by Rita Herron
“Put on some shoes, Stevie,” Max ordered playfully as he swung him to the floor. “We have a bike to conquer.”
Stevie hesitated. “I don’t know if I can do it.”
“Sure you can.” Max ruffled Stevie’s hair. “Angel and I will be right beside you. Always.”
Stevie smiled and slipped one hand inside Angelica’s, the other in Max’s. Together she and Max would give Stevie his final Christmas wish.
The family he wanted. And the one she’d dreamed about for herself, as well.
Epilogue
Christmas Night
Dear Santa:
Thank you for coming and being rweal. I luv the train and bike, but most of all, I luvs Angel and Max. I still miss my Mommy, but Angel says she’s watching from heaben.
Angel also says she and Max might get me a baby brother or wittle sister for Christmas next year. That sounds good, but would you pwease bring me a puppy like Mikey’s, too?
Luv,
Stevie
UNDERCOVER SANTA
DEBRA WEBB
Chapter One
As the brand-new chief of robbery and homicide, Mike Wells had apparently decided on Day One that new boundaries and standards were required. It wasn’t that he could point to a single detective who wasn’t doing his or her job, or against whom the citizens of the community had lodged the first legitimate complaint. To the contrary, Atlanta’s Robbery/Homicide Division was the best in the state.
At the top of that esteemed heap was Detective Trey Murphy, who was known to most people as the Rock.
Trey didn’t consider himself any better than his colleagues. In fact, he worked hard at directing attention away from himself, but it, unfortunately, never worked. Somehow the focus of the media frenzy always zeroed in on him. But it wasn’t his fault. His relentless determination had ensured that he held the best collar record in the history of the division. Nothing ever got in his way. If the Rock was put on the case, it would be solved come hell or high water. He didn’t quit.
Therein lay Chief Wells’s major complaint with the ranks under his command. Wells wanted any and all attention to be aimed at him, which wasn’t going to happen as long as Trey sat on the proverbial pedestal the whole city had placed him on years ago. Something else that wasn’t Trey’s doing or his favorite part of the job. He would have much preferred that someone else be saddled with that particular honor.
Mainly, Trey couldn’t understand the chief’s displeasure with him. Hell, he was only doing his job. Wasn’t he supposed to do it to the best of his ability? Weren’t the citizens of Atlanta counting on him to not only go the distance but to go beyond what was required?
Apparently, Chief Wells didn’t care what the citizens wanted in this instance. To Trey’s way of thinking, the man had only one goal—break the Rock.
There was an old saying he had heard many times while growing up. He’d used it once or twice himself. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.
Trey had just learned that lesson all too well and all too quickly. As a matter of fact, he’d gone from the top of the heap to the grim layer beneath the very bottom of the pile in twenty-four hours flat—at least, in the eyes of his superior. And when you got down to the nitty-gritty, that was what counted when it came to keeping one’s job.
So, after a weekend in hell wondering what fate lay in store for him in his new low-balled status, Trey now sat in Chief Wells’s office awaiting the pronouncement regarding his future in robbery/homicide.
Chief Wells dropped his feet from the corner of his desk to the floor and tossed the file he’d been reading onto his desk. As he did so, he removed his reading glasses and leveled his stern, assessing gaze on Trey.
“I could suspend you, Murphy, pending the outcome of this Internal Affairs investigation.”
Trey clamped his jaw shut a moment before he responded. His first instinct was to rocket to his feet and demand to know how the hell Chief Wells could do this to him after all he’d done for this division. But Trey knew that would get him nowhere fast. Besides, he had no regrets about how much of himself he’d given. This was his job, what he did. Hell, it was more than that. Being a detective in Rob-Ho defined him. The job was all he had, all he wanted.
He had to tread carefully here. Wells was looking for a way to be rid of him. Any excuse would do. Evidently he considered Trey nothing more than a hotdog who hammed it up for the press.
Fury whipped through Trey before he could stop it. He didn’t want to be in the limelight. He only wanted to do his job. Sure, he would be lying if he didn’t admit that he usually got some pleasure out of seeing his name splashed across the headlines. And, damn straight, it was flattering when the occasional kid asked for his autograph or some hot chick asked for his number. But that wasn’t why he went the distance.
He’d made a promise to himself a lifetime ago that he would dedicate his life to nailing every killer he could. No one, not Chief Wells or anyone else, was going to get in his way of pursuing that goal. And he damn sure wasn’t going to cut off his own nose to spite his face. Whatever hoops the chief tossed up in front of him, he would jump through. Head games weren’t his favorite pastime but he could play with the best of them.
“I’m hoping it won’t come to that, sir,” Trey said meekly. He couldn’t give the guy any ammunition to use against him.
Wells made an arrogant harrumphing sound and sat back in his leather-tufted executive chair. Between his flawless manicure, salon-perfect hair and designer suit, he looked as if he belonged in one of the golden tower high-rises in the financial district downtown rather than in a midsize office with mediocre decor running a gritty division like Robbery/Homicide.
