A Christmas Seduction

by Daire St. Denis

  Lukas Hunter is wanted for his alleged involvement in the murders of three men in New Orleans on August 17, 2005. The men died of multiple gunshot wounds.

  Hunter is approximately six foot two with dark hair and blue eyes. He has ties to Louisiana, Texas, Mississippi and Florida, and it is suspected that he may have fled to Mexico. He is a known member of the Salvatori crime family and is considered extremely dangerous.

  Jo’s lungs stopped working. She opened her mouth, but air refused to enter. Her pulse crashed between her temples and the little bits of her heart beat erratically from somewhere deep in her gut.

  It couldn’t be true. Thad was not a killer. He was not dangerous. This was a joke. A cruel, stupid prank.

  She stared so long at the screen that her vision became blurry. Then she noticed the drip, drip, drip of tears on the keyboard.

  “No.” She stood up and paced back and forth across the small space. “No, it’s not true.”

  But then...

  Thad had no family, no attachments. He told plenty of stories but few about himself or his past. Did that make him a murderer? There was only one way to find out. She had to call the hotline number. Taking a deep breath, she reached for her cell phone in her pocket, having to input her passcode three times because her shaking hands kept missing. Not trusting her vision, she zoomed in on the computer screen to enlarge the print and typed in the 1-800 number. The phone rang five times before there was a click followed by silence. She tried the number again and the same thing happened.

  Shit.

  She set the phone down and reread the webpage again, determined to find something to indicate that she’d lost her mind and this was all some stupid mistake.

  Her phone rang, and she jumped, the bits of her heart flying up into her throat.

  “This is the FBI, did you make a call to our hotline?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “You have information about the whereabouts of Lukas Hunter?”

  Jo didn’t answer.

  “Hello?”

  Everything was happening too fast. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? Did you or did you not call this line?”

  “I did. But I don’t know if the person you’re looking for is the person I know.” Jolie rubbed her brow. This was a mistake.

  “That’s for us to decide. Does the individual you know go by Lukas Hunter?”

  “No. Thaddeus Knight.”

  “It’s not unusual to use an alias. Does he fit the description on the website?”

  “Sort of, but it was a long time ago and I can’t be sure.” Except that she was sure. She knew, beyond a doubt, she was looking at a younger version of Thad.

  “Do you have a picture?”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I do.”

  “Send it to us.” They gave her an address to email the picture.

  She scrolled through the photos on her phone until she came to the one of Thad. Her heart hammered in her throat as she gazed at it. A faraway voice called “Hello” from her phone and she typed in the email address, double-checking it before sending.

  “Did you get it?”

  There was a couple of seconds before she heard, “Yes. That looks like him. How close are you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you intimately involved?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “Lukas Hunter has a distinguishing mark on his shoulder.”

  Jo blinked. “What kind of mark?”

  “A gunshot wound.”

  The phone slipped from Jo’s slack fingers. There was no longer any doubt.

  “Merry Christmas, Jolie,” she whispered to herself. “You’ve been sleeping with a killer.”

  * * *

  THAD FINISHED THE SOUP and put away his now-cooled camping stove, packing it beside the rolled-up sleeping bag in the backpack. He’d needed to be ready to run at a moment’s notice, which was why he kept his bag with him at all times. It’d been stashed at the back of his closet for an occasion just like this. He hoisted it onto his back, then buckled his snowshoes and started walking again, making sure the spruce branch was secured and covering his tracks as he went.

  The day was overcast; it smelled like snow.

  Perfect.

  Thad stopped and stared up at the gray sky. He’d gotten too comfortable at the ranch, and comfort had turned to recklessness. Eleven years was a long time to stay vigilant, but look what happened when he didn’t. Jolie’s face flitted across his imagination. The only nonessential item he had brought with him was the journal Jolie had given him. He didn’t know why he’d packed that at the very last second. In his mind he could see her face, the light in her brown eyes, her beautiful mouth...her smile.

  “Was she worth it?” he asked the sky, which replied by dropping big flakes of snow on his upturned face.

  The truth of the matter was, he didn’t regret what happened between him and Jolie. What he regretted was continuing to stay on at the Silver Tree after Dillon and Gloria had turned it into a guest ranch. All those strangers coming week after week? It was an invitation for trouble. If Jolie hadn’t ratted him out, then someone else would have. What he didn’t get was how she had been able to stay with him after she knew. Was she playing him like Raina had?

  How could he tell? He’d been thinking with his dick ever since she arrived. Kind of like he’d done with Raina Salvatori. He wondered when Jo had figured everything out. Had she called the number right away? If she had, they would have come for him already. But if she knew...why hadn’t they come?

  Maybe he should have played it cooler, made up some story about needing to return to Louisiana, but he’d panicked when he’d seen that journal. He’d taken care of what he needed to and left in the middle of the night. There was no turning back now.

