Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover Book 2)

by Stina Lindenblatt

  “I quit the mission,” I tell Liam and keep walking.

  I can’t be around if anything else happens to her.

  I’ve already lost a woman whom I loved because of the actions of someone else. I won’t go through that again.

  28

  Chloe

  Four days later, Adam unlocks my apartment room door after driving me home from school.

  Thanks to the Christmas Grinch, I have a broken arm, my ribs and left ankle are sore, and my face doesn’t feel like it belongs to me.

  But I’m still alive, so I’m incredibly thankful for that.

  The part where I live in an apartment with no elevators kind of sucks. But after everything I’ve been through, I’m really not interested in staying anywhere else.

  This is my home.

  Adam steps inside, and I wait while he checks to ensure there are no nasty surprises. I’m hoping that also includes spiders, should he happen upon one.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Eric asks, coming down the hallway.

  Ignoring the discomfort, I grin at his shocked expression. “Yes, I know, I look fabulous.”

  He chuckles. “Yep, that’s exactly what I was going to say. Does this mean you’re not up for our first date quite yet?”

  It’s not just my body that’s currently a mess. My clothes aren’t much better. Despite Principal Woodnut’s insistence that I take another few days off to recover, I returned to teaching today.

  As the paint on my pants can attest.

  “My evenings will be busy for the next while. My kindergarten class will be performing for the seniors at the Golden Sunshine Retirement Village next week, and we still don’t have enough elf hats.” And thanks to my arm being in a cast, it’s taking me longer than planned to finish them. I was only able to start working on them again yesterday.

  “I can always help. I’m pretty handy with a needle.”

  “This is more a job for a sewing machine.”

  “My grandmother has one I can use. I’m assuming it still works. She hasn’t used it in a bit. Her hands and eyesight aren’t what they used to be.”

  Adam steps out of my apartment, and his gaze scrapes down Eric, as if he has X-ray vision and is making sure he’s clean.

  It’s the same expression Eric is wearing as he checks out Adam—but probably not for the same reason. “Are you the ex-boyfriend who hurt Chloe?”

  His tone makes me think of a young buck getting ready to challenge the alpha for buck supremacy.

  Next, they’ll be circling each other, antlers loaded and ready.

  “No, this is just a friend of mine,” I say in an attempt to stall the battle before it gets started. “Adam, this is Eric, the grandson of one of my neighbors.”

  They nod at each other. The tension in Eric’s shoulders subsides. Not so much for Adam. But that’s because he’s on duty. This isn’t a social call for him.

  “I offered to help Chloe with her elf hats,” Eric says, assuming, it would seem, that Adam knows what he’s talking about.

  “For the Christmas show,” I clarify.

  Adam smirks at Eric. “Right. You don’t look like the type who knows much about sewing.”

  “I didn’t realize there was a certain look you needed to have to be considered a competent sewer,” Eric replies.

  And we’re back to them metaphorically circling each other again.

  I roll my eyes and limp into my apartment.

  My vision blurs at the sight in front of me. Landon’s and my fake relationship truly is over—which shouldn’t come as a surprise, given I dumped him.

  Sometime in the last eight hours, Landon entered my apartment and returned the Christmas decorations I’d left at his town house. But he didn’t just shove them into the big cardboard boxes I store them in. He decorated my apartment like I’d done to his home.

  Even the Christmas tree and decorations we bought for his place have been relocated to my living room.

  But in the short time since I last saw them, they’ve lost their holiday season sparkle—their reason to be merry.

  Behind me, Adam says something to Eric, but I’m not really listening to him, so I don’t catch what he says.

  I walk to the tree and inspect the wooden squirrel decoration hanging from a lower branch. The squirrel’s leg has been partially chewed, dedication of Whiskey. It must have happened after I moved out. I can almost imagine Landon attempting to coax it away from the teething puppy, and a slight smile sneaks onto my face.

  Followed by the sensation of an invisible hand squishing my heart like it’s a chunk of Play-Doh.

