Praise for
SHARRON McCLELLAN

“[This is] one heck of a thrill ride. It will get your heart pumping, not only for the nonstop action, but also for the so-called hardened mercenary who has no intention of playing the hero—until he falls in love.”

—RT Book Reviews on Mercenary’s Honor (4.5 stars)

“The action is swift and emotions run high…a story of romantic suspense at its best.”

—Cataromance.com on Mercenary’s Honor

SHARRON McCLELLAN

began writing short stories in high school but became sidetracked when she moved to Alaska to study archaeology. For years, she traveled across the United States as a field archaeologist specializing in burials and human physiology. Between archaeological contracts she decided to take up the pen again and soon discovered Romance Writers of America. In 2002, she sold her first novel. Sharron now blends her archaeological experience with her love of fiction. To learn more, visit her at www.sharronmcclellan.com. She loves to hear from her readers.

SHARRON McCLELLAN

Santa Under Cover

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Dear Reader,

What better way to keep warm on these brisk November nights than with this month’s adrenaline-pumping romances from Silhouette Romantic Suspense?

What would you do if the lights went out at Christmas? Three stellar authors—Beth Cornelison, Sharron McClellan and Jennifer Morey—contribute heartwarming stories to our Blackout at Christmas (#1583) anthology, which features three couples as they fall in love during a Seattle blackout. Also available this month, you won’t want to miss the second book in the author-led miniseries TOP SECRET DELIVERIES, The Cowboy’s Secret Twins (#1584), by Carla Cassidy. Here, a single mom unwittingly finds herself at the home of her babies’ father, who then has to keep them out of harm’s way.

Popular author Linda Turner begins her new family-themed miniseries THE O’REILLY BROTHERS with His Wanted Woman (#1585), which involves danger and romance in our nation’s capital. You’ll love Sheri WhiteFeather’s sexy beginning to her miniseries WARRIOR SOCIETY, Imminent Affair (#1586), where a noble hero with amnesia protects the woman he loves from a deadly threat.

These romances will definitely keep you toasty this month. As always, we deliver on our promise of breathtaking romance set against a backdrop of suspense. Have a wonderful November and happy reading!

Sincerely,

Patience Smith
Senior Editor

To the Cowan Family (Barb, Jim, Mickey and Alissa, Corey, Brett, Mo, the Boys and everybody else)—thank you for all the wonderful Christmas memories.

It still doesn’t seem like the Holidays
unless I have “Tom and Jerry” mix in the fridge…

Love you,
Sharron

Chapter 1

“N o, you can’t have chocolate.” Gwyneth Colton glanced at one of the three children following her through the Bellevue Mall, little hand clutching little hand so they formed a human chain with her as the anchor. “I’m not sending you back with a sugar buzz. Your moms would have a fit.”

She steeled herself, waiting for the whining and begging that was sure to follow.

“Okay,” six-year-old Connor replied. No complaining. No tantrum. Certainly no whining or begging. Just quiet acceptance that he wasn’t getting what he wanted. Again.

Or ever.

Why couldn’t they be spoiled brats? She had little experience with children, but since they’d arrived at the mall to visit Santa, she’d seen enough of those children to know what to expect. They demanded. Screamed. Called their parents names and said they hated them.

But living in a women’s shelter, these kids were anything but spoiled, and Connor’s simple reply told her just how much her expectations were off.

And that the attitude problem wasn’t theirs. It was hers.

Gwyn sighed, wishing she could blame work. When she’d become a private investigator, she’d thought it would be exciting. Instead, her days were spent photographing people who wanted to defraud insurance companies or taking pictures of philandering spouses.

All in all, it left her bored and a bit depressed.

And she couldn’t blame Richard, either. Her latest boyfriend, he’d broken up with her just before the holiday season. But she’d always known he wasn’t forever. He was something to do on the weekend.

No, neither crappy relationship nor boring job could account for her bad attitude. The fault was hers and hers alone. She was angry at herself for settling. Settling for a boyfriend that didn’t love her. Settling for cases that left her empty.

Gwyn bent down, her thick, waist-length blond hair falling forward, until she was level with Connor and the other two children. “Tell you what. After we visit Santa, we’ll buy some candy.” Their eyes widened. She smiled, warmed by their reaction. “Frangos for everyone?”

The “Godiva of the Pacific Northwest” chocolates might be a little rich for the kids—heck, they’d be happy with a Hershey bar—but it was Christmas, and Frangos was a Seattle tradition.

They grinned at her in unison, and the two boys erupted with small cheers as their answer. Then quiet, dark-haired, five-year-old Allie leaned in. “Thank you,” she whispered.

So polite. Such good kids. Gwyn blinked back sudden, surprising tears. “Okay, let’s go see Santa.”

Rising onto her toes, she scanned the area until she spotted Santa’s Snowman Village, a long line of children—and her sister, Glory. Standing near the front of the line and dressed in a gold-threaded sweater that was the match to her own, her sister was hard to miss.

Glory spotted her, as well, and waved her over.

“Okay, everyone, Santa is up ahead.” All three pulled on her arm at the announcement, eager to get in line. Michael broke free of the pack.

“Wait. Wait!” she shouted. A flicker of panic washing over her, Gwyn raised her voice just enough to let them know she meant it while she clutched the boy’s jacket, yanking him to a stop. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief. If he’d gotten away…If she’d lost him…

“I need you all to stay with me,” she said, willing her heart to stop pounding.

“Or we get on the naughty list?” Connor asked.

“Maybe,” Gwyn said, trying not to smile at his solemn expression. “Let’s just make sure that doesn’t happen.”

She hurried the kids toward Glory. “Isn’t this great?” her sister said, hugging Gwyn as the kids fell into line with Glory’s two kids from the shelter.

Great? Outside, the rain had turned to ice and was growing worse, parking had been a nightmare, and the thickness of the crowds tested her nerves in a way she never thought possible.

Despite the negatives, Gwyn couldn’t be irritated. Not when Glory beamed at her and the kids chattered and laughed as they waited.

“Except for the lack of eggnog with rum, yes,” Gwyn said.

“Well, I can’t offer you nog, but I can offer you eye candy,” Glory teased. Winding her arm through Gwyn’s, she nodded toward one of the elves milling about near Santa. “What do you think of him?”

Gwyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her sister’s blatant tactics to fix her up and reminded herself that Glory was just trying to help.

But there would be no dating. Not right now. In the spirit of being “Richard-free” and tired of being the bearer of bad news that broke up another marriage, she’d promised herself she’d remain single until she figured out what she wanted. For Christmas, she’d focus on the things that mattered. Like family, and fidelity and being true to herself.

“A bit tall for an elf, isn’t he?” Gwyn said, trying not to stare. Whoever he was, he needed to lay off the candy canes. His thick, green tights left nothing to the imagination.

“Not him,” Glory said. “Santa.”

“You think Santa is hot? That’s wrong,” Gwyn whispered, even as she turned her attention to the man in red. Watching him through her lashes, she saw him lift a child off his lap, the motion causing his beard to swing outward.

It wasn’t much, but from her angle it was enough to reveal a man not much older than her and with a strong jaw shaded by a day’s worth of dark growth. Couple that with broad shoulders that pulled at his padded costume and Gwyn began to reconsider her “no dating” vow.

Hot Santa. “Really wrong,” she finished, still staring.

“Yeah, you sound appalled,” Glory said, laughing. “You should let him know what you’d like for Christmas. I bet he has something you’d want.”

No doubt. Gwyn kept the thought to herself. There was no point in encouraging her sister. “You need help.”

“And you need a decent boyfriend with a big—

“Glory!”

“—heart,” Glory finished.

“Professional help,” Gwyn said.

The elf waved Connor forward, and the tow-headed child looked up at Gwyn. “Go on,” she said, and before she finished the short sentence, Connor bolted up the two short stairs. In seconds, he was on Santa’s lap, whispering what he wanted.

Gwyn smiled at the scene. This was why she’d come.

Less than a minute later, and with the gratuitous candy cane in hand, the boy hugged Santa and jumped down. Gwyn waved at Connor. “Wait over there,” she called out, pointing at an oversize gingerbread man on the far side of the fake candy bridge. Grinning, Connor plopped down at the cookie’s feet, eyeing his candy cane but not opening it.

“You’re next,” she said to Allie, giving her a nudge.

Instead of running up the stairs, the little girl clutched Gwyn’s leg, burying her face against her denim-clad thigh.

“I think you’ll have to go with her,” Glory said. “Maybe you can sit on Santa’s lap.” Snickers raced through the crowd behind them from both kids and parents.

Gwyn’s cheeks heated. “Please, speak up,” she said over her shoulder. “I don’t think the North Pole heard you.”

Glory grinned then stuck her tongue out.

Resisting the urge to flip her sister off, Gwyn smoothed Allie’s hair. “It’s okay. You don’t have to go.”

The little girl’s eyes welled with tears.

Oh, crap. Gwyn’s heart beat harder. What was wrong now? She told her she didn’t have to go. “You want to go?” Gwyn asked, taking a shot as to the reason behind the unexpected waterworks.

Allie held up her arms in the international sign for “pick me up.”

“Santa’s lap,” Glory whispered in her ear.

“Bite me,” Gwyn whispered back. Looking at Santa, she shrugged, at a loss as to what to do. Was she even allowed to go up there? He crooked his finger, motioning her to come forward, his eyes smiling as he answered her silent question.

Great. Glory was going to love this. With a determined sigh, Gwyn picked up Allie. “Come on, sweetie.” The little girl wrapped around her arms round her neck as Gwyn climbed the steps.

“Hi, Santa.” Gwyn said, trying not to stare into his eyes. Vivid, bright green eyes. Like holly. And while the skin around them was unmarred by wrinkles, there was something in his gaze that told her this Santa had seen more to life than most.

Then he smiled at her—a broad grin behind a white beard that made her knees weak.

Hot Santa.

The litany tripped through her head, and she reminded herself that she was not here to ogle the man in red. She blinked. “This is Allie.”

