Covert Christmas

by Marilyn Pappao

  The man flashed the gun toward Cam then back to Tara’s nose. “Where, dammit?”

  “It’s in my backpack, Cam. In a hidden pocket at the very bottom.”

  “Where’s the pack?” The hitman sounded harried. “Now!”

  “Right here, next to the fireplace.” Cam could see Tara was starting to lose consciousness so he moved toward the pack as fast as he dared. “Ease up on her, will you?”

  “You find that drive, Farrell. Show it to me. And you’d better be fast and careful.”

  The gunman’s attention was riveted on his moves. Cam hoisted the heavy pack in his arms and with one hand began rifling through it, heading for the bottom. But Cam’s fingers touched something else first. Something metallic, solid—and familiar. Thank you, my love.

  “I think I found it,” he said as he slipped his finger through the trigger.

  Just then Tara’s whole body went limp and the hitman was forced to rearrange his hold on her. He took his eyes off of Cam for the moment. It was all the advantage Cam needed.

  Cam pulled the .38 out of the pack, aimed and fired before the hitman had a chance to look his way. Cam had been aiming for his head, many inches above Tara’s, but the man was moving and all Cam caught was his shoulder. Fortunately the bullet shot through the hitman’s gun arm. The man dropped his weapon and loosened his hold on Tara.

  Before Cam could take a step in their direction, Tara came alive, spun and flung the man over her shoulder, pinning him to the ground. The hitman screamed in pain.

  “You’re still the best shot at ten paces I’ve ever known, Cam Farrell.” She was cracking jokes when he could barely breathe? No doubt her attempt to diffuse the tension. He knew then for sure that he was destined to be with her always. He was helpless to do anything but love her.

  Hours later, Cam waited for Tara and paced through the halls of the sheriff’s office. A place he knew well, but no longer felt he belonged. It was not his place.

  Tara appeared from behind the closed door to one of the conference rooms. “Why are you still here? Haven’t you finished giving your statement? It’s Christmas Eve, Cam, go find Chloe.”

  “I was waiting for you. I’ll drive you to wherever you need to go.”

  She looked up at him, love clearly shining in her eyes. “The governor and I have to go to Denver with the FBI agents who arrived hours ago. The paramedics patched up the hitman and he’s in the process of making a statement. I think he’s ready to make a deal to testify against the attorney general for a reduced sentence.”

  Tara took his hands and pulled him to one of the plastic chairs in an alcove. “I can’t thank you enough for everything. You saved my life and you…gave me the best few days I’ve ever had.”

  Cam didn’t like the sound of that. Was she telling him goodbye?

  She looked down at their joined hands. “Sheriff Reiner has been really terrific through all of this. Have you thought of someday running against him and going back to work as the sheriff?”

  “Reiner is a much better sheriff than I’d ever be. He wouldn’t lose his focus at the worst possible moment.”

  “Cam, nobody blames you for being ambushed. It could’ve happened to anyone. You need to do what’s right for you.”

  Cam rubbed at the pain developing in his chest. “The only thing I miss about being sheriff is the opportunity to accomplish something worthwhile for the people who voted me into office.” He shook his head, not able to consider any kind of future without Tara. Now that he’d found her again, he wasn’t giving her a chance to get away.

  “Then run for another office.” She gazed up at him with those sincere blue eyes and his heart fractured a little more. “You’re a born politician and you know it.”

  “I don’t want…” His voice cracked and he was forced to swallow the lump building in his throat. “I don’t want to run for anything unless you’re with me. You worked in the attorney general’s political office, even if it was only a cover. You must have learned a lot. Politicians do better when they have loving spouses.

  “And Tara, I lov—”

  She jumped up and cut him off. “Don’t.” Turning her back, she kept speaking softly. “Nothing has changed between us in the last ten years. Not really. We’re still—”

  He stood as well and cut her off. Taking her in his arms, he pulled her back against his chest so he could whisper in her ear.

