring himself to dig on Molly. He couldn’t justify, even to himself, the invasion of her privacy.
None of which lessened his curiosity any.
Knowing when to fold, he joined the ladies at the table. Mrs. Berkowitz nudged a cup of tea in his direction. He looked at it. It was green, with some flecks swimming around in it. Great. He took a sip and burned his tongue. On top of that, it tasted like ass. “Okay, ladies. Talk to me.”
Everyone started talking at once.
He shook his head and held up a hand. “One at a time. You,” he said and pointed at Mrs. Berkowitz.
“We work all year long,” she said, pulling out her phone. “I have a ledger of work details—Hold up, where are my glasses?”
“On your head,” Mrs. White said.
“Oh. Right.” She put them on her nose. “Better. Anyway, as you know, we’ve not been properly paid and we think Santa’s guilty of fraud and money laundering.”
“Do you have any evidence?” Lucas asked.
“What is it with you and the police always needing evidence?” Mrs. Berkowitz asked. “Isn’t that your job?”
“So you did already go to the police,” Lucas said.
“Yes, but they wouldn’t help us without some sort of evidence. The thing is, I know we’re right. And then there’s the fact that Santa’s brother is always around, acting like he’s in charge.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Lucas asked. “Maybe it’s a family business.”
“It is a family business,” she said. “Forty years ago, Santa’s brother was a crime boss.”
“How can you remember forty years ago when you just forgot where you put your glasses when they were on your head?” Lucas asked.
She glared down that nose at him. “Boy, my long-term memory’s like a steel trap.”
Molly slid him a small, amused glance. He’d just insulted one of Santa’s helpers. Definitely he was on the naughty list.
“Do you have a real name for this guy?” he asked.
“The brother? Tommy Thumbs,” Mrs. Berkowitz said. “Back in the day, rumor had it that if you crossed him, he’d cut off your thumb and feed it to his pet snake. He was just a low-level mob guy back then, but he had ambitions. Hence the thumb thing. He wanted to stick out.”
Lucas shook his head. “Tommy Thumb was indeed a low-level mob guy in the eighties, but he was killed in a warehouse explosion in the early nineties. His legend’s been kept alive by the old-timer loan sharks pretending to be him in order to keep their people in line with the threat of losing their thumbs.”
“Wrong,” Mrs. Berkowitz said. “He’s not dead.”
Lucas got serious real fast. “No one’s seen Tommy Thumbs in years, and believe me, a bunch of people have been looking. Why do you think it’s him? Did you recognize him? And how?”
“Oh, well, I slept with him a bunch of times in the late nineties.” She gave a small smile. “And maybe once or twice in the new century as well. What?” she said when Mrs. White and Janet gave her a shocked look. “Back in the day, I was a little slower to recognize a horse’s patoot when I saw one.”
Lucas did his best to block images of Mrs. Berkowitz and Tommy Thumbs getting laid, but he wasn’t entirely successful. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and took a deep breath. “Do you still . . .” Shit. He couldn’t even say it.
“Do it?” Mrs. Berkowitz asked with a smile. She shrugged. “Not nearly as much these days. First of all, men my age no longer look as good naked, if you know what I mean.”
Lucas wished to God he didn’t.
“But no, I don’t still sleep with Tommy,” she said. “He got old and cranky, and mean as a snake. I don’t stand for that. I’m a feminist, you know.”
Lucas rubbed his temples.
“Headache?” Molly asked.
Worse. Because if Tommy Thumbs was still alive, with his fingers in the hard-earned cash of this Santa Village bingo money, then shit. These elves actually had a legit case—which meant he had zero chance of changing Molly’s mind and getting her to walk away from this. He knew Archer and Joe would have his neck for not calling them in on this, right now. And that was definitely the smart way to go if he loved his job. And he did. But he also knew he could handle this case and keep Molly safe without backup, at least at this point. And more than that, if he called in the troops, he had no doubt that Archer and Joe would come in hot and play hardball, immediately removing her from the case.
She’d never forgive him.
So for better or worse, he was going to let the bad Santa case be Molly’s secret, which meant he was in now, all the way in, and not because Archer had asked him to be. He was going to help her however he could and keep her safe at any cost.
And hopefully not lose his job while he was at it.
Or his thumbs.
Or, he thought, meeting Molly’s see-all gaze, his heart.
Chapter 6
#MerryElfingChristmas
Molly watched Lucas’s face as he listened to the elves. They had a viable case and he knew it. And if there was one thing she knew about Lucas, it was that he was always willing to fight the good fight.
The ladies stayed late, appearing happy to knit away their evening at Molly’s table. Lucas had planted himself as well, the intent in his steely gaze telling her he planned to outwait the elves to have a little chat.
But she wasn’t feeling like chatting.
And so the standoff had begun. Luckily for her, Lucas’s work phone went off around ten p.m. He slid her an unreadable look and jerked his head toward the door before heading that way, apparently certain she’d follow.
