THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL
TINA RADCLIFFE
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About the Author
The Rosetti Curse
Chapter 1
Copyright © 2016 by Tina Radcliffe
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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1
Why? That was Judd Mason’s first question. Why had he been sent on this ridiculous assignment?
With a flick of his wrist, he checked his watch. Yep, three o’clock. Once again he’d spent the better part of the day watching her activities. Day five of “The McBride Caper” was no different than day one.
Every day Samantha walked the entire jogging path and then returned to her apartment. Forty-five minutes later, she’d reappear and head straight south six blocks to The Irish Pub. Her family owned it, and she worked there nearly every afternoon. Her work day ended eight hours later.
Slinking down against the vinyl of the Prius rental, he glanced at the open file on the seat next to him. Her face laughed up at him from a photo. He didn’t care what the evidence said. Samantha MacBride was no criminal. He’d bet his upcoming vacation and the five pound bag of imported Sumatra coffee beans in his duffle bag on that.
His eyes were pulled to another photograph. Samantha posed with her family; an assortment of freckle-faced redheads. Arms loped around each other, they stood grinning at a shared secret.
A thread of curiosity—or was it envy—weaved itself around him.
He shifted uncomfortably. At six feet, his legs were too long to be folded in a vehicle for eight hours. And though the weather was unseasonably warm for Colorado in December, the day was winding down, and a chill had permeated through his army surplus fatigue jacket.
How had he let Charlie talk him into playing private eye?
When he called to check in tonight, Judd would again list his numerous objections, just on principle. But both he and Charlie knew it wouldn’t do any good to complain. Once Charlie got a bone between his teeth, there was no changing his mind. He may as well hunker down and deal with the fact that he was stuck in Mooresville, Colorado for the duration.
Judd rubbed his temples. A headache had begun right behind his eyes. Caffeine withdrawal. He checked his thermos. Empty. His gaze moved to the Styrofoam cup of cold coffee that sat on the dash, and he grabbed the cup and downed the liquid with a shudder.
Better.
It might hold him for a little while longer.
Once again, he filtered through the papers in the folder at his side. He’d memorized the information days ago and felt as if he knew her well. Too well. Was the woman as guileless and engaging as she appeared? His thumb moved across the smooth surface of a snapshot and lightly traced her face. If he hadn’t known she was thirty-one, he’d have guessed her to be more than a dozen years younger. Deep in his gut, he knew there was no way this innocent beauty could be guilty of espionage. Of course, his gut had been wrong before.
A hard rap on his car window brought Judd to full alert. His head jerked up, and his jaw slackened as he found himself face-to-face with angry, flashing, hazel eyes.
Samantha McBride.
Judd was stunned.
And wrong. Totally and completely wrong. The woman wasn’t beautiful. She was spectacular.
Wisps of ripe, amber hair had come loose from her ponytail. Void of makeup, her flushed face was flawless except for the smattering of freckles high on her cheekbones and across her nose.
He fumbled around and hastily shoved the documents out of sight, then rolled his window down the rest of the way.
“What are you, some kind of a pervert?” she fumed.Judd stared, unable to respond.
What did he expect her to say? After five days of watching her every move, memorizing every nuance of her face, he hoped for something more along the lines of his daydreams. “Pervert” wasn’t quite what he’d envisioned would flow from those full lips.
“Excuse me?” he said as he adjusted his wire-rimmed frames. Compelled by her eyes, intrigued that the spark he’d seen in the photo was now a fully stoked blaze, he continued to gape.
“You’ve been hanging around here for days. I want to know why. Do I need to call the cops?” she demanded.
Judd checked the rear view mirror for flashing lights.
None. He swallowed. Okay, so he’d underestimated her. Changing rental vehicles obviously hadn’t worked. Granted, he’d never actually been on surveillance before. His sleuthing skills consisted of whatever he’d picked up watching Veronica Mars reruns.He glanced back at Samantha. Bundled into a short, cranberry wool jacket and black jeans, with a blinking snowman pin on her lapel, her gaze hadn’t wavered. She probably would call the cops, or worse, her brothers. Samantha McBride had five brothers. When they were done with him, they’d call Uncle Paddy, the priest, to read him his last rights—just to keep it in the family, of course.
If he didn’t think fast, the entire operation would be blown, and he could kiss his vacation in France good-bye.
He stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Judd Mason. Your new neighbor.”
“What?” Eyes rounded, she stared at his hand.
“I said—”
“I heard you. You’re renting in my building?” Bronze freckles stood out sharply against her pale skin.
“That one yours?” he feigned ignorance, pointing to the two story brick complex across the street.
“Yes.”
“Then I guess I am.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you sitting out here?”
“Surveying the neighborhood before I sign on the dotted line.”
Which wasn’t exactly a lie. He did tell Mrs. Cush, the landlady, he’d think about her rent offer.
