Colton Christmas Protector

by Beth Cornelison

  The woodsy, masculine scent of the cleansers was disconcerting, not just because she worried the harsh chemicals might dry out Nicholas’s skin, but because it was far too easy to imagine Reid using the same products as he showered.

  Heat rose to her face. She hadn’t pictured a man other than her husband in the shower since before she met Andrew. That she could so easily conjure such an erotic image of Reid now had to speak to her fatigue, or her rattled nerves, or...something! Anything other than the most obvious—she still harbored secret fantasies about her teenage crush. She was a grown woman now. A mother. A widow.

  Really, Penelope! She shook her head to clear it, scolding herself.

  But another voice in her head countered, You’re a widow, yes. But you’re not dead!

  Would she ever find someone she cared enough about to have sex again? That presupposed she would fall in love. Maybe even marry again? She wasn’t a casual sex kind of gal.

  “Mommy!” Nicholas shouted, slapping his hands in his bath so hard that water splashed her and slopped onto the floor.

  The dousing was sufficient to yank her from her wandering thoughts. Good God, Penelope! The scolding voice tuned up again. You learned your father may be a crook and had a madman try to kill you today, and this is where your mind goes tonight?

  “What?” she said aloud to Nicholas. “Better than dwelling on the horrible things that happened today, right?”

  “Mommy...”

  Her son held up his arms, indicating he was ready to get out of the bath. His chin trembled, and when she lifted him out she realized how cold she’d let the water get while she daydreamed and ruminated on her troubles.

  “Oh, Nicholas! I’m sorry. Are you a Popsicle?”

  Her son’s brow shot up as she wrapped him in a plush towel. “Pop?”

  Oops. She chuckled. “No, sweetie. We don’t have any Popsicles. You’re the Popsicle.”

  “Pop!”

  Oh, boy. Here it came. Despite her best efforts to distract him, Nicholas fixated on the idea of having one of his favorite summertime treats. When she couldn’t produce one from thin air, he pitched a toddler fit and was still crying and churlish as she put him to bed thirty minutes later.

  Being in a strange bed didn’t help her son settle down, either, so by the time he drifted off in a fitful, snuffling sleep, Penelope was beyond exhausted.

  She dropped onto the couch in the living room, wondering what was taking Reid so long, and trying to calm her whirling mind and a throbbing headache. She stared blankly at the stone horse statue on Reid’s coffee table, one of the few items they’d deemed too heavy for Nicholas to bother, and she replayed the day in her head.

  The silence of the lake house should have been soothing to her, but instead, the quiet tripped down her nerves and filled her with an antsy trepidation. Maybe being out of her element was the problem. Not only were she and Nicholas in a new environment, but being sequestered with Reid made her uneasy. They had so much history. And despite his explanations earlier today—jeez, had that just been this afternoon?—she still wasn’t sure what to think about his part in Andrew’s death.

  Part of her wanted someone to blame for her loss, and Reid was the obvious target. A fresh set of chills washed through Pen. Reid’s denials of malice left more questions about Andrew’s death—questions that held horrifying implications, especially in light of today’s discoveries about her father. Someone had put the lethal chemical in the insulin vial on purpose. If not Reid, then who? Had her father known Andrew was keeping tabs on him and killed her husband in order to silence him?

  “Pen?”

  She jolted at the sound of the voice behind her and spun to face Reid, clapping a hand to her chest where her heartbeat skittered. “Jeez, I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of. Where were you just then? You looked a million miles away.”

  She rubbed her temple. Her headache was only marginally better. “Just remembering. Reflecting.”

  “Well, less woolgathering in the future, okay? You need to be more aware of your surroundings. Especially now. A killer’s not going to announce himself.” Reid set a large bag on the couch and began unpacking the things he’d bought her. “Nicholas asleep?”

