Santa Under Cover

by Sharron McClellan

  Time to fill him in on what was what. “Nick, I’m a private investigator. I’m a professional, too. I can handle this.”

  He shook his head, hands still on top of his head, fingers woven together. “A P.I.? That means insurance fraud and tailing men who define faithfulness as not getting caught. That does not mean you’re prepared for this.”

  She couldn’t deny his assessment, but the way he said it made her sound weak. And she wasn’t weak. Not now. Now ever.

  Unlacing his hands, Nick crossed his arms over is chest. “When was the last time you had to shoot a man?”

  Gwyn crossed her arms, mirroring his actions. If she gave ground now, she’d never recover. “Never and you know it, but I’m savvy and smart when it comes to getting out of sketchy situations.”

  “As demonstrated by your decision to come back here,” Nick shot back.

  So much for his thanks. “And saved your butt.”

  Nick’s hands shot out, grabbing her before she could react. His hands tightened on her arms, and his dark brows drew downward. “Yes, and I appreciate it, but this is serious, and we’re not safe just because they locked us in the back room. They are killers, and when they get what they want we are dead.”

  Worry cast shadows across his face, softening the frustration that radiated from him in waves. “Is that what you want your sister to remember for the holidays? That Christmas Eve was the day she lost you?”

  She hadn’t allowed herself to think about her sister, but Nick gave her no choice. Gwyn swallowed hard, her eyes filling with angry, desperate tears as she thought about her sister waiting. Wondering. “You’re an ass,” she said, the words catching in her throat.

  Nick’s eyes and grip softened. “I’m trying to make a point.”

  “Consider it made,” she said, wiping her eyes before a tear could make its way down her cheek.

  “Please don’t cry,” he said, pulling her close.

  Gwyn knew she should push away, but found herself burying her head on his chest instead, accepting the unexpected comfort.

  Glory.

  What if she never saw her again? The thought was unbearable. And she knew her sister—if Tucker killed her, Glory would replay the entire day in her head. Wonder what she might have done differently. Take on a guilt she didn’t deserve.

  The tears came despite Gwyn’s desire to keep them inside, and she twisted her hands in Nick’s shirt.

  “It’s okay,” Nick whispered.

  Not yet. But it would be. Gwyn took a deep breath to compose herself and then let it out. Then another. After the third, the tears stopped, and she raised her face to Nick’s. “I still think you’re an ass.”

  He smiled down at her and brushed a final tear away with the pad of his thumb. “It’ll be okay.”

  “Promise me,” she said. “Promise me we’ll get out of here.”

  His smile died and his gaze flickered down to her mouth then back to her eyes. “I promise.”

  He said it like he meant it. Like he believed it. But she knew better. “Liar.” Rising on her toes, she brushed his lips with hers, knowing it was inappropriate, the worst timing in the world, and not caring. If just for a few seconds, she needed to feel safe, and there was no place safer than Nick’s arms, even if he didn’t know it. Even if he didn’t care.

  Nick tightened his hold on her waist and lifted her up off her feet. The tip of his tongue tickled her lower lip.

  New Year’s Resolution be dammed. This wasn’t a date. Besides, if it were, it was the worst one ever. She opened to him, her mouth pressed against his as they explored each other until the only sound she heard was their breathing and the only thing she felt was his touch.

  She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Nick set her back on her feet, breaking the kiss and ending the moment. “We should figure out a strategy if I plan to keep that promise,” he said.

  He sounded as if nothing had happened, but the red tint to his face said otherwise. She considered giving him a bad time, but he was right, they did need to figure out their next step. Kissing could wait. “We should,” she agreed. Putting some needed space between them, she resisted the urge to take refuge in the safety of his arms. After all, it was just an illusion. They weren’t safe and wouldn’t be until they escaped. “What next?”

  Nick scrubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll be damned if I can see an exit other than the door—not unless you can fit through that vent.”

  She followed his gaze to a vent that was, perhaps, no more than ten inches in either height or width. “Connor couldn’t fit through that.”

