Covert Christmas

by Marilyn Pappao

  “At least I didn’t screw with people,” Josh denied.

  She shook off the melancholy hovering around her. “No, you just stole from them. Scammed them out of everything they owned. Lied, cheated, set them up and let them fall.”

  “I never pretended—” A tinge of crimson crept into his cheeks as he broke off. Josh Saldana feeling guilty. Who had known he was capable?

  “To be someone you weren’t? To feel something you didn’t?” She snorted. “Right. You were always pretending, Josh, always saying and doing the things to get what you wanted.”

  He stared at her a long time, his mouth thinned, then shook his head. “I never took anything they couldn’t afford to lose.”

  She stood up and tossed her soup container, spoon and coffee cup into the trash. “So you were a thief and a con man, but you had standards.” She paused for effect, then quietly added, “Your parents must be so proud.”

  It was a low blow, based on things he’d told her in confidence. She’d thought at the time that he’d told her all his secrets, except for dealing with the Feds to get himself out of trouble. She’d had to learn that one from the newspapers.

  His face paled, and the veins in his neck tightened. He stood, too, and gathered his trash, then passed close to her. After dropping it into the stainless-steel can, he turned, mere inches away. His gaze met hers—no hiding the disdain now—and his lip curled into a sneer. “Go to hell, Natalia.”

  All her life it would have been a short trip, except for those few months in Chicago with him. All her life she’d figured there must be some reason she deserved such grief. A person couldn’t be as consistently down and out as she’d been without a reason, unless it—she—was God’s idea of a joke.

  But sometimes she saw a flicker of hope—when she’d fallen in love with Josh. When she’d gained acceptance and friendship from his brother, Joe. For just an instant when she’d recognized Josh in the yard this evening. Maybe there really was such a thing as Christmas miracles.

  Go to hell, Natalia.

  But not for her.

  She took a breath, ready for more questions, to be alone again, to give up the faintest flickers of hope that her life might change. “What else do you want to know?”

  As if she’d answered that question adequately.

  Josh stifled a snort as he stared at her. She’d aged more than the last three years could account for. Guilt, he hoped. After what she’d done, she didn’t deserve to go on with her life as if nothing had happened.

  Of course, he’d aged, too. Nothing had brought that home as clearly as his brief visit with his brother on the way to Augusta. For thirty-some years, they’d been virtually identical in looks. Now the resemblance between them was more of a family thing and less a twin thing. Instead of the seven-minute head start he had on Joe, he looked a hard seven years older.

  “Was anything you ever said true?” It wasn’t one of the real questions he wanted to ask. Not Why? Or Did you ever feel anything for me? Or How could you do it? Even Did you regret it? But it was a start.

  “Practically everything.” She sounded as tired as she looked, but he was way beyond feeling sympathetic.

  “Everything but the important stuff.”

  She raised one hand to gesture around her. “You found me. Obviously I told you something important.” A pause. “What was it?”

  He could keep the answer from her. Yeah, it was petty, but it would soothe his ego to know he had something she wanted. It was a little bit of power for him, when all the power before had been hers.

  But he was trying to change, right? Trying to become someone different. Better. Someone people weren’t trying to kill. Someone his brother and their parents might someday respect.

  “When you were a kid, your grandmother lived in Augusta. Over by the mall, a couple blocks off the Bobby Jones Expressway. You visited her in the summer. It was the only place you ever felt…”

  The memory formed in his mind, as clear as if it had just happened. She’d been naked in his bed, limp and sleepy and talking in a drowsy murmur. It was the only place she’d ever felt wanted, she’d whispered, and he—he’d hurt for her. He had wanted to hold her tighter, to promise her that he would want her forever, but before he’d said the words, she had begun to snore softly in his arms. He had lain awake that whole night, holding her, facing feelings for her that were too big, too intense, but feeling them all the same.

  If she’d remembered any part of the conversation the next day, she’d given no hint.