  She nodded. Reid had changed clothes, she realized, and she wished fervently she could do the same. She was still finding tiny shards of his broken windshield in her clothes. And despite the cool temperatures outside, she’d perspired a thin sheen of anxiety sweat more than once this afternoon and felt grimy for it. “I had to battle a TTT, but he finally succumbed.”

  “Come again? A TTT?”

  “Tired toddler tantrum. They’re a horror to witness, trust me.”

  “I can imagine. Poor kid’s been pulled from his home and routine today. I bet he was cranky.”

  She nodded, and let her expression speak for the undesirability of messing with her son’s routine. “When did you become wise to the ways of small children?”

  “I’m not a monk. I talk to people, read, observe. I’ve heard the term terrible twos. Not hard to extrapolate the cause of his TTT.” He handed her a pack of diapers, wipes and snack crackers. “I bought a couple steaks and potatoes for our dinner. Don’t know about you, but today has left me famished.”

  The thought of food made Penelope’s stomach turn, but she said nothing. She didn’t want to appear unappreciative of all Reid’s thoughtfulness and generosity. Even if she did fear his motivation was guilt over his part in Andrew’s death. She had to put her son’s safety over any awkwardness about the circumstances surrounding Reid’s help.

  They unpacked most of the items he’d bought, including toiletries and a couple new changes of clothes for her, before he tossed the rest of the bags aside. “The rest of this can wait. I’ll broil those steaks while you change. Then I want to get a look at the thumb drive of files I downloaded from your father’s computer before I call it a night.”

  Grateful for the chance to clean up, Penelope excused herself to the bathroom farthest from where Nicholas was sleeping, hoping the noise wouldn’t wake him. The pounding hot water worked miracles on her tense muscles, though her headache remained. She’d have loved to stay in the steamy bath for hours, but knew Reid was waiting on her for dinner. After drying off, she selected one of the outfits he’d brought her—basic blue jeans and a dark green sweater—and joined him in the kitchen.

  When she strolled up beside him, he glanced up from buttering a loaf of garlic bread and grinned. “So...did I choose well? Will those clothes do?”

  “I’m hardly in a position to be picky. But yes, these are fine.”

  When he didn’t return to his task right away, she tipped her head and eyed him suspiciously. “What? Did I leave a tag on or something?”

  “No... I was just was noticing...Piper was right.”

  “Piper picked this?”

  “Well, I pretended I was buying a Christmas gift for Zane’s new wife. She’s a redhead, too. Piper said that dark green was a good color for redheads.” He stepped closer and gently brushed a hank of her damp hair back from her scratched and bruised cheek. “And she was right. That sweater brings out the green in your eyes.”

  Her heart pattered erratically, and she took a step back. “And the blue in my bruises?” she teased, hoping to gloss over her awkward reaction to his touch.

  He frowned, then continued working on their dinner. “I’d love five minutes alone with that shooter and the man who hired him for hurting you and terrorizing you that way.”

  “Careful, Detective. That sounds a lot like vengeance rather than justice.”

  He grunted. “Sometimes vengeance is more satisfying than justice. Besides, I’m not a cop anymore.”

  She snitched a piece of crust that had fallen off the loaf when he’d sliced it and nibbled on the bit of
bread. Her stomach growled as she savored the buttered bread. “Maybe I’m hungry after all. How long until we eat?”

  “Just long enough for the bread to heat. Make yourself at home,” he said, tipping his head toward the adjoining breakfast nook, “and I’ll bring your plate to you.”

  She slid into the booth seat around the café table and rubbed the muscles in her neck. As wiped as she was, the day wasn’t over yet. She wasn’t about to let Reid delve into her father’s computer files without her. She wanted to be on the front lines of his investigation, working beside him, an equal partner in bringing her father, the shooter and anyone else involved in these crimes to justice. Was Stanley involved? Surely he was complicit. He had to know something was dirty about his employer after all these years.