Surprise tempered the fire in her eyes. Her voice seemed somewhat deflated as she said, “The neighborhood watch was sure you were…” Samantha assessed him again.
“Were what?”
“Well, they reported you were, um, casing the joint,” she finished, and her fingers fidgeted with a loose tendril of hair.
Judd laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
She didn’t respond, and Judd had the distinct impression she wasn’t totally convinced her informants were wrong.
“And you are?”
“Samantha.”
“Samantha,” he repeated. Judd found himself again fascinated with the changing play of expressions crossing her face.
“Why would you want to do that?” She blurted the words.
“Do what?”
“Rent here. Everyone in this neighborhood is retired.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Besides me,” she said.
“I sure hope you’re not the hospitality committee.”
“I...” she sputtered, a rush of pink coloring her cheeks.
“I like the place. Is that a crime?” Judd asked.
“No. It just doesn’t make any sense.” Amber brows knit together. “Did Cush lower her price?”
“She cut me a deal.”
“A deal? From Cush?” Samantha shot him a skeptical look.
Judd nodded. “Holiday special, she said.”
“How much?”<
br />
He quoted the price, which seemed reasonable enough to him.
Samantha began to laugh. “That wasn’t a deal. Cush jacked the price up fifty dollars!”
Of course she did.
“It is a great place though,” Samantha said, her tone wistful. “All that space. And those windows.”
Windows? He didn’t remember any windows. He couldn’t even remember the color of the walls. Though at the time, he’d been doing his best to survey the building, evaluate the fire escape, and determine accessibility to Samantha McBride’s apartment. All the while the landlady, Maudeen Cush, in hair rollers and a loud floral housecoat, rambled on and on about every tenant in the building.
He did notice there was no elevator and that the staircase to the third floor began outside Samantha’s apartment. Those things would certainly make it easy to keep track of her comings and goings. All he had to do was crack open his door.
“You know, this neighborhood is very quiet. In fact, it’s boring. No parties. No loud music.” The corners of her mouth twitched in a reluctant smile. “Although it does get pretty wild at Cush’s place on mahjong night.”
Judd inspected himself in mock scrutiny. “Do I look like some kind of a wild party animal to you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then what is it about me that you don’t like?” he persisted.
Her head jerked back and her eyes rounded. “I don’t dislike you,” she said. “I don’t even know you. I’m simply giving you the facts. You know, there are those new singles condos over on Elm Street. I’ve heard from a very reliable source that they have hot tubs.”
“I don’t want hot tubs. I want boring. All I need is a quiet place for me and my computers.” He threw out the information and waited for a reaction.
Nothing.
He searched her face.
Not a flicker of emotion at the word “computers”.
“Well, you’re definitely in the right place then,” she said.
Judd sat mesmerized as she leaned forward, her head only a few inches from his. Pushing her bangs off her face, she tried to read the upside-down dial of his watch. He was close enough to see the thin, silver chain around her neck that disappeared out of sight beneath the fabric of her red shirt.
He swallowed hard.
Samantha pushed away from the vehicle. “Now I’m late.”
Judd grinned. After five days of monitoring Samantha McBride, it gave him an inordinate amount of pleasure to know he’d upset her perfect schedule.
“You’ll clear me with the neighborhood watch?” he called after her.
Almost across the street, she turned and stopped. “Yes, of course. But you might consider looking less suspicious.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that.”
For several moments after she’d disappeared, he stared at the building. The movement of blinds on the first floor caught his attention. The watch was still watching.
His new home. His new neighbors.
Judd shook his head. He whistled softly between his teeth. Time to get this case figured out. Before they figured him out.
Too bad he didn’t have a clue what he was doing.
Things moved much slower at 1123 Cherry Street than they did in the rest of the world. All Judd really had wanted was to sign the lease and get his few possessions into the apartment before Samantha came home.
Cush was nowhere to be found.
At the suggestion of Mr. Chung, the retired Spanish teacher in the apartment across from Samantha, he finally tracked the landlady down. Friday night, and she was at church playing marathon bingo. It took more than a little persuasion to convince her to leave her cards and ink.
Paying two months’ rent up front did the trick. Maudeen Cush’s owlish-eyes lit up behind her bifocals.
Wait till Charlie got that bill. Two months? Forget that Judd promised to have this case completed by Christmas, a mere four weeks away.
His boxes would arrive from storage in the next few days. Considering his last home had been a post office box and a room at the YMCA, apartment number five was more than a step up.
Walking through the empty rooms, he wondered what he was going to do with all the space.
The sum total of his life would fit in the bathroom of this place: an espresso machine, Bose speakers, and his computer equipment. Essentials he couldn’t live without. There were less than a dozen boxes that had been following him around the world too. The contents of the boxes were a mystery; it had been that long since he’d opened them.
