Santa's Subpoena

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Earl’s mouth opened and then closed, making him look like a guppy. Then he exhaled. “I don’t know. I mean, in our youth, Bernie had quite the temper. He was often the tough guy in our group. Would he kill?” He shook his head. “I just can’t imagine it. Wow. That’s a lot.”

  Not only was it a lot so far, but the witnesses for my client seemed to think he might’ve killed Lawrence. Earl, also, had just met Sharon Smith that night and had no idea how or why she’d ended up in Lawrence’s will—and he didn’t want to know any more than that.

  “Thank you for speaking with me,” I said, quite dejected.

  “You bet. What was the issue with my wrapping paper and boxes the other day on the phone?” he asked.

  The thought of the finger made me gag. “You don’t want to know.” I stood and then returned to the retail part of the store where I waited for Bud to purchase a stunning sapphire necklace. He’d been a good sport all afternoon, so I didn’t give him a hard time or ask any questions. Then Bernie decided to buy Florence opal earrings, and Earl was all but humming happily by the time we left and piled into Bud’s car, heading through the now lightly falling snow back to Idaho. Darkness had roared in, and Bud had to use his headlights.

  “Do you mind if we take a quick detour?” I asked, hoping Bud was still in a decent mood as I rattled off the address.

  “It’s after dinnertime,” he muttered but took the offramp near the border and drove the several miles to the quaint brick apartment building. There were only twelve apartments, and we went to each one, finding somebody home, freezing our butts off in the rapidly strengthening storm. Not a soul knew Sharon Smith. Even the few folks who’d been there more than a few years didn’t know her. One guy thought the far apartment had been owned by a business or a guy who had poker parties where his wife couldn’t find out. But he didn’t know any names. We finally reached the last apartment, the one where Bernie said he’d awoken that day.

  A forty-something woman who worked in Washington at the nearest Apple’s Restaurant had lived there for two years, and she had no idea who’d rented the apartment before her.

  We thanked her and left, having the name of the rental company now in my notes. “We’ll find out who rented that apartment, Bernie,” I promised as we headed back to the car.

  “I know,” he said, not nearly as happy as he’d been earlier. “I just can’t imagine that Lawrence would set me up, but the poker parties at that apartment does indicate that Hoyt or his dad might’ve rented that place. He does like to gamble.”

  It was looking more and more like that was what had happened.

  Bud stiffened, looking around the quiet parking lot.

  “What?” I asked, my nose freezing.

  “Duck!” He dove over me, smashing me into the snow.

  Bullets pinged all around us.

  Chapter 26

  Bud tackled me to the snowy ground behind his official vehicle, while Bernie full on dove for the trees, tossing up snow. “Stay down,” Bud yelled.

  Snow slid up beneath my shirt and I turned my head, coughing out more of it. Ice chilled my entire body and I scrambled to my knees, keeping cover by the car. Crying and shaking, I pulled my gun from my purse.

  Bud already had his unholstered. He pivoted, leaning up and firing over the hood.

  Residents emerged onto their decorated balconies, and Bud bellowed for them to get inside and take cover. Everyone seemed to obey.

  I edged around the rear of the car, not too far, and looked for the target across the snowy street to the tree filled forest on the other side. “Where is he?” I whispered.

  The shooter fired again, hitting the tree in front of Bernie.

  “Stay down, Bernie,” I yelled, levering up and firing several times at the guy in unison with Bud.

  The shooting stopped, and the guy ducked behind a spruce dropping huge chunks of ice to the ground.

  “Get down,” Bud snapped.

  I sucked in air, keeping my body low, trying to see the shooter. It was too dark. The wind increased in force, scattering snow and ice. My entire body was cold, but adrenaline was keeping me from shaking too much.

  The sound of an engine ripped through the quiet night.

  “Damn it.” Bud angled around the car and kept low, running across the street.

  I straightened, my aim at the darkened forest, ready to provide cover for him if necessary.

  He reached the tree line and disappeared from sight.

  “Bernie?” I called out, ducking and edging toward my client.