  “True, I still love you. That hasn’t changed. Are you still disappointed in me because I believed my parents’ lies? I’m so sorry. Sorry for all of us. But I’m trying to make amends—both to you and to Chloe. I owe you both so much. Please give me a chance.”

  He heard the sob gurgling out of her chest, but when she spoke, her voice was steady. “You still don’t understand. Back then I—never mind. It can’t happen, Cam. We’re still the same people we always were.”

  She pulled out of his arms and turned, a bruised look in her eyes and tears staining her cheeks. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m glad you’re going to make a new life for yourself and your daughter. Really. But it can’t be with me. I apologize if I seemed to be leading you on.”

  Spinning again with her chin held high, she walked purposefully down the hall. “Have a good life, Cam. You deserve it.”

  “Tara! Come home with me. I can’t do this without you.” His words echoed in the empty hallway as Tara slipped around a corner and disappeared without a goodbye.

  Stricken with pain and ready to explode in frustration, Cam fisted his hands, clenched his teeth and stormed out of the sheriff’s offices. He’d loved her all his life. How could he ever be anything without Tara?

  Tara unlocked her basic one-bedroom apartment in Denver and slipped inside. This was one Christmas Day she was glad to finally see coming to an end. Only a few more hours left and then she could put a period on this whole crazy holiday.

  Without turning on the lights, she went to the windows, closed the blinds and drew the blackout curtains. When she felt it was safe, she turned on the night-light over the stove. Not that there was much for anyone to see within these cold and lonely rooms. She’d only ever used this space to sleep and shower. It might as well have been a motel room for all the use she’d ever made of what she laughingly referred to as home.

  But the governor and the FBI had convinced her that she was still at risk, that as long as the attorney general was at large, and perhaps even after he was captured, her life would remain on the line. She would have to move. Go into temporary hiding, maybe even change her name, at least until his trial.

  The FBI had suggested using the U.S. Marshals Service Witness Protection program, but she’d declined the offer. No need. She could protect herself just fine and there wasn’t anyone who would miss her if she suddenly disappeared. Nothing to hold her here.

  Her father was in prison—for good this time. Not that it mattered. He hadn’t acknowledged her existence since she’d been a kid. And her mother moved to the Canadian Rockies years ago. For a split second, Tara thought of joining her up there. But then she remembered that a couple of years back her mother had found a new husband and had a whole litter of young stepchildren to raise. Uh-uh. That would be no place for her now.

  Shrugging, Tara began cleaning out her fridge, though it contained little but leftovers and a carton of out-of-date milk. She was used to not having a real home. There’d only been that one time in her whole life when she’d ever felt wanted enough to really settle in—at Cam’s grandparents’ house.

  The thought of his home threatened to release the tears that had stayed right below the surface for the last twenty-four hours since she’d told Cam goodbye. But she never belonged in his world. Not really. She was still the girl from the wrong side of town. She bit her lip to stop it from trembling and twist-tied the garbage bag she’d filled.

  Love was for fools. Just look at what it had done for her mother. Tara would put Cam’s memory back in the tidy little spot in her heart where she’d been keeping it for all these year
s. Better for everyone that way.

  Ten years ago she’d grown tougher after learning that even love was not enough sometimes. She could do it again.

  Making her way to the closet in the dark, she flipped her one suitcase onto the bed and began cramming it with the two business suits and four pairs of jeans she owned. The nightstand drawer full of underwear and nightgowns came next. After that, Tara looked around and decided she could easily call the furniture rental place in the morning and tell them to pick up the rest of their stuff.

  Not much to show for a whole life.

  Rolling her bag behind her, she made her way back to the kitchen to pick up the garbage and turn out the light. She’d already been in the apartment for too long.

  As she rounded the corner, she noticed her one landline phone. Better disconnect it and take it with her. But then she saw the answering machine blinking. Messages?

  Thinking a caller might’ve been the attorney general’s lawyer ready to make some kind of deal, she hit the button. The voice that came through the speaker was right out of her dreams.

