Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover Book 2)

by Stina Lindenblatt

  Or not.

  “I just wish he’d contact me and let me know how he’s doing,” she says, her voice a whisper, as I’m about to resume kissing her again.

  Now that I have a better idea of why the two cousins are close—or were close—there are other things I’d rather be doing than discussing that asshole.

  I mean, unless she can give me something to go on so the Feds can finally locate him. A family reunion with his grandfather would make our day.

  Okay, maybe not Nikolai’s day, but that’s not my problem.

  “Have you tried contacting him?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “I have no idea where he is.” Her voice is like that of a kid who realizes Santa isn’t real. “It seems to be a common theme when it comes to the men in my life. Everyone I love isn’t interested in sticking around for the long haul.

  “But I guess that’s not entirely true when it comes to Nikolai. He might have vanished from my life, but he sent you to be my guardian angel. So at least I know he still loves me.”

  Fuck.

  Her words slice through me like a hot knife through peanut brittle ice cream.

  Because Nikolai Orlov is just one more man in her life who’s let her down. One more man who cares more about himself than this sweet and giving woman beneath me.

  “But now you understand why I’m not looking for love anymore,” she says, smiling brighter this time. “Why I wasn’t interested in dating you before I knew your job was the only reason you wanted to be with me. Now, enough of this discussion. I believe you were kissing me. How about we get back to that?”

  Her eager eyes almost do me in. But despite what she might think, there’s still a hollowness in them that cuts me to the marrow.

  All I can do is hope that one day she finds a man who’ll wipe it away and prove to her that not all men are like those who have done her wrong.

  All I can do is hope someone can fix her broken heart with something stronger than Elmer’s Glue.

  All I can do is hope she finds someone who’s the opposite of me.

  21

  Chloe

  The next few days after Thanksgiving break are a whirl of craziness at school. Landon and I spent much of the long weekend hanging out, talking about all kinds of things: hiking trips we’ve done (the places we’ve both been, places one of us have seen), humorous stories about when we were growing up (Nikolai and I weren’t the only pranksters when it came to siblings and cousins), stories about our jobs (Landon’s real job, as I already know about his misadventures in kindergartener-land).

  Some things had us cracking up. Others resulted in a sympathetic ear.

  All of it was nice—especially those times we shared while cozy together on the couch, with a new level of intimacy that hadn’t existed before our first kiss.

  I attended his hockey game with Isabelle and Jayden. Landon’s team won, of course.

  Landon and I also cooked together and shared about our families. Well, mostly I shared about my mom. I didn’t have anything to say about the rest of my relatives.

  And yes, there was also plenty of kissing and between-the-sheets hotness, much like we experienced after Josephine’s party.

  Even though Landon and I have only known each other for a short time, it feels like we’ve been friends and something more for years.

  It feels both nice and unsettling—especially when what we have between us is only short-term. At the end of the day, this isn’t a real relationship. I’m just enjoying that it feels like one while I can.

  Enjoying feeling special, even though Landon and his team work for Nikolai, work for the boss of the Russian mafia.

  At some point—hopefully sooner rather than later—our fake relationship and all the fun perks that come with it will end. Whatever favor Landon’s team owed the mutual third party will be paid in full.

  And my connection to the family I appreciate as much as I’d appreciate having my eyeballs coated with extra spicy hot sauce will be terminated for good.

  Or is that last point too much to hope for?

  But now the realization that we’ve got only three weeks before the Christmas concert is hitting hard. It’s not a lot of time when you’re dealing with kindergarteners.

  We should’ve begun preparing months ago.

  “That’s really good, everyone,” Josephine cheerfully says after Landon’s class and my class finish singing “Jingle Bells.”

  Somewhat together.

  Josephine shares a few pointers with the kids on how to project their voices, so the hard-of-hearing seniors can hear them.

  The door opens, and Tabitha sails into the music room. She barely gives Josephine a glance. Josephine might be a famous former Hollywood and Broadway actress, but that doesn’t seem to be of interest to Tabitha.

  Andrew, who’s sitting at the piano, watches her with great interest. But that comes as no surprise. She has that effect on people with the way she enters a room, like a bristling wind bent on leaving a trail of broken twigs in her wake.

  “I came to see how things are progressing.” She says it in a tone that implies she has every right to be here. I’m not so sure about that, but I’m hardly arguing with her in front of everyone.

  Or at all.

  “Things are looking good so far,” I tell her.

  Josephine prompts the kids to sing the song for Tabitha.

  From the corner of my eye, I catch her wincing at the sound. Fortunately, the seniors they’re performing for are a lot more forgiving than she is. They’re just happy to have the kids visit them.

  “I’ve also made arrangements so the kids and residents can make Christmas decorations together,” I tell her once the song’s finished.

  I bought the supplies myself with my own money, after seeing an ad online that melted my heart. The cute six-year-old girl in it was helping an elderly woman make an elf face out of a paper plate and bits of colored paper.

  One of Tabitha’s perfect eyebrows raises. “The school budget doesn’t allow for frivolous spends like that.”

  “Someone donated the supplies.”

  Point. Match. Win.