  He crawled out from beneath some snow-covered holly bushes, ice and snow clinging to his wool jacket. “You okay?” he asked, reaching his feet and running toward me.

  “Yes.” I grabbed his arm and pulled him down behind the car. The wind speared through my jacket right to my spine, freezing me head to toe. My teeth started to chatter, and my knees had gone numb from kneeling to shoot. “You sure you’re all right?”

  He patted himself down and then coughed several times. “Yeah. I wasn’t hit.” He looked over the car at the silent forest on the other side of the road. “Now we know. The shooter was definitely aiming for me and not for you.”

  I gulped and nodded, the cold slithering beneath my skin to attack every bone. I shivered. “You’re right. I couldn’t make out the features of the shooter.”

  “Me either, but it had to be Hoyt,” Bernie said, gasping for air, his breath puffing out. He leaned over and spat into the snow. “Man, it’s cold.”

  My hands shook so hard I put my gun back into my purse. “Let’s get in the car. Bud will yell if he finds anything.”

  “I didn’t,” Bud said, appearing by the trunk.

  I gasped and lost my breath, my ears ringing. Where had he come from?

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He opened the back door for Bernie. “Inside.”

  I stood and tried to brush snow off my body, but it was clinging with icy clumps. “Did you see anything?”

  “Taillights of a truck down a logging road,” Bud said, snow covering his uniform to his thighs from his run through the forest. “That’s it. Only saw the shape of a truck and no plate. Nothing.”

  Bernie lumbered into the backseat, and Bud shut the door before opening mine.

  I stomped my boots somewhat free of ice and sat, waiting until he’d shut my door to put my purse on the wet floor.

  He started the engine, and forceful heat washed over me. My hands and feet felt dead, and they instantly started to warm up with painful tingles. I winced and rode out the agony.

  Bud called in details about the shooting, and sirens already sounded toward I-90. Apparently the apartment residents had called for help as well.

  I pressed my head back on the headrest and tried to warm up, but a hard ball of ice remained at my core.

  Within minutes, detectives and uniformed officers appeared, followed by crime tech analysts. Thank goodness we were in Idaho and not Washington, considering I’d had a concealed weapon that I had fired several times.

  Detective Pierce was one of the first to arrive, and after having taken our statements, went door to door to interview people from the apartments.

  From what I could make out, nobody had seen the shooter or could think of any odd trucks or happenings during the last few days.

  Finally, Pierce strode to the car, where Bud, Bernie, and I waited out of the billowing snow.

  He leaned down to look through Bud’s window. “Owner of the complex is a guy named Joe Jonsson from JJ Realty, and he said that the apartment in question, the one you asked about, was rented to another corporation for about three years before the current resident moved in.” Snow covered his head and landed on his thick eyelashes.

  I leaned closer to Bud to see Pierce. “What corporation?”

  “Forrest Land Development,” Pierce said quietly. “A very quick glance at the Secretary of State’s office confirmed that Lawrence was the sole member of the LLC. Only a couple of neighbors were here long
enough to have seen anything, and apparently, Lawrence used the apartment for extra storage. The closest neighbor, just two doors down, also reported that there were often loud poker parties in the apartment.”

  “Hoyt,” I murmured. “The man does have a gambling problem.”

  Pierce knocked on the back window, and Bud dutifully rolled it down. “Mr. McLintock, who wants you dead?” Pierce asked.

  Bernie reared up. “I think it’s obvious, don’t you? It’s Hoyt. It has to be. He thinks I killed his dad.”

  “Did you?” Pierce asked mildly.

  “No,” Bernie bellowed, his face turning crimson. “I did not kill that bastard. Even if I had known all of this, I would’ve just hit him in the face, boycotted his business, and probably tried to get him kicked out of the Kringle Club.” He said the last as if it were the worst thing that could happen to a guy.

  I bit my lip, not having had a chance to discuss the illegal origins of the club with Bernie yet. It’s not like I could bring up the subject with Bud in the vehicle.