“Hi, Allie.” His deep voice was as warm and reassuring as a down blanket. “Do you want to talk to me?”

Other than a brief nod, Allie remained motionless.

This time, Santa glanced past them. “There are other kids waiting, Allie. And I have to leave soon to get to the North Pole and help pack the sleigh.”

The beard might hide his facial expression, but his point wasn’t lost on Gwyn.

Allie whimpered, the sound almost imperceptible it was so quiet. There was only one solution. Taking a deep breath, she moved closer. With Allie still in her arms, Gwyn sat on Santa’s lap, ignoring the laughs behind her.

He “oofed” under their weight. Despite that, his thighs felt firm beneath her. He placed his hand on the small of her back, fingers splayed, and sending shivers up her spine.

Hot Santa? Oh, God, yes.

She swallowed, trying to ignore the shivers as they rippled outward. “Allie, can you tell Santa what you want for Christmas?” she asked, hoping she seemed more nonchalant than she felt.

“Barbie,” was the whispered answer.

“A Barbie it is,” Santa said, chuckling. His green eyes met Gwyn’s. “How about you? What can I bring you for Christmas?”

A series of replies flickered through her head, and all guaranteed to put her on the naughty list that Connor talked about. Swallowing hard, she smiled at him, ignoring the urge to yank down the white cotton and see the more of the man behind the beard. “Pencil me in for a Barbie, too.”

“You’re not too old?”

“Old?” Her mouth dropped open in mock outrage. “I am not—”

The lights in the mall died, leaving them in darkness and cutting her off as the Snowman Village erupted in screams. Allie’s grip on Gwyn’s neck tightened into a stranglehold, and Gwyn clutched Santa’s shoulder, steadying herself.

“It’s okay,” she said, trying to soothe the little girl. “It’s just the storm. The lights will be on in a minute.”

The lights flickered back to life with her words. Relieved, Gwyn looked at the line. Glory had the kids in a group around her. Their eyes met. Thanks, she mouthed.

Still sitting on Santa’s lap, she turned to check on Connor. He stood next to the oversize cookie, his eyes wide with fear, clutching the candy cane as if it were a life preserver.

Her stomach tightened. Oh, no. This wasn’t good. She started to rise. “Connor, stay—”

Once again, the lights flickered and died. Around them, the shouts of panic increased, and Santa jerked her back down to his lap. “Stay put,” he said. “It’s safer than stumbling around in the dark.”

He had a point. Especially considering she had a small child stuck to her like a limpet. “Okay.”

“What’s your name?” Santa’s voice filtered through the shouts.

Gwyn’s head snapped toward him. “Excuse me?” Was he hitting on her? Now? He might be hot, but no one was that hot.

“I’m not trying to pick you up,” he said. She didn’t need to see him to hear his exasperation. “If the lights don’t come back on in a minute, we might have a situation. So a name would be useful.”

A situation? The emphasis sounded ominous and specific and made her wonder what Hot Santa did when he wasn’t playing the jolly old elf.

“Gwyn,” she replied.

“I’m Nick.”

She continued, “Thrilled to meet you. Now, if you could just hold Allie for a second, I have a scared little boy—”

“He’ll be fine,” Nick said, cutting her off.

Gwyn knew better. She’d seen Connor’s face. Eyes wide. Feet itching to run away from whatever it was that scared him.

The dark perhaps? Being alone in the dark?

The emergency lights came on, casting their red-tinted beams over the crowds, and Gwyn jumped to her feet, anxious to get to Connor and sure that he’d be a crying mess of kid by now.

It was worse.

The little boy was gone.

Chapter 2

E ven as chaos erupted around him, Detective Nick Linton willed his heartbeat to slow and his muscles to remain loose. He’d spent all day sitting at the Bellevue Mall, waiting for the Christmas Bandits to strike. Now was not the time to lose it.

The Christmas Bandits…a cheerily, ironic name for a group of murderous thieves. But clever, he reminded himself. Tricky as hell, they had followed the same modus operandi for the past several years. They’d hit a well-known mall jewelry store on Christmas Eve, leave without detection and then disappear.

When they popped back onto the radar, it would be in the Pacific Northwest but in a different city, a different state and a different chain of stores that specialized in diamonds.

No one had connected the dots and figured out the different hits were made by the same people until last year when they left behind the store clerk and the cop that tried to save him. Both dead.

It was disturbing enough when a civilian was killed, but when one of their own was murdered it became personal. Soon the investigation uncovered the truth. Now, thanks to a chatty informant, here he was. Not that it mattered now.

Not when a child was missing.

Tuning out both Gwyn and the panicked shouts from the shoppers, Nick scrutinized the scene. Cops dressed as elves worked the crowd to control the stampede toward the exits. Good. Peering past the chaos and into the shadows, he searched for signs of abduction. Nothing suspicious came into view. No child being dragged against his will. No blond-haired boy lying limp in someone’s arms. Nothing.

He stretched his fingers, releasing some of the mounting tension and grabbed the police-issue walkie-talkie from behind the Santa chair. “We have a possible abduction. I want all exits shut except the south one. Over.”

“You got it. Out.”

“Where’s Connor?” The woman waiting in line with Gwyn—Nick guessed a sibling since they looked and dressed too much alike to be anything else—hurried up the stairs, trailed by three children.

“I don’t know,” Gwyn replied, as calm and controlled as if nothing had happened.

Impressive. Most women would be hysterical by now.

She continued, “Santa here is working with the police to find him.”

And despite her own desperate shouting she noticed details, such as his orders and the fact he was a cop. Not many people were that level-headed in a crisis.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” the woman asked, her voice shooting up an octave.

Not as calm as her sister. Too bad. It would make this easier, but it wasn’t the first time he’d worked with a person on the edge of panic.

Nick placed a firm hand on the woman’s shoulder. “What’s your name?”

“Glory.” Her jaw trembled, and while a twinge of sympathy moved him, there wasn’t time for pity or niceties.

“Glory, we’re heading toward the south exit,” Nick said, motioning her to move. “Watch for any sign of Connor as we walk. If someone took him, he might have a hat on. A different jacket. Anything to disguise him. I have men waiting at the doors. We don’t want anyone to slip by without going past you.”

For a moment, the group stared at him, the children’s mouths hanging open. There was no doubt they’d never see Santa the same way again, but it couldn’t be helped.

“You heard Santa,” Gwyn said, her voice remained level but carried an urgent undertone that snapped the group to attention. She turned her blue-eyed stare toward Nick. “This will go faster if you help carry a kid or two.” She handed Allie to her sister.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” Nick asked, following the movement.

She leaned in toward him, pushing aside the cotton beard just enough to whisper, “I don’t want to get Glory’s hopes up, but I don’t think he was abducted.” Her breath was warm against his ear. “If you’d seen Connor’s face…the panic. I think he ran and hid. I’ll stay to search for him while you take Glory to the south entrance.”

She spoke as if they were partners, and Nick bit back a retort and focused on her words. Hiding? Possible. He wouldn’t discount the option, but leaving a layperson behind to do the job of a cop was not an option. There were too many uncontrolled variables in her suggestion. What if she was wrong and stumbled on the abductor? Or even the Bandits. Of course, it was more likely they’d abandon any robbery plans under the surprising circumstances, but he wasn’t willing to risk anyone’s safety on that bet.

He shook his head. “You go with us.”

She grabbed his bicep. “You’re not listening, and I’m not going. I’m staying here. Connor was my responsibility, and I am not leaving until I find him.”

Ah, guilt and honor—the true crux of the problem—and much like sympathy, emotions he couldn’t indulge in either himself or someone else. He peeled her fingers away. “This is not a request.”

Even in the dim lighting, fury flashed in her eyes as she glared at him. For a moment, he thought she might argue. He tensed, ready to call for backup and have her hauled away if needed.

Then behind the pale blue depths, the fury shifted. “Of course.”

She didn’t break his gaze. Didn’t fidget. She even sounded agreeable. Almost contrite. And totally truthful. He didn’t believe any of it. He may have only known her a few minutes, but it was enough to know that she wasn’t the kind of person who gave in that easily, which meant she was a great liar with good intentions.

A cop’s worst nightmare.

Liar or not, he didn’t have time to argue or question. Seconds wasted could mean the difference between finding Connor today or seeing his name on the front of a billboard for the next ten years.

Taking a kid in each arm, he nodded toward the south entrance. “Stay close.”

They reached the south entrance, and Gwyn whistled in appreciation. Cops manned the doors, allowing singles and couples to leave on the left and middle, while people with children waited on the right. Luckily, the line wasn’t even twenty families deep as of yet.

Nick and his men had done well, but that didn’t surprise her. He was a take-charge man, and it made sense that his men were the same. But why were they staking out the mall on Christmas Eve? And it was a stakeout, she was sure of that much.

“I want one of you on each side,” Nick said. She glanced at him, curiosity about his mission overwhelmed by the more urgent need to ditch the policeman and return to the Snowman Village. Still in his Santa suit, he handed off his two kids to the boys in blue and motioned for her and Glory to do the same.

She handed Michael to a uniformed man, giving him a squeeze first. “It’ll be okay.”

“What about the kids?” Glory asked, setting Allie down. “They can’t just stand here.”

The young officer raised his hand in response then kneeled down. “Who wants to see a real police car? I’ll even run the siren.”

Small cheers erupted in response. Gwyn’s throat tightened, remembering how they’d done the same when she said she’d get the chocolate. How Connor had cheered. And then the fear that overwhelmed him when the lights went out.

“Move it.” Nick placed his hand on the small of Gwyn’s back, directing her to the door as the children left while Glory hurried to take position and watch for Connor.

She hesitated. Perhaps Nick was right. Perhaps Connor was kidnapped. But her gut insisted otherwise, drowning out everything else and leaving her no choice.

She had to get back to the scene. Now.

Not that she planned to tell Nick. Been there, tried that. “I need to use the ladies’ room first,” Gwyn said. “I’ve been holding it since I got to the mall.”