  Reid carried two plates over and set one with a large steak, baked potato, salad and bread in front of her. The blend of aromas made her mouth water, but she paused long enough to bow her head and say a silent grace...adding thanks that she, Reid and Nicholas had come through the day alive and relatively unscathed. And give me strength for the days ahead.

  “Amen,” she whispered and raised her gaze to find Reid watching her. He made no comment about her prayer, but hesitated a moment before he dived into his garlic bread.

  Her faith was one of the few things she had learned from her mother, had shared with Andrew and was trying to teach Nicholas, and she knew it would be a source of strength to her in the uncertain days ahead.

  “This looks good,” she said as she cut a big bite of steak and poked it in her mouth. The first thing she noticed was the abundance of seasoning. Correction...overabundance of seasoning. She set down her fork, trying hard to swallow without gagging.

  “Hope so. I could eat a horse.” Reid forked a bite of steak into his mouth and grunted. Coughed. Spit his bite into his napkin. “Jeez!”

  “What did you put on the meat?”

  He sipped his water and shrugged. “A little of everything. I wasn’t sure what to use so...”

  She grinned and used her fork to scrape some of the seasoning from her steak. “With cooking, a lot of times, less is more.”

  “How would I know? We have a full-time cook at the ranch.”

  “You didn’t pay attention when Andrew was grilling at our cookouts?”

  He waved a hand at his plate and started laughing. “Obviously not.”

  Fatigue and the ridiculousness of the situation ganged up on her. She joined his chuckle but soon her laughter blossomed to peals of overtired mirth. They laughed until they were both wiping their eyes. The laughter felt good, even though she knew it was completely incongruous to her situation. Her stress eased, and she felt a tenuous renewed connection with Reid.

  As her giggles subsided, she raked her damp hair back from her face and sighed. “Lordy, what a day.”

  “You can say that again.” Shoving aside his steak, he sliced open his potato, and they ate in companionable silence for the next several minutes. When he’d cleared his plate, he scooted from the booth and carried his plate to the sink. “Leave the dishes until morning. Let’s get a peek at those files.”

  In an instant, the tension that had fled briefly as they ate returned in spades. She followed him back to the den where he opened the cabinet doors to the vast collection of electronics including a high-end laptop computer. He carried the computer to a walnut desk in the corner of the living room.

  She wanted to know what secrets her father had been keeping, what lies he’d told her and how deeply he’d sunk himself into criminal activity, but her heart gave a sore drub of dread as she dragged a chair in to sit next to Reid as he worked.

  While the laptop booted up, he gave her a searching look. “You don’t have to stay up. I know you’re tired.”

  She scoffed. “As exhausted as I am, I may never sleep again. Getting shot at was...terrifying. I’m afraid to close my eyes. I keep seeing it replay.”

  He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I know. I wish I could do something to help. Give it time. The images may never disappear, but they’ll fade.”

  She gave him a weak, weary smile of gratitude. “Where did you tell your family you’d be tonight?”

  “I didn’t, really. I gave Zane a quick rundown of what was happening, just in case.”

  Just in case?

  He must have misread her worried expression, because he hurried to add, “I didn’t give him details, and he doesn’t know where this house is. I trust him. But someone needed to have an idea what was happening.”

  “In case we’re killed the next time the shooter comes gunning for us?” She hated the quaver in her voice.

  Reid leaned toward her, pulling her against him. He stroked her back and massaged the base of her neck with strong fingers. “You’re safe now, Pen. I’m going to protect you and Nicholas. I swear.”

  The laptop chimed, indicating it had finished start-up, and Reid backed away from their hug. She immediately missed the comfort and security of his arms around her. After a day as unsettling and topsy-turvy as she’d had, the thought of curling up on the sofa with Reid’s body wrapped around her in a protective and reassuring embrace appealed more than it had any right.

  Reid plugged the thumb drive into the side USB port and loaded the list of files. She canted closer to read the list on the screen.

