“You can’t seriously think I’m still—” Noel stopped. It was true the statute of limitations had finally run out on the last of his jobs, but there could be some trap here—some technicality he could be pinned with. He’d be the first to admit he was no legal expert, and he wouldn’t put it past the FBI to try and nail him on some obscure loophole. Cuffe certainly might believe he had a score to settle.
Perhaps Cuffe read his indecision. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Whichever you prefer.”
Increasingly bewildered and uneasy, Noel said, “Do what? What’s the easy way?”
Cuffe smiled. It was more a baring of strong, white teeth. “You answer my questions now, cooperate fully. Or you can call your mouthpiece and I’ll drag your ass down to Federal Plaza and you can spend Christmas Eve in the slammer.” He added, “It’ll give you a taste of what the next couple of decades and all your future Christmases are going to be like.”
Noel was silent, trying to make sense of this. Cuffe continued to eye him with that implacable expression as though he held all the cards and they both knew it. As though he finally had Noel where he wanted him.
Finally, Noel shrugged. “I’ll answer your questions. I don’t have anything to hide.”
“No?”
“No. Listen, R-Agent Cuffe, I really am out of that life now. I’m exactly what you see.”
Cuffe looked him up and down with cool deliberation—openly unimpressed. “And that would be what?”
Noel reddened. Definitely not like those pleasant daydreams he’d had through the years. “I raise horses and I write books.”
“And I suppose you paid for all this from your royalty checks? You must own nearly two hundred acres.”
“About.” Noel added irritably, “You know damn well I didn’t purchase this property with earnings from my books.” Caution reasserted itself. “I’ve been lucky in my investments, that’s all.”
Cuffe snorted. Spluttered, in fact.
Noel drew himself to his full height—still a disconcertingly couple of inches shorter than Cuffe who was, by anyone’s calculations, a big guy.
Cuffe remained unimpressed. “Before you start spreading the bullshit too thick, don’t forget who you’re talking to. In real life, the other characters get to have their own ideas—and their own say.”
“Apparently you have your mind all made up.”
“Yep.”
This really was odd. Cuffe couldn’t be as sure of Noel’s involvement as he pretended or he’d have Noel in handcuffs already. No way would he waste time being polite with someone he felt he had a legitimate grudge against.
Not that you could call his manner “polite” exactly.
Or maybe that was the problem? Cuffe had to tread carefully because it was known he had a grudge against Noel Snow.
Maybe Noel’s semi-celebrity status was serving to shield him. A little.
The scent of baking bread reminded him he had left biscuits in the oven. “If you’re going to grill me, we might as well be comfortable. Coffee?”
After a hesitation, Cuffe shrugged. “I wouldn’t say no.”
Noel led the way down the hall to the kitchen. He threw over his shoulder, as he took the biscuits out of the oven, “I was in the middle of fixing breakfast.”
Cuffe entered the kitchen, looking about himself curiously. Noel had put a fair bit of money into renovating the old farmhouse kitchen. There was a wide Viking stove set against a slate-tile backsplash, custom cabinets with antique glass panes, and a granite-topped built-to-order island. Functional and comfortable.
“Yep, you’ve done well for yourself.”
Noel nearly told him then about the fall. It was the best alibi he had, after all, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to confess that…vulnerability. Not when Cuffe was clearly watching for his weak spot.
Then again, maybe Cuffe already knew. Hard to believe he didn’t. Maybe he knew and he didn’t care because he hated Noel so much he’d be happy to see him in prison regardless of his guilt. It wasn’t impossible—although he’d always figured Cuffe for a man of integrity.
But maybe he wanted to think that. Maybe that was part of his fantasy. Pouring hot coffee into a Yellowware mug for Cuffe, he topped up his own mug and leaned back against the island. “So tell me about these diamond heists I’m supposed to have committed.” Noel took a sip of coffee.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. A series of uptown cocktail hour cat burglaries. A houseful of wealthy, pretty people, too many drinks, no one paying attention, and in you come and it’s business as usual. It’s your MO, right down to hitting the places as the hors d’oeuvres are served.”