“Now is not the time,” Nick said. Even the white, cotton beard couldn’t hide his anger.

Gwyn swallowed the urge to tell him the truth.

“Just hurry,” Glory broke in.

Good enough. Let Nick keep his disappointment. If she found Connor, it wouldn’t matter. Turning on her heel, she rushed down the wide hallway, past the departing shoppers and past the ladies’ room.

Breaking into a jog, she headed back toward the Snowman Village. If Connor were anywhere, it was in that area. Perhaps in a corner. Maybe under the yards of cotton fluff that served as snow and resembled a blanket that would offer a hiding spot. Wherever he was, she’d find him.

As long as she did it before Nick figured out she was gone. Still jogging, she glanced backward. People flowed toward the south exit, and there was no sign of Nick.

Hot Santa.

She kicked the phrase from her mind. It figured that he was a cop. Not that she disliked cops. She respected them more than most. She knew how hard they worked, and the fact they got anything done under the legal constraints that hemmed them in was amazing.

But right now, they were the enemy. Or Nick was.

Ahead of her, Santa’s chair glittered in the dim, red-tinted lights.

I’m coming, Connor. Her heart slammed hard against the walls of her chest as she ran faster.

She stopped at the edge of the Snowman Village. “Be here,” she whispered, leaning over, hands on her thighs to catch her breath. “Please be here.” Standing, she cupped her hands around her mouth. “Connor!”

“This isn’t the ladies’ room.”

Nick. Gwyn exhaled with a sigh. “And you’re not Connor.”

“You’re supposed to be watching the doors.”

Thank you, Captain Obvious. “I got lost.”

Hands on her hips, she faced her opponent. He still wore the Santa pants held up by suspenders but gone was the red hat, the beard, the coat and the grin. Replacing them were a black T-shirt, a deep frown and confirmation that he was as hot as she imagined.

No, hotter.

“Is that the story you want to go with?” he asked, with no visible sense of humor.

Hot cop. The thought popped into her head, forcing its way past the panic and the fear and the dread. Goose bumps swept up her arms. “I didn’t see you following me.”

“You weren’t supposed to.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing the goose bumps away. Hot or not, skilled or not, she wasn’t going back. Not without Connor.

Nick stepped closer, breaking her invisible personal space barrier. She held her ground. “Short of carrying me out of here, I’m not leaving,” Gwyn said.

Nick didn’t say a word.

And the urge to break the silence and say something, anything, overwhelmed her. “Ten minutes,” she blurted. “Give me that.”

Still, he offered nothing. No words to show she’d swayed him in either direction.

A wave of frustration washed through Gwyn. They covered a number of situations in P.I. training—computer searches, basic law and she’d taken a Krav Maga course so she could fight off an assailant if necessary.

But they’d never covered facing down a cop in a missing-child situation.

Taking a deep breath, she knew what she had to do. The only thing she could do that might break through his tough, law-abiding cop exterior.

Her eyes locked with his, she placed a hand on his chest, willing him to feel her fear, and her almost-painful need to set things right. “Please,” she begged. “Please help me.”

Chapter 3

G wyn held her breath, watching as Nick ran a hand through his hair making the short, black strands stick up.

He shook his head.

Her eyes flooded with angry tears, but she blinked them away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Not that he cared, but she sure as hell did.

“I am going to catch more crap for this…” He shook his head again. “Don’t make me regret saying yes.”

She realized that he wasn’t denying her help. He was chastising himself for agreeing to assist her. She took a step back in surprise at the unexpected answer. “I won’t let you down.” She smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Nick said, anger giving him an edge that made her want to back away even farther. “You get ten minutes. If we don’t find him by then, we go back to the south entrance. Agreed?”

Gwyn sensed that if she didn’t agree, there would be no search, and he’d take her back to Glory, willing or not. “Agreed,” she replied, not caring about the fury that roiled beneath his skin. Let him rant. Let him fume. She had ten minutes to locate Connor before the little kid had a nervous breakdown, and that was where her focus would remain.

“We start here,” Nick said, gesturing at the Snowman Village.

“Shouldn’t we split up?” Gwyn asked, peering into the shadows that surrounded them. Between the kiosks that lined the wide walkways and the Village, there were a lot of places for a small child to hide and little time to search. “We’ll cover a lot more ground that way.”

Despite the dim, emergency lighting, Gwyn didn’t miss the unexpected expression of alarm that flickered across Nick’s strong features, obliterating the irritation that seemed to be a pervasive part of his personality. “We stick together.”

“Not a problem,” she said, not wanting to push his grudging goodwill too far.

Slowly, they walked through Snowman Village, Gwyn calling Connor’s name as they lifted up yards of cotton snow, hoping with each yard to find Connor and fighting disappointment when he wasn’t there.

A long shot, she knew, but an option that couldn’t be ignored.

“I take it you’re the aunt,” Nick said as they worked their way to the back half of the Village with still no sign of Connor.

“What?” Gwyn glanced at him, surprised at the sudden comment.

“The aunt. Connor is Glory’s kid, isn’t he?”

He was wrong on both counts, but it was still an interesting observation. Was her lack of maternal instincts that obvious or was it something else? She rolled up a large piece of fleecy cotton and set it aside. “Why would you think I’m the aunt?”

“She panicked. You didn’t.”

Made sense but it still didn’t make him right. Nice to know that super cop made a few errors, even if they were minor ones. “Actually, he doesn’t belong to either of us,” Gwyn said glancing to watch his reaction to a scenario that hadn’t passed through his logical, cop brain.

“Oh?” He dropped a large piece of fluff, his expression one of interest but nothing more.

So much for trying to tweak a cop.

“He’s a kid from the shelter. Glory’s a social worker,” she said. “We were taking the kids out for the day. Something fun to get their minds off of their crappy accommodations.”

Admiration flickered through his green-eyed gaze, and he gave her a slow nod of support. “Very Christmassy.”

An odd, almost silly phrase from a decidedly non-silly man, but there was no sarcasm in his tone. No quiet malice.

He meant it.

Unexpected warmth flooded Gwyn at the praise, working its way to her toes, the tips of her fingers and touched her cheeks, leaving her flushed and more vulnerable than she cared to feel. She ducked her head and lifted back the last piece of cotton to reveal nothing but empty space.

“Perhaps,” Gwyn said, making a slow circle as the chill of failure replaced the warmth of Nick’s praise. “But this was not what we planned.”

“No one ever plans on losing a kid,” Nick said. He took her hand in his, and with a surprising tenderness, he guided her toward the south entrance. “It’s not your fault.”

Gwyn didn’t miss the gesture. He might sympathize, but he wanted to leave and thought he could get her to go without a fight.

She wasn’t that gullible, and she didn’t give up that easily. Couldn’t give up when she thought of Connor lost in the dark. She yanked her hand from his. “We should search the kiosks.”

The corners of his mouth turned downward, and she knew what he thought because it was the same thought that ran through her head—long shot.

Too long.

“The kiosks were still open when the lights went out,” he said, confirming her assumption. “If he went into one, he’d have been found.”

“Maybe he snuck into one afterward.” Yes, the argument was weak, but anything was better than the alternative—that Nick was right, and a stranger had Connor.

Nick pushed a strand of hair away from her cheek, his eyes deep with sympathy. “I know you want to believe he’s here, but we’re wasting time.”

“Maybe he snuck in one when he saw us leave.” His touch left her lightheaded, and she wished the proffered tenderness wasn’t based on sympathy and logic. “Connor wouldn’t know we’d come back.”

“You’ve been calling his name. He hasn’t responded.”

“You said you’d give me ten minutes,” Gwyn interrupted. Nick’s hand fell to his side.

Gwyn swallowed hard, determined to finish what she’d started. “I have two minutes left if you count the fact we’ve been standing here talking when we should be searching.”

She headed to the right. “I’ll take this side. You take the other.”

“We need to stick together.”

“Two minutes.” She paused, beating back the vulnerability and fear. “Don’t make me beg. Not again.”

Slowly, he turned her around to face him. His eyes darted across her face and drank her in, making her feel more naked than if she were stripped down to her red satin panties.

A few seconds later, he nodded. “Two minutes,” he said, and headed in the opposite direction.

She wasn’t sure what he’d seen, her desperation perhaps, but she was glad it worked. Hurrying over to the closest kiosk, she stuck her head under the heavy plastic and shone her flashlight inside. Cheap sunglasses lined the wire racks. More expensive brands were locked in glass cases. But no Connor.

Four more kiosks later and her frustration was reaching an almost unbearable level.

“Where are you, kiddo,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes. “Why don’t you answer?”

As much as she hated to admit it, searching the kiosks had been the wrong way to go. She knew it. Nick knew it. The plastic kiosk covers were heavier than they appeared. If Connor had run into one of the booths, it would have been before they closed.

Which meant he was in one of the shops.

Or abducted.

She pushed aside the horror that the word produced and glanced at her watch. Thirty seconds left. Maybe.

Walking fast, she headed to the perimeter and past the shops, shining her flashlight through the metal gratings, watching for movement and listening for a sigh or crying—any sign that might indicate Connor was there.

The stores were as silent as the rest of the mall. Then a glimmer caught her eye. She read the sign over the frontage, Elite Jewelry.

She flicked off her flashlight.

A white glow shone from beneath a crack in the door. It was faint, a flashlight like hers, but it was a light. It flickered again, as if someone walked in front of it then away.

Then she heard something. Like a kitten crying.

Or a child. The heavy door muffled it, but she knew the sound of tears and terror.

Connor.

Her pulse skipped into overdrive, her world narrowed to a fine point until there was nothing and no one left but her, Connor and the fact she had to get to him. “Nick, I found him,” she called out.

She grabbed the metal gate, determined to break the lock with sheer strength if needed, but it shot upward, unlocked.

“Gwyn, wait!” Nick called out, but she was already moving past glass cases full of engagement rings, necklaces and bracelets made for the über-wealthy of the east side.

