Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover Book 2)

by Stina Lindenblatt

  Liam opens his mouth, as if to say something, but doesn’t get that far. Jayden and Isabelle enter the room, holding hands.

  “She said yes,” are the first words out of Jayden’s mouth. A wide grin spreads on his face.

  “We told you she would,” Liam says, pushing himself out of his chair.

  We congratulate them. Hugs are exchanged.

  “You called us in to see if Jayden went through with the proposal?” Isabelle asks after we’re finished. From her expression, I’m guessing the two of them were celebrating the proposal with some horizontal action when Liam called them.

  “No, I called everyone in for another reason.” Liam gestures for us to take our seats. “We’ve been asked to help, once again, with the Orlov case. Even though Vadik and his men at the winery were arrested—and are currently facing life in prison—the Feds have yet to locate his grandson, Nikolai Orlov. As long as he’s still free, the Orlov family will continue to commit crimes. He was marked to take over the family business once his grandfather stepped down, and it’s suspected he’s doing just that. Only now, he’s deep underground.”

  “And the Feds want us to flush him out?” Landon asks. Vadik Orlov was the leader of a Russian crime family we helped the FBI with several months ago.

  “That’s exactly what they want us to do. But we’re doing it through his cousin, Chloe Reinhart.”

  “Chloe? Isn’t she the owner of that winery?”

  “Yes, the winery that the Feds suspect she has no idea she owns. Her name is on the legal documents, but the Feds have nothing beyond that to indicate she’s ever been on the property. They interviewed the employees, and none of them have actually met her. Or at least, none of them have met the woman in the photo they were shown.

  “They’re hoping she knows where her cousin is hiding, or at the very least, he’ll attempt to contact her.”

  “Would he really take that risk if he believes the Feds are looking for him?” Isabelle asks.

  “It’s possible. As kids, the two were close. Back then, Nikolai would do anything for Chloe and was super protective of her. The Feds don’t know why, but it’s clear there was a special bond between them. They’re hoping it’s still there, even though he has yet to reach out to her—as far as they’re aware.”

  I pick up my coffee. “So they want us to do surveillance on her?”

  “It’s more than that. They want someone to get close to her. Get to know her and gain her trust. But they’re also concerned for her safety. They have reason to believe one of Orlov’s enemies has issued a contract on her.

  “The Feds obviously can’t put her under witness protection because then Nikolai won’t be able to contact her, and they won’t be able to nail him.”

  “What do we know about her?” Jayden asks.

  “She’s an elementary school teacher. Single.” Liam pushes the manila folder in front of him toward me. “And she’s about to become your girlfriend…”

  2

  Chloe

  “There’s our favorite ray of sunshine,” Lawrence says as I approach his table in the recreation room of the seniors’ retirement residence. His voice is like antique paper—brittle but at the same time, full of wisdom.

  His friends are sitting with him in the brightly lit room, as is usually the case when I volunteer here. Half the tables are filled with various groups of individuals, gossiping, knitting, or playing chess.

  “I don’t suppose your little ray of sunshine brought a bottle of whiskey to really brighten our day.” Samuel flashes me a hopeful grin.

  I pat his weathered hand and smile at him. “You know I’d never do that. It’s not what the doctor ordered.”

  His grin transforms into a disgusted grunt. “What the hell does that kid know about medicine anyway?”

  The kid he’s referring to is at least fifteen years older than me. And at thirty, I’m hardly a kid myself.

  “Given that he has a medical degree on his office wall,” I say, “I’m guessing he knows a fair amount about the topic.”

  The other three men snicker.

  “But I can get you some yummy lemonade if you’d like.” I’m not being sarcastic. It really is delicious.

  Although from what I’ve heard, it was especially popular during the Fourth of July celebrations last year, when someone spiked it with vodka, and the seniors showed everyone how to really party.

  Even Mrs. Witherspoon with her walker.

  Some of the residents are still talking about the conga line.

  The men agree that a glass of lemonade wouldn’t kill them—but only if I’m heading that way.

  I return a few minutes later with the pitcher and glasses. I fill the glasses and hand them out, then sit on the empty wooden chair between Frank and Ivan. “So, what game are we playing today?”

  “Monopoly,” Ivan says on a sigh. “Why they won’t let us play poker is beyond me.”

  Frank guffaws, and his belly jiggles like Santa’s does when he laughs. With his long white beard and large girth, he reminds me of the jolly old man himself. “That’s because strip poker’s against the rules. Which is why they made us stop playing it.”

  I feel my eyes widen. “You guys were playing strip poker?” Now that’s something I’m glad I didn’t witness.

  “Not here in the rec room. We used to sneak into Hattie’s suite and play it there.”

  “We? You mean Hattie and you four gentlemen?”

  “Not at all,” Lawrence says with a cheeky grin. “By the time the nighttime staff figured out we were up to no good, we’d been holding weekly strip-poker nights for a few months, and there was a fair number of us.” He lists around twenty names, which includes an equal number of males and females. And I must admit I’m surprised by some of them.

  “And we would’ve gotten away with it if the nighttime staff hadn’t checked on Agatha and found her missing.” Frank grunts.