“It’s a copycat.”
“I figured you’d say that.” Cuffe picked up his mug and swallowed a mouthful of coffee.
“If it is a copycat, I’d bet money you’re still the one pulling the strings.”
Cuffe’s calm certainty shook Noel. “No way. I’m telling you, I’m strictly legitimate. I don’t need to steal.”
“You didn’t need to steal then. You did it for the kicks.”
Meeting Cuffe’s obsidian gaze, Noel found he had no reply. There was a lot of truth to Cuffe’s words. Noel had liked the money, no question, but he’d loved the excitement, the rush. And once Robert Cuffe had entered the game? Oh yeah, Noel had lived for their skirmishes.
Turning to the stove, he gave the now cold milk gravy a stir and turned the skillet back on. He sprinkled it with olive oil. All the while he went through the motions of preparing the food, he was trying to think. His brain felt sluggish, still working through the shock of finding Robert Cuffe on his front step.
“Have you had breakfast?”
Silence.
Noel glanced around. Cuffe was holding a snapshot from the box Noel had been sorting the day before. It was a picture of Noel, age six, on a pony. It was the first and only time he’d ridden a horse as a kid. “You can set that box anywhere.”
Cuffe returned the photo to the stack.
“Would you like something?” Noel asked. “Scrambled eggs? Biscuits and gravy?”
“No.” Cuffe added brusquely, “Thanks.”
Noel scrambled the eggs, served himself and sat down at the table. He’d lost his appetite, but he wasn’t about to let Cuffe see that.
Cuffe had moved to the window. Watching for reinforcements? He eyed Noel’s plate disapprovingly. “That stuff will kill you.”
Noel lifted a negligent shoulder. “Nobody lives forever.”
“You’re a little old for that attitude.”
“Thirty-eight.”
“That’s what I mean.”
Nettled, Noel asked, “How old are you?”
“Thirty-seven.”
Funny. He’d always wondered. He’d figured Cuffe was older than him.
He dunked his biscuit in gravy and said, “I don’t need those kinds of kicks now. As you so tactfully point out, I’m not a kid anymore. I know I’m not invincible. I don’t want to wind up crippled, dead or in prison.”
“Very touching. But you do the crime, you do the time.”
“I didn’t do the crime.”
Cuffe raised his brows skeptically. “This time?”
Again, the suspicion that Cuffe was going to try to catch him on some technicality rose in Noel’s mind.
He pushed his plate aside. “What dates are you looking at? Maybe we can settle this right now. I might have an alibi for one or two of the burglaries.”
“If you’re the mastermind, I’m sure you’ve taken care of that.”
“Robbie—”
Cuffe’s eyes flickered. “Special Agent Cuffe to you.”
“Okay, Special Agent Cuffe—”
The doorbell rang.
Noel’s hand jerked, spilling his coffee. “Hell.” He picked up a napkin, mopping the puddle.
Cuffe’s dark brows rose. “You seem tense, Snow. Expecting one of your confederates to drop by?”
; Noel threw him an exasperated look, shoved his chair back and went to answer the bell.
Cuffe rose and unhurriedly followed, coffee mug in hand. Did he think Noel was going to attempt to flee?
Noel managed to open the door before whoever was leaning on the bell could wear it out.
Artie Schlang, a burly man in a red and black checked jacket and hunting cap stood on the step. “Got your tree,” he said around his corn cob pipe.
His tree? Occasionally one of the horses got through the fence, but so far none of the trees had tried to make a break for it.
Looking past Artie’s burly plaid shirted shoulders, Noel spotted Artie Junior standing next to the battered white pickup. There were chains on the truck tires, and the long spear of silvery spruce jutted from the truck bed.
His Christmas tree.
“Oh, right. I nearly forgot.”
“Nearly forgot Christmas? Well, it’s a good thing Christmas didn’t forget you.” Artie chuckled at his own oblique wit. “Where do you want it?”
