A soft rapping at the door called me away from my contemplations of removing the bandage. Instead, I parted my hair on the side and swept my bangs over it.
Yanking the door open, I said, "I still have five minutes, Britton."
Rafe stood in the doorway. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him in a black suit and emerald green tie that set off his green eyes. They sparkled with his grin beneath the dark mop of hair that hadn't changed a bit since I'd doodled our names in hearts in my high school binder. "Nope. Not even close." He looked over his shoulder at the crowded living room down the hall, then back at me. "Mind if I come in for a minute."
Teen-me wanted to flop on the bed and pat the mattress next to her, but adult-me merely stepped out of the doorway and motioned for him to come in.
"Britton wanted me to check on you, but Alfie is the one who sent me."
I rolled my eyes. "Tell them both I'm fine." I pointed to the dressing area where my phone was charging. "You can call my mom, too, while you're at it. She's going to be demanding my resignation when she finds out all of this." My stomach clenched into knots at the thought.
"No, Alfie wanted me to tell you they found the guy who locked you out. You're safe."
I collapsed on the edge of the bed as his words sank in. "Who was it? Karate Guy or Jail Guy?"
His brow scrunched together as he sat next to me. "Excuse me?"
I waved my hand, flustered that he was sitting on my bed. Right next to me. "Never mind. Go on."
"Seems Sean Rogers was getting off of his shift as a waiter and saw that the door was open. He swears he didn't know anyone was out there. He had in ear-buds, listening to music, so he didn't hear anything that was going on. He thought he was doing the right thing. His girlfriend works here, too. She can corroborate his story. He hung his sweatshirt in his locker and met her for supper right after that. Alfie checked the tapes. You're safe." He brushed my hair out of the way, staring at the bandage, and running his thumb across my cheek. "I know it doesn't fix all of the hell you went through with Andrew, though. He won't bother you anymore, either."
My body was in turmoil. His touch was soothing, enticing, warming all over. I stared up into his eyes, mesmerized.
"I've got something for you," he whispered.
I bet you do. My eyes flew open wide, so glad to realize I'd only thought the words.
He pulled a small, brightly colored box from his jacket.
"Oh, me first." I reached into my nightstand for Rafe's gift. I handed him a voucher for basically anything in our pro-shop he could want. I mean, what else do you get a man who has everything? If he held onto it long enough, they'd eventually invent something he didn't already own. Teen-me was more than willing to offer up her uterus for his first-born. Adult-me was more than happy with a cat for the time being. It was a good thing that my adult side managed to take control. Most of the time.
"Wow," he gushed. His smile consumed his face, dimples puckering to maximum depth. "Thank you. I was just admiring a new board down there."
He slipped the small box into my hand. It was wrapped in bright green paper and kind of matched his eyes. Teen-me's heart pitter-patted, momentarily reconsidering the baby thing.
"Don't get too excited. It's not nearly as generous as your gift." Rafe patted his jacket pocket where he'd slid the voucher.
I carefully peeled away the tape, just as I'd done since I was little. Saving the paper like a packrat had always been my thing. I still had the yellow paper in my nightstand from the gift my father had wrapped before he died. I felt the tears welling in my eyes and quickly swallowed hard to keep them at bay. A little blue, crushed velvet box lay in my palm when I was done dissecting the packaging. The hinge creaked softly as I flipped it open, revealing a white gold chain with a matching snowboarder charm.
"That way I'm always kind of with you," he cooed. "You know, for good luck."
"Where the hell were you an hour ago?"
We both laughed as he took the necklace from the box and draped it around my neck. His hands lingered for a moment on my shoulders after he secured the clasp. Heat danced down my spine, pooling in my belly. I held the charm in my hand, staring down at the little snowboarder. "You'll forever be tucked in my cleavage." Whoops. That one was out loud.
His eyes widened, but the smile returned quickly. "I'm okay with that." He flipped my hair free, letting it fall back over the bandage. "I suppose we should make an appearance at the party. I'd hate to tarnish your reputation by lingering too long in your bedroom." Winking, he stood and extended a hand.
Releasing a sigh of relief or resignation—I wasn't quite sure which—I took his hand and we made our way into the hall.
But that's as far as we got.
Britton and Tate both squealed, "You're standing under the mistletoe!"
I looked up at the sprig hastily taped to the light fixture. Gee, obvious much? I knew for a fact that the mistletoe in question was over the patio doors last time I checked.
I waved them off and started for the living room, but Rafe stood fast, holding my hand, tugging me backward into his arms.
Britton's eyes went wide, along with her mouth. She grabbed Tate by the shoulders, shoving him out of the hall. He fought, leaning back into view for a second, but he was quickly yanked away.
I stared up into the face of the man I'd vowed to marry at the age of ten. Life doesn't always work out the way ten-year-old girls want it to. Honestly, I'd moved on. But, right at that moment, I was living a piece of her dream. Adult-me was pretty psyched about it, too.