  I skip the part about how I’m the one who donated them. Witnessing the seniors having a good time—one that doesn’t involve spiked eggnog and conga lines—will be an early Christmas present to me.

  And considering I’m family-less, it’s pretty much one of the few presents I’ll get. So I plan to make the most of it.

  “What about the costumes?” she asks.

  “We’ve got someone working on them as we speak.”

  Translation: I’m looking at some late nights sewing the elf hats.

  It means all that delicious sex I’ve been having with Landon will have to take a back seat for a while.

  Or permanently, depending on how long it takes his team to locate the individuals who want this to be my last Christmas—if I’m even that lucky.

  My gaze slides to him. He’s watching the kids to make sure they pay attention to Josephine. But even then, I can tell he’s listening to my conversation with Tabitha.

  I bite my lip, my thoughts drifting to how he’s not into Christmas decorations. That’s more interesting than listening to her.

  “So?” Tabitha says, glaring at me.

  “So, what?” Why do I get the feeling she asked me a question, and I missed it because I was too busy thinking about Landon?

  But at least I wasn’t imagining him naked. In the shower. With beads of water trailing down his body.

  Oops.

  “Why do you have these strangers working with your students? You’re the teacher.”

  Oh, right. Tabitha’s still here.

  My gaze darts to Josephine and Andrew to ensure they didn’t hear her little outburst. “Do you even know who they are?”

  She frowns. “Seniors from the home where the kids will be doing the show, I imagine.” It’s less a question than a statement of what she believes to be true.

  “That’s Josephine Ashworth a
nd Andrew Stanton.” I pause, waiting to see if the names ring a bell. Any bell.

  She shakes her head, the frown still there.

  So I spend the next several minutes highlighting each of their accomplishments, which makes for quite a lengthy and impressive list.

  I finish the last of Andrew’s with a so-take-that grin.

  She gives me a brief nod that states: I’m impressed, but I won’t admit that out loud.

  My smile widens. “They were nice enough to help us out with the performance. And the kids are getting so much from their expertise.”

  From the other side of Tabitha, Landon smiles my favorite cocky grin, confirming what I already suspected. He’s been listening in the entire time.

  Tabitha doesn’t see it. She’s too busy glaring at me again.

  She returns her attention to Landon. “I’m free for drinks tonight. I thought we could talk about the possibility of a full-time position with the school, once Zoe’s maternity leave is over.”

  “Doesn’t the principal typically make that decision?”

  “I have connections that can ensure a position here.”

  I can almost hear a wink in her tone at the end of that sentence.

  A laugh erupts from my lungs, and she swivels around to level another irritated look at me.

  “Oops. Sorry. Hiccups.” I flash her my most innocent smile.

  “That’s nice of you to offer,” Landon says, drawing her attention back to him. “But I’m more of a free spirit when it comes to my job. That’s why I prefer being a substitute teacher.”

  “Well, the offer’s still on for the drinks.”

  “That’s going to be a little tough. I have a girlfriend.”

  I guess Tabitha hasn’t heard the latest rumor about us. She must be more out of the loop than she realizes.

  Her eyes widen to the size of cymbals. “You do?”

  He nods toward me in lieu of an answer.

  Her head swivels between us like the girl in The Exorcist if she had OD’d on caffeine. “You two are dating? Since when?”

  “Since last week,” I say.

  “Isn’t that against the rules?”

  I pretend to appear thoughtful “You mean the dating rules? Like no sex before the third date?”

  Landon laughs a little louder this time. The kids continue singing behind him.

  “No, I mean the rules about dating a colleague.”

  “Nope. There’s no such rule. Which means we’re free to date.”

  “Well, I guess congratulations are in order,” she says, not sounding at all like she means it.

  I bite my tongue to keep from saying, “We’re dating, not getting married,” and go with “Thank you” instead.

  “Now that we’ve got that all straight,” I say, “you really need to excuse us. We’ve got a show to prepare for and not a lot of time.”

  I gesture toward the door. She gets the hint and leaves.

  Air rushes from my lungs in a relieved whoosh. “I thought she was going to cause trouble with the show after you told her I’m your girlfriend.”

  “She’d look rather petty if she did that after the rest of the parent-teacher association approved it,” Landon says. “Even more so when they find out who’s helping with the show.” He nods at the two individuals leading the kids in a cheery rendition of “Frosty the Snowman.”

  After Josephine calls it a day with the kids and thanks them for doing such an incredible job singing and playing their bells, Landon and I take our charges back to our classrooms.

  The door between the two rooms is open a crack. Not because he needs my help with his class. He doesn’t.

  It’s so he can do his real job, keeping an eye on me.

  But with Adam doing his regular rounds of my classroom, and Jayden and Liam outside, there’s nothing to worry about.

  As long as I’m in the school, I’m safe.

  As though I’ve just summoned him with my thoughts, Adam wheels his bucket and mop into my classroom and approaches my desk. I stand to talk to him.

  “Miss R,” Tommy says from his seat, “why do birds and bees make babies?”

  He says it loud enough that everyone looks up from the Christmas craft they’re making for the classroom walls.