  God, I miss those two.

  The apartment door clicks shut. I peer over my shoulder to discover that I’m alone. Looks like I’ll be working on the elf hats on my own after all. Not that it’s a bad thing. I’ll be so busy working on them, I won’t have time to miss Whiskey and Landon.

  I glance around my apartment. I really need a pet. Something to keep me company.

  Maybe a cute goldfish.

  Or a pet toad.

  I quickly grab some dinner and settle myself in front of my sewing machine. I’m almost finished the hat I’m working on when someone knocks on my apartment door. I get up to open it.

  Eric is standing on the other side of the doorway, holding a sewing machine.

  He salutes me. “Royal elf-hat maker to the stars. Reporting for duty.”

  I laugh, my ribs protesting slightly. “I thought you were joking about helping me.”

  “I never joke about anything as serious as this.” He winks at me, and I grin.

  “How can I say no to that?” I open the door wider to let him in.

  “Let me move my sewing machine over so you can set up yours,” I say. “You do know how to use it, right?”

  “My grandmother gave me a quick rundown, but I might need some help. I’m a financial analyst by day. Calculating option-adjusted spread I can do. Figuring out sewing machines is a little out of my league.”

  Twenty minutes later and a few rough starts, the elf-hat assembly line is in business. I’m responsible for cutting the pieces from the red velvet. We’re both responsible for sewing the pieces together.

  Eric is slow because sewing is a new skill for him. I’m slow because of my cast. We talk the entire time, which is another reason why we aren’t working at supersonic speed.

  He’s entertaining, sweet, and funny. I’m not interested in him romantically, but maybe I could introduce him to Kiera. You never know. They might hit it off and eventually became a cute couple—once she’s ready to date.

  Eric’s phone pings a text, and he checks the screen. He responds to whoever sent it. “I’m sorry, Chloe, I have to leave. But I’m free tomorrow night to help you make more hats.”

  “That would be great. Thanks.” Between the two of us, we’ve finished ten hats. Nothing to create new world records, but given the handicaps we’re both dealing with—my arm, his lack of sewing background—we didn’t do half bad.

  My phone vibrates from the table. I peer at the screen.

  Adam: You okay up there?

  I grab the phone and reply.

  Me: I’m doing great. Thanks. Going to bed now.

  Adam: Let me know if you need anything.

  Me: Will do. Good night Adam.

  A sudden urge to text Landon races through me.

  I stomp it down.

  I refuse to be the fake girlfriend who misses her fake ex-boyfriend.

  Now, I just need someone to tell my heart that.

  29

  Landon

  I’m watching a hockey game on TV when the doorbell rings.

  This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. Whiskey’s going to his forever home.

  The vet clinic called two days ago to let me know they found a home for the puppy. A home that will give him all the love he deserves.

  Whiskey peers up at me from his dog bed in the living room that is now devoid of all reminders of Christmas. It now resembles the roo
m it once was before Chloe stepped into my life. The only things remaining are Whiskey and his supplies, and they, too, will be gone shortly.

  And then my life can return to normal.

  I packed up the decorations the night of the accident when I realized I couldn’t be in Chloe’s life any longer. Not when the risk of her dying was too great.

  I’ve already gone through the pain of losing a woman I loved. I’m not interested in making that two out of two.

  And yes, I love her. I don’t believe in love at first sight. That’s for fools and romantics. But even though we’ve only been together for a few weeks, what I feel for her is real.

  Doesn’t that just fuck all?

  I turn the TV off and stand. “Your new family is here,” I tell him. The enthusiasm in my voice has flatlined, and I can’t find the will to resuscitate it.

  But that doesn’t matter. As soon as he meets his new family, he’ll be excited for the two of us.

  I open the front door. The father and mother are standing on the stoop, along with two kids, both under the age of ten.

  “Hi. Landon?” the man says. “I’m Robert. And this is my wife, Mary, and our kids Chris and Lizzie.”