His hands cradled my face, his thumb softly tracing my lower lip. I melted against him, the feel of his solid chest beneath my fingers as I slid them across his shirt. My surroundings blurred and the music was drowned out by my quickened heartbeat. His features softened, his eyes heavy lidded, a very subtle smile ticking up one corner of his mouth. His mouth, those lips, neared mine. One of his hands left my chin, trailed languidly down my neck and arm, before slipping around my waist. His fingers warmed way more than the places they touched. My eyes fluttered closed as his lips made contact with mine, a sweet chaste kiss.
At first.
The hand at my waist tugged me closer, the kiss deepening, tasting of the chocolate covered strawberries and champagne Britton had set out near the front door. The floor beneath my feet seemed to rock, the room around me spinning.
Tate's voice pulled us from our little bubble. "Whoa."
The world around me slammed back into focus. Britton hooked her arm through Tate's and tugged him back into the living room yet again, after pausing for a few seconds herself.
Rafe cradled my face again, a toothy grin on his own. "Sorry about that. I guess I got a little too much into the Christmas spirit."
"Ho, ho, ho," I muttered, matching his smile.
He leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on the bandage at my temple. "Merry Christmas, Tess."
I released a huge sigh of contentment. "Merry Christmas, Rafe."
Maybe the season wasn't going to be so bad this year, after all.
* * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Sue was born and raised in the small town of Grinnell, Iowa. At the age of 21, she moved her family—parents and all—to the beautiful Ozarks region of Missouri where they have lived since. She is blessed with an adoring husband, two wonderful kids, the best sister in the world, and amazing parents. Writing has always been a passion in her life, to which family and friends can attest. From her first attempt at a spin-off of Dick and Jane, to her latest novel, her heart and soul has been poured into each word. Her most sincere wish is that you will find as much enjoyment in reading her stories as she did in their creation.
To learn more about T. Sue VerSteeg, visit her online at: http://tsueversteeg.com
BOOKS BY T. SUE VERSTEEG
Tahoe Tessie Mysteries:
Luck Be A Lady
Hey Big Spender
Baby It's Cold Outside (holiday short story)
Danger Cove B&B Mysteries:
Killer Closet Case
Other works:
My Ex-Boyfriend's Wedding
Twisted Fate
Secrets of the Sapphires
Another Time, Another Place
* * * * *
Gemma Halliday is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the High Heels Mysteries, the Hollywood Headlines Mysteries, the Jamie Bond Mysteries, the Tahoe Tessie Mysteries, as well as several other works. Gemma's books have received numerous awards, including a Golden Heart, two National Reader's Choice awards, and three RITA nominations. She currently lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her boyfriend, Jackson Stein, who writes vampire thrillers, and their three children, who are adorably distracting on a daily basis.
To learn more about Gemma, visit her online at http://www.gemmahalliday.com
BOOKS BY GEMMA HALLIDAY
High Heels Mysteries:
Spying in High Heels
Killer in High Heels
Undercover in High Heels
Christmas in High Heels (short story)
Alibi in High Heels
Mayhem in High Heels
Honeymoon in High Heels (novella)
Sweetheart in High Heels (short story)
Fearless in High Heels
Danger in High Heels
Homicide in High Heels
Deadly in High Heels
Hollywood Headlines Mysteries:
Hollywood Scandals
Hollywood Secrets
Hollywood Confessions
Twelve’s Drummer Dying
Jamie Bond Mysteries:
Unbreakable Bond
Secret Bond
Bond Bombshell (short story)
Lethal Bond
Dangerous Bond
Tahoe Tessie Mysteries:
Luck Be A Lady
Hey Big Spender
Baby It's Cold Outside (holiday short story)
Young Adult Books:
Deadly Cool
Social Suicide
Other Works:
Play Nice
Viva Las Vegas
A High Heels Haunting (novella)
Watching You (short story)
Confessions of a Bombshell Bandit (short story)
HAVE YOURSELF A DEADLY LITTLE CHRISTMAS
a Greatest Hits Mysteries short story
by
LESLIE LANGTRY
* * * * *
"Tell us that story, Aunt Missi!" Theo Bombay wailed at me. His father, Coney Island Bombay, lunged for his son, but even with his amazing reflexes, the six-year-old danced out of the way and took up a whining position on the other side of my chair. Too bad we weren't assassins anymore. The kid had some talent at evasion.
I tried to ignore the request. It was Christmas at Santa Muerta, and this year I'd invited all of my cousins and their families to join us. The island belonged to the whole Bombay family, but my husband, Lex, and my sons, Monty and Jack, and I were the only ones who lived here year round.
Theo was the youngest and the first Bombay in four millennia to have a name that wasn't the pronoun for a location. For four thousand years the Bombays were the first name in assassination worldwide. That creates some quirky traditions, and one of ours was to saddle every child with a place name. Which was great if you were Virginia Bombay, but not so great when you're named Liverpool. Which is why Liverpool became Liv, Mississippi became Missi, and Coney Island very fortunately became Cy. Why Virginia, with her name being a real one, changed to Gin is anybody's guess. But if you ask Uncle York, he'd say she's a drinker.
"Knock it off, Theo." Coney chuckled. "You've made her tell it twice already this weekend."
