To Kiss A Kringle (Southern Sanctuary Book 13)

by Jane Cousins

Absently Patricia smoothed her sleeveless hunter green wrap dress down. She wasn’t primping, she was just double checking to make sure she was vaguely presentable, given the ungodessly hour and having gotten dressed in the dark.

  She had a lot on her plate today, but this inspection shouldn’t take long, given the small dimensions of the Annexe. And seriously, given the rustic nature of the structure, how long would it take for Fen to declare it a fire hazard? Five minutes? Two minutes?

  As they rounded the last bend of the path, and the Potting Shed finally came into view, it took Patricia’s sluggish brain a few seconds to catch up with what she was seeing. What the…? Where? When? How? What the hell had Lester Cullen done to the Potting Shed? It was now… her gaze travelled up… and up… and up. Heavens. It was like some sort of glass cathedral. This was made even more apparent as the first rays of the sun stretched across the sky and glinted off the spiralling glass structure.

  Where was the quaint little building? The stream? The small bridge?

  This structure was huge, and really kind of lovely. If you liked natural light. Closer still, Patricia could make out that on either side of the large glass entrance doors the floor to ceiling panels were made up of stained glass, depicting two lush, green, leafy trees.

  Why had she not heard anything about this transformation?

  Grrr, because she hadn’t wanted to know, had she? And her friends and family had refrained from bringing up the topic of the Annexe as they knew what a hot button it was for Patricia. She’d been determined to avoid anything to do with Cullen over the last two years. Keep her distance. He was just some brief aberration in her life, temporary. And Patricia Bennett never let herself get distracted.

  But this? This screamed permanence and intent. Why? Why would Cullen go to such effort even if he was just burnt out? Spend so much money?

  He was an Archer, sworn to protect the British sovereign soil. Ah, then it struck her. He was a man of intellect and determination. He had needed something to focus on while the dust settled back in London and the mole determined enough time had passed by before they were comfortable enough to resume their activities.

  And a man like Cullen, he didn’t do half measures. This gorgeous, large structure, was no more than a deflection. A means to keep himself busy while he gathered intel. Once he identified who betrayed him and brought them to justice he would no doubt snap out of the crazy idea of settling down here, and walk away from all this without a second glance, she was sure of it.

  Entering via the wide glass entrance doors, Patricia was surprised to find that the small stream full of fat koi was still present. Though it had been broadened slightly and several water features added, along with several decorative wooden bridges, that gave access to a large area across the stream. Where comfy chairs and small round tables were set up so that people could sit and read, think, or just watch the fish splash.

  Turning, Patricia had to bite down on a shocked gasp as she surveyed the rest of the cavernous space. Damn him, how had Cullen succeeded in getting his hands on so many of her library books? Oh, sure, she knew they had been mysteriously disappearing at regular intervals but it was a slap in the face to see them all gathered together in one place. There had to be thousands.

  She eyed the row after row of full bookcases. The comfy, semi private reading nooks. The large desks set up at regular intervals for major research projects. It was… her gaze travelled around the room once more until they landed upon Cullen, who was standing next to a futuristic looking beverage station. Dressed in dark grey trousers, matching waistcoat, and a green tie paired with a light grey shirt, he was smiling, looking a little pleased at her obviously stunned reaction.

  “Coffee.” Fen pushed Cullen aside and began working the equipment like a pro.

  “Good morning.” Cullen greeted his early visitors with a welcoming smile. There was something about having Patricia not just within arm’s reach but on his property that bone deep made him happy.

  He wondered if she sensed the connection, no, he had a feeling his Trix was feeling nothing but annoyance with him right at this moment. And weirdly, that made him just as happy. He loved watching those copper flecks in her hazel eyes fire and spark. She was normally so reserved, so contained, but with him she peeled back the layers, letting him glimpse the complex and emotional woman beneath.

  “Just how many books do you have now?”

  “Including those currently out on loan, at last count it was six thousand seven hundred and eleven. Give or take. I haven’t checked the stacks this morning to see if anything new has arrived.”