  “Two thousand twenty-three files?” Her heart dropped when she saw how much material they had to weed through.

  “And that’s just what I could get downloaded before the butler showed up and we had to cut and run.”

  “It’ll take forever to go through all those files.”

  “Welcome to the scintillating world of a police detective. A lot of what I did on the job was tedious paperwork and combing through archived documents or computer files.” He clicked on a folder and a whole new list of files appeared.

  “That’s what Andrew used to tell me when I worried about the dangers of his job. Didn’t make me feel better, though. I knew it only took one bullet, one witness interview or suspect apprehension gone awry to negate all the desk work in the world.”

  He cut a silent but meaningful glance her way, then turning back to the computer and continuing to scroll he muttered, “And then it proved to be his partner that did him in. Not a suspect’s bullet at all.”

  She huffed a sigh. “I shouldn’t have brought him up.”

  “Andrew will always be a factor between us.”

  She ignored that truth, saying, “Are you now claiming responsibility for his death? I thought that whole speech you gave me earlier today was to shift blame away from you.”

  His eyebrows drew together, and his jaw hardened. “Oh, I take responsibility, all right.” He paused a beat as he clicked through a few of her father’s files, then added, “It just wasn’t murder.”

  Penelope glanced down at her lap. She spun her wedding ring on her finger without really seeing or realizing what she was doing as she sorted through the tug-of-war of emotions stringing her as tight as a hunter’s bow. A few hours ago, when Reid had made the same claim regarding Andrew’s death, she hadn’t wanted to hear it. She’d clung to the idea that he was to blame so she had a target for her anger and her dismay over the unfairness of her loss.

  Now she felt a pluck of sympathy for Reid, for the guilt he lived with. Her anger had shifted inside her. She was angry with the shooter who’d tried to kill them today, necessitating that her life and her son’s be disrupted and that they hide out like cowards. But the lion’s share of her fury and confusion and hurt focused on her father. If even a portion of their initial suspicions proved true, her father had been living a lie for years. Had he gotten wind of Andrew’s investigation of him? Could her father be the one to blame for the agony she’d suffered in recent months?

  She raised her attention back to Reid’s laptop, where lists
of files scrolled up the screen. When she groaned softly, he chuckled and cast a side glance at her. “What? You were thinking he’d have a file labeled Incriminating Evidence or Proof of My Illegal Activity?”

  She snorted her derision. “Oh, no. My father would never be that cooperative. I’m just wondering how we’re supposed to process all this. Where do we start?”

  “After I make a backup of the whole thumb drive,” he said, even as he dug another memory stick out of a desk drawer, “I usually make a first cursory pass through, scanning file names and types. I sort out what appears useless and what might prove helpful and make new folders. As I finish with a file I move it to a folder for reviewed items, but I preserve the integrity of the original material. A lot of times, all the information that incriminates a person is saved in the same place.”

  “Sounds time-consuming.”

  He arched an eyebrow and curled up a corner of his mouth. “Going somewhere?”

  She opened her mouth to tell him how busy her schedule was, then snapped it closed again as it fully dawned on her what being sequestered in his lake house meant. She was essentially a captive. Until the threat to her and to Nicholas was removed, she didn’t dare go anywhere near her usual haunts. Her shoulders drooped. “Oh. Right.”

  He selected a folder titled Family Photos and began opening files.

  “Um...” Penelope frowned her curiosity at him. “Strange place to start. You’re thinking our Christmas photos from years past hide some encrypted secrets?”

  “If you had something you didn’t want anyone else to run across accidentally would you save it in a file called Private or called Summer Vacation Photos?”

  “Your theory being a file called Private or Personal screams juicy reading and invites invasion.”

  “Exactly.”

  “While Family Photos—” she watched him click through a series of humdrum stilted pictures of holiday dinners, awards presentations and ski trips taken before her mother got sick “—are every bit as boring as the cliché.”