  “Tara, are you okay? I’m worried about you. Merry Christmas, honey.” Cam’s voice was none too steady.

  She knew how he felt. Her own legs started shaking under her at the mere sound of his voice. That’s why she’d refused to take his calls to her cell. She held on to the kitchen counter and listened to the rest of his message.

  “You can’t leave things this way, Tara. It isn’t fair. Don’t I deserve a better explanation of what’s wrong? At least call me and let me know that you’re alive and well. Please consider meeting with me. Talk to me. Come home.”

  For seconds after he’d hung up she just stared at the silent phone, shell-shocked and numb. But a few of his words kept repeating and repeating in her mind.

  “Don’t I deserve…? Home…”

  Cam threw down the dish towel at the sound of the doorbell, wondering who it could be at this hour. His in-laws had left a couple of hours ago and Chloe was tucked away and fast asleep in her bed. A birthday party at her grandparents’ and a big Christmas morning at home had tuckered his little charmer out.

  At nearly midnight, Cam couldn’t imagine who would risk the still-slick mountain roads to come to his door. The sheriff? Alarmed by the idea of bad news, Cam checked out the window and saw a familiar shape before he disengaged the security and opened the front door.

  “Tara!” He dragged her into his arms. “Why didn’t you call? How did you get here?”

  She gazed up at him. “Can I come in and talk?” The love was still in her eyes, but so was a mountain of hesitation.

  Quietly he settled her at the kitchen table and made them a pot of coffee. He was determined not to let her out of his sight again. No matter what she had to say. But as he waited, his heart thumped wildly in his chest.

  “The FBI loaned me an unmarked car. I have to stay out of sight for a while.” She looked down into her mug. “I’ve decided you were right, Cam. I do owe you an explanation. You shouldn’t have to go on with your life still guessing. That isn’t fair.

  “By the way, did you at least see your daughter on her birthday? Give her the rocking horse?”

  He wanted to reach out to her, but fisted his hands around his mug instead. “Chloe is upstairs in her bed. Where she belongs. She loved the horse but made me promise next year it would be a real pony.”

  Tara exhaled. “Good. That’s good.”

  “Tara, honey…”

  She shook her head. “Let me just say this, please. Ten years ago when your parents lied to you about me, I could have proved them wrong right then. I had the scholarship letters that I could have shown you. But I decided the best thing for you was for us to break up—so I stayed silent.”

  Cam held his breath, unable to speak.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t tell you because it was better for your future. You were born to be a politician. You’re going to run for a major office someday, Cam. I’ve always known that. And I also knew that who I am, where I come from, could not help you. In fact, my background would only be a hindrance to your career.

  “It still would be,” she said with a sigh. “My father is a convicted career criminal and a murderer. My mother cleaned hotel rooms for a living. Wouldn’t your political rivals just love to use that against you?”

  “That’s it? You’re saying you believed all the crap my mother used to spout about you not being good enough? How could you claim to love me and not know me any better than that?” Cam stood, pushed back his chair and pulled her into his arms—though she was still fighting him.

  “Listen to me. I. Love. You. When you and I marry, that will make me and Chloe your only family. Who cares about people who are related to you just by biology? Anyone who dares to make a public fuss about your past family will have to deal with me. And I suspect the voters would be on our side of that argument. If they weren’t on our side—well, their political office wouldn’t be worth having. Not without you.”

  “When we marry? Cam, no. I…”

  Suddenly panicked that she would still walk away, Cam fought for calm. “Did you lie when you said you loved me? Did you?”

  Shaking her head, she murmured, “I have loved you all my life. But that doesn’t mean—”

  Cam couldn’t let her finish. Not without showing her the truth of what he felt. He kissed her. The kiss of a man still desperately in love—as he had also been all of his life.

  “Don’t leave me again,” he whispered against her mouth. “Stay with me. Make me whole.”

  “Daddy?” A little voice called from behind him. “I’m thirsty. What’s going on?”

