The Baby & the Bodyguard

by Jule McBride

  Cyn’s heart dropped to her feet. He lied. He’s going to tell her now. Why did I listen? The seconds ticked on, feeling like eternity.

  “Why, hey there, you knockout you,” Santa drawled.

  “Now that we’ve spent the night here, do you mind telling me what in the world we’re doing at a hotel?” her mother asked, gazing between Santa and Cyn. Cyn watched her mother smooth the skirt of her suit, then recline in an armchair. She could feel Santa’s gaze on her back; it nearly raised the hairs at her nape.

  Her father wiggled his brows. “Now, Analise, it’s not nice to pry,” he chided.

  “I just want an explanation.” Her mother smiled wickedly.

  “It’s so long and involved you wouldn’t want to hear it,” Cyn said in an embarrassed rush. Did her parents really think she’d gotten Amanda out of the house so that she could sleep with Santa? A guilty flush warmed her cheeks. Little did they know. She inadvertently glanced at Santa. The way she caught him looking at her, they might have come from making love. When she looked away, it was straight into her mother’s merry grin.

  Cyn had a few questions, too. She wanted to ask her parents what they were doing together, but then she decided she might hex the situation by asking if they were a couple again.

  “Well, wherever you’ve been,” her father began, “we waited until you arrived to do the honors.”

  “Honors?” Analise asked.

  Paxton grinned. “The police called yesterday evening and asked me to identify a few things.”

  As if sensing what was to come but not daring to believe, Analise leaned forward. “My necklace?” she murmured.

  “Not just a necklace,” Paxton returned softly. “A chain of time...the Christmas and anniversary gift that marked off each of our many wonderful years together.”

  Analise gasped. “They really found it?”

  Paxton circled around her chair, pulling the necklace from his pocket. He leaned slowly, looped it around her neck, then clasped it.

  “Oh, Paxton,” she whispered.

  He place his hands gingerly on her shoulders and leaned close. They looked so romantic and wonderful together that Cyn pressed a hand to her heart. The whole last year of their estrangement seemed to slip away.

  “I knew you’d want to see it again,” her father murmured. “The other items were all recovered and they’re in the safe.” With every word, he seemed to be asking Analise to come home.

  “I hope there were some cuff links in the bottom of that bag,” Cyn whispered softly, looking at her father’s open shirtsleeves.

  Paxton patted Analise’s shoulder. “Matthew Lewis was released on a pardon, and he went to John Christopher’s house. Santa followed him and found Christopher. He was the man who got away.”

  “I helped catch him,” Cyn pointed out.

  Analise’s throaty laughter filled the room. “Well done, you two. Now, if only Jake Jackson stays in jail. Somehow, I doubt that man will ever reform, no matter how much time he serves.”

  Cyn was about to hazard a glance at Santa when Paxton chuckled. “Oh, he just might, Analise. I mean, you never know.”

  The twinkle in her father’s eyes nearly convinced Cyn he knew the truth. But that was impossible, she assured herself. The way Jake—Anton Santa, she amended—had stormed back into her life was just making her paranoid. The fact that he’d betrayed her twice wasn’t helping, either.

  She felt a warm hand rest on her shoulder and nearly jumped out of her skin. It was Santa. When she glanced up, Amanda—who was still in his arms—waved at her. Her chest constricted, but she managed to smile. I’m going to lose my baby to this man.

  Her mother’s voice brought her back to reality. “I’ve got to go.”

  “So soon?” Paxton cleared his throat. “I thought you and I were taking Amanda to the museum.”

  “You all run along,” Analise said, her voice catching.

  “I thought that necklace was supposed to be lucky,” Paxton returned softly.

  Analise’s gaze alighted on Cyn’s eyes, then fluttered upward to take in Santa and Amanda. “Oh, who knows?” She flashed Paxton a sudden smile. “Maybe it will turn out to be a lucky year, after all.”

  Chapter Nine

  Wednesday, December 21, 1994

  The phone’s shrill ring pulled Cyn from a deep, disturbed sleep. Maybe all of this—Jake’s return, his transformation into Anton Santa, the fact that she’d actually slept with the man, and the threats against Amanda—had been nothing more than a nightmare, she thought groggily.

