The Cop Who Stole Christmas (Tall, Hot & Texan)

by Christie Craig

  “I’m a wise drunk!” Jennifer said and giggled.

  Savanna sighed. “Thanks, guys. I love you.”

  “By the way,” Jennifer said. “We decided it’s up to you if Mandy stays in the group. I voted to kick her ass out. But politically-correct Bethany here said the call is yours.”

  Savanna frowned and dropped into Bethany’s big comfy chair. She hadn’t dealt with the whole ‘a friend dated my ex thing.’ It just didn’t seem all that important compared to other things.

  But Savanna suddenly realized it wasn’t just that. She simply didn’t care. Didn’t care that Mandy had dated Clint. Didn’t really care that she’d lied. It did, however, say something about their friendship, though. Mandy was simply part of their group . . . never her friend. “I don’t know if it matters.”

  “It matters! I mean, if she had dated Cary, I would have pinched her head off.” Jennifer looked at Savanna. “See, there’s another thing you can’t take literally.”

  “She lied to us,” Bethany said.

  “I know, but, I’m telling you, her dating Clint is the least of my problems.” She looked at Bethany, and knowing Clint was her cousin, she asked, “How is Clint’s dad handling this? Is your family blaming me?” She saw an image of Clint again on her kitchen floor. She dropped her head in her hands and pushed hard against her eyelids.

  “His dad is upset, but he doesn’t blame you. He even said that if you were going to kill his son, you’d have done it when you caught him cheating in your own bed.”

  Savanna sank deeper into the chair. “Who could have done this? Who would have killed Clint?”

  “He had a lot of enemies,” Bethany said. “His dad said Clint and his partner in that nursery business had a falling out. And he had to fire the woman you found him in bed with when she discovered he was just using her for sex.”

  “But how would either of them have known what I said?”

  “Maybe one of them was at Juan’s place that day,” Jennifer said.

  Bethany stood up. “Let me get you a glass of wine.”

  Savanna leaned over and pulled out the bottle of brandy. “Actually, I might just drink this.”

  Bethany walked over and looked at the bottle. “Shit, this is good stuff. Where did you—”

  “My neighbor.”

  “I think I’m beginning to like that guy,” Bethany said.

  “Me, too,” Savanna said. “And that is one of my other issues.”

  “How can that be an issue?” Jennifer said.

  “Let me get a brandy glass while you pick her brain,” Bethany said.

  “So why is liking this guy an issue?” Jennifer asked again.

  “I don’t know, it just feels . . .” She paused trying to put it into words. “My ex-husband is murdered in my house, and instead of . . . thinking about that, I’m lusting after my next door neighbor.”

  “Hey . . .” Jennifer filled her glass up again with red wine. “I just read an article that said grief is practically an aphrodisiac. It’s a natural instinct. When someone dies we fear our own mortality, and fearing our mortality makes us want to copulate to keep the race alive. Seriously, did you ever watch the “Wedding Crashers” movie? Some guys crash funerals to get lucky.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Savanna said.

  “But probably true.” Bethany took the bottle from Savanna’s hands and poured some in a sniffer glass. “So the date must have gone well?” Bethany paused. “Wait, what am I saying, it must not have gone so well, considering you’re here. I was half expecting you to cancel.”

  Earlier today, Savanna had told Bethany about waking up on top of her hot neighbor. About how he made her feel nervous and giddy at the same time. “Are you kidding? I barely know him,” Savanna said.

  “And if you’d stayed, you’d be getting to know him a lot better,” Jennifer added. “Has he kissed you yet?”

  “Yes,” Savanna said. “And I melted right into my panties.”

  “Ohhh, I love those kind of kisses,” Jennifer said. “If guys only knew that with the right kind of kiss, a woman doesn’t even need foreplay.”

  “I always need foreplay,” Bethany said. “But a really hot kiss is a great start. You know who could really kiss? Tom Hinkle, the detective.” She shook her head. “Listen to us. I think it’s time we all consider dating again.”

  Savanna took a big swallow of brandy. It burned going down, but the warmth that followed was welcome. “My life’s a mess.”

  Jennifer dropped back against the sofa. “At least the last guy you dated didn’t show up at your door wearing a dress and a wig.”

  Savanna shook her head. “No, the last guy I dated and married showed up dead on my kitchen floor.”

  “Okay, you got me beat on that one,” Jennifer said.

  Bethany looked at Jennifer. “I told you when you said his legs were shaved that something was fishy.”

  “I want turtle doves,” Jennifer said. “I want a guy who will just love me and not cheat on me. And for God’s sake, I don’t want them to ask to wear my panties.”

  “I want a guy who isn’t intimidated by the fact that I’m a badass lawyer. I want control in the courtroom, but not always in the bedroom.”

  Both pairs of eyes shifted to Savanna. “What?” she asked, still enjoying the brandy-induced warmth.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want. . .” She downed the rest of her brandy. “I want my neighbor.”

  • • •

  Mark lay in bed staring at the ceiling and wondering how the hell she could have walked away after that kiss. It had been one of those kisses you didn’t walk away from. Then again, perhaps the kiss hadn’t been that good for her.

  His brain recalled how every inch of her came against every inch of him. He remembered how she’d tightened her thighs when his leg went between her them . Nope, she’d enjoyed that kiss just as much as he did. Running a palm over his face, he accepted she wasn’t exactly in a great place emotionally right now. She might have walked away because of that.

  He glanced over at his phone on the nightstand. He’d brought it in here, hoping she’d call. But why the hell was he waiting for her to call? Why didn’t he call her? His gaze cut back to the clock. Midnight. Too late.

  But maybe not too late to send a text. She’d find it in the morning. Or maybe she was still awake and she’d call him. He reached for his phone.