  Thad turned his gaze north. He’d cross the border in a week, maybe two. With Canadian ID, he’d find another ranching job. Though he’d have to work on his accent, because he was pretty sure Canadians didn’t drawl. Maybe he’d pretend he was Curtis, the strong, silent type. Keep his pants zipped and his mouth shut, because he’d learned the hard way that the only thing women and talking ever did was get him into trouble.

  * * *

  JOLIE DIDN’T SLEEP a wink. She lay in bed all night, tossing and turning, replaying every moment with Thad over and over in her head, trying to reconcile the man she knew with the man on the FBI’s Most Wanted website. But she couldn’t. No matter how much her brain tried to tell her it was true, her heart would not accept it.

  A man can’t shirk his duties...

  I’ll tell you a secret about Santa, but you’ve got to promise not to tell anyone else...

  Singing’s good for the soul, you know. Connects us to each other and to the angels...

  Not the kinds of things a hardened criminal would say or do.

  But maybe that’s how dangerous individuals—the Dahmers and Bundys of the world—got away with stuff, by being charismatic and adept at fooling people so that no one would guess they were cold-blooded killers.

  She turned on the light beside the bed and opened her journal, reading the entire thing through.

  When she got to her last entry, she read it twice because she’d written about Thad being a fugitive.

  Had some part of her psyche suspected the truth?

  By six in the morning, she gave up trying to sleep and padded her way into the kitchen to make coffee.
Gloria was already there, looking like she’d slept as much as Jo. When Gloria saw her standing in the entrance, she walked up and threw her arms around Jolie.

  “I still can’t believe it.” It was the same thing she’d said over and over yesterday when Jolie had told them.

  “I know.”

  Gloria pulled back. “How are you holding up?”

  “About the same as you, I imagine.”

  Gloria wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Dillon and I talked about it. We’re not going to tell anyone. Colton and Catherine left this morning, and everyone else is here through New Year’s. When the FBI arrive later, we’ll pretend they’re regular guests, here for the New Year’s Eve party.”

  Jo nodded.

  With a sympathetic tilt to her head, Gloria said, “We’d totally understand if this is too much for you and you want to leave and go back to Chicago.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  The other woman took her hand and squeezed. “Why not?”

  Jo laughed without humor. “This is my big story. The one I’ve wanted since becoming a journalist. There’s no way I can leave.”

  The rest of the morning was spent in a blur of pretending. How could the other guests not know what was going on when everyone was acting so weird? Particularly when Zak asked where Thad was because he had promised to take him on the dogsled.

  “He had an emergency with a relative back home. He had to leave,” Gloria explained.

  “Awww.” Zak pouted.

  Jolie had to look away because it was too painful. The memory of dogsledding; of Thad getting her to pet Sue. The memory of their first kiss, and the many kisses afterward—his mouth, his tongue, his strong, powerful muscles...

  His gunshot wound.

  “Our new guests have arrived,” Gloria said brightly. Too brightly. But no one seemed to notice as Kaylee was curled up on the couch reading while Evan fed the fire and Simon tried to coerce Zak into a game of checkers.

  “I was going to give them a tour,” Gloria said in an overly loud voice, her gaze flitting around the room erratically. “Jo, would you mind coming with me? Maybe you’d like to interview them for your article.”

  “Okay,” she answered in the same loud tone that Gloria had used.

  Kaylee glanced up from her book and gave her a look. What was that, suspicion?

  The other woman tilted her head to one side and semismiled.

  Oh.

  That wasn’t suspicion. Kaylee felt sorry for her because Thad had abandoned her.

  If she only knew.

  16

  In the event that you have to deal with the authorities while on vacation, be as helpful as possible.

  Jo Duval

  JO HURRIED BY ON her way to the foyer to put her coat and boots on. Once outside, she saw the black sedan—did all agents drive black sedans?—and the two individuals in long coats standing outside talking to Curtis and Dillon. Suddenly everything became real. Very real.

  “Come on.” Gloria linked her arm through Jo’s and together they walked across the parking area to meet the FBI agents.

  When they reached the side of the barn where the men were standing, Dillon turned to greet them. His face was serious and his voice deep. “Agents Ross and Edwards, this is my wife, Gloria and this is Jolie Duval, a guest staying at the ranch.”

  “Which one of you called?” Edwards, the bigger of the two agents, asked. He looked to be in his midthirties, tall and broad, his forehead wide, with bushy eyebrows shadowing an expressionless face.

  “I did,” Jolie said, stepping forward.

  The other man closed the distance. He was older, late forties. He looked like he’d been around the block a few times and had seen a lot of shit that made him hard and cynical. “Thank you for calling,” he said cordially, which surprised her because his stance was like that of a pit bull ready to fight.

  “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “How did you know to call?”