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “So, any ideas on weapons?” She wondered if he’d own up to carrying the gun now that they’d kissed. Though she doubted it. Nick was a compartmentalize kind of guy. Kissing was kissing. Trusting her to know he carried a gun was something else entirely.

  Before she could find out, the door swung open, and Tucker filled in the doorway, gun in one hand and her cell phone in the other.

  He tossed the phone to Gwyn. “You have a call.”

  She caught it midair. “Excuse me?”

  “Your sister.”

  She didn’t want to know how he knew that. “What do you want me to do?”

  “The cops are outside the mall, and we want to make sure they stay there. Have her tell them to stay back or someone gets shot. Keep it short.”

  Gwyn nodded and dialed Glory. Her sister answered in seconds. “Gwyn?”

  “It’s me,” Gwyn confirmed.

  “Oh my God, are you okay?” Glory asked. Gwyn could only imagine the panic her sister must feel.

  In the background, she heard the chatter increase as the police realized who it was on the other end of Glory’s call.

  “I want to listen.” Tucker tilted his head so he could hear her. His gun pressed into her side and one eye stayed on Nick.

  “We’re fine,” Gwyn said. “But I can’t talk long.”

  “Hold on,” Glory said. “The sergeant wants to speak to you.”

  Tucker jammed the gun harder into her side.

  “No. Just you,” Gwyn said, “No one else.”

  Glory hesitated, and both could hear someone telling her what to say. “Okay. What do they want?”

  “For the cops to stay away.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s it. So far,” Gwyn said.

  “I’d feel better if there were more,” Glory said. “Demands or something.”

  Gwyn empathized with how helpless Glory must feel. If there were demands, at least she could act. Feel as if the situation were moving forward. “Sorry,” Gwyn said. “That’s all they want.”

  Glory sighed into the receiver. “At least you’re with a cop. That makes me feel better.”

  Gwyn winced as Glory finished the sentence. Before she could respond, Tucker grabbed the phone, snapped it shut, and pointed the gun at Nick. “You’re a cop?”

  Chapter 6

  “Y ou fire that weapon and every policeman outside this mall will be in here before you can get fifty yards.” Nick remained as calm as possible despite the fact his mind raced, seeking any possible avenue of escape. Unfortunately, all scenarios ended up with both him and Gwyn dead. The attempt to kill them was going to be made—there was no doubt about that—but not yet. Tucker wasn’t ready.

  “We’re in the middle of the mall, and they’re outside. They won’t hear it,” Tucker said, hand steady and finger still on the trigger.

  “Trust me, they’re listening,” Nick said. “In fact, they’re waiting for an excuse to come storming in here.”

  Tucker’s hand lowered a millimeter.

  “And then you’ll never get the diamonds,” Nick continued, trying to convince Tucker that waiting was in the thief’s best interest.

  “Good point,” Tucker said. “Now put your weapon on the floor.”

  Dammit. Tucker wasn’t a fool. He’d known that but still, one could hope. Nick glanced at Gwyn. There were no more tears. No
regret. Instead, she glared at Tucker, her mouth flattened in anger. Good. They’d need that.

  Nick took out his Sig, set it on the floor and kicked it toward the thief.

  “Pants off.” Tucker waved the weapon toward Nick’s Santa pants.

  “Right,” Nick replied, keeping his temper under control, telling himself that the more he cooperated, the faster Tucker would leave them alone so he could focus on escape. Shrugging the suspenders off his shoulders, Nick let the oversize Santa pants fall to his ankles and stepped out of them.

  “Over here.”

  Nick kicked them over—glad he’d kept his jeans and T-shirt on beneath the Santa suit.

  Taking the pants in one hand, Tucker shook them and Nick’s radio fell out. He slid the radio into the other room and tossed the pants after them. “Marsha,” he called behind him. “Get in here.”

  “What?” The salesgirl walked in, hands on her hips. “Stephan’s almost done.”

  “Frisk him,” Tucker said, nodding at Nick. “He’s a cop.”