  Samuel removes the lid from the Monopoly box. “The way they acted, you’d have thought she was the Queen of England. I’m surprised they didn’t call in the secret service to locate her.”

  “They practically stormed the room,” Lawrence adds, “surprising the shit out of us.”

  Frank laughs even louder this time. “Which wasn’t a bad thing for the individuals dealing with constipation.”

  I smile at the four men who, in the past year, have become more like grandfathers to me than my own grandfather ever was.

  I’m referring to the one on my mother’s side. I never got to know my other biological grandparents. Nor did I get to know my stepfather’s parents.

  As for my remaining grandfather, the last I heard—according to the news—he’s currently facing the possibility of life in prison. The list of charges is long and includes activities associated with the Russian mafia.

  That’s right, I’m a mafia princess. Or I would’ve been if I hadn’t escaped that life, thanks to my mom. But leaving it came at a price. I had to walk away from my entire family, including my mother.

  Squashing down the pain of missing her that perpetually bubbles beneath the surface—along with the pain that my family so easily turned their backs on me—I help Samuel set up the board and hand out the game pieces and money. Because Samuel worked in the financial industry before he retired, he’s always the banker.

  “Do you have any plans for Christmas, Chloe?” Ivan asks after we’ve been playing for several minutes.

  Frank rolls the dice. “Christmas? That’s not for another six weeks. We haven’t even had Thanksgiving yet.”

  “I have no plans,” I say, “other than visiting the residents who’ll be spending the holidays here.”

  “Why not spend it with your family?”

  “Or with a husband?” Lawrence adds.

  I don’t answer, pretending both were rhetorical questions, pretending to be super enthralled with the game.

  The men aren’t fooled. I can feel their curious gazes on me.

  “Do you realize,” he says, “we
’ve all shared about our past lives, and about our families and loved ones, but we really know nothing about you, young lady? Other than you’re a kindergarten teacher, you love your job, you volunteer here several times a week, and you’re single. That’s it.”

  “And you’re an artist,” Frank adds.

  “A graphic artist,” Samuel clarifies, “who would one day like to illustrate children’s books.”

  All of that is true. I went to art school and had planned to have a career illustrating children’s books and creating kid-friendly artwork. I ended up taking some art therapy courses, worked in a summer day camp for a few years, and decided I wanted to be an elementary school teacher.

  And I couldn’t be happier.

  Happier than I ever would’ve been as a mafia princess.

  “Then you know everything there is to know about me,” I say, adjusting my property cards on the table, ensuring their edges are all even, so I don’t have to make eye contact with the men.

  “What about your family?” Lawrence asks. “Do they live in San Francisco, too?”

  “No.” Or at least I’m assuming none of them still live in the city. I haven’t heard from any of them in seven years. Not even my cousin Nikolai, who I was close to growing up.

  My grandfather had explained to my family that due to my decision to not be a part of the family business, they weren’t to contact me anymore.

  But despite that, I had hoped that Nikolai would’ve contacted me at some point over the years—other than sending me the occasional birthday and Christmas card, which I’m positive our grandfather doesn’t know about. I still have them. They’re my only link to the family I was once a part of. They’re the only link I have to the man who was once my best friend.

  “They don’t live anywhere near me,” I lamely say. The truth is, I have no idea in which jail my grandfather currently resides, and I have no intention of finding out.

  “What about a special someone in your life?” Lawrence asks.

  “You mean like friends? Yes, I have those.”

  Okay, I mostly have colleagues with whom I’m friendly. And a couple of close friends. Kiera and Ava are both teachers where I work.

  Lawrence raises his eyebrow. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. You’re a sweet, generous, smart, and beautiful woman. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

  Tell that to the men who were once in my life.

  My father.

  My stepfather.

  Mark, my ex-boyfriend. He didn’t even have the guts to break up with me to my face. He texted me a week after he told me he loved me, with nothing more than a “Sorry, babe. It’s not going to work out between us, after all.” He’d never called me babe before.

  The impersonal nature of the breakup gutted me.

  But that’s okay. I returned a stronger Chloe.

  A Chloe with her heart locked away in a security box—the key currently swimming with the fishes.

  I smile brightly at Lawrence, like a firefly—if fireflies could smile. “I don’t have time for a relationship. I’m busy with my work, volunteering here, and my artwork. I don’t have the energy for anything more than that.”

  “Don’t you want kids one day?”

  “I have twenty-five kids in my life right now. That’s more than enough.” And I love every one of them.

  Including the little troublemakers.

  Especially the troublemakers. They always make life more interesting.

  “What about you four?” I ask. “Any plans for the holidays?”

  Trick #1 when you don’t want to talk about yourself? Redirect the questioning to the other person—or persons, in this case.

  “My son emailed to tell me he won’t be able to get away from work over the holidays. He has a huge project he’s responsible for, one that could make or break the company. That means I won’t get to see my grandkids after all.”

  I give Lawrence’s hand a light squeeze. “I’m sorry you won’t get to see them.”

  “Me too.”

  “What about you three?” I asked Samuel, Ivan, and Frank.