  “No such luck,” she muttered, her fingers fumbling over her sweat-damp, tangled sheets. She accidently knocked the receiver to the floor, scooted and leaned to retrieve it, then barked, “What do you want?”

  She quickly recovered. “I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s—” She glanced at the clock. “Twelve o’clock.” Midnight? She squinted at her curtains and could see light peeping through. Noon!

  She bolted upright just as her father said, “Your mother and I taught you manners, young lady. Would your highness mind telling me what’s wrong?”

  She shut her eyes, feeling thoroughly disoriented. “Please, Daddy,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’ll call you back in five minutes. I promise.” She opened her eyes long enough to hang up the phone.

  Then she stumbled into the bathroom and rinsed her face. It barely helped. All night she’d either wanted to creep into Santa’s room and make love—or storm in and kill him.

  What a strange few days it had been, she thought, squinting at her reflection. Jake Jackson had waltzed right back into her life as Anton Santa, and now he wanted to play Daddy to Amanda. “No play about it,” she muttered, trying to force herself to face the facts. “He is Amanda’s father.”

  Yesterday she’d accompanied Paxton, Santa and Amanda to the exhibit of Christmas trees from around the world. She’d wanted to avoid Santa, but she couldn’t bear to leave him alone with Amanda. The worst thing was that he was the perfect daddy. He’d piggybacked Amanda through the museum, held her hand and let her buy postcards at the gift shop. Because of his world travels, he was able to tell funny stories about the kids he’d seen in every country for which there was a tree. Her little girl adored him.

  But what about his lies? Cyn wondered as she brushed her teeth. Wouldn’t he betray Amanda eventually, just as he’d betrayed her?

  She rinsed her mouth, gulped down a healthy amount of cold water, then glared in the mirror. She looked downright horrible, but with a life like hers, who could concentrate on beauty sleep?

  How come I didn’t recognize him? She headed for the phone again, thinking of the reasons Santa had enumerated. Her image of Jackson had definitely colored him in memory—and not favorably. Did I not recognize him simply because I didn’t want to? Now she couldn’t see anyone but Jake when she looked at Santa.

  Suddenly she cocked her head. No cartoons! “Amanda?” she yelled. She ran across the room and flung open her door. “Santa? Amanda?” He’s taken her. He’s gone and he’s taken her with him, she thought. But he wouldn’t do that. Not Santa. She ran to the phone again.

  “Paxton’s at your mother’s office,” Eileen said, when Cyn got her father’s assistant on the line.

  “Is Santa with Dad? Is Amanda there?”

  “I don’t know.” Eileen sounded harried.

  “Thanks, Eileen.” Cyn hung up and tried her mother.

  Her father answered on the first ring. “Paxton Sweet here.”

  “Daddy?” Cyn perched on the edge of her bed and coiled the phone wire around her hand nervously.

  Her father sniffed. “I certainly hope you’re calling to apologize,” he said, a little huffily.

  “Is Jake there? Does Jake—oh, heavens, I mean Santa,” she corrected in a rush. “Is Santa there? Does he have Amanda?”

  “Jake!” her father burst out. He lowered his voice, as if there might be other people in her mother’s office. “For once in your life, you’ve got a respectable man afte
r you, Cynthia Anna Sweet. You may choose to ignore it, but I’ve seen how Santa looks at you. He has a profession, character, he adores Amanda...”

  Cyn was waking up fast. As her father ticked off Santa’s attributes, it was right on the tip of her tongue to tell her father that his oh-so-respectable golden boy was Jake Jackson. She bit her lip as if to keep herself from talking. If anyone heard that piece of news today, it was going to be Amanda.

  “When are you going to straighten up and fly right?” her father finally finished.

  “Is Santa there with Amanda or not?” she asked, trying to stay calm.

  “He most certainly is,” her father returned. “Humph. I take it you’re still in bed?”

  Her father sure was in an uncharacteristic bad mood. “I couldn’t sleep very well,” she said in a conciliatory tone.

  “Well, the early bird gets the worm. While you’ve been sleeping, Santa has been doing his job. He’s found the kidnapper.”