  Now her face was flushed. She might not remember telling him something so personal, but clearly she had an idea what she might have said. Stiffly she moved away and crossed her arms. “So you came to Augusta and…what?”

  “Got lucky.” That was what he was known for: being the luckiest son of a bitch that ever lived. “You and your grandmother walked to the mall every day to buy cinnamon rolls. Even when you were ten, she still made you hold her hand when you crossed Gordon Highway. So I’ve been hanging out.”

  And he’d gotten lucky. The bakery was only a hundred feet from the storefront where she worked wrapping Christmas gifts. Yesterday afternoon he’d spotted her, buying a cinnamon roll for lunch, and last night he’d followed her home, but he had been so pissed that he’d put off confronting her until today.

  “Lucky,” she scoffed. “You brought Davison and Leeves to my door.”

  “No way. Nobody followed me.”

  “So it’s a coincidence that they showed up minutes after you?”

  “The entire United States Marshals Service, along with numerous local and state authorities, are looking for me, and you think Davison and Leeves found me?” He shook his head. “I figure they already knew where you were and were just waiting for me to show up. When I did, they crawled out of the gutter.”

  “Why would they think you’d show up?”

  He gave her a long, dry look. She was a beautiful woman. She’d seduced him, lied to him, set him up and almost gotten him—or, at least, his twin—killed. And he’d been stupid in love with her. Everyone had known he would go looking for her, except, apparently, her.

  Her hair gleamed in the overhead light when she shook her head, the color easy and flirty and so not her. “I would have known if someone was following me.”

  “You were still working for the Mulroneys when you moved to Copper Lake, and they were watching you then. When you ran, you didn’t go far. They were probably right behind you.”

  She continued to shake her head. “I would have known.”

  Her self-confidence reminded him of himself—and, yeah, he’d been wrong a few times. He was about to point that out—Like you knew I was there waiting for you?—when the lights in the corridor came on and a woman’s voice sounded from down the hall.

  “I left the wine on my desk. I’ll just be a minute.” Purposeful footsteps muffled by carpet headed their way.

  Josh’s gaze darted around the room, locating the only hiding place: a small corner where vending machines stood at right angles to each other. Natalia grabbed her bag and tossed it on top of one machine, then headed for the light switch. He caught her hand as a shadow fell across the frosted glass, shoved her into the narrow opening, then joined her.

  The steps stopped an instant before the door swung open. “Sheesh, Anna,” the intruder grumbled. “It’s part of your job. Rinse the coffeepot, unplug the machine and turn out the lights. Is it too much to ask that you actually do it?”

  As the woman came into sight, Josh pressed back, forcing Natalia against the wall. The woman wore a long black skirt with a sequined top—formal wear for the grandmotherly type. Perfume floated on the air, a heavy floral, and diamond studs, a carat or so, decent cut, nice sparkle, twinkled in her ears.

  Still grumbling, she laid a purse next to the fake reindeer, emptied the coffeepot and rinsed it, then unplugged the machine. She swept the room with her gaze, probably looking for anything else she could blame on Anna, then picked up her bag. Only a few
steps away, she pivoted and turned back, waving her hand in front of the reindeer. “You turned off Rudolph, too? I guess I’m lucky you didn’t throw him in the trash.”

  After she fiddled with the reindeer a moment, it burst into song and, smiling with smug satisfaction, she started to the door again. “I’m your Secret Santa, Anna. Forget the present I already bought. I know exactly what you’re gonna be getting tomorrow.”

  She switched off the light, then closed the door behind her. Rudolph’s nose blinked crazily as it continued to sing, drowning out the sound of her footsteps.

  Josh remained motionless, his breathing slow and shallow. Natalia was so still and quiet that if he didn’t feel her warmth against his back, he wouldn’t even know she was there.

  The reindeer reached the end of its tune in time for Josh to pick out the fading sound of footsteps again. An instant later, the hall lights went off and the break room fell into near darkness, the only illumination coming from the vending machines.