“Connor!” she called his name again as she pushed open the door, flashlight raised and ready to take him into her arms.

Two steps into the room, she froze. “Oh, hell.”

A tall man dressed in black waited on the other side. One gloved hand covered Connor’s mouth. The other held a Sig Sauer 9mm, the open end pointed at her.

And she knew why Nick and his men were at the mall.

Chapter 4

N ick watched from the shadow of the door as one of the Christmas Bandits pointed a gun at Gwyn, using Connor as cover. Well, as much cover as a six-year-old boy could provide for a man that cleared six feet.

His hands clenched into tight fists at seeing them in danger, and the primal urge to tackle the gunman and beat him senseless almost overwhelmed reason. Almost. Instead, reason won out, and he unclenched his grip and assessed the scene, remaining as detached as possible, knowing it was the best way to help them.

So far, only one gunman was in view. Dark hair. Goatee. No visible scars. But the sound of drilling told him that the man wasn’t alone, which meant that he couldn’t pull his weapon without putting Gwyn and Connor at risk.

A flash of the gunman’s last victims flashed through Nick’s mind—bodies on the marble floor with their heads splattered all over the shiny glass cases that had once held diamonds.

He’d be damned if he was going to let that happen. He had to protect Gwyn. Protect Connor. This meant he had to join them, despite what the “Handbook” said about not being taken hostage.

Shaking his head and sure that if he lived he’d be demoted, Nick stepped into the doorway. The gunman’s eyes widened then narrowed. “You.” He waved his gun at Nick. “Santa. Get in here and shut the door, or I’ll give these two a present they won’t appreciate.”

Nick stepped inside, mentally smacking himself for allowing Gwyn to separate from him during the search. He knew better, but one glance at those desperate blue eyes and he’d caved.

He was an idiot.

As if on cue, Gwyn glanced at him over her shoulder. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her skin, making strands of her long blond hair stick to her cheek.

Nick shut the door. The room seemed to be a combination break room and jewelry repair shop. A half-empty coffeepot, creamer, sugar and cups sat on the far counter along with a plate of Christmas cookies.

On the other walls were machines, tools and cleaners. None of which was useful as a weapon unless he attacked them with a coffee mug à la Jackie Chan. To the right was a closed door. Storage? A way out? He filed the information away.

Another door on the left was wide-open and seemed to be a vault of some kind. Inside the small, tight space flashlights revealed two people trying to break into the safe. Another male dressed much as the armed man. Black clothes. Leather gloves. Long blond hair tied back. The woman next to him sported a short, trendy haircut. Loads of makeup. And street clothes.

Despite the gun in her hand pegging her for a criminal, he recognized her from watching the shop all day.

She was the salesgirl.

An inside job. He knew it. Hell, anyone on the case suspected as much. They just couldn’t prove it.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Nick said.

The gunman shifted his aim toward Nick. “I’m sure you know the routine. Hands up. Over there.” He nodded toward the back wall.

Raising his hands where the man could see them, Nick walked to the back wall and pressed his lower back against the cool cement. “What’s going on?”

The man took Gwyn’s purse, tossed it to the floor and then nudged her with his foot. “You, too.”

Nick watched as Gwyn walked toward him. Her blue eyes met his, and he saw fear in their depths. Deep, screaming fear. For him. For herself. And for the small boy who was having the most terrifying Christmas ever.

Then she took the spot next to him. “Try to stay calm,” he whispered. “It’ll be okay.”

“I’m fine,” she replied, and he realized that while she might be terrified, there was no tremble in her voice and her hands didn’t shake as she squeezed his forearm before she took her place next to him on the wall.

“What now?” Gwyn asked, talking to the gunman.

“We do not need hostages,” the woman in the vault said as her companion drilled into the safe.

Hostages. That meant they weren’t going to be shot, at least not immediately. The tension in Nick’s gut eased a notch. He could use that to his advantage. “Of course you do,” he said.

“Shut up,” the gunman said, cocking his gun.

“He’s right,” Gwyn said. “We were only supposed to be gone for ten minutes. They’ll come looking for us soon, and when they don’t find us…”

“Who’s they,” the girl interrupted, stepping into the room. Now that she was closer, he saw she still wore her name tag. Marsha. If that was her real name.

“Cops,” Nick said. “Lots of cops. All looking for him,” he nodded at Connor. Up until now, the boy had reminded silent, the gunman’s hand still over his mouth.

“He came running in here,” the girl whined. “What were we supposed to do? Just let him go?” She glared at Connor. “This is your fault.”

Next to him, Gwyn tensed and Nick groaned. Connor might not be her child but she was reacting with a woman’s maternal instinct.

“His fault?” She pushed away from the wall. Nick grabbed her arm, and she shook him off. Oblivious to the guns and the danger, she marched across the room. She hesitated in front of Marsha, and for a moment, Nick thought she might go for a catfight.

Instead, she continued then stopped in front of the gunman. “He’s five years old. Let him go.”

“You want him?” The gunman tightened his hold.

“Yes, I do,” Gwyn said, hands on her hips.

Nick cringed at her tone but kept his mouth shut. It wouldn’t do to have them both pissing off the crooks. Let her be bad hostage. He’d be good hostage.

Until he wasn’t.

He took a deep breath at the thought, eager for a little payback.

“Take him.” The gunman uncovered Connor’s mouth and used his knee to shove the child toward Gwyn. “Happy now?”

“Thrilled,” Gwyn said, dropping to her knees and pulling Connor into her arms.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said, tears tracking down his cheeks.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Gwyn said as Connor wiped his runny nose on her shoulder, making Nick cringe. Gwyn didn’t flinch.

“I was scared,” Connor said. “And I saw the light.”

“I know. It’s okay.” Gwyn picked Connor up, her arms tight around him as she took her place back against the wall.

“You need to control your temper,” Nick whispered. She glared at him, her blue eyes wet with tears. He thumbed one away as it slid down her cheek. “You are a dumb ass,” he said, “But a brave one.”

Which was admirable as long as her bravery didn’t get her shot.

“Gee, thanks,” Gwyn said with a sniff. “I think.”

“Are you Santa?” Connor asked.

Nick shook his head. “I’m not the big guy. Just his number one helper. Santa and I are like this.” He crossed his fingers.

Connor’s eyes widened. “Will I be on the naughty list now, for running away?”

Nick smiled, despite the situation. “No, but they are,” he said, nodding at the three crooks. “They’re going to get coal in their stockings.”

And a nice long stay in prison, if he had anything to do with it.

The gunman frowned. “Hey, kid, there’s no such thing as Santa,” he said. “It’s a lie. Your parents give you the presents.”

“Tucker, don’t be a jerk,” the safecracker said. “He’s a kid, for Chrissakes. It’s Christmas.”

Tucker. Now that was useful information. Nick filed it away.

“Are you mental?” Tucker growled. “You said my name.”

The safecracker flinched. “Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair, breaking a few strands free from the rubber band that held it back.

“Whatever. Just get back to work,” Tucker said, never taking his attention from the hostages. “Stick to the plan.”

“The plan? The plan is screwed. What the hell are we going to do with hostages?” the blond man argued.

Nick didn’t miss the sound of Gwyn’s breath catching. He touched her side, wishing he could do more. “You could let us go,” he said.

“Shut. Up,” Tucker replied.

“At least let them go,” Nick said, not shutting up. This was his opening, and he wasn’t going to let it go. Besides, he didn’t think Tucker would shoot.

At least not until he had what he’d come for. Nick continued. “You can keep me. You only need one hostage, and keeping a woman and kid will just piss off the cops.”

“He has a point,” the blond man said. “No one likes the guys who hurt kids and women.”

“How much Oprah have you been watching?” Tucker rolled his eyes. “And shouldn’t you both be breaking into a safe? We’re wasting time.”

The safecracker and Marsha went back to work.

Hell. “Just let them go,” Nick said, focusing on Tucker. “I’ll be the perfect hostage. Even help you carry the loot.”

“Are you insane?” Gwyn broke in. “I am not leaving you here alone.”

“You’re right. You’re not,” Tucker replied. “But Stephan made a good point,” he grinned, obviously aware he’d said he the other man’s name and caring more for retaliation than secrecy. “Keeping a kid tends to make cops more trigger-happy than needed. He can go.”

The tension in Nick’s gut released yet another notch. One down. One more to go. Then they’d both be safe.

“I want to stay with you,” Connor whimpered, tightening his hold on Gwyn.

Gwyn’s eyes locked with Nick’s as she stroked Connor’s hair. Thank you, she mouthed. Then she kissed the top of Connor’s head. “You can’t stay here, sweetie. One of these people will show you which way to go, and I want you to run in that direction. Just run in a straight line until you see Glory and the policemen.”

Connor buried his head in Gwyn’s neck. “I can’t,” he sobbed. “It’s dark. There’re monsters.”

Nick squeezed Connor’s shoulder. The kid was right about one thing—there were monsters. But they were right here. “You can do this,” Nick said. “I’ll make sure that Santa leaves you a special present.”

“And it’s not dark,” Gwyn chimed in. “Not at all. There are pretty red lights to lead the way. All you have to do is run.”

Connor didn’t move.

“Tell you what,” Tucker said, “Since it’s Christmas, I’ll let the woman take the kid out of here.”

Nick sighed in relief. Thank God. With both of them gone, he’d be free to do what was needed without fear of hurting civilians.

Tucker continued, pointing his gun at Gwyn, “But I want you to come back.”

The tension in Nick’s gut returned, making him groan. “Just let them go.”

Tucker shook his head. “A single man makes a crap hostage. I need either the woman or the kid.” He grinned. “You choose. Who stays? The woman or the kid?”

Nick frowned. Later, he’d shoot Tucker. Somewhere non-lethal that would hurt for a good, long time.

“Connor goes,” Gwyn said.

“What she said,” Nick agreed, knowing it was the only way to get them both out.

Tucker nodded. “She drops the kid off and gets back here in five minutes or you get shot.”

