Deadly Christmas Secrets

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Last night. I called Thomas Willard. He’s a homicide detective who led the investigation into my sister’s murder.” She opened the door.

  No key.

  She obviously hadn’t locked up before she’d left.

  That bothered him.

  Life was filled with danger. A person couldn’t avoid it, but he could certainly prepare for it.

  “You might want to lock that the next time you go out,” he said, and she shrugged, soft brown hair slipping from its clip and falling across her face. She had freckles on her nose and on her cheeks, long black lashes tipped with gold. He’d say that she spent a lot of time outside, and that she knew her land about as well as anyone could know anything. He’d also say that she probably thought she had things under control, that it was within her power to keep trouble from coming down on her head.

  That was a dangerous thing to assume.

  He wanted to tell her that, but they were strangers, and he was making assumptions based on what he saw—the tidy little two-story cabin, the rifle that looked as if it had never been used hanging above a small fireplace, the wood-burning stove with its neat pile of wood beside it. Unless he missed his guess, there was more piled by the back door, several cords of it in storage on a back porch or in a shed. She probably had a month’s worth of supplies, an emergency generator for lights, everything she thought she’d ever need. That was good. Great, even. But the best-laid plans didn’t always pan out.

  “It’s never been a concern before,” she said, tucking the stray hair behind her ear, her fingers speckled with flecks of red mud. “Now that it is, I’ll be sure to lock up. If you gentlemen don’t mind waiting here, the package is upstairs. I’ll get it.”

  She ran from the room, heading toward the back of the cabin, her dog following along behind her. Logan figured there was a kitchen there, maybe a small laundry room and the staircase that led up to the second story. He was curious to see the place, get a feel for how difficult it would be to secure.

  He stayed where he was, though, because he’d been asked to, and because he had a few things he wanted to talk to the sheriff about.

  “Have your men found the sedan?” he asked as footsteps tapped across the floor above his head.

  “Not yet, but the guy can’t have gotten far. Not with a blown tire.”

  “There are plenty of places to hide around here,” Logan pointed out. “I’d guess he pulled onto some side road, hid the car and took off on foot.”

  “I’m guessing you’re right, and since there are only a few crossroads between Harper’s property and town, I’m feeling pretty confident we’ll track the car down quickly.”

  “And then?”

  “Take some dogs into the woods, see if we can find our guy.”

  “In the meantime, Harper will be out here alone.”

  “You think the guy is going to come back?” Sheriff Hunter asked.

  “I think he didn’t accomplish his goal. Harper is still alive.”

  “You’re assuming Harper was the target,” Sheriff Hunter pointed out.

  “That seems like a logical assumption.”

  “In my opinion, it would be just as logical to assume that someone is after you. In your line of work, that wouldn’t be unlikely.” Logan didn’t ask how he knew what kind of work Logan did. If Sheriff Hunter hadn’t heard about the visitor to his small town the previous night and checked things out, he’d have had people checking Logan’s credentials as soon as he’d gotten the plate number off the Jeep.

  “It wouldn’t be, but there were a dozen opportunities to take me out on my drive here. Not to mention my sleepover in Dora’s Sleep Haven last night. Place has no security. The windows don’t even lock.”

  Sheriff Hunter smirked. “You should have asked a local. We would have pointed you to our pastor. He has a nice in-law suite that he loans out to anyone who has a need.”

  “In other words, I’m the first person ever to stay with Dora?”

  “There was a guy a few years back. Turned out he was running from the law and wanted a place to hide out. Not so smart to hide in a town that has fewer than a thousand residents. Dora called me. I did a little checking. Guy ended up spending the next night in Snowy Vista’s town jail.”

  “Probably a lot more comfortable than Dora’s place,” Logan muttered.

  “Probably.” He walked to the fireplace and lifted the shotgun. “Not loaded. I’m not keen on her living out here on her own, but if she’s going to stay, it would be a good idea to have some security.”

  “You planning to talk to her about it?” he asked. If Sherriff Hunter didn’t, Logan would. She needed protection. At least until the guy who’d been driving the sedan was caught.

  “I’ll give it a try. She has her own way of doing things. Not sure she’s going to listen to me.”

  “She will if she wants to stay alive,” Logan responded as Harper walked back into the room.

  THREE

  Amelia.

  She was all Harper could think about as she paced her bedroom, the sound of voices drifting up through the floorboards. Logan’s voice. The higher-pitched voice of his coworker, Stella Silverstone. She’d arrived three hours ago, striding into the cabin as if she owned the place. She’d made tea, fed Picasso, acted as if it wasn’t any of her concern if Harper didn’t want twenty-four-hour protection at the cabin.

  “It’s her business,” Stella had said when Logan and Sheriff Hunter insisted that Harper shouldn’t stay in the cabin alone. “If she wants to die before she finds out if her niece is alive, what’s it to you?”

  That was it.

  All it took.

  That one thought, that one little hope that Amelia was alive was enough to make Harper put up with anything or anyone.

  Amelia alive...

