by Jill Shalvis
“And he’s not The One either,” Molly said. “That’s absurd.” For many, many reasons, not the least being that while Lucas was incredibly serious on the job, off the job he was . . . not. He joked around nonstop and women tended to flock to that charming flirt thing he had down pat. But not her.
Never her.
She had . . . trust issues with that kind of guy, big-time.
“Okay,” Sadie said, nodding. “You’re not ready for The One. Make him The One for a night then. Before someone else comes along and snags him up.”
Molly opened her mouth and then shut it, afraid to let anything out. Such as how much she hated the idea of Lucas sleeping with another woman. Which wasn’t a comfortable realization at all. Get over it, she told herself firmly, and fast.
By the time she walked into Hunt’s office twenty minutes later, she’d lost her amusement for the game of letting Lucas think they’d slept together. Mrs. Berkowitz was no longer waiting on her, but a million other things were, including a battle with Hunt’s health insurance company over some of the coverage from Lucas’s medical care.
Normally, she loved her job. There hadn’t been money for her to go to college, and her plan to get a track and field scholarship had died when she’d wrecked her leg. Out of desperation she’d gone into admin work while Joe had been away in the military. She’d moved around a bit, gathering skills, until Joe had come home and landed at Hunt Investigations, bringing her into the fold as well.
But after two years behind the front desk, she wanted more. She’d begged Archer to let her also take on the background checks and research that overloaded his men, and he’d been all too happy to comply. She’d kicked ass too, providing them with superior intel all year. Yeah, they had their resident IT person—Lucas himself—but she could be just as good as him with some training.
Probably.
In any case, she’d loved getting a foot in the investigative door, but instead of satisfying her, she only craved more.
She wanted to go out in the field.
Archer had told her point-blank that while she had a brilliant mind and he was grateful for it, he couldn’t let her get hurt. Joe had been far less diplomatic, flatly refusing to discuss it with her. And that’s when she’d realized that when they looked at her they didn’t see brilliant investigation work, they saw vulnerability and weakness. And she got it. Appearance made a strong impression, and her physical appearance suggested weakness, not strength.
There was nothing she could do about that but prove them wrong.
“Need you to fax us the paperwork,” the insurance guy said in her ear after being on hold for thirty minutes. “I told you this already, last week.”
“Right,” Molly said. “I’ll just jump into my DeLorean and drive back to 1987 to get my fax machine. Can’t I just scan you the pages?”
“We don’t accept scans. They must be faxed or snail-mailed.”
She needed more caffeine for this, and after her call, she hit up the staff room, where she came face-to-face with Archer. She pointed at him. “You turned away those two sweet little old ladies who needed your help.”
“We don’t take those kinds of cases.”
She glared at him. “You mean old people cases?”
In typical Archer fashion, he refused to engage. “We’re booked up solid for the next five months. I don’t have the manpower available.”
“Or the interest?”
Archer didn’t sigh, but he looked like he wanted to. “Look, I know you’re bored. I know you want to do more. I get it. I’m working on it. But I’m not going to throw you into things without the proper training and field experience before you’re ready. You’ll eventually get a caseload of your own. I promise you that, but when it’s right. Okay?”
She sighed. “Okay.”
“You’re a valuable part of this company, Molly. I’m not just placating you here. All I’m asking for is a little patience on your end until you’re ready.”
“Are you sure it’s not the other way around? That you’re not ready for me?”
At that, she got a rare smile and a low laugh. “The world isn’t ready for you.” Archer let his smile fade. “But they will be, and when things happen, you’ll be prepared, and safe because of it.”
“And in the meantime?”
“I’m bringing you in on two new cases where we need your research and intel. They’re in your in-box waiting on you.”
She knew this was a bone, but she’d take it. And though she appreciated the vote of confidence, she was having trouble accessing her patience. Especially when she ran into Joe a few minutes later.
“You’re not taking on any cases,” her brother said flatly while stuffing a huge sandwich down his throat. He’d just come in from a takedown that had involved the entire team and he had three minutes before he had to head back out again for surveillance on another job.
His job rocked, dammit. “I think I have a right to do whatever job I want to do,” she said coolly.
Joe sighed and put down his sandwich. A rare occurrence, letting go of his food, signaling he was very serious. “Molly, listen to me. I can’t think of you in this job that I do, in the thick of it, with the constant danger.”
“And yet you do it. Do you think I don’t worry? Or that Kylie doesn’t?” she asked, referring to Joe’s better half.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he said stubbornly.
The unspoken word being again. Because they both knew what he was really referring to, which was the one time she’d been involved in his world and she’d nearly died. She still carried the scars, inside and out.
He blamed himself.
But she did not. “Look,” she said softly, wanting to make him understand and end this discussion once and for all. “I’m smart. I’m resourceful. I’m resilient.”
He nodded his agreement, which warmed her just a little bit. “All things I learned from you,” she said and squeezed his hand, smiling at the look of surprise on his face. “You’ve always taken care of me, Joe. Always,” she repeated fiercely. “And I’m thankful and grateful for it. But I’m good, okay? I’m better than good. And it’s time for you to let me go, to let me make my own decisions.”