Gwyn’s eyes widened. “You can’t kill him. Then you won’t have a hostage.”

“I never said kill.”

If nothing else, Tucker was to the point.

Next to him, Gwyn nodded. “Deal.”

Hearing her conviction, Nick wanted to shake her. Hell, she knew he was a cop. And she was savvy. Smart. She should know that he didn’t want her gone. He needed her gone.

“You better get moving,” Tucker said. “Countdown starts now.”

“Do not come back,” Nick said, not caring who heard him.

“I can’t do that,” Gwyn said. With Connor in her arms, she rushed toward the door, stopping long enough to flash one last look of desperation at Nick. “I’m sorry.” Then she was gone, leaving Nick alone with Tucker and his crew.

“You better hope she’s fast,” Tucker said, keeping his gun on Nick.

Nick didn’t bother to answer. He didn’t want her to be fast. He wanted her to run away and stay away.

He’d been shot before—his thigh ached with phantom pain at the memory—and he wasn’t eager to take another bullet, but it was better than watching Gwyn take one when this job was over and Tucker killed them both.

Chapter 5

F ive minutes.

Carrying Connor, Gwyn sprinted through the mall, feeling as if she were part of the most sadistic game show ever created.

Beat the clock and win fabulous prizes. Money. A car. Nick’s life.

Ahead of her, the hallway brightened as she grew closer to the south entrance and her sister. Not much farther. Her breath hitched in her chest as she passed a bookstore.

“Look, sweetie,” she huffed. “We’re almost there.”

Connor remained quiet, his face buried against her neck. She’d hoped that once they were closer to safety he’d relax because as bad as she felt for the little guy, she couldn’t go with him. Not the whole way. If she did, Nick’s men would never let her leave. And then Tucker would shoot Nick, and while he said it wouldn’t be a kill shot, she didn’t believe him. Tucker looked like the kind of man who enjoyed death.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth, and she sped up. That wasn’t going to happen. She’d make sure of it.

Three storefronts later marked the end of her run. Carefully, she pried Connor’s arms away from her neck and set him on his feet.

“Where is everyone?” he asked, his hand in hers.

Squatting down, Gwyn touched his cheek. “They’re right around the corner, but you have to go on without me, sweetie.”

He pushed himself back into her arms. “I’m scared. Go with me.”

Gwyn squeezed her eyes shut. Hating Tucker. Hating herself. “No, sweetie. You have to go,” Gwyn said, prying him off of her and feeling like the cruelest person ever born. “I have to go help Nick.”

“The number one helper?” His tone perked up.

“Yes.” She wished she had more time to explain. To talk Connor into doing what she needed. But she only had two minutes to get back to Tucker and the store. Turning the boy, she guided him around the corner. “Run,” she said, and headed back into the dark, ignoring the cries echoing behind her.

Her heart pounding with both effort and fear, Gwyn pushed herself and arrived at the jewelry store in record time. She pelted through the door into the back room.

Tucker’s gun remained pointed at Nick. “Welcome back.”

“My pleasure,” Gwyn snapped, trying to catch her breath.

His back against the wall, Nick frowned at her. She shrugged. She knew he was pissed that she’d come back, but he’d do the same for her. Besides, only cowards left someone else to pay for their mistakes. She might suck at a lot of things—love, work and cooking—but she wasn’t a coward and didn’t plan to start now.

Tucker opened the heavy door on the right. “Both of you. In here.”

Gwyn glanced at Nick. He nodded, and she walked into the room with him and Tucker following.

As big as the outer room, file cabinets lined the far wall. Otherwise, it was empty.

“The light stays on or the next time I walk in, I’ll be shooting,” Tucker said, shutting the door and locking them in.

Behind her, she heard Nick close the distance between them, fury in his footsteps. She forced herself to remain still. Even if he wasn’t a cop, she suspected he was the kind of man who was used to others doing what he said.

But she wasn’t the kind of person who obeyed directives that got people shot. Still, she dreaded the lecture, even as she knew it was coming from the moment she left with Connor.

“Gwyn.” He said her name like a sigh, his breath warm against her neck.

Determined to remain stoic, she allowed herself to shut her eyes.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Gwyn’s eyes popped open. “What?”

He sighed again, but this time there was nothing but pure exasperation in the sound. “Are you really going to make me say it twice?”

Curiosity drove her to turn and meet his eyes. “I don’t get it. I thought you’d be pissed.”

His right brow arched upward. “Oh, I am.”

Then she saw the fury in his gaze. Nope, he wasn’t lying about that. He was totally pissed. But beneath the fury was something else. What, she wasn’t sure, but it was quieter than the anger, and the fact she couldn’t read it scared the hell out of her. Hell, if she had to admit it, Nick scared her. He was the unknown and unexpected, and in her line of work, those two factors rarely added up to a good thing.

He continued, “You’re a hindrance here. You know it. I know it.”

“I’ve never been known for playing well with others,” she said, sounding more glib than she intended. She didn’t feel a whit of remorse for doing the right thing instead of the smart thing.

Nick rolled his eyes. “But I also know that coming back to be a hostage wasn’t easy, and when it comes down to it, I don’t like the thought of being shot.” He smoothed a strand of hair from her cheek, shaking his head. “Besides, I can’t do much about it, can I?”

Gwyn shrugged, trying to ignore the warmth of his touch. “Not unless you have a gun tucked in your pocket.”

He tensed. The reaction lasted for less than a second but that was all she needed to know that he was armed, even if he didn’t want to admit it. She might be trained as a P.I., but it was her innate skill to read people that made her a good P.I.

Well, read people that weren’t family or lovers. Once she added emotions to the mix, her skills tanked.

Nick relaxed, his hand lingering by her ear. “I need you to make me a promise.”

Here it came. “Let me guess,” Gwyn said, flashing him a smile that she knew was anything but sincere. “Stay out of trouble. Play the damsel in distress? Let you do all the rescuing?”

Once again he tensed, but this time she knew it was because she’d struck a nerve.

“I’m not asking you to play the damsel in distress. I’m asking you to let me handle this.”

“Because you’re the professional?”

He ran both hands through his hair, gripping the short strands. “Of course, because I’m the professional.”

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. He 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.

Smartass.

She let Nick take the lead when they opened the door, but the room was empty. Marsha and Stephan were gone. But not long gone though, she realized, hearing their footsteps heading away from the store. Cowards.

“You’re safe,” he said. “Just hurry.”

She hesitated in the doorway, still hating the thought of leaving him alone. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

“We’ll be waiting,” Nick replied.

Gwyn trotted toward the south entrance. Damn, if Nick was hot before this, saving her life and holding a weapon on the bad guy made him hotter.

Her face heated at the memory of his mouth on hers.

Behind her, a thud sounded down the empty, wide corridor.

Gwyn stopped. Were the others coming back to save their friend? If so, they’d kill Nick. Adrenaline surged through her as she sprinted back to the store. Slowing as she grew close, she watched, waiting for movement.

Seconds later, she spotted a shadow emerging, and her breath caught in her chest. Tucker? Had he somehow managed to free himself? And where the hell was Nick? She hadn’t heard gun shots, but that didn’t mean something hadn’t gone wrong.

The dark figure stepped into the red lighting and Gwyn frowned. Not Tucker.

Nick.

Chapter 7

H e was going after the others.

“He’s a dead man,” Gwyn whispered, hurrying after Nick, pissed that she fell for his story.

Odds were Stephan and Marsha were well on their way to freedom, but it was also possible that Nick would catch up to them. Two against one if he did. She didn’t like the odds.

Ahead of her, Nick rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. She moved faster. Luckily, she could lose him for only so long, but not being able to see him—to ensure he was alive and breathing—made her pulse race.

A slamming door echoed through the silent mall, “It’s not my fault.” Marsha’s distinctive whine made Gwyn pause. “You act like I don’t want to get away. He didn’t tell me, either.”

Gwyn smiled. Apparently, Tucker hadn’t told them the escape route. Normally, control freaks made her nuts, but in this case, she appreciated Tucker’s need to run the show.

First, she had to catch up to Nick, but as she rounded the corner, Nick was nowhere in sight, “Dammit,” she muttered under her breath. Where had he gone?

Seconds later, a hand went over her mouth, and someone jerked her into an alcove. Panic and instinct working in tandem, she jammed her elbow into her attacker, connecting with his ribs. His grip loosened, and she went limp so she could slip downward and escape.

But he tightened hold before she could drop more than a few inches and killed the momentum she needed to make another attack.

“Are you insane,” a familiar voice whispered in her ear.

Nick. She bit his hand, getting just enough flesh to pinch. It might be a small bite, but they hurt oh-so-much more, and he deserved at least that for scaring the hell out of her.

He let go.

“You couldn’t just say, ‘Psst! In here,’” she hissed, jerking out of his grasp.

“And you couldn’t just do as I asked? For once,” Nick replied.

“Not when you’re being an idiot.”

“If you’d gone to get help, like I asked, we’d have backup by now,” Nick said with a sigh.

“You could also be dead by now,” Gwyn said.

“Hardly.”

Irritation kept Gwyn’s pulse pounding. “One, you don’t know where the other two are.” She ticked the reasons off on her fingers, even though he couldn’t see her. “Two, there are two of them. Both armed.”

“I’m not sure about Marsha,” Nick said.

Gwyn ignored him. “Three, it only takes a few seconds for you to get shot, which brings us to four.” She held her fingers up, wiggling them. “You are not invincible, and if you died because I left you with no backup…” The thought made her want to both cry and pound Nick for not understanding her fear.

“That’s five,” Nick said, as he traced a tender path up her arm, across her shoulder and stopping to cup her cheek.

He did understand. “Jerk,” Gwyn said, trying to mean it.

“I know,” Nick replied, stroking her skin. “But I feel the same way. If something happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”

The sweetness of the comment surprised her, but Gwyn pushed the warm-fuzzy feeling aside. They had two more thieves to catch. “We should get moving.”

“Not yet.” Nick pressed one of the guns into her hands. “And take this. It has a full clip. One in the chamber.”