He checked his cell. A little before midnight. Digging through his duffel bag, he pulled out a towel and clean jeans.
A shower sounded really good. He’d barely unbuttoned his shirt when he heard the crash.
Judd yanked open his door.
The strong scent of garlic and spices assaulted him as he flew down the stairs and pulled himself to a jerking stop in the hall, directly in front of her open doorway.
Samantha lay sprawled on her back, denim clad legs half in and half out of her apartment. Propped on one elbow, she shook her head and stared ahead in stunned confusion.
Judd moved swiftly to the landing, offering her his hand. She grabbed it, and he pulled her up in one heaving motion.
Samantha flew, her face connecting solidly with his chest.
He let out a whoosh of air and glanced down at her flushed face. All he could manage was, “You’re home early,” as he set her back a safe distance from him.
Dazed, she blew hair out of her face and straightened her sweater. “They’re waxing the floors tonight, so Michael scooted us all out early.” She’d no sooner finished explaining than her head popped up and she pinned him with her gaze.
“How do you know I’m home early?”
“Mrs. Cush.” He looked up and down the hall. “So, where’s the bus that hit you?”
She laughed.
He’d made her laugh. It stroked his ego more than he cared to admit.“I slipped. The stupid door sticks,” she said.
“Why don’t you tell Cush?”
“I do. I tell her all the time. But she forgets.” Samantha chewed her lip and stared down at the floor.
Judd examined the floorboards along with her. “Lose something?”
“Uh, no.” She glanced to the left, the right, everywhere but at him. “Your jeans are open.”
His turn for embarrassment. Smooth move. He quickly zipped them up and fastened the button. “Sorry about that. I ran out of my place when I heard the crash.”
Samantha started at the sound of the front door slamming shut, rattling the thin walls. Mrs. Cush sailed past them in a red and green Christmas moo-moo, which clashed with her violet curls. She stopped suddenly, turned around, and began a pointed assessment of Judd’s open shirt and Samantha’s disheveled appearance.
With a wink at Judd, she said, “I see you two have met.” An indulgent grin spread across her round face, emphasizing the double chin.
“Her door needs to be fixed,” Judd answered as he began to button his shirt.
“I’ll get right on that. Goodnight, you two,” Maudeen chirped, winking again at Judd and sashaying down the hall humming a holiday tune.
Dismayed, Judd watched her go and then turned back to Samantha.
A fresh wave of tantalizing cooking aromas filled the air, distracting him. Judd sniffed in appreciation. His neglected stomach growled. “Where’s that smell coming from?”
“Mr. Chung. Apartment Two. Gourmet cook.”
“It’s midnight.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Insomnia.”
“Let me get this straight; Mr. Chung, teaches Spanish and is a gourmet cook, with insomnia.”
“Retired teacher,” Samantha corrected.
“What about the lady on the first floor? Doesn’t it bother her that that Mrs. Cush is slamming the front door while Mr. Chung is banging pots and pans?”
“Mrs. Peabody. Stone deaf. In her last apartment, she gave herself a perm while the
burglars ransacked her place. She didn’t realize she’d been robbed until she went to turn on Wheel of Fortune and discovered the TV missing.” Samantha shook her head. “It’s much safer here.”
Safer? He glanced around. This place needed barred windows and a large nurse to dispense medication liberally.
“You have some very interesting neighbors,” Judd finally said. He took off his glasses and polished the lens with his shirttail.
“They’re your neighbors now.”
“Right.”
“Don’t worry,” Samantha said, looking up at him through her lashes. “They grow on you.”
He sincerely hoped not.
“Well, good-night,” she said. The words were tentative, as though she didn’t know the protocol for such situations.
Neither did he.
“And thanks,”
“Sure.” Judd headed up the stairs.
“It’s not going to be easy to get furniture up that landing,” she called out when he neared the top.
Judd turned. “Furniture?”
“My brothers could help you. Let me know when your stuff arrives.”
“I don’t have much,” he admitted. “Just some boxes.”
Confusion flickered across her face.
“I’ve been out of the country for a while,” he explained.
“But what will you sleep on?”
“I’ve got a sleeping bag for now.”
“Wait,” Samantha said, holding up an index finger. She turned around and headed into the apartment. “I have a cot. My nephew sleeps over a lot. It has a pillow and clean sheets inside.”
“No. I don’t need...”
She’d already disappeared into the apartment.
Judd finished talking to an empty hallway. “Anything. I don’t want to need anything.” He moved back down the stairs and edged toward her door. Okay, he reasoned, he had tried to figure out how to get into her place for days. This was much simpler than breaking and entering.
Judd entered.
Her place was small and could have been described as cozy. If you were a packrat. An extremely dedicated packrat.
The Christmas Angel (The McBride Series Book 1) Page 1