  Grrr. Six thousand seven hundred and eleven. No wonder her new acquisition budget had sky rocketed over the past year. No wonder her senior staff kept defending it by saying that they had the room, so why not. At some level she had to have known the reason for that. She just hadn’t wanted to admit it out loud, let alone to herself, how out of control this situation had gotten. “You… you…”

  “Here, have some coffee.” Fen placed a large, wonderfully smelling mug into her hands. “You’ll have to excuse Aunt Patricia, she’s grumpy before her first coffee of the day.”

  “I’m not your Aunt.” How many times had she reminded one of her teasing younger cousins of that? Too many. “And I’m not grumpy. I’m seething mad.” She directed a glare Cullen’s way even as she lifted the mug and took a sip and almost swooned. Wow, that was fantastic coffee and she could tell from the amused glimmer in those jade coloured eyes that Cullen knew it. Double grrr.

  Fen sensibly realised that Patricia wasn’t kidding and stepped back, giving her space. “Um, why don’t I just get on with the inspection?”

  “Good idea.” The sooner this was over, the sooner she could leave.

  “Seething, huh?” Cullen queried once Fen strode off.

  Honestly, didn’t the man have any protective instincts? He should be giving her space. Not crowding her. Standing too close. “Go away.”

  “So, what do you think of the changes I’ve made to my little Potting Shed?” Cullen laughed as another narrow eyed glare was directed his way. “Come on, you have to admit, for a mere Annexe, it’s pretty spacious, with a good selection of books.”

  “My books.” Patricia gritted out from between clenched teeth. Easing away from him to lean against a nearby research desk.

  “Our books. The Court said so, remember?”

  “You don’t think what you’ve done here is a little… over the top?”

  “In what way?”

  “In every way.” She flung out a hand, waving it towards the soaring glass ceiling, then at the burbling stream and the stained glass windows. With the sun now risen past the horizon and hitting the glass it was like the boughs of the stained glass branches were moving and swaying in some gentle breeze. “Just how much money have you spent on this place?”

  “Other than the materials, nothing. I did most of the work myself, except for the stained glass panels.”

  Impressive, but that was unimportant right now. “Okay, then what about time?” She checked to make sure Fen was out of earshot. “How much time have you spent building this place? Time that would have been better spent focused upon tracking your three suspected traitors? Don’t you think your priorities are a little skewed?”

  “Just because I’ve discovered there is more to life than work does not mean I’ve lost my focus.”

  Patricia looked pointedly around the vast room as she sipped more coffee. Perhaps Cullen was even more burned out than she had thought. How could he not see this… all this for what it was. Classic deflection.

  “Look, you have to understand, the espionage game mainly involves a lot of sitting around and waiting for the traps you have laid to be triggered. All the books and movies get it wrong. Ninety percent of the cat and mouse scenario is observation and patience.”

  “So, shouldn’t you be off somewhere, observing?”

  “Come with me.”

  What? She tried to shake off Cullen’s han
d as he grabbed hers, but the man was surprisingly strong, given that she had four inches in height on him. She looked around for Fen’s help but he was no longer in view. “I really don’t…” Patricia found herself being dragged towards the back wall, past bookcases and desks. It would be childish to cling on to anything and dig her heels in, huffing out an annoyed sigh, she grudgingly followed Cullen’s lead.

  They halted at what looked like an ordinary wooden panel, Cullen keying in a long series of digits into the keypad before the panel slid back with a soft hiss. It wasn’t wooden at all, but heavy steel, and beyond it stairs. Lights flickered on automatically as they made their way down. Once upon a time this had been a cramped, dank wine cellar.

  Cullen released his hold on Patricia at the base of the stairs. “Welcome to the command centre.”

  It was difficult to take it all in. The room was vast, one wall was covered in a large white board full of notations. Another wall had twenty or more screens, streaming CCTV footage. Some remained fixed upon a location, others constantly cycled through multiple viewpoints. The last wall had a long desk full of computer screens that were all flickering as data scrolled constantly, changing. Behind them on the wall was one enormous screen that had been split into three.