“You know how I despise glory-chasers, Murphy,” he said.
Oh, yeah, Trey knew exactly how much he hated those who stole attention from him. That’s what he knew. Wells’s reputation had preceded him, all the way from the city council office he’d vacated not so long ago to pursue this position. More often than not, a chief was selected from among the men and women who worked in law enforcement already. But not this time. The chief had himself connections in various political offices and his four years in the army as a member of the military police had given him a claim, however minimal and ancient history, of proper experience.
“You seem to draw the press like a magnet,” Wells went on. “No one else in the division gets so much attention.” His gaze narrowed with suspicion as his mouth flattened with irritation. “The Robbery/Homicide Division is about team work. I need you to be a team player, Murphy, or I need you gone. It’s that simple.”
Trey nodded despite the fury twisting in his gut. “I understand, sir.” In his new chief’s world there was only room for one guy at the top and teamwork had nada to do with it.
Wells appeared to fall into deep concentration for a time, as if giving serious regard to Trey’s response. Trey resisted the urge to tap his foot. He would swallow this line of bull and die choking on it before he would cry unfair or put up a fuss. He was no wimp who couldn’t take the heat, deserved or not. By God, he would take Wells’s crap and he would go right on doing the best job he could. The guy would just have to get over it or flat out fire him without justifiable cause.
“Obviously I can’t simply suspend you,” Wells said, turning his considerable frustration on Trey once more. “The city is already up in arms over the situation as it is.”
Trey compressed his lips even harder to hold back a grin. Damn right the citizens were standing up for him. He hadn’t done anything wrong. The whole scenario smelled exactly like a setup. Trey felt his own gaze narrow with his next thought. He wasn’t prepared to blame what had happened on the chief, but he had some reservations about Wells’s complete innocence. That was likely more about his dislike for the guy than reality however.
Not once in his career had Trey arrested the wrong guy. His every asset had always been reliable because he went to great lengths to make sure. But this time around something had be
en off and he’d taken down the wrong robbery suspect who had, in retaliation, screamed his head off to the press about unlawful racial profiling, which had brought heat from the brass down on Trey’s head. Trey’s informant, one he’d used before, had conveniently disappeared, leaving him with no way to back up his assertion. Add to that the fact that his eyewitness had retracted her original statement as to who she actually saw wielding the weapon at the robbery scene and Trey had a helluva problem.
The situation felt a little too handy considering the chief had seemingly had getting rid of Trey on his agenda from Day One. But, there again, Trey had no proof. Frankly, it wasn’t as though Trey didn’t have plenty of other enemies. Hell, he’d arrested enough perps to have a whole army of folks who wanted revenge.
“So,” Wells said with a mighty exhale, “I’ve decided to assign you to a case that should keep you out of trouble as well as out of the media until this is resolved.”
Trey relaxed marginally. At least he wasn’t suspended until the results of the IA investigation were known. Thank God for that. The chief had insisted IA handle the investigation from the get go to ensure no one called him biased. The idea of giving up his weapon and turning in his shield was like cutting out his heart and tossing it onto the chief’s desk.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of the House Call Murders.”
“I followed the news last year,” Trey said, his curiosity immediately peaked. “I’ve been keeping an even closer eye on the case this go-around.”
A team of four thieves—at least, there was believed to be four—would painstakingly case a jewelry shop and then stake out the owner’s personal residence. When they felt confident about the owner’s routine, they would call on him at his house late at night, ultimately holding him and his family, if he had one, hostage as leverage to gain entrance into the closed shop. Once they’d cleaned out the finest merchandise the jewelry store had to offer, they killed the hostages. Not a single clue was left behind, not even when they repeated the crime over and over. No mistakes.
The killers had hit more than a dozen shops last year during the final two weeks before Christmas. Then, once Christmas day had arrived, the hits had stopped as abruptly as they had started. No evidence, no suspects. Nothing.
Last year it had been several large cities in a neighboring state targeted by this ruthless group. This year Georgia appeared to be the new hunting grounds. Six jewelry stores had been hit in various cities so far. The last had been in nearby Columbus. There was every reason to believe Atlanta was on the hit agenda.
“We’ve decided to assign undercover surveillance to every jewelry shop in the city that fits the hit profile,” Wells explained. “With only a few days until Christmas, surveillance starts tonight. We have to assume the robbery-murders will cease on Christmas just as they did last year. Our goal is to stop these killers before they disappear. Whatever the cost.”
“Sounds like a good strategy,” Trey agreed. He’d been itching to get involved with this case. Though the effort the chief outlined would involve a hefty chunk of manpower, as Wells said cost was not top priority.
“Then you won’t mind,” Wells went on, “being a part of this operation.”