  Her mind was suddenly reeling. As soon as she’d agreed to let Santa tell Amanda that he was her father, he’d found the kidnapper! Was he that anxious to leave her apartment? Had he known who it was all along? Had he merely waited until he’d gotten what he’d wanted—namely, Amanda—before he exposed the person who’d sent the threatening notes? Didn’t Santa care about her at all?

  “I’ll be right there!” Cyn exclaimed.

  Only after she’d hung up did she realize that she’d forgotten to ask the identity of the culprit.

  * * *

  “CLAYTON?” CYN GASPED. She scrutinized the elderly man in front of her as if she’d never seen him before in her life. Clayton, who’d always bought her ice creams when she was a kid? Clayton, who was so involved with the store that he was almost a member of the family?

  Sure enough, Clayton Woods was seated behind her mother’s desk, with the notes in front of him and Amanda on his lap. Analise was all but petting Clayton’s hand, in order to soothe him. Paxton kept a firm hand on his head buyer’s shoulder.

  “It was—it was me. Me, Cynthia,” Clayton said brokenly. “I’m so—so sorry. I—”

  “There, there,” Analise crooned softly, patting him with one hand and twining the fingers of her other through the links of her Christmas necklace. “Take a few deep breaths, dear. Paxton, why don’t you run and get Clayton something to drink?”

  “What about some nice hot tea, Clayton?” Paxton asked, scurrying toward the door. “I should have brought Eileen with me. We need to make some tea!”

  “Heaven’s, Paxton—” Analise sounded suddenly angry at the mention of Eileen. “Why don’t you get it yourself? It amazes me that you can’t even make a drink without your assistant.”

  Something in her mother’s tone gave Cyn pause. So did Clayton’s guilt. Still, even that couldn’t erase Santa from her thoughts. He was leaning casually in the windowsill, with his arms crossed over his chest and a self-satisfied smile on his face. He was looking right at her.

  Clayton seemed barely aware of the people present. Not even of Amanda, who flung her arms around his neck and gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “You can kidnap me, Uncle Clayton, and you don’t have to write any letter.”

  The older man shook his head, as if confused. “I just had to heal the company.” He glanced at Cyn.

  “The company?” she managed.

  “There’re rumors of a takeover attempt,” he said more firmly. “When we were joking in the board meeting, I just thought...”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Cyn could see Santa. She could feel his gaze rove over her. In spite of the circumstances, she hoped she didn’t look as underslept as she felt. She tried to focus her attention on Clayton. “Thought what?”

  She tried to tell herself she should be angry, but she knew Clayton nearly as well as she knew her own father. Clayton had gotten a little absentminded and addled in the past few years, but he was still like family. Besides, all she really felt was relief. And Santa’s eyes.

  Clayton ran a hand over his bald scalp. The tufts of gray hair on either side looked springy and uncombed. He blew out a shaky sigh. “I thought maybe—” He hazarded a glance at Analise, then at Paxton, who breezed in with Clayton’s tea. “Well, I thought maybe you all would have to interact. If you just got back together, even enough to have a good working relationship, the company might pull through. The talk on Wall Street is that someone’s desperately angling to get inside....” Clayton’s eyes seemed to plead for mercy from those who loved him.

  Paxton squinted. “You’ve actually heard that down on Wall Street? Not secondhand?”

  Clayton nodded sheepishly. “I go down there every once in a while,” he said, his breath becoming more even. “Bob’s there all the time, too. He loves to hit the Seaport and schmooze the ladies after work. Anyway, a few days after our meeting, I ran into an assistant from Holmes and Furrows and she said someone was actively pursuing us, but she didn’t know who.”

  “Get Evan on it,” Paxton said to Analise. “He knows practically everybody downtown by name.”

  Analise sighed. “According to Evan, someone’s been buying up the employees’ stocks.”

  Paxton gasped. “And you didn’t tell me!”

  “We weren’t exactly speaking,” Analise returned defensively.

  “Well, we are now,” Paxton said. “And we’re going to pull together on this one. You, me, Clayton and Cyn have the lion’s share of the stocks in the store.”

  “I haven’t sold a one,” Clayton quickly said.

  “Of course you haven’t,” Analise said matter-of-factly.

  “Me, neither,” Cyn said.

