by Alana Terry
We could hear Jace grunting as she hauled something out of the vehicle. She rolled down the sidewalk a moment later with a large box on her lap, and she waved at me with a smile bright enough to light up the night. Another car pulled up to the curb, and I frowned in confusion when Marx got out.
“Am I missing something?” I asked as I looked at Sam. Occasionally, Jace or Marx stopped by, but all three of them on the same night at the same time struck me as suspicious. They didn’t exactly run in the same circles.
“It’s your birthday,” he said with another shrug.
I’d found out recently that my actual birthday was January 18, and I’d been looking forward to it. I had even considered buying myself a cupcake and eating it in a secret celebration. But none of that explained their presence. “And?”
“Traditionally in my family you get presents or a hug on your birthday,” he said.
I took a small step back from him and gave him a warning look. “If you try to hug me, I will stab you with a kitchen fork.” And I meant it.
He let out a quiet laugh. “That’s why I brought a gift.”
So the nondescript little box was a gift.
Jace rolled into the apartment with a cheerful “Happy birthday!” and plowed into me with a hug. It knocked me back a step, and Sam caught my hot chocolate before I could drop it on her head. “I’m so happy you actually have a birthday for us to celebrate now,” she said as she drew back. “I brought you a present.” She set the large box on the counter next to the one Sam had brought.
Sam returned my hot chocolate to me, and I exhaled. “Nice reflexes,” I said.
Marx walked down the ramp into the apartment with his arms loaded with boxes. I blinked in astonishment as I closed the door behind him. “Please tell me you brought gifts for everyone.” Because those couldn’t possibly all be for me.
He slid them onto the kitchen table. “No, I did not bring gifts for everyone,” he said. He removed the two wrapped gifts from the pile and set them with the others.
I had expected Jace to bring me a gift because she would be excited to celebrate, but I hadn’t expected this from Sam and Marx. “Why . . . ?”
Marx removed his jacket and laid it over one of the chairs before turning to me. “Do we have to have the ‘you matter to people’ conversation again? Because I was pretty sure we covered that . . . in its entirety.”
“But . . .”
He gave me a stern look, and I swallowed my objections. “Sam, grab some plates and silverware please. Does anybody have a lighter?” Sam began rummaging through my cupboards for plates, and Jace pulled a lighter from her pocket and tossed it to Marx.
I folded my arms and lingered by the table, unsure what I was supposed to do. I wasn’t used to having this many guests in my apartment. “I can do drinks. I have chocolate milk or water . . .”
“Do you have a knife?” Marx asked.
I walked into the kitchen and came back with the butcher knife. I peered into the box on the table at the chocolate frosted cake with purple flowers and green script that seemed to shout, “Happy Birthday, Holly!!!”
My throat tightened with emotion. He’d brought me a cake. An actual cake. With my name on it. Between the gifts, the cake, and the friends, I was a little overwhelmed. I cleared my throat. “You brought me a cake?”
“It came with the candle,” he said teasingly as he pushed a number-twenty-eight candle into the center of the cake. He took the knife from me and gave it a strange look. “Is this . . . ?”
“The knife I almost stabbed you with in Maine? Yep.” I had also intended to stab my landlord in the foot with it when I thought he might be the killer breaking into my apartment in the middle of the night. “Did you bake the cake?”
“Of course I didn’t bake it. The bakery baked it,” he replied with a frown.
“Afraid you would burn it?” I teased.
“That’s not a fear, Holly. That’s an inevitability.”
I smirked and leaned against the table. “I can teach you to bake.” At his blank look, I insisted, “I can bake.”
“That’s debatable,” he muttered beneath his breath as he started slicing small squares into the cake.
“The cookies weren’t that bad.” I looked at Sam, who sealed his lips and decided it was better to say nothing than to agree with either of us. He’d eaten two of them, for goodness’ sakes.
Another knock on the outside of door—this one more tentative and uncertain—gave me pause. I shot Marx a questioning look. Was he expecting another guest?