  Two eager faces grin at me. “Is it true you have a puppy?” Lizzie asks.

  “That’s right. Do you want to come inside and meet him?”

  “Yes, please,” they say in near-perfect chorus.

  I move aside to let them in.

  “Remove your shoes first,” their mother reminds them before they can take a step into the house.

  They practically charge inside, stopping long enough to fling their shoes across the floor.

  “Sorry about that,” she says. “They’re really excited to meet Whiskey. But we haven’t told them yet that we’re adopting him. We wanted them to meet him first.”

  I try smiling, but my lips don’t feel like cooperating. I nod instead.

  Great. Now I’m a mute.

  “Where is he?” Lizzie asks, reminding me of my students. She’s the same age.

  “In the living room.” I point toward it.

  We follow them and find the pair sitting on the floor next to Whiskey’s bed. With a little bark, he unfolds himself and steps over the side to the awaiting kids. They hold out their hands for him to sniff.

  “Oh, he’s so adorable.” Mary crouches between her two kids and lets Whiskey sniff her hand. She then strokes him behind the ear, just like Chloe used to do.

  As expected, he laps up the attention.

  And my heart breaks.

  In the short time I’ve been his foster daddy, his puppy teeth have dug into my heart the same way they do with his chew toys. And my cushions. And shoes.

  Well, just about everything he can find.

  I’ve fallen for him in the same way I’ve fallen for Chloe.

  Okay, not quite the same way, but the sentiment’s the same.

  The kids fuss over him, and he wags his tail at rapid speed. But then he wanders to me and parks his paws on my legs, tail still wagging. It’s his sign for “Daddy, I want up.”

  I scoop him up and cradle him next to me. He cocks his head to the side, his eyes wide and hopeful.

  He reaches up and licks my face.

  This sets the kids off giggling.

  I stroke his soft copper-colored fur, the shade slightly lighter than Chloe’s hair.

  A string of memories decides this is a good time for a memory-lane montage. Of Chloe, when we collected Whiskey from the vet. Of her coming up with his name. Of her loving him unconditionally like he deserves. Of him loving her the same way.

  Of the way he made her laugh—how he made us both laugh.

  The idea of giving him away is a punch to the gut.

  There’s an old saying that claims if you love someone, set them free. If they come back, they’re yours. If they don’t, they never were.

  That might be true when it comes to humans, but I’m not sure how much it applies to a puppy. It’s not like he can dig under a fence and come bounding here if he wants.

  “You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you?” Mary says, voice soft.

  I stroke Whiskey’s fur again and nod. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize he would grow on me the way he has.”

  “That’s perfectly okay. Sometimes it takes the nudge of nearly losing someone to realize how much they mean to you.”

  “You’re right. It does.”

  In Chloe’s case, I walked away because it was easier than to risk losing her in the worst possible way.

  But that’s not true for Whiskey. No one’s trying to kill him. He doesn’t have a contract on his head.

  And despite his rough start, he isn’t attempting to push me away out of fear of loving someone.

  I ignore the voice in my head, pointing out the irony of the last part. Pointing out that I’m as guilty of doing that to Chloe as she is of doing it to me.

  30

  Landon

  “Whiskey,” I call out. “Walk?”

  The bundle of energy comes barreling around the corner, his claws slipping on the hardwood floor.

  Guess that answers my question.

  He barks and jumps his paws on my legs. I bend down and attach the leash to his collar. His leg is fully healed now, which means we can go for a longer walk.

  Which I desperately need.

  And once I’ve done that. I’ll go for a hard run.

  Emphasis on hard.

  I open the front door and am brought up short. Jayden is standing on the stoop, his hand raised toward the doorbell. Sitting next to him, with his tongue lolling to the side, is Mojo, his goofy Mountain Bernese dog.

  “Mojo wanted to visit Whiskey.” Jayden lifts his shoulders in a what-can-you-do shrug.