  “Sit here.”

  Patricia moved forward and took the proffered comfy rolling chair. “Now what?”

  “Now, you study all this. And you tell me what you think.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I told you I wanted your opinion on the intel I have gathered so far. Well, this is it.”

  “Seriously?” Patricia had thought he meant like a ten page file, not this cavalcade of information.

  “Seriously. Come on.” Cullen unconsciously dropped his voice to a husky whisper. “You know you want to trawl through it all. Given your excellent attention to detail, don’t you want to find something I might have missed?”

  Damn, him, he was right, her fingers practically itched.

  “You did say you would help.”

  Crap, she had. And this was important. And the thought of finding something, one upping Cullen, that was particularly appealing. “If I do find something. I want all the way in.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I want to help catch the traitor.” That way she could personally ensure the path was clear for Cullen to return to London, then the temptation would be gone… wait, what? Not temptation, aggravation, that’s what she’d meant. He would have no excuses to linger in the Southern Sanctuary, none at all. Once he got over his little funk, burn out, whatever he wanted to call it, he’d be high tailing it back home to England. “I want full access to the investigation on-going.”

  “I’m not sure if that would be wise.”

  “It seems cut and dried to me. If I find a significant clue in all this data.” She looked around the room, at the white board, the CCTV screens and then at all the computer screens. “Then you have to include me. Deal?” She held out her hand.

  “Deal.” They shook hands, a wry smile tugging up the corner of Cullen’s lips.

  “What?” Damn, suddenly Patricia had the sense she had just sprung closed a trap laid just for her.

  “It’s just I would have thought you’d have chosen different stakes. Say, me withdrawing the Potting Shed as a Library Annexe.”

  Damn. Patricia ground her teeth in irritation. What an opportunity to miss. And hold on, if she won the bet, that would mean spending even more time with Cullen. Snick, that really had been a trap springing shut.

  Chapter Eight

  “I-” Patricia stopped walking, eyes widening in surprise. When had it gotten dark? Heavens, glancing at her watch she was shocked to see that more than fourteen hours had past. Goddess, how many meetings had she missed? Yanking her phone from her pocket she was appalled to note that sixty-two messages were waiting for her. Damn. She must have really been in the zone not to have noticed all that.

  “There you are. I was starting to get worried about you. I have some food.” Cullen, sitting at one of the small tables by the stream, gestured at the covered plates on the table in front of him. “Join me, won’t you?”

  “Um.” The tantalising smell hit Patricia and suddenly she was starving, but… “What’s up with the lights?” Lines of fairy lights illuminated the babbling brook. And small flickering hurricane lamps sat on each of the small round tables situated by the stream. If she hadn’t known this was a Library, Patricia would have thought she’d stumbled into a very quiet, very romantic restaurant.

  “It’s the automatic night light setting.”

  “I hadn’t realised how late it was. I should be going.”

  “Don’t you want to discuss what you found? And there is plenty of food.” Cullen began to remove the lids from the plates. The wonderful smells intensified and Patricia’s stomach gurgled loudly in appreciation. “Come on, it will go to waste otherwise.”

  Somehow Patricia found herself sitting across from Cullen at the small table, a fork in her hand, digging into a large bowl of spaghetti marinara. Seafood and pasta, one of her top fave go-to comfort dishes. Lovely. On auto pilot she accepted the glass of white wine Cullen handed over before he too began to eat.

  “I should tell you what I-”

  “Eat first. Shop talk when you are done.” Cullen admonished, lifting his wine glass, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of this gorgeous woman sitting across from him. The flickering candlelight turning her skin alabaster and making her hazel eyes shimmer with threads of green and copper, glints of fire blazing in her sable hair.

  “Do you eat here often?”

  “Yes. It’s especially nice when it’s raining. And sometimes I just sit here and watch the fish swim about.”

  “You know, this is where the high tea should be.”