  “Great,” Marsha growled. Walking over to Nick, she ran her hands over his torso, up and down his legs and even taking the time to give his crotch a squeeze. Amateurish but just as effective. “He’s clean.” She rose with a snort of disgust and headed back to the other room. “God, I hate this job.”

  “Kidnapping, hurting kids and potential jail time? What’s not to love,” Gwyn chimed in.

  Nick winced at the cattiness in her tone. Her anger would be useful only if she could control it.

  Marsha stopped midstep, but Tucker grabbed her arm, handed her Gwyn’s phone and propelled her out of the room. “Don’t bother. We need to get moving before the cops get brave.”

  Following her, he shut the door, locking them back in. The sound of Stephan’s drilling filtered under the door, their one gauge of how much time they had before Tucker decided he didn’t need them alive anymore.

  “Did you notice she said ‘almost done,’” Gwyn asked. “We don’t have much time.”

  Nick scrubbed at his chin, running more scenarios for possible salvation. There weren’t many. With no cover in the room, Gwyn was a potential target no matter what he did.

  He glanced down at her and wondered what it would be like to be with her in the real world. Typically, he preferred buxom brunettes with more curves. Professionals who found his work fascinating but who had no desire to hold a gun or capture the bad guy. Women with an Audrey Hepburn demureness. Not a Xena wannabe.

  Hell, blond, mouthy, private detectives weren’t even on his radar. But someone with Gwyn’s passion and compassion needed to live. Someone who kissed like her needed to see Christmas morning.

  And he needed to know what he’d been missing by limiting his dating pool.

  “What are you grinning about?” Gwyn asked, eyebrows high. “We’re going to die soon.”

  “No, we’re not,” Nick said. Placing a hand on either side of her face, he kissed her hard and quick. “I promised you we’d be okay, and I plan to keep that promise.”

  Gwyn touched her mouth but didn’t respond.

  So, kisses could shut her up? Nick filed the information away for future use.

  “How?”

  She was going to hate the solution, but he didn’t see another one. Not considering what they had to work with. “I want you to take as much cover as you can—”

  “Where would that be?” She pushed the oversized filing cabinet. It didn’t budge. “Behind these?”

  “Get behind the door and hunker down,” Nick said, ignoring her sarcasm. He was tempted to turn off the lights, but if he did, Tucker would come in shooting. “I’ll stand on the other side and take Tucker out as he comes in.”

  “That’s the plan?” Gwyn said, smoothing her hair back and looking at him as if he had the IQ of a rock and the experience of a rookie.

  Nick’s face heated at the criticism, and the reason he dated brunettes that didn’t want to catch bad guys came rushing back—they didn’t question his judgment in critical situations. “And then you shut the door and lock it before the others enter.”

  She didn’t seem impressed. “Can you do better?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath. “I concede that you need to take on Tucker. Not me.”

  “Gee thanks,” Nick snapped.

  Gwyn shrugged. “But he’ll be ready for that. He’s not an idiot. We need a distraction.”

  “And that would be you?” Nick asked, following what he knew was going to be a train wreck of an idea.

  “Do we have anything else?” Gwyn challenged.

  “He will shoot you before you can do a damned thing,” Nick said.

  Gwyn brushed her hair back again. “Trust me, I can keep him occupied for a few seconds, and that should give you time to disarm him.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll be topless,” Gwyn explained. “He’ll never expect that, and I’ve been told they’re fairly spectacular.”

  He didn’t doubt the latter, but even so, her suggestion had to be the most harebrained idea he’d ever heard of, and it was also the most likely to get her shot. “I appreciate the commitment, but it’s too risky.”

  Gwyn’s mouth flattened again.

  “I’m not going to argue,” Nick said.

  Her mouth relaxed. “Okay.”

  Lying again. When this was over, he’d have to talk to her about that.

  The outer room grew silent. No drilling. No conversation.

  And no more time to convince Gwyn to listen to his better, more experienced judgment.

  Their time was up.

  Hide behind the door? The thought of watching Nick take on Tucker without backup made Gwyn as nauseous as when she’d lost Connor. But she also knew that Nick would never let her help.

  Not willingly.