Restraining his immediate enthusiasm, Trey couldn’t say what it was for sure, but there was something about the way Wells looked at him that put him on guard. Still, he wanted in on this….
Trey sat a little straighter, looked the chief dead in the eye. “Count me in, sir.”
Wells passed him a manila folder that likely contained the case file. “Very good, Detective.” He leaned back once more and clasped his hands in front of him. “You can start right now.”
Chapter Two
“Excellent choice, Mr. McDougal.” Rebecca Saxon smiled widely for one of her very favorite customers. “I’m sure Mrs. McDougal will adore it.” She placed the elegant diamond and emerald necklace back in its velvet and satin box. “Would you like it gift-wrapped?”
“Please, Rebecca.” He tsked as he displayed his feeble hands. “I’m afraid these old fingers aren’t so nimble anymore.”
Lawrence McDougal had shopped at Saxon Jewelers as had his father and his grandfather. That kind of loyalty was rare these days. Rebecca greatly appreciated his continued patronage. “I’ll bet you could use a cup of hot, spiced cider while you wait,” she offered, genuinely concerned with keeping one of her favorite customers comfortable. The ever present personal touch was part of what set Saxon Jewelers apart from the rest. Rebecca always strived for new ways to cater to the needs of her clients.
“You would be right,” he returned without hesitation. “I’ll just go over and see Ms. Linda.” He winked and shuffled off to the refreshment counter Saxon Jewelers always prominently displayed during the Christmas season.
Linda Bowman, former Georgia beauty queen and member of one of Atlanta’s wealthiest families, was seventy-six years old, about the same as Mr. McDougal, and she’d serviced that Christmas refreshment counter for more than fifty years. The holiday season at Saxon’s was the only time she worked outside the palatial mansion her now deceased husband had built for her decades ago. To this day Linda would laugh and say that she’d only taken the job over half a century ago because she’d been smitten with Rebecca’s grandfather. Both had gone on to marry other people but the working relationship and friendship had survived. Though Rebecca’s grandfather had been gone for years, Linda kept coming back year after year.
Hot, spiced cider and warm, home-baked cookies from the day after Thanksgiving until close of business on New Year’s was a tradition at Saxon Jewelers. One Rebecca intended to keep for as long as…
Rebecca’s fingers stilled in their work of wrapping Mr. McDougal’s purchase. She was the last Saxon. The only child of an only child. Her few relatives were spread far and wide and certainly had no interest in what they considered a rinky-dink family business.
She swallowed back the trepidation and silently scolded herself for being so foolish. At thirty-one it wasn’t as if all hope was lost. Just because she didn’t have a steady beau—as her grandmother would say—or even any actual prospects of a date, didn’t mean the perfect man wouldn’t appear tomorrow or the day after that.
“Yeah, right,” she mumbled. She’d dated on and off, mostly off, for half her life, and she had grown exhausted with worrying about it. That was precisely the reason that when she’d turned thirty she’d stopped. Stopped worrying about a husband and family and stopped wondering whether or not a so-called Mr. Right would come along before she was too old to care.
Life had been a lot easier since making that decision.
Yet, hard as she tried, the holidays always brought about a feeling of wistfulness she couldn’t quite quell with her determination not to care. Her grandmother was all she had left in the world, at least close at hand, and she only had the rare lucid day anymore. A heart attack had taken Rebecca’s father five years ago and her mother had remarried and moved to Chicago two years later. Rebecca and her mother talked regularly on the telephone, but with her obligation to the family business and her mother’s thriving social life and wifely responsibilities as Mrs. Head-of-the-Cardiac-Department at Chicago General, neither had time for visits more than once or twice a year. And Christmas was never the right time. Business boomed at Christmas. So did the must-attend parties for Chicago’s socially elite.
So, here Rebecca was, five days before Christmas and planning to spend most of it alone. Sure she would share the day with her grandmother at the nursing home, but by evening and then the night Rebecca would be all alone.
She heaved a disgusted sigh and surveyed the bright package she’d created with its rich red paper and glittering gold ribbon. No big deal. In a few days Christmas would be over and she would get back to normal.
If her life could actually be called normal.
All work and no play made Rebecca a very dull girl, even she had to admit.
“That looks lovely, Rebecca.” Mr. McDougal beamed a bro
ad smile at her as he sauntered up to the counter, a green cup embellished with sparkling snowflakes and filled with hot, spiced cider in hand.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. McDougal,” she returned with an answering smile as he accepted the package whose contents she knew would thrill the man’s eccentric wife.
He winked. “Same to you, Rebecca.” He gave her a knowing look that reminded her of numerous ones she’d gotten over the years from her father who had worried that she focused entirely too much of her time on the shop. “May this season bring you what your heart desires most,” he added with a wink.
She kept her smile in place as the kind old man walked away but it was all she could do not to warn him that he shouldn’t hold his breath.