  Cullen choked slightly and swallowed. “Wow, you really do hate this place, don’t you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s a lovely building, and you know it. It’s a small venue but feels big. We can control all the factors. Cara will feel safe, secure, since we are still in the Sanctuary. And she feels doubly secure when she is in a Library environment.”

  “It would mean closing the Annexe, remember how much you hate it when Library patrons are negatively impacted.”

  “Ah, but the main branch will still be operating normally. Besides.” Patricia beamed at Cullen. “Since you are now taking lead on the high tea project, it will make the organisation and execution that much easier for you.”

  “I’m taking lead?”

  “Yes. I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day. About delegating. Letting my staff step up. What better place to start than with my assistant on this very important, special project.”

  “I meant the junior staff members, not me.” It was one more way he got to spend time with Patricia, he didn’t like to lose that opportunity.

  “No, you’re right. This will be the perfect opportunity for you to show me what you can do.”

  Damn, the woman was tricky and elusive. Which only ratcheted up his attraction to her. “This is a visiting God we are talking about here, I’m sure the High Council will still want you personally to sign off on the arrangements.”

  “No, I have complete faith in you to deliver. And knowing you are an Archer, well, I’m sure every detail will be perfect, no matter how small.”

  She was slippery, he’d give her that. “I haven’t really had much experience in organising a high tea before.”

  Patricia savoured another bite of her spaghetti before answering. “It was your suggestion. And you are British. I’m pretty sure you can pull together a posh high tea worthy of a God. Cut the crusts off a few sandwiches. Order in some little pastries. Dunk a few teabags in some hot water – and voila, high tea.”

  “I think it will require a little more effort than that.” Cullen smiled, amused, savouring a sip of wine.

  “You’re right, don’t forget the doilies. I understand they can make or break a party.”
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br />   “I’ve heard that, too. Though it begs the question, doesn’t it. Paper or lace? What’s my budget for this shindig?”

  “To impress the God of Chaos? Who is capable of sending the entire District sliding into the sea if he wishes? I’m given to understand it’s a rather healthy number.”

  “Good.”

  “What are you planning?”

  “Now, now. You wanted me to take the lead, remember? I wouldn’t want to bother you with all the hundreds of tiny, excruciating details that go in to pulling a posh high tea together.”

  Damn, and now she was going to have to watch him like a hawk. Which actually wouldn’t change a blasted thing, since she was always hyper aware of Cullen. Hunger sated, Patricia pushed her empty plate away. “So, are you ready to hear what I discovered about who your traitorous mole is?”

  “Hold on.” Cullen cleared away their plates, setting them down on a nearby empty table. Picking up the bottle of wine he topped up first his guest’s glass, then his own.

  “Thanks.”

  “Okay, hit me.”

  “Based upon the three very thorough dossiers you have collated, I gather that you have all but eliminated Mara Botbain as the mole?”

  “Yes.” Cullen nodded. “Are you saying you think she is…?”

  “Without a doubt in my mind.”

  Damn, he loved that arrogant sparkle in her eyes and the triumphant smile on her gorgeous face. “Hold on, Mara all but took herself out of the running.”

  “Because she stepped into the Interior Threat Management position or because she got married? I think you are too close to this.” Suddenly Patricia’s eyes widened. “You and Mara, you don’t have a personal history together, do you?” Hmm, and that spark of fire racing through her gut at the thought was not jealousy, it was abhorrence. It was totally inappropriate for colleagues to form attachments in the workplace, completely unprofessional.

  “No. She joined the agency three years before I did and went straight into field ops. I’ve met her in person a grand total of two times since she took up the home soil role.” He tapped his finger thoughtfully against his wine glass. “Just how did you come to the conclusion it was Mara? By taking the lead for Internal Threats she has fewer opportunities to travel. Fewer opportunities to mix with foreign nationals or dignitaries. By focusing on local cells she limits her primary contacts to the heads of the Metropolitan Police and MI5. According to protocol she has to hand off any and all external leads to Parron or Alton.”