“Thanks.” She tucked the gun into the back of her jeans. “What are we waiting for?”

“For them to make more noise and give us some indication of their location,” Nick said. “I want to catch them, but I don’t want either of us shot. So, we wait. Once we know where they are, you head back.”

As if. But Gwyn knew better than to argue. With fingers crossed, she nodded and leaned against the wall, knowing he was too preoccupied to catch the lie.

“There’s more to the shelter kids than you said,” Nick said after a few minutes.

Gwyn’s brows shot up, not startled by his voice so close to her ear but at the unexpected, out-of-the-blue comment. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Blurting out random questions at the most inappropriate times,” she whispered.

“They’re not random,” Nick replied.

She waved this off. She should have known as much, but she wasn’t going to offer her life story because his cop instincts told her there was something in her past worth knowing.

“I’ve seen social workers who work with the shelters,” he said, obviously ignoring her discomfort. “They’re good, don’t get me wrong. But taking kids to see Santa? That’s above the call of duty.”

Gwyn shifted from one foot to another. “My sister is a goodhearted person. Nothing more.”

“I don’t doubt it, but still.” Nick grew closer in the darkness. “Most people donate toys or clothes. Not time.”

Gwyn crossed her arms over her chest, trying to keep both Nick and her memories at bay. “What does it matter? Why do you care?”

Running his hand over her arm, Nick uncrossed her arms and wound his fingers with hers. “I just do. So talk.”

Talk about one of the worst times in her life? Now? “I can’t,” she replied, struggling to get the words out of her throat.

“Talk to me,” Nick insisted. “We have nothing else to do. Not yet.”

“Shouldn’t we be listening?”

“I can do both.”

Gwyn squeezed her eyes shut, the past playing across her eyelids like an old movie. “When I was ten, my mother left my father on Christmas Eve. We spent the next six months living in shelters while my mother tried to find work so she could take care of us.”

Silence. Had she said too much? Was he freaked out by her past?

“Did she?” Nick asked after a few moments, his tone hopeful.

Gwyn shook her head, wishing the ending was a happy one. Something one watched on Lifetime. “No. She found another husband.”

Allen. A lawyer who was just as bad as their father. Granted, he didn’t beat them with belts. Words were his whips. He called them names. Cheated on their mother and then denied it, calling her crazy and irrational.

Gwyn stayed until Glory was old enough to leave. Then they both moved out one weekend, begging their mother to go with them. She refused, and Glory almost stayed behind, as well—only Gwyn’s plea that she couldn’t afford the apartment by herself forced her sister to follow.

“He sucked, too, didn’t he?” Nick asked, reading her silence.

“Yes.”

“It happens, you know,” Nick said, kissing the knuckles. “People get beat down long enough and it begins to feel ‘normal.’ It’s what they know. So it’s what they look for in their next relationship.”

“I know. Glory said the same thing.”

“Smart woman, your sister,” Nick said.

“Straight A’s,” Gwyn said.

“How about you? Any college?”

“Tried it,” she said. “It wasn’t for me.” After she’d left school, here had been an endless parade of administrative assistant jobs that bored her to tears. Then five years ago, she’d found her calling as a P.I., and had been content—until just a few months ago.

“And I liked being a P.I…. for a while,” she confessed.

“Burnout happens,” Nick said.

Burnout or something more. Something deeper. She wasn’t sure but she knew that now wasn’t the time for a therapy session. “Yeah. Burnout.” She leaned her forehead against his chest.

Murmuring made her straighten and adrenaline surged through her, transforming warmth into heat. “Is it them?”

“Who else,” Nick said. He poked his head into the main walkway. She followed.

The voices were faint and far away and the couple was out of sight. “I heard Marsha say that Tucker hadn’t told them the escape route,” Gwyn whispered.

“Not a surprise,” Nick said. “Now, go.” He stepped into the walkway. Gwyn followed, a few steps behind.

He stopped midstep and hunkered low. “Dammit, Gwyn. This is not the time.”

Frustration and worry darkened his eyes, and while it tugged at her heart, it didn’t sway her one iota. “This is exactly the time,” she whispered. “Either I go or neither of us goes.”

Nick hesitated, turmoil replacing worry and then morphing into acceptance. “For now,” he finally said.

Not what she wanted but it was better than fighting while the crooks escaped. “For now,” she agreed.

Stepping around the red beams of the emergency lights, they made their way forward, using kiosks as cover when possible and keeping low.

Gwyn’s heart pounded in her ears, and she was sure Stephan and Marsha could hear the thudding. Ahead of her, Nick motioned for her to wait.

Did he see them? There were no voices now for her to follow, and he had the better vantage. He gestured for her to move again.

The familiar squeal of a metal gate rising made Gwyn freeze. Nick dropped to the ground.

Fear threaded her spine.

It was Tucker. He’d escaped.

Nick frowned. “I should have shot him,” he said under his breath.

“You’re not that kind of cop,” Gwyn said.

She was right, but at times like this—when her body trembled and he knew it had nothing to do with being cold—he wished he were.

He had no doubt that Tucker would search for his cohorts since they had the diamonds. So he and Gwyn didn’t have long before the thief would spot them, and he wanted to remain unseen. As long as Tucker was free, he could use the gunman to lead him to the other two thieves.

But there was no kiosk to duck into, no hallway in sight and nothing to hide behind. The only cover was a wooden bench back by a giant planter full of ferns a few feet away.

“Under here,” he said, dragging Gwyn down beside him. Lying on his back, he slid under the bench, keeping his arms above his head and as free as possible.

“This is going to be tight,” Gwyn whispered, but she squeezed in on top of him.

Tight was an understatement, and he was glad she wasn’t an Amazon. She shifted against him, an unintentional full-body rub that under any other circumstances would demand reciprocation.

“Lumpy but cozy,” she whispered. “And for the record, I usually at least demand dinner and a movie before we get to this.”

“I might be able to scare up a Wetzel’s Pretzel.”

“You won’t even get to second base with a pretzel,” Gwyn whispered.

Nick shifted his hips. “I think I might already be at third.”

Her cheek pressed against his, he felt her smile. Footsteps sounded, and they both froze. The quips died.

Tucker’s tall frame came into view, his hands still bound behind his back.

Nick’s hand tightened around his weapon, ready to open fire if necessary. Gwyn’s chest stilled as she held her breath, waiting. He saw her hand tense, her finger resting alongside the trigger.

Then the thief was past them. Between the dim lighting and his obvious desire to catch up with his companions, he hadn’t even glanced in their direction. With the sound of Tucker’s footfalls diminishing, Gwyn wiggled free of their shelter. She rolled to her knees, gun at the ready and covering him as he slid out from under the bench. “We should hurry,” she said. “Once he tells them the exit, we’ll never catch them.”

Nick took in her stance—the way she held her weapon, her calm eagerness and the controlled hyperalertness.

Still female but of the more lethal variety.

She was right. If needed, she could be backup.

Even as the thought flickered through his mind, he pushed it away. He’d been an idiot for her already. Let her convince him to let her tag along. He wasn’t going to walk that path again.

She was a civilian. And not even the thought of catching Christmas Bandits could make him put her in danger again.

He shook his head. “I can see you’re good, but it’s time for you to go back. There is no we. Not here. Not now.”

Chapter 8

“N o we?” Gwyn asked. For the past hour or so, there had been nothing but the “we.” Nothing but them—working together and fighting at each other’s side.

We.

One side of Nick’s mouth curved in a small half smile. “Well, at least not when it comes to taking on the bad guys.”

Gwyn froze as a band of butterflies broke out in her stomach, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. Did he mean it or was he just saying anything in hopes that she’d cooperate and remain behind while he took on three armed gunmen alone?

She pressed a hand against her stomach, willing the butterflies to go away. The other corner of his mouth curved upward, as well.

The butterflies multiplied.

Damn, it was tempting. We. Could there be a we for them?

Maybe. Perhaps.

Even if it were true, that was in the future—if they both lived. She sighed. Butterflies or no, she wasn’t wavering in her decision. If he wanted Tucker and his crew, he was taking her. He needed someone to guard his back and there was no one else. “You can argue if you want, but you’re just losing time and letting them get away.”

Nick’s flash of smile disappeared, taking her butterflies with it.

“Then we both stay,” he said. “I won’t put you in danger.”

Gwyn rolled her eyes. Noble as hell and what she expected. As if that would work.

“I’m going. You can do what you want,” she said, heading in the direction Tucker had run. She prayed Nick followed her. If she thought it was nuts for him to take on the thieves, it was a suicide mission for her. She was trained to watch. To take pictures and not get caught. To act as a backup. Not point.

That was Nick’s forte.

She didn’t slow as she squinted into red-lit darkness to find Tucker. Already a number of stores away, Tucker was moving faster than she’d thought, especially considering his hands were still bound.

Nick paced her, not saying a word.

Was he going to call her bluff? “Stay behind me and do everything I tell you to,” he whispered, taking the lead. “Unless you want to challenge me on that, as well.”

Gwyn snickered. “I’m good.”

Two flashlight beams appeared, followed by angry tones and the occasional swear. Tucker had found his cohorts and wasn’t too pleased they’d left him behind.

Gwyn tightened her grip on the gun. He’d be even less pleased with jail.

Nick pulled her behind a planter.

Kneeling on the floor, Gwyn strained to hear the three, but now that they were past the bickering, it was impossible to make out the conversation. She peered around the foliage and watched as the thieves walked across the corridor, skirted a kiosk and disappeared into a hallway a few stores down. “They’re on the move,” she whispered.

Nick motioned for her to follow but when they reached the side corridor, the three were gone. “Where the hell did they go?” Gwyn muttered, the gun held barrel up and close to her chest.

Nick edged his way into the darkness. “There’s got to be a doorway. Feel along the wall. Be careful and be quiet.”

As if she needed to be told. Taking the opposite side, Gwyn walked through the dark, dragging her hand along the wall. Within seconds, she hit the frame of a door. “Got it,” she whispered, her body shaking with adrenaline.