“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted. “But I’ll try.”
“Try real hard,” she suggested.
Chapter 3
#BadSanta
By the time Molly got home that evening, she was completely done in. She lived in Outer Sunset, about twenty minutes from work on a good day with no traffic.
But there was always traffic.
When she walked up the few steps to her apartment building, she found three elves waiting for her.
Seemed they’d multiplied.
The shortest elf was Mrs. Berkowitz, her neighbor. The other elf was Mrs. White, Mrs. Berkowitz’s knitting partner. Molly had never seen Elf Number Three before, who was younger than the other two by a good decade. “Evening, ladies,” Molly said, getting her first real smile of the day. “Looking good.”
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Berkowitz said. “But your boss said he wouldn’t take our case.”
“I know. I heard. I’m sorry—”
“We really need your help. Santa’s stealing from us.”
Molly leaned against her porch railing. “You know for a fact that he’s actually stealing?”
“Yes. He’s saying there aren’t any profits to pay us from, but he has money. Bingo alone brings it in, I’ve seen the piles of cash. We need your help,” she said so earnestly that her little elf ears quivered.
Molly looked over at Mrs. White, who nodded. And then Elf Number Three.
“That’s Janet,” Mrs. Berkowitz said of the sweet-looking, softly rounded woman. “She heard us talking about the money and wants to join the cause.”
“The cause?” Molly repeated.
“Yes, the Santa Claus cause,” Mrs. Berkowitz said with a straight face. “We worked hard all year. We won’t stand for being rip
ped off, it’s not right.”
If true, it wasn’t right at all. The men in her life might not understand her need to step in, but they should. It’d been from them that she’d learned to do the morally right thing even when no one else believed. “We’ll get to the bottom of this,” she promised.
Mrs. Berkowitz looked relieved. “Oh, thank you, we so appreciate it. And of course we want to pay you, but until we can get our hands on our money—”
“It’s okay,” Molly said. “I’m not officially an investigator anyway. But if we get to the bottom of this case, I might be able to convince my boss to let me be one, so see, we’re helping each other.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Berkowitz said fervently. “You’re a godsend.”
Several hours later, Molly sat in her bed staring at her laptop. She’d researched the Christmas village, the owners, and the bingo hall. The hall itself was leased by the same company that leased the adjoining lot and parking area for the Christmas village. St. Michael’s Bingo. Near as she could tell, in spite of the company’s name, it wasn’t affiliated with a church or specific charity. And Mrs. Berkowitz had been right. According to Yelp ratings and other reviews, it did appear that bingo brought in lots of business and was extremely popular.
So why hadn’t Santa been able to pay his elves?
And why couldn’t she find the names of the people associated with running St. Michael’s Bingo? The website was one page consisting of nothing more than a pic of the village with their hours and address listed. No contact, no number.
Molly called Mrs. Berkowitz. “Who runs the village and the bingo hall?”
“Santa.”
Molly rubbed the spot between her eyes. “Does Santa have a name?”
“Santa.”
Molly had to laugh. “The guy who puts on the Santa suit. What’s his name?”
“Oh. We call him Crazy Nick.”
“As in . . . St. Nicolas?” Molly asked.
“No, as in Crazy Nick.”
Okay, she’d bite. “What makes him crazy?”
“Well, he’s had four wives, for one. And they all work for him even though they hate him. That’s what makes him crazy. He’s always grumpy. If I had four ex-wives, I don’t think I’d want them working for me.”
“Does Crazy Nick have a last name?” Molly asked.
“Probably, but I don’t know it. I could ask one of his exes for you on my next shift. But I’ve gotta go, dear. Jeopardy’s on.”
Molly disconnected. She needed to dig deeper, but for that she needed her work computer and superior programs. Telling herself she’d get up early, she went to bed.
And dreamed of warm, deep brown eyes the color of her favorite thing in the world—chocolate. She dreamed of a wicked smile to go with, and hands that had pulled her close, but not to sleep . . .
The next afternoon, Lucas was dividing his time between peering out through his binoculars and eyeing the screen of his tablet, which was streaming a live feed from the bugged building they were surveilling. He was doing his damnedest to concentrate on the job instead of how cruel life was that he’d slept with Molly but couldn’t remember a single minute of it.
Was her body as warm and curvy as it seemed in those sexy business dresses she always wore?
And what did she wear underneath? Lace? Silk? He had absolutely zero preference; he loved any of it. Had she slowly stripped out of everything and then run her hands all over his body? Had he gotten his mouth on hers? Did she taste as good as he imagined she would—
“It’s effing hot in here,” Joe muttered.
Since the guy had been complaining for hours, Lucas didn’t respond. Especially because it was hot in here.
“I’m hungry,” Joe said.
Lucas lowered the binoculars and pulled out an earbud of his headset. “Anything else?”
“My ass is numb.”
“And you want me to what exactly?” Lucas asked.
“Just saying,” Joe muttered and blew out a breath. “We’ve been here forever.”