"Don't care, Dad." Theo crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, looking very much like his father. "I wanna hear it again."
Gin Bombay downed a cup of eggnog and chided, "Oh, do it, Missi. I love that story."
"Because you're in it!" Her brother Dakota (who went by Dak) scowled. "I'm not in that story." His wife, Leonie, shook her head. She was tired of hearing about it.
"I don't know…" I said. "It was a long time ago. I might not remember everything."
Paris Bombay (who never felt the need to shorten his name) laughed. "You remember every single word. Go ahead. Tell it." He shot a look at Dak. "After all, I am in it."
"Maybe we should wait for everyone else," I said.
Veronica, Theo's mom, spoke up as she grabbed another ninjabread cookie, "The teenagers are all at the pool—they'll never come back. Besides, I haven't heard it yet."
I looked around the room and sighed. "Fine." I sat down, and Liv Bombay handed me a large glass of wine. Which, at that moment, made her my favorite cousin.
"Several years ago, back when the Bombays still killed bad people," I began, "five little Bombays were each given one assignment and an ultimatum to get the jobs done by the day after Christmas…
"Paris, Cy, Liv, Gin, and I had each received from the Council that special manila envelope with the Bombay Family crest in red wax sealing it shut. We each found out about the others when we got together at a sports bar in Gin, Liv, and Paris' hometown to basically complain about spending the holidays taking out Vics."
Dak interrupted with a pout. "I still don't get why I wasn't involved. It would make more sense for Gin, Liv, Paris, and I to get these assignments. We all lived in the same place!"
The rest of the Bombays ignored him. We'd all heard this complaint every time I told the story.
"As I was saying," I said, shooting Dak a look. "We were eating burgers and drinking beer and complaining that we didn't want to do it, when Cy came up with a great idea. What if we did all the hits at once? At the same place? It was a stroke of genius."
Theo puffed up proudly. He loved this part because he agreed—his dad was a genius. Cy suppressed a smile.
"Anyway, Liv came up with the idea that we do it on Santa Muerta. Her favorite book was Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None. So she suggested we invite each of our victims to the island for a Christmas party and take them out, one by one."
"That was an inspired idea." Gin laughed. "I still can't believe it worked."
I waved the comment away. "Of course it worked. We're Bombays. Anyway, we decided the only way we could get our five Vics to come to Santa Muerta at Christmastime was to tell them they'd received a significant inheritance from a distant cousin. But they all had to come out on Christmas Eve in order to claim it, or they'd lose it forever. So we made up letters for each of our targets:
Dear Sir,
I regret to inform you that your sixth cousin twice-removed, Mr. Upton N. Owen, has died. Due to the fact that Mr. Owen had no direct descendants, he has left you a very large legacy. In order to claim the money, you will need to come to his home at Christmas Eve for the distribution of the inheritance. You need be at your local airport at the specified time on the enclosed ticket, on December 23. Per Mr. Owens's request, if you do not attend, you receive nothing.
Sincerely,
Phillip Lombard
Attorney for the Deceased
I'd just finished reciting the letter when a short, fat bird waddled into the room and hopped up and down next to my chair. Leaning forward, I lifted the animal onto my lap. It walked in circles before dropping on my legs with something that sounded like wooompf. She was a dense, heavy bird with a heart of gold and the brain of an imaginary tulip.
"I still can't believe you cloned Cairo Bombay's dodo egg," Paris mused. "I still think you should let the world know. That's a pretty big deal."
I shook my head. "No, I don't want her dissected or worse. Right, Eulalie?"
The dodo looked up at me and, without getting up, tried rather unsuccessfully to scratch her face with her foot before falling over onto her side. She scowled at her foot, then believing it to be suitably chastised, closed her eyes and fell asleep in that awkward position. Eulalie could fall asleep so easily, anywhere any time. Clearly that contributed to the bird's e
xtinction. But I wasn't going to tell her that. I was pretty sure she believed there were entire herds of free-range dodos all over the world just waiting to worship and adore her. Telling her that there weren't would only depress her.
"Well, she's better looking than those cassowaries," Dak mumbled. "At least I was there for that Christmas hit."
"Stop interrupting, Uncle Dak!" Theo turned to me and begged. "You have to get back to the story!" He really was a cute kid. Theo reminded me of my twin sons, when they were still cute and not in college (where they thought they knew everything and were decidedly not cute).
SQUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK! Eulalie lifted her head, let out a loud protest for no apparent reason, glared at the suspicious foot, then fell back asleep.
"Alright," I said. "I guess I'm not getting out of this one."
I shifted Eulalie to distribute her weight more easily and continued the story.
"So, we sent out the letters to our five targets. Annie Webb, Nora Bineppe, Juan Perez, William Bukowski, and Anderson Smith. To our surprise, each and every one of them showed up at their closest airport at the designated time. It wasn't easy getting the Bombay jet to all those places to make sure everyone was here on time. But it worked out. I have a chart for stuff like that. It's based on an Excel spreadsheet and a flight simulator and…"
I'd started to wander. Theodore fixed his eyes on me, and I realized I should just stick to the story. Six year olds have no patience whatsoever.
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