He released a breath that sounded vaguely unhappy and then opened my front door with the chocolate-covered knife in his hand. Jordan stood on the front patio. He blinked at the knife for a moment—more thoughtful than alarmed—and then recovered.
“Marx,” he greeted evenly.
“Jordan,” Marx replied in an equally flat tone. He moved aside and Jordan stepped through the doorway. He stopped just inside the entryway and took in my small, crowded apartment with a brisk visual sweep before looking at me.
“Hey, Holly.” He greeted me with a warm, slightly nervous smile. His blue eyes flickered over me from head to fuzzy slippers and then back to my face. “Nice slippers.”
I smiled. Fuzzy green slippers weren’t exactly the perfect accent to the leggings and skirt I was wearing. “Hi. I thought you were staying in Kansas.”
“I’m still evaluating my options, but I wanted to drop in for your birthday.” He held up a small gift box tied with a polka-dotted ribbon.
Marx cleared his throat impatiently as he waited for Jordan to step out of the entryway. He was standing in the path of the door, and the bitter winter breeze was blowing snow into the apartment.
“Any chance I can come a little closer than five feet?” Jordan asked hopefully. “Your apartment is a bit on the small side, and if I have to stay on the five-feet perimeter all night, I don’t think I can even be in the same room with you. Literally.”
It was about four steps from the kitchen into the living room, so he was pretty accurate about not being able to stand in the same room with me. I bit my bottom lip and tried not to smile. “I can work with four.”
“Well, that’s closer than I was in Kansas.” He came into the kitchen and leaned back against the counter in front of the window. He gauged the distance between his feet and mine. “Not quite. Could you maybe just . . . scoot your foot back an inch? I’m trapped by the counter.”
I grinned and slid my slippered foot back.
“Perfect,” he said. “Four feet.”
He was wearing his casual attire: jeans, a nice shirt, and a brown leather jacket that was in no way warm enough for the snowfall outside. He’d left his badge behind, but his gun was attached to his hip. I glanced around and noticed that Sam and Marx also had theirs. God help anyone dumb enough to try to enter my home uninvited tonight. They wouldn’t make it very far.
“You look . . .” Jordan hesitated, probably remembering I didn’t do well with compliments, and then sighed as he tapped the box lightly against his palm.
“The word is beautiful,” Jace whispered hoarsely, dragging out the last word for emphasis, as she leaned forward in her chair. I glanced at her and noticed that she and Sam were holding hands. It was about time.
Jordan grinned. “Yeah, I tried that one. Didn’t work out so well.”
“I usually just go with nice,” Sam said as he extended his hand. Jace gave him a look that had him trying to puzzle out what he’d said wrong. He frowned at her and then returned his attention to Jordan. “I’m Sam.”
Jordan shook his hand politely. “Sam,” he said, pondering the name aloud. “The cop who got roofied?”
Sam grimaced. That was a sore subject for him. “Yeah.” He looked Jordan over as if considering whether or not he could take him in a fight. I was beginning to think that was just something men did with each other. “And you’re the sheriff who has no chance with Holly.”
I stiffened. Where had that come
from?
Jordan took the comment in stride and just smiled. “Pleasure to meet you, Sam.”
“You too. And thanks,” Sam replied. “For watching out for Marx and Holly when I couldn’t be there. From what I hear, they wouldn’t have made it without your help. It took a lot of courage to go into that house.”
“Yes, it did,” Marx said quietly. “I don’t know if I properly thanked you for that.” Jordan and Marx looked at each other, and for once, I saw a glimmer of mutual respect in their eyes rather than friction. “Thank you for savin’ Holly.”
Jordan nodded once and then glanced at me. “I would do it again in a heartbeat.” He could have died trying to save us, and I believed him when he said he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.
“I’m Jace. I’m Holly’s best friend,” Jace announced as she stuck out her hand. If I wasn’t mistaken, she declared herself as my best friend in a very pointed way. I had told her that Jordan was my best friend when we were children, and knowing her, she viewed him as competition.