  Her pulse raced at the thought, her throat tight with dozens of memories—her niece’s birth, all the little and big moments that had happened after it.

  There’d been times during the past few years when she’d wondered if Amelia was out there somewhere, waiting to be found. Now the possibility seemed real. That little piece of blanket, the newspaper article—had they been hints? Clues designed to pull Harper closer to the truth, closer to her niece?

  Or bring her closer to her death?

  She shuddered.

  She’d kept to herself for years, had separated herself from her old life. She’d put the past behind her, and now it was in front of her again.

  Why now?

  For what purpose?

  She needed to talk to Gabe. She’d called him, left a message on his machine. He hadn’t returned her call. He’d probably make her wait a few days. That was the way he was. The way he’d always been. Everything in his time frame. He and Lydia had been late or early to social events on his whim. They hadn’t even made it to Harper’s college graduation because Gabe had decided that they needed to go over the household budget.

  A joke, because Lydia had no control over their finances. She hadn’t even been told how much her husband made. She’d known about the heirloom jewelry he kept in his wall safe, though, and she’d figured out the combination. When Lydia had wanted something, she’d figured out how to get it. She hadn’t really wanted to attend Harper’s graduation. She hadn’t wanted to leave her cheating husband because that would mean giving up the fancy house, the nice clothes, the cash allowance.

  Whatever anyone said, whatever anyone believed, Harper had always thought that had cost Lydia her life.

  Harper shut the thought off, pulling back the curtains and looking out into the growing darkness. Night fell early this time of year, but there were still a few golden rays of sun glinting on the horizon. In the distance, she could see Snowy Vista, the lights from the town gleaming through the trees. Soon the place would be decorated for Christmas
. Every door would have a wreath, every window colorful lights. Trees would be decked out with garland, and yards would boast Nativity scenes and snowmen. She didn’t have anyone to shop for, but every year, she went to town the week before Christmas. Every year, she walked Main Street, looked at all the Christmas decorations, listened to the carols drifting from shops and watched the people walking up and down the street. It was a small town, but near the holidays, people came in from Baltimore and DC, or traveled down from Lancaster and York, just to see the Christmas displays.

  That was the kind of town Snowy Vista was. Not a place most people stayed. Not even for a night. Just a place to pass through, to admire in the way one would look at a bouquet of flowers or a snowy mountain peak.

  “It’s pretty, though. If I wanted to live around people again, it wouldn’t be a bad place to settle,” she said, and Picasso huffed his agreement, his cold nose touching her hand.

  A light flashed in the trees and she frowned, leaning closer to the glass, trying to see if someone was out there. Sheriff Hunter’s men hadn’t found the sedan or its driver yet. The guy would be a fool to return, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

  Another flash, and she stepped away from the window, watching as the light flashed again. A signal of some sort? Should she tell Logan? She headed toward the door and was nearly there when it flew open.

  Stella strode in. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “Away from here,” she responded, grabbing Harper’s hand and dragging her out of the room.

  “For how long? Because if we’re going to be gone for more than a few hours—”

  “Less talking, more moving,” Stella interjected, her short red hair bouncing as she hurried Harper down the stairs and into the kitchen. It was dark there. No light spilling in from the living room or from the office that jutted off the back of the house.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered, afraid to speak too loudly, afraid that if she did, whatever was causing them to rush from the cabin would find them.

  “Someone’s out in the woods making a nice little circle of the property. Logan thinks it’s best if we clear out for a while.”

  “And go where?”

  “Does it matter?” Stella opened the front door, pulled her to a cherry-red SUV and opened the car door. “Get in.”

  “Picasso!” she called as she climbed in.

  The dog skidded outside and bounded toward the SUV, and then he stopped. Dead still. Every muscle in his body taut, he eyed the dark woods at the edge of the property, growled and then raced toward the tree line.

  “Picasso,” she called again, but Stella had already slammed the door and jumped into the driver’s seat.

  “I can’t leave my dog,” she said, reaching for the door handle.

  “Logan will get him.”

  “Logan doesn’t know he’s missing!” she protested, but they were already racing along the gravel road. There were no streetlights out this far. No moonlight glimmering from the steely sky. Stella didn’t turn on her headlights, and the road was shadowy, the trees looming up on either side. Anything could be lurking out there, anyone.

  A light flashed, and the SUV shuddered, swerving toward the trees, then back toward the road again. Harper could feel the thump of a flat tire. Someone was firing at them, and one tire had already been shot out.

  Stella didn’t slow down, just kept speeding through the darkness.

  “Get down!” she shouted, jerking the wheel to the left. Seconds later, the back window exploded, shards of glass flying through the air, falling on Harper’s hair, her hands, her arms. She could see them shimmering in the dashboard lights. She could feel the awful thud of her heart, the rapid pulse of the blood through her veins.

  She’d been scared earlier. Terrified, even, but she’d thought the danger was over. She had wanted to believe that the man who’d been driving the sedan had disappeared—gone for good.

  She’d been wrong.