  “My daughter and I are estranged,” Frank says. “Have been for about ten years now. Which means another Christmas without seeing my grandkids. But that’s okay. I’m used to it.”

  My heart tightens to the size of a stepped-on Christmas bauble. I know how he feels, and I ache for him.

  “You can borrow my grandkids if you want,” Samuel volunteers. Under his breath, he adds, “Maybe they’ll at least notice you’re alive.”

  We all wait for him to elaborate.

  He doesn’t.

  “How’s the game going?” Mathilda asks behind me, startling me.

  “Great,” we all tell her, even though we haven’t been paying attention to it for the past few minutes.

  “We were just talking about the holiday season.” A devilish smile slips onto Lawrence’s face. “I don’t suppose Cook’s gonna whip up more of her delicious eggnog again this year for the Christmas party?”

  The other three men cackle, and I do my best to keep the grin off my face.

  Instead of vodka in the lemonade, it was a bottle of rum in the eggnog. And again, let me repeat, these seniors know how to party.

  “In light of what happened last year, we’ve removed it from the menu.”

  This results in a round of protests. “You can’t get rid of the eggnog,” Lawrence grumbles. “That—along with the kids’ concert—is the best part.”

  Mathilda releases a long sigh—the kind you hear before someone shares bad news—and I brace myself for what’s coming next.

  “Unfortunately, the school had to cancel. The principal just phoned to tell me the sad news.”

  “So, no concert?” Samuel asks.

  Mathilda shakes her head in a drawn-out movement. “Sorry, no concert.”

  “What if we get someone else to do it?” I ask.

  “I don’t know who else to ask. Millwood Elementary School has been doing it for as long as I can remember.”

  “I might have an idea,” I say, my mouth moving faster than my brain can keep up. I really hadn’t meant to say my thoughts out loud.

  The four men look at me like I’ve just promised them ice cream with a whiskey chocolate sauce for dessert.

  Oops.

  3

  Landon

  “Principal Woodnut will see you now,” the school secretary tells me. I’ve been sitting in the office waiting room for the past five minutes.

  Long enough for memories of my childhood to power skate through my thoughts. Although back in those days, I wasn’t waiting to see the principal because of my job.

  And detention was often the outcome.

  The secretary nods at a door across from her desk. I push myself to my feet and walk over to it.

  The door’s opened a crack. I open it farther and step inside a bright and cheery office. The furniture is a dark wood veneer. That’s the only noncolorful item in here.

  A woman who looks like she’s been teaching since dinosaurs went extinct sits behind the desk, a sparkle in her eyes.

  Behind her, on the bookshelf, are hardback editions of numerous kids’ books I recognize. Liam’s wife is both a teacher at the school and a New York Times bestselling author of middle-grade fantasy.

  “I take it you know Ava.” The older woman gestures to Liam’s wife. Ava’s been teaching second grade here for the past four years and was able to provide me with more information about the woman I’m supposed to be dating than the FBI shared with Liam…only Chloe doesn’t know that.

  The plan is for me to get to know Chloe as quickly as possible and become her boyfriend. But she’s not supposed to know the plan. It’s got to look real.

  Ava smiles at me, but her thoughts are clearly conveyed in her eyes. She’s not thrilled I’ll be keeping the real reason I want to date Chloe a secret from her friend. Chloe will get hurt if she falls for my irresistible charm.

  Ava’s words, not mine.


  But she also doesn’t want anything bad to happen to her friend, so she’s going along with the lies. Liam did mention, though, that she threatened to stick thumbtacks in my balls if I hurt Chloe.

  Good to know—since I happen to be quite fond of my balls.

  I shut the door behind me and give Ava a quick hug. She’s like a sister to me—only a lot less annoying than my biological ones can be.

  “I spoke with your boss this morning,” Principal Woodnut says, “as well as the FBI. I’ll admit this is highly unorthodox. Do you even have teaching experience?”

  Plenty, just not in the way she’s hoping. “No, but I do have a degree.”

  “In what?”

  “Electrical engineering.”

  “Hmm. Not exactly useful when it comes to working with kindergarteners.”

  Tell me about it. I don’t know the first thing about dealing with that age. I’m hardly admitting that to her, though.

  But really, how hard can it be?

  “Because you’ll be substituting for Zoe Bryant’s class while she’s on maternity leave, your classroom is right next to Chloe’s. I can arrange it so the adjoining door between the two rooms is left open, should you need help. Plus, then you’ll have easy access to Chloe.”

  She doesn’t state what all three of us know to be true. Zoe isn’t officially on maternity leave. But since she’s Ava’s best friend and Liam’s team knows her, we were able to convince her to start her maternity leave a month sooner than planned—at the FBI’s expense.

  “Sounds good,” I tell Principal Woodnut.

  “You’re really not going to tell her what’s going on?”

  “It’s best she doesn’t know.”

  The reality is, Principal Woodnut doesn’t know the full truth either. She only knows that I’m there to protect Chloe. That much we could tell her. She doesn’t know about Chloe’s connection to the mafia crime family that’s continuously been on the news over the past five months.

  Principal Woodnut nods, deferring to the arrangement.