  The undeniable twitching of Adam’s mouth gives away his thoughts.

  Oh, boy.

  Sex Ed isn’t for a few more years.

  I plant a desperate smile on my face and ask Adam, “Is there something I can help you with?”

  The replying grin is anything but desperate. “I can wait.” He nods for me to answer Tommy’s question.

  Of course.

  “Well…um…it’s just a saying. I mean, of course, birds have babies. They hatch from eggs. And baby bees hatch from eggs, too. Although in the case of bees, they don’t look like baby bees when they hatch. And why do birds and bees make babies? Well, to increase their population. Otherwise, the world wouldn’t have song and honey.” I sound like a rambling fool, but my years of education haven’t prepared me enough for this.

  Tommy looks thoughtful for a moment, then nods. “Okay.”

  And I release a hard breath. “Hopefully, I haven’t just screwed him up for life,” I mutter so only Adam hears me.

  Adam laughs. “If this is what it’s like for Landon, I definitely got the easier job for this mission.” He says it low enough so the kids don’t overhear him.

  “Mission” and “janitor” are two words you don’t typically associate together. Tom Cruise didn’t drop from the ceiling in his spy gear to clean toilets.

  “You might be right about that,” I say. Although I don’t doubt for a minute that the regular janitor doesn’t have his hands full with the job.

  “Is there something you need?” I ask Adam, glancing around the room to double-check that everything’s in order.

  “Landon won’t be able to drive you to his place after school. He has to be somewhere else. So I’ll be driving you instead.”

  An hour and half later, Adam drops me off at Landon’s town house. “Do you know how to reactivate the alarm?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “All right. Landon should be home in two hours. Don’t answer the door while he’s gone. I’ve been called in for the meeting, so I’m unable to keep an eye on the town house in the meantime.”

  “Okay.” I jump down from his SUV, and he waits for me to enter the house before driving off.

  I’m about to reactive the alarm, but my gaze lands on the living room. You wouldn’t know it’s the holiday season by looking at it.

  It’s kind of depressing.

  I release Whiskey from his crate and take him outside to relieve himself. Conscious of the risk I’m taking, I keep an eye on my surroundings, ready to bolt inside if need be.

  While he sniffs the ground, I contemplate the idea now swirling in my head, as well as the potential danger involved.

  “How would you like to go on a trip to my apartment?” I ask the furball. “I’ve got some Christmas decorations there.” As well as protection that I didn’t think to retrieve the last time I was there with Landon. “I could go get them and decorate your place. Then it would feel more Christmas-y. What do you think?”

  He gives a happy bark…and takes a dump.

  After I finish picking up after him, we return inside, and I grab my car keys. Since Landon won’t be back for two hours, I don’t bother to leave a note or text him.

  I lift Whiskey into the front passenger car seat, and he makes himself comfortable.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” I tell him. “You need to stay right there while I drive.” Even though Landon is only Whiskey’s temporary home, we’ve been working on training him. So far, it’s still hit or miss if he listens to us.

  Traffic isn’t my friend today. It moves slower than a crawl. I’m sure even Frank, with his walker, could move faster than this. It takes over an hour to get to my apartment building.

  I park my car and carry Whiskey inside. “Some of the
stuff is in my apartment,” I tell him. “The rest is in my storage locker in the basement.”

  I sneak him into my apartment first. The place looks exactly how I left it.

  Just dustier.

  But there’s no time to worry about that now.

  I find my penknife in the kitchen knickknack drawer and slip it into my jacket pocket. Next, I locate the box of my most prized decorations, the ones I didn’t want to risk leaving in my storage locker. These are the ones from my childhood—the ones I made for my father and stepfather.

  Deep down, I know I should throw them away, that I’m a glutton for punishment, but I haven’t had the heart to do it. At one point, these simple decorations, which I’ve had to fix a few times over the years, were precious to the two men.

  I take the box to the car and load it into the trunk. Whiskey and I return inside and head to the basement.

  The light is already on when I step inside the eerie place.

  I swear the basement’s haunted, which is why I usually avoid it whenever possible. I hold Whiskey tighter to me even though I know I’m being irrational. I can thank Nikolai for my fear of all things paranormal. He used to tell some of the spookiest stories. If he ever decides to write horror novels instead of being the head of the mob, even Stephen King would concede that Nikolai is the king of all things creepy.

  Usually, the basement light is turned off, unless someone is already in here or the last person forgot to turn it off. I strain to hear a sound to indicate that I’m not the only one in here. Nothing reaches my ears other than the typical old building noises, such as creaking pipes.

  It’s not a ghost. It’s not a ghost. It’s not a ghost.

  At my locker, I lower Whiskey to the concrete floor and unlock the door with my key. “All right, let’s find those Christmas decorations.”

  It doesn’t take me long to locate the two large boxes filled with all kinds of holiday decorations, buried under everything else. “I really need to go through this place and get rid of some of this old junk,” I mutter to myself.

  Soft, hesitant footsteps approach from behind. The good news is that ghosts don’t have footsteps. The bad news is that creepy clowns like Pennywise do.