  If she hadn’t allowed Logan and Stella to stay...

  What?

  Would Picasso have warned her in time? Would Harper have been able to load the shotgun? Protect herself from the threat?

  “Something is burning,” Stella said so calmly, the words didn’t register with Harper.

  The smell did—the sharp scent of gasoline, the acrid smell of smoke.

  “Must have hit the gas line and sparked. We need to get out, but we need to be smart about it,” Stella continued as if she were talking about the color of the sky or the temperature of the air.

  “Smart? Smart would be getting out while we have the chance,” Harper exclaimed, grabbing her door handle.

  “Smart would be staying alive. The likelihood this car is going to explode is little to none. The likelihood one of us is going to be shot dead by the guy who’s after you? That’s higher. You get out your side, and you’ll be in the middle of the road. We’re getting out on my side. Back door, because it’s right up against the trees. You go over the seat first. I’ll follow.”

  Harper scrambled over the seat, the scents of gasoline and smoke getting stronger. She didn’t see flames, but she was sure the interior of the SUV was growing hotter.

  She reached the door and jerked at the handle. She scrambled for the lock, her fingers shaking as she tried to find it.

  “Calm down,” Stella barked so close to her ear, she jumped. “Panicking gets people nowhere really fast.”

  She reached past Harper and unlocked the vehicle.

  “Let’s go,” she urged, pressing close as Harper stepped into the scratchy embrace of a spruce. The scent of evergreen needles mixed with gasoline and smoke, and she gagged, pushing deeper into the trees, the blackness nearly complete there.

  She knew the woods like the back of her hand, knew every inch of her property, but they’d gone beyond that, traveling a few miles down the gravel road. She thought she was heading toward the creek. Branches scratched at her face, pulled at her hair and ripped at her clothes, but she kept a steady pace, heading deeper into the woods, and hopefully farther away from the danger.

  She thought she heard the creek up ahead and was heading for that when something crashed through the brush beside her, the sound bringing to life every nightmare she’d ever had, every secret fear.

  Stella said something, but she didn’t hear. She was too busy running, sprinting through the woods as if it was an open field, everything inside telling her to go and keep going.

  She slammed into something.

  Not a tree. A man. His chest hard, his body tall and firm.

  She tried to jump back, but strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her in. She struggled against the hold, tore at the arms, used every fighting tactic she’d learned as a kid growing up in one of the roughest neighborhoods in DC, because she wasn’t going to die in the woods. Not before she found out the truth about Amelia.

  * * *

  “Calm down,” Logan said, grabbing Harper’s fist just before it connected with his jaw. “It’s me.”

  “Logan?” She stilled, her arms dropping to her sides, her eyes wide in the darkness.

  She’d come barreling out of the woods as if a couple of bears were chasing after her, but he couldn’t hear anything but the quiet burble of the creek and the soft rasp of her breath.

  “You nearly scared the life out me,” she said, stepping away from him, her voice a little shaky.

  “Where’s Stella?” he asked, because there was no way his coworker had left Harper to fend for herself. Not if she were capable of anything else.

  “Right here,” Stella responded, stepping through the thick trees to his right. “With the dog. If the perp is still around, I haven’t seen him. Not since he destroyed my brand-new car.”

  “I took a shot at him after he hit your fuel line. I was a littl
e out of range, but I think I might have hit him.”

  “That explains why he didn’t wait around for us to get out of the SUV,” Stella responded drily.

  “He’s heading east. Straight toward the highway.”

  “That’s five miles away,” Harper commented, her hand on Picasso’s head. She looked smaller in the darkness, her body diminished by the vast forest surrounding them.

  “Five miles isn’t all that far,” Stella responded. “Not for someone who’s desperate, and he is. He sticks around here and the police are going to catch him. Or one of us will.”

  “One of us is planning to,” Logan said, pulling a Maglite from his coat pocket. He hadn’t used it before, but now that the perp was on the run, he’d take every advantage he could to hunt the guy down before he made it to the highway.

  “Are you going to try to track him?” Stella asked. She’d let him take the lead on this. That was the way Stella was. No fuss. No muss. If it wasn’t her assignment, she took a backseat, followed orders, made herself as much of an asset to the team as she could.

  “He’s heading for his escape vehicle. I want to get to him before he reaches it.”

  “The police could do the job as easily,” she remarked. No judgment in the words. Just a statement of fact. “And you know how Chance is—he likes to let the local PD handle their problems.”

  “This isn’t their problem. This is my problem. I was hired to—”

  “Find Harper. Which you’ve done.”

  True, but finding Harper had put her in danger. He felt responsible for that, which made him responsible for her. Whether Chance thought so or not. And whether Harper did or not.

  And he didn’t think she did.

  She hadn’t wanted twenty-four-hour protection, had seemed determined to go on the way she had before he’d showed up with a gunman on his tail. She’d finally conceded when Stella had mentioned her niece.

  Amelia seemed to be the key to all of this, and she seemed to be the key to getting Harper to accept protection and help.