  And they only had seconds before all hell broke loose.

  The thieves’ conversation filtered through the walls. In her mind’s eye, Gwyn could see them emptying the safe, discussing who got what and who killed who. Nick motioned for her to hide. Gwyn took her place, knowing he wouldn’t do the same until she complied. With one hand, she unhooked her bra.

  Nick glared at her.

  “I get hives when I’m nervous,” she whispered, scratching her skin.

  He shook his head but didn’t argue.

  Hands on the hem of her sweater, Gwyn stared at the handle of the door, heart beating in her ears.

  The brass handle turned. The door moved inward.

  And in one, swift movement, she yanked her sweater and bra over her head, tossed them to the floor and stepped into Tucker’s direct view as the door completed its swing.

  For a heartbeat, Tucker gaped at her. Another beat went by.

  Then Nick was on him. Grabbing the gun barrel, he pulled the weapon aside. In seconds, the men were grappling for control. Gwyn rushed forward, slammed the door shut, and braced herself against it. Seconds crawled by, and she realized that no one was trying to enter. There was no shot. No pounding on the door. Not even a half-hearted shout.

  They’d left their companion to take the fall.

  Nick and Tucker fell to the ground. Equally matched in height, weight and drive to win, they rolled across the floor.

  Keeping clear of the fight, Gwyn waited for any opportunity to help. The men rolled toward her, ending up almost at her feet. Aiming for Tucker’s kidney, Gwyn lashed out with her foot but the men rolled again, and she made contact with Nick’s ribs.

  “Sorry!”

  He didn’t seem to notice as they each continued to fight for dominance.

  Gwyn bit her lip, watching for opportunity. The fight had to end and soon. The longer it lasted, the more chances there were for Nick to be hurt. The men rolled again. This time, Nick ended up on top, straddling his opponent, hands on Tucker’s forearms.

  Bad leverage, Gwyn knew, and impossible for him to get the gun that way.

  But not for her.

  Raising her foot, she caught Nick’s eye. H
e nodded and she stomped on Tucker’s wrist with all her strength. The thief screamed, and his hand opened, fingers in spasm. Gwyn dropped to her knees, grabbing the weapon before he could recover. “Freeze,” she shouted, pointing it at his head.

  Nick rolled away and to his feet in a single motion.

  Tucker lay on the floor, grasping his wrist and moaning.

  She hoped she broke it.

  “You okay?” Nick asked, breathing heavy and coming around to stand at her side.

  “Good. You?” Gwyn kept her eyes on Tucker.

  “We caught one of the Christmas Bandits and you’re half naked,” he said, sizing her up. “Merry Christmas to me.” Taking her elbow, he helped her to her feet.

  A self-conscious flush worked its way from her head to her feet, then grew deeper as she realized there was no way to hide her embarrassment. “Nice to see almost getting killed hasn’t killed your observational skills,” she said, handing him the gun so she could retrieve her sweater.

  “It’s been a good day,” Nick said.

  Slipping her sweater on, she held out her bra. “Should we tie him up?”

  “Do it,” Nick said. He poked Tucker with his feet. “Turn over. Hands behind your back.”

  “No,” Tucker shot back, defiant.

  Gwyn shook her head. What a moron. “Nick might be hindered by the law not to hurt you but I’m not.”

  He rolled over.

  “Thank God for Victoria’s Secret,” Gwen said, tying his hands behind his back. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Nick shook his head. “I’m not leaving him.”

  Alarms went off in Gwyn’s head. Nick was a by-the-book kind of guy and as far as she knew, staying was anything but that. “He’s not going anywhere,” she said.

  “I don’t care. I am not taking any chances on him getting away. Just go get backup. I’ll wait.”

  She understood his reasoning, but still, it didn’t seem right. “Why not take Tucker with us?” she asked.

  “Do you think he’ll do that willingly?”

  He had a point. “Okay.” Cupping his face in her hands, she kissed him as hard as he’d kissed her.

  When she pulled away, his eyes were open and still on Tucker, but she was sure the grin on his face was for her and her alone.