  Natalia let out a soft sigh and wriggled to one side, putting an inch or two of space between them. He turned, blocking the escape from their hiding place, facing her. She met his scrutiny without blinking, giving him back the same steady look.

  The wine woman’s fragrance was fading, replaced by Natalia’s subtler scent. Within a few weeks of their meeting, that fragrance had permeated everything in his life—his apartment, his clothes, his truck, his bed. He’d fallen asleep to it, awakened to it, come to associate it with the best time of his life.

  And it had all been just a job to her.

  “Poor Anna.” After a moment, she cleared her throat. “I think it’s safe.”

  “Aw, Nat, why would I ever trust your opinion on that? The biggest danger in my life—in my brother’s life—has come from you.”

  Shame crossed her face, and her gaze lowered to somewhere around his throat. “I’m sorry about what happened to Joe.”

  “But it would have been okay if they hadn’t mistaken him for me.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I never wanted you dead.”

  He wanted to believe that—wanted to believe he couldn’t have been so wrong. He was the skeptic, the cynic, the con artist. Reading people was one of the tools of his trade. He knew better than to trust a pretty face. But he had been wrong, and Joe had the scars to prove it. His brother had almost died in his place. Twice.

  “I didn’t know who the Mulroneys were,” she whispered. “I didn’t know they intended to kill you. I trusted Patrick. I didn’t have a clue.”

  “How could you not know? Everyone knows.” But that wasn’t true. A lot of people in Chicago believed the brothers were exactly what they appeared to be: honest, hardworking, churchgoing businessmen. The Feds had tried a long time to build a case against them and had spent a lot of money and effort gaining the cooperation of insiders like Josh—and keeping them alive long enough to testify.

  Natalia had been new to Chicago, an easy mark for someone like Patrick. She wouldn’t have known the truth to start, and by the time she might have begun hearing rumors, she was already in his debt. She’d liked him, been grateful to him. Hadn’t wanted to believe anything bad about him.

  Aw, hell, don’t start making excuses for her. You were a job to her, nothing more.

  Even if she’d been so much more to him.

  Chapter 3

  Natalia’s voice was unsteady when she spoke again. “We should leave.”

  “And go where?”

  She shrugged, her arm bumping Josh’s. It was a mere brush, lasting a second or two, but it warmed her in ways neither her coat nor the building’s heating system had managed. For her own safety, she pressed herself harder against the wall. “There are all-night restaurants.”

  “Yeah, and Davison and Leeves will be checking every one of them.”

  “We can go back to my apartment.” Even as she made the suggestion, she knew it wasn’t possible. They may have seen only Davison and Leeves, but no doubt now that Josh had actually been sighted other people were involved, either new hires or newly-arrived from elsewhere. At least one of them would be watching her apartment.

  Josh’s expression was chiding, as if he expected better from her. “Don’t you think your landlady called the police when she heard that gunshot?”

  Unexpectedly, a tiny smile slipped free. “Probably not. Mrs. Johnstone takes her hearing aids out before the evening news so she doesn’t accidentally catch any headlines.”

  His mouth relaxed, too, not quite forming a smile but close. He was handsome enough when scowling, but when he smiled, dear God, he was devastating. In their months together, he’d smiled a lot. She’d never known anyone as perpetually good-natured as him; it had been part of his attraction. No matter what was going on, he’d always found a reason to laugh…until she’d taken that from him.

  Forcing her attention back to the subject, she said, “We could leave town.”

  “Yeah? And how would we do that? Steal a car? You learn how to hot-wire an engine the same time you learned to pick locks?”

  His sarcasm stung, but she forced it away. Picking locks had saved her life—had saved their lives tonight. She wouldn’t apologize for that.

  “We could call J—”

  Josh had started to move out of the corner, but he swung back, his face hard, his eyes icy. “No. We don’t call Joe or Liz or anyone else. This is our problem. No one else’s.”