Jordan shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“All right then, let’s get started with gifts,” Marx suggested as he closed and locked the door. “There are five of them and I’ve seen Holly open a gift before, so we’re gonna be here for at least a week.”
“I’m not that bad.”
He arched an eyebrow at me as he handed me a gift wrapped in tissue paper and sealed with a ribbon tied like a shoelace.
“Wrapped it yourself this time, huh?” I grinned.
“Yes I did, and it only took me three tries to get it right.” He smiled at me and leaned back against the counter beside the other gifts. “Now open it before it melts.”
Melts? I squeezed it with my fingers. Ooh, it was squishy. I pulled off the ribbon and peeled away the layers of tissue paper. A plastic bag of red, orange, green, and blue M&M’s sat on my palm. “You took out all the brown and yellow.” The colors I hated. I hadn’t expected him to remember.
“I saved them in a jar for a rainy day when I develop the urge to flick them at people who irritate me.” He tossed me the small box Sam had brought, and I almost dropped it with the candy in my hand.
“Good thing it’s not breakable,” Sam muttered.
Jordan smiled. “Eighteen years later and you still catch like a girl. All butterfingers.”
I gave him a pointed look. “I happen to be a girl, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
He flashed me a charming grin.
“Oh, he’s noticed,” Marx grumbled.
Jordan gave him a slightly indignant look as he pointed out, “I’m minding my manners.”
I decided it was best to ignore them. I shook the tiny, unwrapped package next to my ear, and something shifted inside. I opened it and tilted my head curiously as I looked at the contents. “Taxi passes?”
“In case you’re out late, so you don’t have to walk home. And so you don’t hitchhike . . . ever again,” Sam explained.
“Oh, well, I was thinking about just taking the subway if I’m out till three a.m.,” I said, just to see his reaction.
Sam’s black eyebrows drew together. “Do you realize how dangerous the subway is? It’s like a petri dish for crime. The chances of . . .”
Jace elbowed him in the side, and he swallowed the rest of his lecture. “Stop trying to scare her. She’s not serious.” She looked at me, suddenly uncertain. “You’re not serious, right?”
I laughed. “No, I’m not. Thank you for the passes, Sam.” I appreciated that he cared. He gave me a brusque nod and wrapped an arm around Jace’s shoulders.
“Mine next!” Jace declared.
Marx took the candy and taxi passes from me and handed me the large package. I tipped it in every direction, trying to figure it out.
“If it’s fragile, tell her now,” Marx advised. “She has a tendency to toss her gifts around like they’re on the spin cycle.”
I stifled a laugh. Besides, this gift wasn’t fragile. I was pretty sure I knew what it was by the shape of the box. I just hoped I was wrong. I opened the wrapping paper carefully and peered inside one end at the bright shoebox. Good grief.
I pulled the box free and set the paper on the table. I steeled myself as I opened the box, then nearly burst out laughing.
“I saw them and thought of you,” Jace admitted with a proud tilt to her chin.
I lifted the shoe from the box to show everyone. It was a bright purple sneaker with a three-inch platform, and it laced all the way up to the knee . . . with hot pink laces. “Because it’s purple or because it will make me taller?”
“Both. It will make you look more intimidating, which, in your case, is a necessity.”
I tucked the shoe back into the box with a smile. “I have the perfect spot for them . . . right next to the green pair under my bed. They’ll add an intimidating element to my apartment from their hiding place.” What was she going to get me next? Tweety-Bird-yellow steel-toed boots?
Marx’s brow pinched curiously at the shoes as he took them from me and exchanged them for another gift. The wrapping paper was silver with multicolored snowflakes that shimmered in the light. It was beautiful, and the box was decorated with a flowing silver bow.
“This one is fragile,” he informed me.
I set the box on the corner of the table and slid the bow off gently. Sparkles littered the floor, and my fat cat, Jordan, watched the sparkles rain down with wide eyes. I unwrapped the gift and opened the box. Nestled in a bed of wrapping paper was my camera.