  “Oh, he did, did he?” My gaze returns to his dog. “Is this true, Mojo? You begged Jayden to bring you over to visit Whiskey?”

  “Woof.”

  Whiskey barks excitedly in reply.

  Okay, still not buying it.

  “We’re just heading out for a walk.”

  “Perfect. We’ll come with you.”

  Not exactly what I’d planned, but that’s okay. I’m sure he’s dying to get back home to Isabelle, so he can screw her brains out. Which means he won’t be here long.

  That doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see Jayden.

  But it does mean I have a feeling I’ll want to go for that run even more once he leaves. I’ve known him too long to believe he just came over so the dogs can hang out together.

  “What’s really going on?” I ask after we’ve walked a block. “And don’t give me that crap about the dogs spending quality time together.”

  “You’re right. Liam told me what happened. That Chloe’s accident freaked you out.”

  A squirrel darts up a tree ahead of us. Whiskey goes chasing after it, only to be brought up short, thanks to the leash. Mojo isn’t the most energetic of dogs, so he keeps to our current pace.

  “I screwed up. She was pissed when she found out I’d been lying about the real reason I was pretending to be her boyfriend, and it had nothing to do with Nikolai asking us to protect her. I let her push me away, and look what happened.”

  “The accident wasn’t your fault. It would’ve happened anyway. Just on your watch instead of on Adam’s.”

  “But at least then she wouldn’t have been driving. She would have been in my jeep. She would’ve been a helluva lot safer than she was in her car.” Especially since it looks like at some point someone had fucked with the airbags, which is why they didn’t deploy during the accident.

  “You really think that would’ve made a difference? Whoever has the contract out on her wants her out of the picture. Permanently. As it is, I bet they’ve got steam whistling from their ears because the hit man fucked up, and she walked away from the accident.”

  I open my mouth to argue.

  He doesn’t give me a chance. “I stand corrected. She got to be driven away in an ambulance. But she still survive
d.”

  “So that she can be a human target for another day.”

  “We won’t let that happen.”

  A gush of wind sends several dry leaves tumbling across the sidewalk.

  Whiskey pounces on one of them and barks proudly at me.

  I bend down and pet him. “I know, you’re a big scary boy. No leaf stands a chance with you around.”

  “But I think we both know this isn’t what’s got your knickers in a twist,” Jayden says. “It’s not only about the accident, am I right?”

  I don’t say anything.

  “Look, I get it. I went through the same thing with Isabelle. I was paranoid of her dying due to the job. So I was an asshole, demanding she abandon her goal of being an operative because I couldn’t handle it.”

  “Not the same thing, man. Isabelle is trained to look after herself.” Thanks to Adam and me. Adam had taught her to be kickass when it came to handling a gun. Only Jayden wasn’t aware of it at the time. “Chloe isn’t. She’s a kindergarten teacher who has no desire to do our job.”

  “So what? You can’t handle the idea of losing her, so you’ll give up everything instead?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “C’mon, everyone knows you’re in love with Chloe.” His gaze takes in my expression. “Okay, let me rephrase that. Everyone but you and Chloe knows you’re in love with her.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  He laughs, startling a bird in a nearby tree. It squawks in protest. I know how it feels.

  “Complicated is the code word for coward. Everyone who is scared of love plays the ‘complicated’ ”—he air-quotes the word—“card. But it’s just bullshit.”

  “Wow, tell me what you’re really thinking.”

  “I couldn’t handle the thought of her dying. So I figured it was better to not love than to risk losing her. I was wrong.”

  “Yes, but I’m not. I lost someone I loved. I wasn’t there for her when she needed me. She died. End of story.”

  Clearly, Jayden doesn’t agree with me on the last part. “It’s not the end of the story. What happened in the past is exactly that…in the past. You can’t be chickenshit when it comes to love just because you’re afraid of losing the person. It means living each day as though it might be her last, making sure each one counts and isn’t wasted.”