  But Joe would come. So would Liz. Hell, deputy marshal that she was, Liz would know better than anyone how to get them safely out of Augusta, so they could disappear again. Separately. Hiding and never seeing each other again as long as they lived.

  Though Natalia had been living alone, hiding from someone or another, for ten years, now the prospect sounded incredibly bleak.

  “We’ll stay here until morning,” Josh decided, stepping through the opening. “We’ll get out before the employees start showing up.”

  Once he’d put some distance between them, she was able to breathe again, though each breath smelled of him. She followed him into the room, deliberately sitting by the overpowering cinnamon- and fir-scented candles, giving her olfactory senses a break from his tantalizing scent.

  “I’m beat.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, then so quickly she couldn’t react, he reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the pistol. He tucked it into his own pocket, then extended his hand. “Give me the money.”

  Slowly she blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “The money. I’ve got the gun. I want the cash.”

  Did he plan to ditch her? To take her weapon and her stash and run off, leaving her to deal with Davison and Leeves? Would he do that to her—this man who’d told her he loved her? This liar, this con artist, this thief?

  This man whom she’d betrayed?

  She stared at him, and he stared back, his expression inscrutable, his hand stone-cold steady as he waited for her to obey. “I thought you relied on charm to rob your victims blind,” she said quietly as she pulled the stack of bills from her right jeans pocket.

  He laughed. “You? My victim? Yeah, right. Besides, I know you. Charm’s a waste of my time and yours.” He gestured. “The rest of it.”

  He’d charmed total strangers for far less than he was taking from her, but she wasn’t worth the effort. She swallowed the hurt and dug out the second stash of cash.

  He shoved the money into his jeans pocket, then stuck his hand out once more. “Now the knife.”

  Grudgingly she removed the sheath from her ankle and offered it. He slid it into an inside jacket pocket before circling to the broken-down couch against the wall. “I’m gonna take a nap. Don’t make me come looking for you when I wake up.” He lay down, turned on his right side so the money and weapons would be impossible to reclaim without disturbing him, closed his eyes and went to sleep. Like turning off a switch, she used to tease.

  Surprise made her slump back in the chair. He wasn’t abandoning her. He was taking the best steps he could to
keep her from abandoning him. Sure, she could make her escape with nothing more than the clothes she wore—she’d done it before—but money made it easier and, under the circumstances, weapons were vital.

  But she wouldn’t leave him, not like this. Not when he was in danger. Not when he needed her, no matter how much he didn’t want her.

  After three hours, the chair grew uncomfortable, causing an ache in the small of her back and another in her butt. She stood, stretched and set off the singing reindeer before hastily shutting it down. She would bet every dime of her twenty-eight hundred that opening the door would bring him instantly alert, but he didn’t even twitch at the burst of song.

  “Hey. Josh.” She went to the door, her fingers wrapped around the knob, pulling it open just an inch or two.

  His voice was a low, husky murmur from the shadows. “Where you going?”

  “To find a bathroom. Want to come?”

  What little light there was gleamed on his hair as he rolled over, then slid to his feet. He was scowling, not an angry, can’t-stand-the-sight-of-her look but more a cranky-tired scowl. “Yeah. Hell, why not?” He picked up the flashlight she’d left on the table, pushed past her into the hall and shined the light in both directions. The best bet seemed a recessed area to the left, wide enough for two doors and a drinking fountain.

  They walked there in silence, Natalia going into the ladies’ room, Josh turning into the men’s. She took care of business, washed her hands and face, then replaced her glasses to stare at her reflection in the mirror. She was too thin, too pale, and the hair color and style were too much. Her eyes were too big, too shadowed.

  She was too tired.

  There was a sound in the hall—an off-key whistling—and she straightened, finger-combed her hair and went out to find Josh leaning against the opposite wall. He pushed away. “Want to have a look around before we return to the cave?”

  With a nod, she turned to the right. “Always like to know where the exits are. Don’t you?”

  “It comes in handy.” After a few steps, he said, “No way for a grown man to live, huh?”