  “I wouldn’t sell my store,” said Amanda, making Clayton crack the first hint of a smile.

  There was a long silence. Then Clayton said, “Can you ever forgive me, Cyn?”

  “You really scared me,” she said, speaking honestly. “I can’t deny that. But I’m relieved to know the truth.”

  “When Mr. Santa arrived, I knew you’d feel safe, and then when you two got along so well, kissing at the store, under the mistletoe and all...”

  Cyn’s face was getting hotter by the minute. Santa seemed to be enjoying her blush immensely. “Mr. Santa has been of great help,” she admitted in a businesslike tone.

  “I only wanted your parents to start talking again,” Clayton repeated.

  Paxton clapped his back. “Well, Clayton—” He smiled at Analise. “Maybe your scheme worked.” Paxton turned and winked at Cyn. “And just think, Clayton,” he continued, with a quick glance in Santa’s direction. “If you’d never sent those notes, my future son-in-law wouldn’t even be here.”

  “Daddy!” Cyn nearly shrieked.

  Santa’s low belly laugh suddenly filled the room. “Why Cyn, didn’t your Daddy tell you about the marriage he’s arranged for us?”

  * * *

  SANTA CAUGHT CYN’S WRIST as she rounded a corner in the hallway near her mother’s office. She’d been walking so fast that she swung toward him, still moving on sheer momentum, and nearly crashed into a water fountain. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

  “What do you want, Santa?” she asked drolly. “A medal?” The woman was clearly in no mood for pleasantries. Her eyes were flashing and her lips were stretched into a thin line. “Or perhaps I should simply be pleased, since you’ve caught a man I consider to be my uncle.” She raised her brows archly. “But then, maybe it’s you who should congratulate me. After all, you and my father have arranged my marriage.” Now Cyn smiled sweetly.

  He was fairly sure her pique was due to the fact that she still wanted him and wished she didn’t. “Can’t you take a joke?” He playfully tightened his grip on her wrist. Beneath his fingertips, he could feel her pounding pulse beat.

  “I’m merely worried about my father,” she returned lightly, withdrawing her hand from his and placing it on her hip. “He seems to think you’re so wonderful—” She lowered her voice. “And he’s going to be upset
when he finds out the truth.”

  Somehow Santa doubted it. “He’s not going to dislike me for having been a cop.”

  She shook her head. “When he finds out you and Jake Jackson are one and the same, he’ll be crushed.”

  He tried to assure himself that he only wanted the go-ahead to tell Amanda the truth. Then he was leaving. “Do you think he’ll be crushed,” Santa said softly, “because you were?” Why do I keep hoping she’ll admit she cares for me?

  “I was not!” She heaved a quick sigh. “I just don’t like the way you’re snowing my father. I’d appreciate it if you’d quit acting so buddy-buddy.”

  Eileen rounded the corner. Apparently, feeling as if he couldn’t do without her, Paxton had called and told Eileen to rush over. “Hello, you two,” she said pleasantly.

  The way she said it, they might have just been caught kissing. Both he and Cyn smiled dutifully at Paxton’s assistant until she’d passed. Then he said, “There’s no reason for you to be jealous, Cyn. I get along with your father and I think it’s a good thing. It’ll be good for Amanda.”

  “Jealous?” she burst out, as if it were the craziest thing she’d ever heard.

  “You don’t want to share your dad,” he said calmly. “And you sure don’t want to share Amanda.” In spite of her anger, he couldn’t help but notice her kissably pursed lips. He almost wished he’d just arrived in New York. He would be playing it cool; she would be flirting mercilessly.

  “I don’t mind sharing,” she finally said with a toss of her head. “It’s all a matter of who I’m sharing with.”

  He reached for her hand again, lifted it quickly, then pressed it against his chest. “Sometimes—” He gazed deeply into her eyes, wishing she’d be more reasonable. “We’ve shared pretty well.”

  “Oh, please,” she whispered miserably. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Can you really forget?” He drew her a fraction closer.

  “Believe me—” The huskiness of her voice seemed to belie her true emotions. “It’s as if I’ve been stricken by a case of total amnesia.”

  He chuckled softly. “A serious medical condition.” He realized she was almost in his arms. “Maybe I should jog your memory.”