Which of course she did.
He pulled her outside onto her porch and shut the door to get away from three sets of curious, nosy eyes. Then he nudged up her against the wall and tilted her chin up, staring down into her eyes. “Okay,” he said. “Uncle.”
At the feel of his warm, hard body against hers, her nipples had gotten very happy. She ordered them to cool it. “Uncle?”
“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes on her lips. “I cave. I’m no match for the likes of you. I’m in.”
She tried to hold in her triumphant smile and failed.
He gave her a head shake. “Before you say I told you so, we’re going to make a deal.”
“You think so, huh?”
“Yes,” he said, tone final.
“What kind of a deal?” she asked warily.
“The kind where you don’t go off without me. We’re partners on this, Molly, or no go.”
That night she’d slept in his bed with him, he’d been warm as a furnace. Twice she’d woken up wrapped around him as if her body knew what her mind didn’t want to accept, that she wanted him. Bad, too. Both times she’d forced herself to scoot away.
Tonight, he was just as warm. And hard with lean, sinewy muscle. She had to remind herself not to wrap around him again. “And if I don’t agree?” she murmured.
His gaze never wavered. “Then I bring in Archer and he takes over. Joe as well.”
She stared up at him, wanting to call his bluff but not wanting to risk it. Lucas was a man of his word. He would do exactly as he’d just said. He’d rat her out in an instant and Archer would bench her. Of that she had no doubt. “Fin
e,” she said. “Deal.”
He nodded and backed up a step, leaving her body feeling annoyingly bereft. His gaze slid over her features, stopping for a beat on her lips, and as if he was magic, they trembled open.
His hot gaze lifted to hers, and then with a slight quirk of his lips, he was gone.
When she finally went to sleep that night, it’d been to dream about a future with a man she couldn’t, wouldn’t, have.
The next morning she was up early and at the gym. She had a specific routine she put herself through, given to her by her physical therapist and designed to keep the strength up in her weakened leg.
“Ready?” asked a male voice behind her.
She got up and swiped the sweat from her brow, facing Caleb. Besides being a client of Hunt Investigations, he was some kind of a tech genius, a venture capitalist, and . . . her secret sparring partner.
Caleb had his reasons for keeping the secret. He was a closed book for one, a complete mystery to everyone, and kept his own counsel.
Molly had never told anyone about the training he gave her, because she’d started working out to regain her strength after her last surgery and it’d become almost a religion for her. A very private one. Keeping strong physically kept her strong mentally. No one could touch her.
Or so she liked to tell herself.
Stepping into the ring with Caleb, she smiled.
He went brows up. “You look like you’re looking forward to kicking my ass today.”
“I am.”
He laughed low in his throat and planted his weight when she came at him. She swept his legs out from beneath him, but at the last second he snagged an arm around her calf and took her down with him.
“Damn,” she said breathlessly from flat on her back.
“You had a good move,” he told her, immediately taking his weight off her and reaching a hand down to pull her up. “But you led with your eyes, so I saw you coming.”
Holding his gaze in hers, she nodded and . . . went for him again.
This time he went down like a sack and lay there, grimacing.
“Oh shit,” she breathed and dropped to his side, putting a hand on his chest. “Are you okay—”
The rest of her sentence vanished with an “oomph” from her as he rolled and flattened her.
“That’s just mean,” she said on a laugh.
“That’s real life,” he said seriously. “Don’t get taken advantage of because you’re soft.”
“Hey!”
“I mean that in the best way possible,” he said and did one of those moves only really fit people could do; he popped up to his feet without using his hands.
A low whistle had them both turning. Sadie stood ringside. “Thanks for recommending this gym. Just bought a day pass.” She then looked at Caleb, her eyes going hooded and unreadable.
He looked right back but didn’t say a word, which was impressive in its own right. As far as Molly knew, the two hadn’t had much, if any, interaction, which made this interaction all the more fascinating.
“Sadie,” Caleb said lightly in greeting.
“Suits,” Sadie said back, not nearly so lightly.
At the moment, Caleb was wearing basketball shorts and a tight long-sleeved performance t-shirt over his extremely well-honed body, but it was true that, away from the gym, he was rarely seen in anything but a suit.
“That insult’s getting old,” he told Sadie.
Sadie lifted a shoulder. “Just making sure you realize that one of your suits would probably feed the entire homeless population in San Francisco for a year.”
Caleb’s eyes went a little hot, and not in a good way. “Making assumptions about me?” he asked quietly.
Sadie shrugged.
Caleb studied her for a long beat. “Maybe we could start this little game over. What are the chances of that?”
“I’d say a pretty solid zip,” she said and moved to the weights.
“Wow,” Molly said, watching her go. “She’s usually got a really long fuse. What did you do to piss her off?”
“Breathe air.”