Here, being the inside of a surveillance van. They were an hour north of San Francisco, in Sonoma at the Sonoma Raceway. And yeah, for December, the day was unseasonably warm and it was effing hot, and they’d run out of food a few hours ago.
He was there for surveillance and to record any evidence, but had been ordered to stay away from any real action, with Joe as backup on the off chance things were sour.
Lucas was ridiculously grateful to be on the job at all.
“I’m just saying,” Joe said.
“What are you just saying?”
Joe gave him a look. “Why aren’t you listening?”
Because I’m fantasizing about your sister naked and under me, moaning my name . . .
“This isn’t going to happen today,” Joe decided, pulling off his headset. “Intel was wrong.”
Intel on today’s surveillance had come from Molly’s research, research that Lucas had gone over with a fine-tooth comb. “My gut says otherwise,” he said. And his gut was almost always right. He’d honed his instincts at his previous job with the DEA, where he’d worked undercover for five years. Several of his cases had involved huge insurance fraud schemes, and it’d been one of those jobs to cost Lucas the love of his life, however indirectly.
Not that he was going there.
In any case, this job was going to be textbook. Their client, a major car manufacturer, had a problem. Some of their employees had been working overtime when a drive shaft had slipped, sending a truck axle crashing to the floor. Seven employees had claimed a variety of injuries, though no one had been hit. Three of the employees were back at work. Four employees were still off and had instigated a civil suit against the car manufacturer.
Lucas had dug deep, and in fact he’d done so with Molly’s help, discovering that the four employees went way back with each other and were old friends whose lives were entwined to the point that they’d all vacationed together. They each had doctor documentation saying they were unable to work, and yet Molly had tracked credit card records that put all four of them at the Sonoma Raceway for three consecutive weekends.
They were taking race car lessons.
“Maybe you’re right about tonight,” Joe murmured as two cars pulled into the lot. Two men came out of each car, the four of them meeting the descriptions and photos they had of the “injured” employees. “Damn,” he said looking through the lens of his camera, snapping still shots. “You getting this?”
“Yep,” Lucas said, filming their entrance. “Still want to leave?”
“Shut up.”
When the men vanished inside the racetrack, Lucas and Joe exited their vehicle to get better coverage. And to make sure that the men actually got into race cars.
“I always forget how good she is,” Joe murmured as they took their seats in the stands as spectators. “Molly.”
Lucas didn’t answer. Because he never forgot how good Molly was.
Well, except for the other night . . .
Chapter 4
# BahHumbug
It was late afternoon the next day before Lucas and Joe were able to show everyone in the team meeting the footage of the supposedly injured employees joyriding in race cars. The whole team was in a conference meeting doing post op; Archer, Joe, Lucas, Max, Reyes, and Porter, along with Carl, Max’s hundred-pound Doberman. Everyone was still dressed from their last job—meaning they were all loaded for bear, having come straight off a high-stakes takedown that had gone down without a hitch.
Lucas hadn’t been in on the action, but once again tasked with running the surveillance van, which was bullshit. But Archer had been a stone wall on making sure he saw zero action until his doctor fully cleared him, something the guy had refused to do for another full week.
Lucas thought about having Molly call his doctor and tell him that he’d managed to see plenty of action in bed several nights ago, but with his luck, she’d tell the doctor the action hadn’t been worth the effort.
> Now they were debriefing, each giving an oral report of the mission.
“Nice job,” Archer said when he’d heard everything they’d done. “Couldn’t have closed this one down as fast as we did without your help on the intel.”
Lucas opened his mouth to say thanks, but realized Archer had been talking to Molly.
She beamed at the rare compliment from their boss, and Lucas shook his head to himself, once again thinking that Archer and Joe were wrong by trying to clip her wings.
The meeting ended and everyone filed out, leaving for the end of the work day. Lucas stayed seated, opening his laptop as it was his job to type up the report. Another reason to hate his doctor. When his phone buzzed an incoming call from his mom, he hit answer on speaker so he could keep typing.
“Lucas Allen Knight,” she said. She’d been in the states for forty years but she still had a slight accent from her homeland, Brazil, and the sound of her voice always made him smile.
Well, usually.
“You’ve been ignoring me,” she said.
He blew out a sigh. “Hi, Mom. And I haven’t been ignoring you, I’ve just been working long hours—”
“Honey, don’t even try. I know that this job—unlike your last—doesn’t keep you out of commission for weeks at a time.”
True, which was part of the reason he had a life again, although he wasn’t wholly sure he fully deserved it.
“So how are you, baby?”
He hadn’t told her he’d been shot, or that he was on light duty. If he had, she and his older sister, Laura, would have descended on him like dogs on a bone. Sweet, loving dogs, but still . . . “I’m fine, I promise. I’ll call you this weekend to catch up.”
“You mean you’ll come see me this weekend.”
He heard a snort and turned to find Molly standing there, unabashedly eavesdropping. “Mom.” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “I’m overworked here. Where’s my sympathy?”
“I have plenty of sympathy. For all the mamas whose sons don’t visit them. Did you know that Margaret Ann Wessler’s son visits her? And Sally Bennett’s son visits her too—”