“The stand’s set up in the front parlor.” Conscious of Cuffe’s steady, silent observation, Noel propped the front door and scooted the runner out of the way as Artie left the porch. He returned a few minutes later, lugging the nine foot tree with the help of his gangling teenaged henchman.
The scent of snow and pine drifted through the open door as the Schlangs maneuvered the tree through the front door, tracking slush down the hallway and narrowly avoiding taking out a couple of brown and white Wedgwood plates on the wall and an 18th Century wooden chair with cabriole legs. They finally cornered the double doors leading into the large front parlor.
“I can take it from here.” Noel’s hand shot out as Little Artie, bundled like an armadillo, brushed against a vintage Royal Dux art deco Harlequin figurine lamp and sent it rocking.
But Artie and Little Artie would have none of that. They spent the next ten minutes struggling to get the tall and bushy giant blue spruce straight in the old tree stand.
Noel joined Cuffe who had been watching the proceedings without comment.
“You take your Christmas seriously,” Cuffe remarked.
“I do. Very.” He felt Cuffe’s curious gaze, but this was liable to lead to those things he preferred not to think of, let alone share. Least of all with Cuffe, who already was not impressed.
At last the tree was upright and steady, the fragrance of pine mingling pleasantly with the warmth and crackle of the fireplace.
Noel walked the Schlangs out, paid them a little something extra and waved them on their way.
When he returned to the house, Cuffe was in his study examining his bookshelf. It occurred to Noel that Cuffe had not shoved a search warrant in his face. What did that mean? That this was more of a fishing expedition than he’d imagined? Or that the evidence Cuffe needed was not physical?
He said from the doorway, “You can look around all you like. I don’t mind.”
Cuffe didn’t even look up. “Glad to hear it.” He was thumbing through Noel’s dog-eared Word Menu.
Looking up yet another word for villain?
Noel left him to it, going to fetch a towel to wipe up the snow and mud that had been tracked in.
As he finished up and kicked the runner back in place, he found Cuffe watching him from the doorway.
“Find anything interesting?”
“Everything about you is interesting, Snow.” Cuffe’s tone was mocking.
“And you don’t even know me yet.”
“Oh, I think I know you pretty well by now. Not as well as you think you know me, obviously.”
Noel’s face felt uncomfortably warm. He ignored it. “We should fix that,” he said boldly. “Why don’t we spend Christmas together?”
Cuffe didn’t move a muscle.
“No? What are you doing for Christmas?” Noel pushed.
“Filling out the paperwork on you, I imagine.”
“Seriously.”
“I am serious.”
He sounded serious, no lie. And yet…maybe it was that underlying mockery, as though Cuffe was enjoying a joke Noel wasn’t in on. Maybe it was the glint in his dark eyes. Nothing so friendly as a twinkle, but too sharp and hungry to be mere professional interest. Noel remembered that glint from a long ago New Year’s party just for two.
“Do you usually spend it with family?”
Cuffe said harshly, “No.”
It was such a fierce and unexpected response that it caught Noel off balance. He didn’t know what to say. Somehow he had hurt Cuffe, and it was the last thing he intended.
His confusion must have showed because Cuffe said, correcting himself with a complete absence of emotion, “I used to. My parents were both killed in that Continental Airlines crash in Buffalo last February.” He lifted an impatient shoulder. “Only child.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Yeah. Too bad. You could have used it in that book.”
Noel stood motionless, registering that. He deserved it, of course, but it still felt unfair. Nothing he’d done, not a single word he’d written, had been intended to hurt Cuffe. He wanted to explain himself, make Cuffe understand, but this was about Cuffe’s feelings, not his. Cuffe was the important one here. It would be his first Christmas since his parents’ deaths and it was clearly not going to be an easy one. You couldn’t pay Noel to spend a holiday with his family—or even get in touch with them—but he could still imagine how painful and lonely this holiday would be for a man like Cuffe, who obviously had been loved and knew how to love in return.