  A gust of wind knocked snow off Pierce’s head. “What about Florence?”

  Bernie looked at Pierce like he’d lost his sanity. “She loves me.”

  “Uh-huh,” Pierce said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t see Florence running through a blizzard and shooting at people, Grant. Come on.”

  He leaned toward Bud’s window again. “Doesn’t mean she didn’t hire somebody.”

  My phone buzzed, and I lifted it to my ear. “Albertini.”

  “Anna, it’s Thelma,” Thelma whispered. “We have a line on Sharon Smith but need a ride. If you give us a ride tomorrow morning, we’ll cut you in on the action.”

  I stilled, noting that both Bud and Pierce had zero-laser focused on me. “Sounds good. I’d love to go shopping tomorrow with you. I’ll call you first thing.” I ended the call, trying to be calm.

  Pierce angled his head to see the jewelry box falling out of the bag on the floor. “You look like you shopped today.”

  “I did.” Grateful for the distraction, I grasped the box and opened it to reveal the black and silver watch. “What do you think?”

  “For your dad?” Pierce asked, straightening.

  I looked back down at the timepiece. “No. For Aiden.”

  Pierce snorted. “That’s a nice gift for your dad, somebody you’ve been married to for twenty years, or somebody you’re about to dump. Tell Devlin ‘good riddance.’” He turned and strode away, walking over to a couple of crime techs.

  I sighed. Well, I thought Donna had drawn either Vince or Bosco’s name in the family lottery, and maybe she’d buy the watch from me. As for the goofy tie, that was going to Detective Grant Pierce.

  What in the world was I going to get for Aiden?

  Dog and teen were snoozing peacefully in my living room with the Christmas tree lights sparkling all around them because I’d pushed off dinner with Aunt Yara until the next night, considering I hadn’t even picked Violet up from work until after nine, borrowing Tessa’s Rogue again. I’d just told my aunt that work had interfered, which was mostly true. There was no reason to tell her about my being shot at. Again. Especially since the shooter had been aiming for Bernie and not for me.

  So I’d been staring at the ceiling from my bed for several hours when I heard Aiden come in the front door. Something clumped—probably his boots. It was interesting how easily I identified his footsteps, considering we hadn’t been in the same place very often the last six months.

  He moved inside the bedroom and quietly shut the door, just a shadow against the wall.

  I levered up on an elbow. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” He tugged his shirt over his head, dropped it on the floor, and unbuttoned his jeans.

  My libido woke right up to match the rest of me.

  “Get naked,” he whispered, his Irish brogue stronger than usual.

  I sat all the way up. “No. You get me naked.”

  His flash of a grin warmed my entire body. “That I can do.” Then he was on my bed, over the covers, over me. Full on, shoving me back, his mouth on mine.

  Aiden Devlin could kiss. This, I already knew. Add in his slightly cold but firm lips, more than slightly hot tongue, and he melted the worries of the day completely away for a moment.

  I kissed him back, lighting on fire. He was hot, dangerous, and for the moment, all mine. I tunneled my hands through his damp hair, digging in, desire ripping through me faster than was probably healthy. He tasted a little like Scotch, and even that warmed me. Finally, my lungs protested the lack of oxygen, so I tore my mouth away. “We have to be quiet,” I panted.

  “I’m not the screamer.” He rolled to the side and shoved the bedcovers out of his way in a totally cool and smooth motion.

  I grinned because that was true. “Someday I’m gonna change that.”

  “Not today,” he whispered, flat over me again and then rolling until I was on top of him. Quick movements had my tank top and shorts flying through the room, followed by my new cute black panties that he hadn’t even gotten a chance to see.

  I pushed against his chest to a seated position, all of him warming all of me. He caressed my ribcage and up to my breasts, knowing exactly how much pressure to add. Then he added more, and I gasped.

  He chuckled, manacled me around the neck, and drew me back down to kiss him.

  For Aiden, this was playful. I enjoyed the moment, knowing any second he’d roll again.