  She briefly explained how she’d gone into his bunkhouse after Thad had left, looking for some sign from him, when she’d found his computer and searched his browsing history.

  “What do you think made him run off?” Ross asked.

  Jolie shrugged. There was no way in hell she was showing the FBI her notebook. Uh-uh.

  Thank God Zak and Simon chose that moment to come outside and head their way, because it saved Jolie from having to lie.

  “What’s up with the dogs?” Zak asked Gloria.

  Jo had wondered the same thing as a cacophony of yips and howls echoed from behind the barn doors.

  “Oh, they went a little nuts when the agen—new guests arrived. So we shut them up in the barn. They aren’t happy.”

  “They miss Thad,” Jolie said quietly, to which Gloria responded with a look of regret.

  “Why don’t you take them out for a skate?” Gloria said to the boy, pointing to the pond.

  After Zak scampered off, Dillon said, “Let’s continue this discussion in Thad’s bunkhouse.”

  The group made their way over and went inside. The space felt too small for the six of them.

  “Well, I’ll say one thing for the man,” Ross said as he took in the room. “This was a clever cover.” He nudged Edwards. “I doubt his friends back in NOLA would believe this if they saw it.”

  “Why’s that?” Jolie asked.

  “Lukas was engaged to Raina Salvatori, the daughter of Gordo Salvatori, one of the wealthiest men in New Orleans.”

  “He had it all, until he fucked up,” Edwards said.

  “Yep. Three undercovers. What a fucking idiot.”

  “He killed police?” Gloria asked, wide-eyed.

  “Allegedly,” Edwards said with a wink.

  “So, it hasn’t been proven?” Jolie asked, a glimmer of hope taking root in her heart.

  “Proven? Hell. What’s there to prove? No one goes into hiding for eleven years if they didn’t do it.”

  * * *

  THAD SET HIS pack up against the entrance of the snow cave, blocking out the cold. He unrolled his sleeping mat and bag to rest. It was early afternoon, but the best thing to do was to stay under cover during the day and travel at night. This time of year was perfect because the days were so short and the nights so long.

  He tried to sleep—it shouldn’t have been a problem, because it was pitch-black inside of the cave and he hadn’t slept last night, putting as much distance between him and the ranch as possible—but he couldn’t. Switching on the flashlight, he found a candle and matches in the side pocket of his pack. Creating a little ledge, he swiveled the butt of the candle into the snow so it was standing upright and lit it. From another pocket, he pulled out the journal Jolie had given him and a pen that came with it.

  The pen had a saying: a story only comes alive when it is shared. How true that was. As melodramatic as it sounded, if he was to die out here, he wanted to leave behind the true account of what happened in New Orleans. At the moment, he, Lukas Hunter, was the only one in the world who knew the truth.

  The problem was where to start. He tapped the pen against the blank page, thinking.

  A face materialized in his mind’s eye. Dark, glossy hair, smooth skin, bow lips, long lashes. The face of an angel. The body of a siren. The conscience of a psychopath.

  I met Raina Salvatori at the Pontchartrain Country Club when I worked there in the summer of 2001. It was lust at first sight, pure and simple. Oh, I th
ought it was love—what seventeen-year-old kid doesn’t love with their dick when they’re that age? She was beautiful, rich, sexy. One look, one touch, one secret kiss and I was hers to do with as she would. Yep. Lust consumed me. Blinded me.

  She was my first and she told me I was hers, too. Now I know better. When I was twenty-one and asked her to marry me, she introduced me to her family, because she said she couldn’t marry me unless they approved. I was so fucking naive. I knew the Salvatoris. Who in NOLA didn’t know them? They owned half of the city—the rotten half. And then some. They’re as crooked as a broken backbone. Grandmere warned me to stay away, but sex is a powerful thing, particularly for a horny kid. So when her father took me aside and asked me to prove how much I loved his daughter, I didn’t even think twice. I shook that man’s hand and told him I’d do whatever it took.

  What a stupid fucking move that was.

  ALL HOPE THAT Thad might be innocent deserted Jolie. The agents were right. Innocent people did not flee. They did not change their names and go into hiding for over a decade. She pointed to the table. “I’d never seen this computer before yesterday. Cell phone either.”

  She hadn’t turned the computer off, so once they tapped the touch pad, the Wanted page popped up. They glanced at one another.

  “Thad had a cell phone?” Gloria asked. She turned to Dillon and Curtis. “You ever see him use it?”

  Curtis shook his head.

  “No.” Dillon reached for it but Edwards stopped him.

  “Don’t touch it.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s evidence. We’ll take it.” Removing gloves from the inside pocket of his jacket, Edwards picked it up and turned it in his hand as if needing to make sure it really was a phone and not an explosive device.

  “Who do we have who can crack a password?” he asked Ross.

  “Mikey?”

  “No time.”

  “Try one, two, three, four,” Jo offered.