He went to Cuffe, subconsciously noting that Cuffe infinitesimally braced himself, and put his hand on the other man’s arm. “I’m sorry. Very sorry, Robert.” He wasn’t sure if he was still sympathizing over the loss of Robert’s family or apologizing for ever creating the Richard Cross character, but he was genuinely sorry.
Robert stared down at his hand. His gaze lifted, his eyes met Noel’s, so dark they almost looked black. Black and—for one startling instant—soft as the fur of something quite dangerous.
A strange, tense pause when Noel thought Robert might…say something? Do something? He wasn’t sure. He held his breath, waiting.
But Robert changed his mind—if, in fact, he’d had anything in mind—and Noel realized that he was still standing there clutching his arm. Probably a bit weird. He let go and took a step back.
“Think about it at least.” What was he asking Robert to think about? He wasn’t sure. He turned away. “I’ll be right back. I need to get the Christmas ornaments out of the stable.”
“The stable? How appropriate.”
Robert’s drawl reflected none of the discomposure Noel felt. Noel laughed, mostly because he was unsure of what to do or say. There was something here he didn’t understand, undercurrents he was having trouble reading. Robert was angry, even bitter perhaps, but there was definitely attraction.
Noel might not be an expert in relationships, but he was familiar with lust, and that’s what he read in the way Robert’s moody gaze continually sought his own, lingered on his own.
Maybe he didn’t want to feel it, but the connection was still there.
The recognition warmed Noel, excited him in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time. Maybe Robert Cuffe didn’t like him, maybe he didn’t want to believe he’d gone straight, maybe he did plan to arrest him and throw him in jail. Maybe.
None of that changed the fact he still wanted Noel.
Chapter Three
“I should have done this earlier in the week. It slipped my mind with the book launch.” Noel’s boots crunched on the snow as he led the way to the barn.
Robert, who was accompanying Noel to the stable—perhaps to keep him from jumping on one of his horses and galloping away—grunted noncommittally.
Maybe bringing up the book launch wasn’t such a great idea. Noel was curious, though. Had Robert read Crawl Space? It had only been out four days. Surely if he’d read Crawl Space he’d see that Noel was
trying to make amends.
Unless Elise was right, and revealing to the world that Richard Cross AKA Robert Cuffe was gay had been the final straw. He winced inwardly at the thought.
“Are you—?”
“Am I what?” Robert’s gaze turned from the paddock where the puzzled, blanketed horses wandered, exploring their snow and whickering their bemusement to each other.
“Er…out.”
“Out?” Robert’s brows drew together. “Oh, out. I’m not marching in this year’s Gay Pride Parade, if that’s what you mean. On the other hand, I’m not marching in the St. Patrick’s Day parade either.”
“Are you Irish?”
“I am. On both sides.”
“Is it tough being gay in the FBI?”
“Officially? The FBI does not discriminate against a person's sexual orientation. The FBI welcomes and appreciates the contribution of its LGBT employees.”
“You sound like you’re quoting from a job application. What about unofficially?”
“Law enforcement is rough on personal lives. Anybody’s personal life. So if you’ve got the kind of personal life that requires a lot of time and attention—”
“Do you? What I mean is, are you in a committed relationship?” Noel waited for the answer, aware that he was—once again—holding his breath.
“Not now.”
Noel let out a small, relieved sigh. “Me neither.”
“No.” Robert sounded pretty sure of that. How much checking up on Noel had he done?
“How hard is it on relationships? Your job, I mean. According to everything I’ve read—”
“Probably not as hard as being a crook.”
Noel gave Robert a sideways look. “Ow.”
Robert gave him an equally twisted smile in return.
When they reached the barn Noel led the way inside, greeting Tommy Rankin, his stableman.
“Looks like Arapaho is showing some bruising on the sole of his rear left hoof,” Tommy informed him. “We’ll need to keep an eye on him with this snow and ice.”
Noel spoke to Tommy for a few minutes, conscious of Robert poking around the stable.
His for the Holidays Page 34