Two shots rang out from the other side of the door, and Nick dragged her to the floor.

Flattened on the cold tile, Gwyn waited for shouting. Gunshots. The door to open. Something. But there was no more noise.

“You okay?” Nick whispered.

“I’m fine. What was that about?”

“One less person to share with.”

“No honor among thieves,” Gwyn said.

“Not when you have hundreds of thousands in diamonds involved,” Nick said, helping her to her feet. “Wait here.”

She sighed. He just couldn’t let it go. “No.”

A dark shadow in the almost pitch-black hallway, he pulled her close. Gwyn didn’t struggle. She knew it was a tactic to soften her, but she didn’t care. Not that it would work, but she could at least enjoy the moment of silence and safety.

“I’ve humored the hell out of you,” he said, and kissed the top of her head. “But someone just died, Gwyn. This is as real as it gets. If you go, I’ll be focused on keeping you safe, not doing my job.”

“You need backup,” she argued, hating his logic.

“There are only two now. Maybe even one. They don’t know I’m coming. I can handle that. I don’t need you there. I need you here. Safe.”

For the first time since they’d begun their argument over her role, she heard finality in his tone. He meant it. He wasn’t going to let her go. Not now.

But she couldn’t let it go. Not that easily. Not when it felt like fear was winning. “How about I wait at the doorway,” she offered, galled by the compromise that came from her mouth.

Nick sighed, his breath warm against her scalp. “Can you do that? Just wait?”

“Yes.”

His fingers in her hair, he tilted her mouth up to his. The kiss was brief and quick, but she felt the concern behind it, as well as the pledge of more. If they lived. “Stay behind me,” he said. “And remember your promise.”

Slowly, he opened the door. Silence and the same red security lights greeted them but nothing else. No Tucker. No crew. Just the lights and a stairway that ended in a hallway that stretched outward and away from the mall.

“Maintenance corridor,” Nick said. “Probably goes to an outlying building of some sort.”

“That explains why they seemed so sure they could escape,” Gwyn said.

“Why Tucker seemed so sure.” Nick cocked his gun and met her eyes. “Wait.”

“A promise is a promise,” she said, still hating it.

Without another word or a backward glance, Nick hurried down the stairs and disappeared.

Gwyn shifted from foot to foot, forcing herself remain behind. After a minute, she counted each foot shift. If he didn’t come back by the time she reached five-hundred, she’d follow him and screw her promise.

At one-hundred fifty, a shot rang out.

Every nerve in Gwyn’s body spiked, and she pelted down the stairs, taking two at a time. Barely breaking stride when she reached the bottom, she ran down the corridor. Lined with electrical conduits and a large pipe, it appeared empty. By the time she reached a junction almost fifty feet away, she had her panic under control.

Slowing, she took a deep breath. Nick needed her alert. In control. Not racing around like a heroine who was too stupid to live.

“I’m coming,” she muttered as she stuck her head around the next corner, prepared for the worst.

Twenty feet away, a body lay in the middle of the corridor. “Nick.” Pulse pounding, she ran to him. “Please, don’t be Nick.”

Her pulse slowed. At her feet lay Stephan—his eyes blank, mouth open and two gunshot wounds that left his chest a study in blood. Marsha was nowhere to be seen, which meant she was with Tucker. She’d thought Marsha was Stephan’s girl.

It seemed both she and Stephan were wrong.

Despite the disturbing scene, Gwyn couldn’t scare up a shred of remorse. He might have been betrayed, but that didn’t make him one of the good guys. Stepping over the body, she continued down the corridor. It ended in an open doorway. Cautiously, Gwyn peered inside.

The room wasn’t huge, but it appeared to contain every electrical conduit and pipe for the water system for the mall. She guessed that if the power were on, it would be one of the loudest rooms in the building. As it was, it was silent. The quiet, combined with the shadows, reminded her of a horror film—the kind where a masked, ax-wielding maniac chased down half-naked teenagers.

“Give yourself up,” she heard Nick shout. “You’re pinned.”

There was no answer. Gwyn followed the voice and spotted her partner on the other side of the room, taking cover behind a large pipe.

“What’s wrong?” Nick continued, “Not feeling chatty now that we’re both armed?”

Gwyn knew what he as doing—trying to goad Tucker into giving up his location. A good idea, and there wasn’t much else Nick could do considering the circumstances, but she sensed Tucker wasn’t the type to fall for such an obvious ploy.

Wherever Tucker hid, he wasn’t within eyesight. “Nick,” she called his name in a stage whisper.

He jumped. “Is this how you keep a promise?” he hissed.

Gwyn shrugged, knowing he was pissed and not caring.

“Stay there,” he said. Firing into the dark, he sprinted across the walkway. Shots rang out in return, but by then, he was at her side.

Nick frowned, the red lighting etching his face in shadow. “Dammit, Gwyn, I’m tempted to shoot you myself.”

He really did care. “I heard shots.”

“I thought it might bring you,” he said, “but I was hoping you’d be sensible.”

“Seriously?”

“It could happen.”

It could and often did, but it all depended on the definition of the word. “So, what do we do now?” Gwyn asked.

“We do nothing. You stay here. At least this way I know where you are.”

Her location wasn’t a great position, but she could watch his back for the most part and guard her own, as well. Plus, it gave her a decent view of the entire room. “Works for me,” she said.

“If you see anything, call out.” Nick slid between two pipes and disappeared into the maze of conduits. Gwyn watched and waited for either Marsha or Tucker to make a mistake so she could do some damage.

Once again, Gwyn shifted from one foot to another. Normally, she didn’t mind waiting, in fact, her job required amazing amounts of patience. But taking photos of people committing insurance fraud was rarely a matter of life and death.

“I’m coming out.” Marsha’s words rang out in the silence. Gwyn tensed in response. What the hell was going on? Seconds later, the woman emerged on the walkway, hands over her head and walking toward Gwyn. There was no word from either Nick or Tucker, and still, Marsha advanced. Oil smudged her right cheek, and her dark hair was damp with sweat.

Despite her disheveled appearance, Gwyn didn’t trust either her or her motives. “Stop right there,” Gwyn called out.

Ten feet away, Marsha dropped to her knees.

Gwyn aimed her gun at the woman’s chest. “What do you want?”

“He killed Stephan,” Marsha sobbed. “This was just supposed to be a robbery. Just money. Not murder.”

The tears didn’t touch Gwyn—she remembered how cold the woman had been just an hour or so ago and ever so eager to do whatever it took to make sure she got what she wanted.

At least until she lost something. Or someone.

Then Marsha looked past Gwyn’s shoulder, and her mouth curved up in a smile that made the hairs on the back of Gwyn’s neck prickle to life. Tucker. Somehow, he was behind her. Seconds later, cool metal pressed against the side of her head, and the click of a gun cocking made her freeze even as she turned to verify what she knew to be true.

“Hi, Gwyn,” Tucker said.

Normally Gwyn liked being right, but not this time. The heat of shame and fear washed over her. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen for such an obvious ploy. If they got out of this alive, Nick would never let her live it down.

She raised her hands, holding the butt of the gun between thumb and forefinger. “How?” she asked. There was no way he could sneak past her, even in the dim lighting.

“I’ve worked here for the past six months,” he said. “I know every door. Every hallway. And every maintenance tunnel.” He took her weapon.

“And thank you,” he said to Marsha. “You’re a good actress.”

She clamored to her feet, dusting off her wrinkled skirt. “You’re welcome.”

Tucker made a tsking sound. “Marsha, Marsha, Marsha. The fact of the matter is you’re too good an actress.”

Marsha froze, her eyes widening. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t trust someone who lies that well.” And before she could protest, he raised Gwyn’s weapon and fired.

The shot was deafening, and Gwyn winced, but not before she saw Marsha fall back to her knees, a shocked expression on her face.

Her ears ringing, Gwyn’s stomach did a slow roll. “You’re a monster.”

“No, I’m selfish, and I don’t play well with others,” Tucker said. Wrapping his arm across Gwyn’s neck, he pulled her to him, forcing her to act as his shield.

“You wanted to talk?” Tucker called out, “I have your partner. Let’s talk about that.”

“She’s not my partner.” Nick’s reply boomed in the dark.

Tucker shrugged. “So? You want to save her? Then I think a little sacrifice is in order.”

He was going to kill Nick and let her go? Surely, Nick wasn’t dumb enough to believe that. They were both dead if he gave himself up.

There was movement in the shadows. “Don’t do it,” Gwyn shouted.

Tucker squeezed, pressing her windpipe shut. Gwyn tried to breathe, to force any air into her lungs, but there was none. Just Tucker’s grip, killing her. She pounded at his arms, but he only increased the pressure.

Nick stepped into view, arms over his head.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Tucker raise her gun again. The world flickered around her, black-and-white spots that were descending into gray. A few more seconds and she’d black out, and when that happened, she’d never waken. Never see Nick. Never know if there really was a chance for a “we” between them—because neither one of them had been able to walk away. Instead, they played the hero. And sometimes, heroes died.

But not this time.

Wrenching her head sideways, her mouth found flesh, and she bit down until she tasted blood in her mouth. Tucker screamed as he fired, and his shot went wide.

Gray turned to black as the flickering behind her eyes lengthened, and in the growing dark, she saw Nick reach behind him, taking a gun from the back of his jeans.

Then world the disappeared, and Gwyn felt herself falling. She gasped.

Air.

Then hit the cement hard and fell into a heap. Was she still alive? Was Nick? With a groan, she touched her throat. It was going to be bruised as hell, but better bruised and breathing than bruised and not breathing.

Warm hands moved across her body, checking her for injury. She knew the touch. Knew the tenderness.

“Gwyn, are you okay?”

Nick. She nodded and a wave of relief washed over her. She opened her eyes. “You got him?”

“Yes,” Nick said, helping her to her feet.

Just behind him Tucker lay dead on the cement.