She didn’t believe that for one second. Clearly there was something in their past. No one got that better than Molly. Her own past had affected her in a very large way, which she thought about as she showered and headed to work.
She’d grown up with two bossy males, so she was naturally pushy and always willing to fight back. In fact, not knowing when to back down had been a lesson she’d learned the hard way at age fourteen.
Joe had gotten himself in with a bad-news group of guys, one of whom was Molly’s first crush. Darius had been charming and way too old for her at age eighteen but he’d flirted with her and she’d been ridiculously smitten. What she hadn’t known was that Darius’s buddies had wanted Joe to steal a car for them and when he’d refused, they’d decided to force his hand.
By kidnapping Molly.
Initially, she’d misunderstood the severity of her situation. They’d snatched her right off the street on her way home from school, Darius among them. She could still feel the terror, taste the blood from where she’d bitten her lip, refusing to cry or show her fear. They’d shoved her into a van and brought her to an abandoned house, ordering her to sit the hell down and keep her trap shut.
Something she hadn’t been capable of doing.
She just hadn’t been coded for passive. She’d been a sassy teen who literally hadn’t been able to shut up to save her own life. She’d had to fight back.
Which hadn’t worked out so well for her; all memories she shoved deep. But here it was nearly fifteen years later and she was still pushing back.
Half an hour later she was at the Pacific Pier Building, letting herself into the offices of Hunt Investigations to open up for the day.
Not three minutes later, the door opened and testosterone personified entered in the form of Archer and his entire alpha pack, all dressed in SWAT black and loaded with enough weapons to protect a developing nation.
They’d been investigating another insurance scam, this one a complex fraud scheme regarding the manufacture and distribution of compounded medications. The fraud had involved material misrepresentations to health insurance providers, and illegal payments to coconspirators and medical professionals—generating in excess of five million dollars in criminal proceeds.
Molly took a moment to take in the impressive sight of a bunch of really hot, really fit guys wearing their gear like they’d been born to it, every one of them dangerous and dangerously sexy in their own right.
Even if only one stuck out to her.
“Solid intel,” Archer told her when she looked at him. “Good job.”
Wow. Two compliments in one week, and Molly felt the pride fill her. “You have a problem finding your way around in Hunters Point?”
Hunters Point was San Francisco’s radioactive basement. The decommissioned Hunter’s Point Naval Shipyard and the surrounding area was not exactly the sort of place you wanted to go in without knowing every nook and cranny and dark spot.
Something that both Joe and Molly knew all too well, having grown up there. The warehouse they’d been looking for had been in a literal maze of warehouses, each on a more dangerous corner than the next.
“No real problems,” Archer said.
Which wasn’t much of an answer but whatever had happened out there, they’d apparently gotten past it. Still, she knew she’d have been valuable on the ground. “If you’d let me come along, you’d have had an extra set of eyes other than Joe who knows that place like the back of his hand.”
“Maybe next time,” he said.
“Liar.”
This got her another rare smile. “We’ll find you the right case.”
She returned the smile. She’d already found the right case . . . She slapped a stack of mail against his chest as he walked by.
Behind him was Lucas and he slowed at her desk to look her over.
She looked right back. Black knit cap, black long-s
leeved T-shirt snugged over his broad chest, black cargoes on his long legs, kickass boots. Body loose, not tense, his dark eyes sharp and maybe slightly wary. He looked tall, dark, and edgy, and just about the opposite of everything she might want in a man—if she’d wanted one—which didn’t stop her heart from skipping a beat or two.
Or three . . .
The corner of his sexy mouth curved and she felt heat flicker through her veins.
Joe was behind Lucas, and on his phone. Without looking up, he gave his partner a shove. Lucas didn’t budge, holding his ground for another beat, most likely being a male through and through and therefore making it clear that he wouldn’t move until he was good and ready. When his point was apparently made, he shifted out of Joe’s way.
Molly had to draw in a careful breath, telling herself she was at work and shouldn’t be ogling Lucas.
“Hey,” Joe said with a frown. “You’re all flushed.”
She put her hands to her cheeks. “I was . . . exercising.”
From behind Joe, Lucas arched a brow. She looked away.
Archer poked his head back in from his office and narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re sick?”
Joe reached out to touch her forehead and she smacked his hand away. “I’m not sick!” she said, maybe yelled.
“She’s hot,” Joe said.
Lucas coughed and she knew it was to hide a damn laugh. She was hot alright; she was hot for him and dammit, he knew it. She went hands on hips and gave her boss and brother each a hard glare. “Listen carefully, you Neanderthals. I’m not sick. I was working out before work and I’m still”—she refused to meet Lucas’s gaze—“overheated.”
“You work out?” Joe asked doubtfully.
She tossed up her hands. “You know what? If I died and went straight to hell, it would still take me a damn week to realize I wasn’t at work anymore! Now go away and leave me to my work. All of you.”