  Yep. He rolled again, and I was under him, enjoying all of that lean and hard muscle. His talented fingers found me, and I rocketed into orgasm so quickly it surprised us both. “Guess you missed me,” he murmured, his lips against mine.

  “Guess so.” I was more than ready for him, wanting to keep reality far away for now.

  “Missed you, too.” He slowly pushed inside me, the muscles in his arms bulging nicely as he kept his weight from suffocating me. “You good?” he whispered after one final push.

  “Yeah,” I said, tracing his biceps with my hands, trying to stay in the moment and not worry about the future. This was here, and this was now, and we were together in every way possible. A warning clinked in the back of my brain that he would be gone again, and I hadn’t let go of his frustration over the phone line when he was reconsidering us, but I shoved that bitchy voice away. If pain was coming, I was going to take the good and ride it out.

  Plus, who knew. Maybe the good would stay.

  My mouth opened, but I didn’t say the words. I wasn’t ready to say the words, or maybe I was just a coward, but who cared? I dug my nails into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist.

  He ducked his head, kissed my nose, and then started to move—also not saying the words.

  I shut my eyes to just feel, and he took me away, changing his angle to hit all the right spots. I went over, crying out, and he kissed me fast, swallowing the sound.

  Then he kept pounding.

  Two climaxes later for me, one for Aiden, and we lay in the bed with his arm banded around my waist and my back to his front. It was the one place I felt truly safe these days, and I relaxed into his warmth. “Should we talk?” I asked sleepily.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, his voice lazy. “So long as nobody has shot at you, let’s relax.”

  Holy crap. He hadn’t heard about the shooting at the border? I winced and then planted my hand over his on my abdomen. “About that….”

  Chapter 27

  After arguing with Aiden over coffee, we both reached the conclusion that I just couldn’t hang out at my cottage and wait for my stalker to show up. Even though Pierce had to pull my protective detail because the flu had hit the department even harder the day before, I had to live my life and do my job.

  Plus, I was armed and I knew how to shoot.

  He had to go to work and figure out how Jareth Davey had followed him to Portland. It was a fact we still hadn’t really discussed, and I had to go save a couple of senior citizens fro
m probably getting arrested.

  We’d left the dog at the cottage, and Aiden promised he’d try to make it back to let him out a couple of times during the day. No promises, though.

  The blizzard of the day before had mellowed to a softly falling snow, although the roads were still treacherous. I dropped Violet at her job before driving across town to the Sunnydale Retirement Home subdivision, still in Tessa’s Rogue. She said she wasn’t planning on going anywhere, but I still needed to check on the repairs to my SUV later that afternoon. I made a quick call to Bernie, sternly advising him to check into a hotel and stay low until we found out who kept trying to kill him.

  He assured me that he was now packing heat and not to worry.

  I needed more antacids.

  Then I turned into the retirement village and looked around, trying to find the spirit of the season inside me. At least it was all around me. Christmas had definitely landed hard on the small one-story homes and duplexes, with an astounding number of lit Santas, presents, and deer all decorating front lawns and sparkling lights of all colors hanging from eves. Even during the morning hours.

  I wasn’t surprised to see a cadre of green elves lit with blue lights decorating Thelma and Georgian’s half of a duplex. When I knocked on their door, I was even less surprised to find them both ready to go, both wearing trench coats, black sunglasses, and Fedoras. Thelma’s was a bright pink and Georgiana’s a muted tan.

  Thelma looked me up and down, her eyes large behind her thick glasses. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

  I looked down at my wool jacket over my red sweater, black jeans, and gray snow boots. “Yeah. Why?”

  “It’s too conspicuous,” she whispered, her pink hat sliding to the side of her tightly curled white hair.

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “Why do you two need a driver?” Not that I minded, but I did want to know what I was dealing with for the morning.

  Georgiana nudged Thelma out the door with her extra bulk, her gray hair in a braid. “Thelma can’t drive on ice, and my back has been aching, so I’ve self-medicated with the good stuff from over the border. We figured I shouldn’t drive, but if you think it’s okay, then I can drive.”