She sighed in relief, and for a moment, she thought her knees might give. She grabbed Nick’s arm until the dizziness dissipated.

“Steady there, Vampira,” Nick said, putting his arm around her waist.

“I am a biter,” she said, smiling.

Shaking his head, he pulled her close, his tight grip the only indication of the fear that had rocked him, as well. “You won’t have a need again,” he whispered. “I’ll keep you safe.”

He squeezed her harder. Safe. It was a warm thought.

“Back at you,” she said.

Chapter 9

G wyn wove her arm through Nick’s as he walked her up the snow-covered Seattle hill and toward the women’s shelter where Glory worked. Between the blackout and the fact it was three in the morning the roads were covered with snow untouched by either cars or humans.

Her sister was going to be pissed. She’d barely had time to speak to Glory before she and Nick were whisked away by the Bellevue police. After that, it was hours of giving statements and answering questions.

Glory did not do well with waiting.

“Are you sure your sister will be awake?” Nick asked, steadying her as her right foot slid on a patch of ice.

“I’m sure,” Gwyn replied, regaining her balance and turning her attention to the slippery ground beneath her feet. “She won’t sleep until she knows this is over and I’m okay.”

“We should have called,” Nick said.

“I would but I don’t know her phone number. That’s why I had a cell phone, so I wouldn’t have to memorize things like that.”

“Good point,” Nick said. “But the kids will be asleep.”

“And I won’t sleep until I know they’re not traumatized for the rest of their lives.”

“Especially Connor,” Nick said, getting to the heart of her anxiety.

She nodded. “Yes, especially Connor.”

They walked in silence until they stood in front of the shelter. Gwyn held a finger to her mouth and tapped on the door.

Glory opened it, her blond hair in a ponytail, and her face devoid of makeup. “Oh my God, are you all right?” She threw her arms around Gwyn.

“I’m fine.”

Behind her, the door closed with a slight squeal of old hinges.

Glory let Gwyn go then pushed past her. “And you,” she poked Nick in the chest. “What were you thinking? Letting her help you? You’re a cop. You should know better. I hope to hell they take disciplinary action against you for putting a citizen in danger.”

Gwyn put a hand to her forehead. Just when she thought the drama was over for the night, it wasn’t. Clamping a hand on Glory’s shoulder, she pulled her sister away before the poke became a punch. “Back off,” she said. “It’s not his fault.”

“Not true,” Nick said.

“Damn straight,” Glory said.

Gwyn shot Nick the dirtiest look she could manage. She knew he felt guilty, but giving Glory more ammunition would get her worked up, and then they’d never get her to calm down. “You are not helping.”

Nick ran a hand over his dark hair, once again making the ends stand up. “But she has a point. I could have tied you up. Let the bad guys go. It’s not as if there weren’t options.”

“And still you chose to put my sister in danger,” Glory said, before Gwyn could make her own retort.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Glory fixed her anger on Gwyn. “And you. You just couldn’t let him do his job, could you?”

Gwyn took a step back. Hell, she should have kept her mouth shut and let Nick take the fall. “He didn’t have backup.”

Glory shook her head. “Not good enough. You’re always taking chances. Testing your limits. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Gwyn bit her lip and reminded herself that Glory wasn’t angry. Not really. She was scared, and fear made her mean. She looked to Nick. “A little help?”

He held up his hands, palms out.

Great, he could take on a gunman but caved when it came to a pissed-off, pocket-size blonde.

“Glory.” She placed a gentle hand on Glory’s woven arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Glory didn’t move. Didn’t soften. “Well, you did.”

“I know.”

“Just promise me it won’t happen again.”

Gwyn wished she could. “You know I can’t do that.”

She might not want to be a P.I. anymore but she also knew she’d never live the safe life Glory wanted for her. The one that involved kids, a husband and no gunfire.

It wasn’t in her. They both knew it.

Glory’s eyes narrowed. “You always do this. You always—”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Gwyn interrupted. Now was not the time, and not in front of Nick. “I just want to be happy we’re all okay. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

Glory hesitated. “Okay.” Scrubbing her face, she took a deep breath. “Merry Christmas,” she said, hugging Gwyn again. “I’m glad you’re okay. That’s the best present you could give me.”

Warmth replaced the irritation, and Gwyn hugged her back. “Good. Then I can keep the necklace.”

“You wish,” Glory said. Letting her go, her sister gave Nick an enthusiastic hug. “Thank you for saving her life. I don’t know what I’d do if she were gone.”

Nick looked over Glory’s shoulder at Gwyn, his expression one of confusion.

She shrugged. It took most people years to get used to her sister’s mercurial mood changes. He’d deal.

Nick hugged her back. “Uh, you’re welcome.”

Glory let the policeman go. “The other kids are asleep, but Connor is still awake. He refused to go to sleep until he was sure you were both okay.”

“Will his mother mind if we visit?” Nick asked.

“Not at all,” she said, motioning them to follow.

Making sure to keep their footsteps light, they followed Glory down a hallway lit by the occasional halogen lantern. “He’s in here.” Glory showed them a doorway with a long curtain for a door and ushered them inside.

The room was small, furnished with two cots—one for Connor and one for his mother. The young mother was asleep, her breathing even and deep. Connor lay in bed with a flashlight, surrounded by miniature, plastic army men, his eyes shut.

Gwyn sat on the bed while Nick knelt down on the floor. Connor’s eyes fluttered open and then widened when he recognized his visitors. “Hey,” Gwyn whispered.

“Hey,” he whispered back. His attention shot to Nick. “Santa’s number one!”

Gwyn cringed at the half shout, but it seemed Connor’s mother was a sound sleeper.

“Hey, buddy,” Nick said, stroking Connor’s blond hair. “How are you doing?”

Connor sat up. “I’m okay.” He twisted his hands together. “Uh…is Santa still mad?”

Nick’s brows shot upward. “What?”

“Is Santa still mad at me for running away?” Connor’s eyes filled. “I was bad, but I’m sorry.”

Gwyn’s chest tightened. “Oh, honey, he was never mad.”

But Connor waited for Nick’s answer, and she couldn’t blame him. After all, the policeman was Santa’s number one, and you couldn’t get any closer to the Big Guy.

Rising, Nick sat next to Connor. “Santa was never mad at you, Connor. You’re on the Good List.”

Gwyn’s heart thudded harder inside her chest.

“Are you sure?” Connor asked.

“Positive,” Nick replied. “I’m Santa’s number one helper. Would I lie?”

“No?” he said. Gwyn didn’t miss the questioning behind the small word.

Nick ruffled the top of his head. “Darned right. You are at the top of the Good List.

“And those bad guys are on the Naughty List,” Gwyn said. “Forever.”

Connor grinned at her, and the tension in Gwyn’s chest eased. A yawn snuck out before she could cover her mouth.

“Are you going to make it?” Nick asked, one brow arched. “That was a huge yawn.” He leaned in to Connor, pointing at Gwyn. “Didn’t that make her look like a Pez dispenser?”

Connor giggled, and Nick smiled. “It’s time for us to go, buddy.”

“Do you have to leave?”

“Santa has a busy night, and he needs me at the North Pole.”

Connor gave a solemn nod.

Nick lay Connor down, tucking the sheets and blankets around his shoulders. Leaning over, Gwyn kissed the top of the little boy’s head then she and Nick tiptoed out, pausing to wave before they closed the curtain behind them.

“How is he?” Glory asked, leaning against the wall, waiting.

“Good,” Gwyn replied.

“Think he’ll be okay, or did this scar him for life?” Nick asked.

“For life? No. But they’ll all get some counseling,” Glory said.

“Good,” Nick said. “Let me know if there is anything I can do.”

Glory gave a polite nod. “I will. Thanks.” She pushed away from the wall. “Now, why don’t you take my sister home? It’s been a long night and we all need some rest.”

“How about you?” Gwyn asked, her eyes watering as she yawned again.

“I’m staying here,” Glory said.

“I should stay, too,” Gwyn said, torn between wanting to stay with her sister and not wanting her time with Nick to end.

Glory smiled at her—the first real smile of the night. “Thanks, but this is my place. Not yours. Go home. We’ll talk later. After Christmas.”

Gwyn knew what that conversation would entail and dreaded it, but that was a day away, and she’d take the break.

Once again, the three traversed the corridor. Glory paused at the door long enough to kiss Nick on the cheek and hug Gwyn. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered as they pair stepped back into the night, and she closed the door behind them.

“She’s still angry,” Nick said as they walked down the hill, trying to remain upright.

“Yep,” Gwyn replied, watching her feet. “But it’s at me. Not you.”

“Good.”

She couldn’t blame him for being pleased with his reprieve. Glory was petite but her temper was six foot tall. “So what next?” Gwyn asked.

“This,” Nick said. “Look up.”

Gwyn raised her face to the sky.

Above them, green lights rippled across the blackness and flickers of violet swirled. “Wow! The Northern Lights.”

“I’ve heard about them but never thought we’d see them here,” Nick said in hushed reverence.

She understood. Watching the lights felt like being in a church or being allowed to take part in an occasion that mere mortals weren’t supposed to witness. Either way, it felt like a sign.

A confirmation that despite the day’s events there was still good in the world. “It’s like a miracle,” Gwyn said, slipping her hand into Nick’s. “A Christmas miracle.”

Nick chuckled, and she lowered her gaze to meet his eyes. “You disagree?”

He shook his head. “Not at all, but I don’t think that’s the true miracle. Not tonight.”

“Then what is?” she asked,

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. The warmth where his fingers touched her skin spread outward, heating her like a fleece blanket never could.

He leaned in and his mouth grazed hers in a whisper of a kiss that she felt all the way to her toes and tugged her heart.

With a sigh, Gwyn kissed him back and knew the unspoken answer to her question.

They were the miracle.

ISBN: 978-1-4268-4312-9

BLACKOUT AT CHRISTMAS

Copyright © 2009 by Harlequin Books S.A.

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SANTA UNDER COVER
Copyright © 2009 by Sharron McClellan

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