I gasped.
I hadn’t seen it since the night in the park when I broke the lens by swinging it into my attacker’s face. The police had confiscated it as evidence.
I picked it up gently and turned it over in my hands. The lens was no longer broken; it didn’t even have a scratch on it. It was brand new. I looked up at Marx with wide eyes. “A new lens is several hundred dollars,” I said, shocked.
Marx shrugged. “Consider it your Christmas and birthday present, if it makes you feel better.”
“It . . . it doesn’t,” I stammered. “I can’t . . . I mean, it’s too expensive. I have to pay you back.”
He sighed and shook his head with a smile. “It’s a gift, Holly. You don’t owe me anythin’. Just do me a favor and don’t stay out too late in the park takin’ photos again, all right?”
“If she does, she has taxi passes,” Sam pointed out.
“And fiercely intimidating shoes,” Jace added.
I struggled to accept the gift even though I wanted it very much. I knew he wouldn’t budge on the issue of me paying him back, so I hugged my camera to my chest and forced myself to say, “Okay.”
It felt good to hold it again. I draped the strap across my body just to feel the familiar weight of it. It felt right.
Jordan stepped forward and handed me the small gift box. He was very careful not to touch my fingers with his, and then he retreated to his spot in front of the window.
“We found the killer’s place of residence. He had a house in Topeka, but he was on the road a lot and he had a mobile home in the woods. There was a collection box, I guess you might call it, in the ice box. We recovered some of the items he took from his victims.”
I opened the box and stared down at the silver bracelet. I picked it up delicately, almost afraid it might crumble to pieces after all these years. “Gin” was scratched into the surface of it.
“I had it cleaned. I thought you might like to have it back,” he said.
Tears gathered in my eyes, and I closed my fingers over the precious item as I lifted my gaze to Jordan’s. “Thank you.”
“Yeah.” He smiled, and it was edged by sadness. Even after all these years, he missed Gin too. Now I had both of our bracelets back.
“Holly, are you ready for cake?” Marx asked. I nodded, and he lit the candle on the cake before flipping off the overhead light. “Make a wish.”
I looked down at the bracelet in my hand, around the tiny bunker I ca
lled my home, and at the people in the room with me. I had more than I had ever dared to hope for. “I don’t really have anything left to wish for.”
“Aww,” Jace said sappily. “We love you too.”
Sam opened his mouth to clarify something and then clamped it shut, probably deciding it wasn’t the best time to be literal about his feelings toward me. I was pretty sure it would involve the adjective frustrating or stubborn.
My phone started ringing and I frowned at it thoughtfully as I picked it up. Everyone I might expect to call me was in the room with me. It was an unknown number.
“Hello?” I greeted tentatively.
“Are you enjoying your party, Holly?” the silky voice on the other end of the line inquired. “This is the part where you blow out the candle.”
My fingers tightened on the phone as I looked at the front window and a chill slithered down my spine. I would recognize that voice anywhere.
Collin.
From the Author
Acknowledgements
TO MY AMAZING HUSBAND, who believed in me and encouraged me to write even when I had doubts.
To Joan Houghton, my favorite English teacher, who took time out of her busy schedule to give me advice and read my manuscript.
To the Adaptive Sports Program of Ohio for making a difference in the lives of disabled children and adults, and giving them the opportunity to play, compete, and challenge themselves.
Visit CC Warrens at her website: www.ccwarrensbooks.com
Justified Means
The Agency Files: Book 1
Chautona Havig
COPYRIGHT 2013 CHAUTONA Havig
Chautona Havig lives in a small, remote town in California’s Mojave Desert with her husband and eight of her nine children. When not writing, she enjoys paper crafting, sewing, and trying to get the rest of her children educated so that she can retire from home education.
Edited by: Cox Editing
Fonts: Times New Roman, Bank Gothic, Niagara Solid, Alex Brush