  “Chloe.” Cam turned his head to see his sleepy daughter standing just inside the kitchen with her teddy under one arm. “You should be asleep, baby. But now that you’re up, I want you to meet…”

  “My angel! Daddy, you found her for me.” Chloe came closer and looked up at Tara with a serious expression on her sweet face. “I’m Chloe. I know you. You’re going to be my new mommy.

  “Right, Daddy?”

  Cam turned to Tara, holding his breath. Tara’s eyes filled with tears as she smiled down at his child and then gazed up at him.

  “Two against one. I give up.” She turned back to Chloe and held out her hand to bring his baby into the circle of their love. “Yes, honey. I guess I’m going to be your new mommy.”

  Chloe snuggled close and buried her face in Tara’s tummy. “My angel.”

  Cam wrapped them both in his arms, silently giving thanks to whatever force had really brought Tara back into his life and had given him a second chance. This time he vowed it would be forever.

  SAVING CHRISTMAS

  Loreth Anne White

  For my parents, who married two days before Christmas, forever entwining memories of the season with memories of their love.

  Chapter 1

  December 22, 1600 Zulu

  A thick equatorial stillness hung over the U.S. embassy’s residential compound in Kigali, broken only by a sudden shrill screech from a troop of silver-gray monkeys, three of them swinging down through the iroko trees and dropping into an open-walled, thatched lapa where Cass Rousseau, West Africa staff correspondent for CBN International, was setting up to interview Susan Swift, U.S. Deputy Chief of Mission.

  Since it was a Sunday, most State Department staff and their families were in the residential compound, which lay in the foothills of jungle-encrusted mountains that reached up into hot, wet mist—and most were lying low in their bungalows, avoiding the energy-sapping heat.

  The only reminder that it was just three days before Christmas in this tiny country wedged between Ghana and Cote d’Ivoire was the fake white tree in front of which Swift had positioned her seat for the interview. Decorated with tiny ornaments crafted from African beads, the tree looked incongruous against the verdant backdrop. But even that plastic symbol of the season was too much for Cass. Especially today.

  Sweat beaded across her upper lip a
s she repositioned her fluorescent light stand, trying to stay focused on her job—the fewer prompts that tomorrow was her wedding anniversary, the better.

  Christmas had once represented a time of hope and dreams for Cass. Then her son, Jacob, had been killed.

  Hope and dreams died with him that day.

  So had her marriage.

  Now she liked to get as far away as she could from anything even vaguely reminiscent of cool, snow-covered mountains, twinkling lights, the scent of gingerbread, crackling fires, roasting turkeys. Now she preferred chasing stories—the closer the shaves, the sharper the adrenaline, the hotter and more foreign the locale, the better.

  However, things had finally grown calm in Kigali since the first democratic elections thirteen months ago. So calm that U.S. Ambassador Jon Wight had taken a month of home leave, his duties falling to Susan Swift in the interim.

  This was great for the Kigali people, but not for Cass. The lag in breakneck action gave her time to dwell on the past, to remember. She’d begun to think of moving on.

  Opening her backpack, Cass removed a small mirror and checked herself out under the lighting. She dabbed a tissue over her damp brow, freshened her lip gloss.

  “Sorry about the lack of air-conditioning,” Swift said with a laugh as she watched Cass. “Maybe in another year we’ll actually get some—seems we’re not a high priority on the department budget.”

  Cass smiled and snapped the mirror shut. She liked Swift. She liked that a woman was in charge, and she liked that Swift had a sense of humor. “Believe me, I’ve dealt with way worse than melting makeup. And I do like to think that viewers cut us beleaguered foreign correspondents some slack in the looks department from time to time.” She motioned to her cameraman, Samuel Sekibo, as she spoke. “Ready to roll, Sam?”

  He shot a big thumbs-up, his ebony-skinned face splitting into a broad, white grin. “Ready to roll ’em, boss,” he said in his resonating bass. Cass repressed a smile. Sam uttered those same words without fail each time—she’d miss them, and him, when she moved on.