  • • •

  The next morning, Mark dropped down at his office desk and checked his phone again. No message. No missed calls. Disappointment pulled at his gut.

  “Hey.” Jake walked in.

  “Hey.” Mark hit a few keys on his keyboard to bring up his email.

  “Where’s breakfast?” Jake asked.

  Shit! Mark had forgotten. They’d been taking turns bringing breakfast for almost a year. “I . . . I wasn’t hungry.”

  “Right.” Jake leaned his ass against the edge of his desk.

  “It’s not going to kill you to skip a meal,” Mark said.

  “Right,” Jake repeated in his sarcastic tone.

  “Shit! I’ll go get you a donut!” He stood.

  Jake held out his hand. “So you didn’t get any last night, huh?”

  Mark dropped back into his chair and grabbed his coffee, which was already half cold, and took a sip. He wished like hell he was a better liar, that he could tell Jake his mood wasn’t in any way tied to sexual frustration, but he couldn’t. He’d stayed up half the night thinking about what he wanted to do to Savanna in bed. In the shower. On the sofa.

  Mark set his coffee down on the desk a little hard. “Do yourself a favor, and drop it!”

  “Is she still at your place?”

  “No. She went to stay with her friend.”

  “Which one?”

  “Why?” Mark asked, hearing something in Jake’s tone.

  “Tom called this morning. The detective running the hotel tapes spotted the Jennifer chick leaving the hotel and she swore she hadn’t.
They’ve tried to reach her and she’s not picking up her phone. She wasn’t at her apartment either.”

  Mark took in what Jake said. “Savanna was going to see Bethany, the lawyer, but . . . Crap!” He grabbed his phone.

  “What?” Jake asked.

  He called her number. “She said something about “they” were waiting on her. Hell, if this woman is sick enough to kill once, she could do it again.”

  The phone rang three times then went to voicemail.

  He hung up and found Bethany’s number. She answered on the second ring.

  “Where’s Savanna?” he demanded.

  “She went to work. Why?”

  “She’s not answering her phone,” he said. “Where’s Jennifer? Was she with you and Savanna last night?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Why?” The woman’s tone changed, sounding like a lawyer.

  “The Piperville cops are trying to find her.”

  “She already talked to them.”

  “They need to talk to her again. And they can’t find her,” he said not wanting to say more.

  “The reason they can’t find her is that she’s still in my extra bedroom sleeping.” She paused. “She‘s not a killer, Detective Donaldson.”

  • • •

  Savanna heard her phone ring and walked back to the front of the florist shop from doing inventory. Or pretending to do inventory. Anything to escape the worried look in Janice’s eyes. Janice, one of her best employees, had freaked when she’d told her about what happened. Then, while she’d gone to make a delivery, she’d picked up a paper. Sure as heck, there on the front page was an article about the murder and a picture of her porch with police tape hanging from the eaves.

  Savanna hadn’t read it. She knew it all too well.

  When she picked up her cell, she noticed she had a text message she hadn’t seen. She pulled it up.

  Miss you.

  Hope the brandy worked and you are having sweet dreams.

  Mark.

  P.S. Can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

  Savanna’s heart took a tumble in her chest. She looked to see when the text was sent. Midnight last night. In spite of all the issues crowding her heart and mind right now, she smiled. She liked knowing he’d been thinking about her. Because even with her life going to hell in a handbasket, she’d sure as heck been thinking about him, too.

  She checked to see who had called and she saw his number. She looked to see if he’d left a voice message. He hadn’t.

  Should she call him back? Text him?

  For one second, she wondered if her attraction to him wasn’t just pure escapism from all the crappy stuff happening. No, she realized, it couldn’t be. She’d been attracted to him from the first time she’d seen Mr. Blond and Beautiful grabbing his mail almost four months ago. He’d had his shirt hanging open and was wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and she stood by the window practically drooling.

  She had her finger hovering over the call back link when her phone rang. This time it was Jennifer.

  “How’s your headache?” Savanna asked.

  “They think I killed Clint,” Jennifer said without preamble.

  “What?”

  “I forgot I walked to the drugstore right next to the hotel to get something for my headache and they got me on tape and now they think I snuck out and killed him.”

  “They don’t think that,” Savanna said. “They can’t.”

  “They told me not to leave town.”

  “Have you talked to Bethany?” Savanna asked.

  “She went with me. This is so friggin’ crazy.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re getting pulled into this.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Jennifer said and her voice shook. “You know I hated Clint for what he did to you, but I wouldn’t kill him.”

  “I know that,” Savanna said with complete honesty. But then she heard the detective’s voice in her head, Someone killed your ex-husband, Mrs. Edwards, and it was someone who heard what you said at that restaurant.

  But not Jennifer, she thought. It couldn’t be Jennifer.

  • • •

  A few minutes after she hung up, the bell over her door chimed. Two customers walked in. One wanted to talk about table arrangements for a Christmas party, and another wanted to talk about her wedding.

  Savanna had Janice go over some possible arrangements while she spoke to the soon-to-be bride. An hour later, she had a signed contract to do another wedding, a Christmas party job, and three bouquets of flowers that needed to be made and delivered. It was almost lunchtime when she sent Janice out to deliver the arrangements and she finally got a breather. Not that she hadn’t appreciated being busy, it had helped her forget. And she’d only had one flashback of Clint dead on her kitchen floor the whole time.

  She went and grabbed her phone under the front counter, found the text from Mark, and started answering, when the door chimed again. She glanced up.

  Her heart did another tumble when Mr. Blond and Beautiful himself walked in. When his green eyes lit on her, he smiled, but it seemed slightly hesitant.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Fine,” Mark leaned against the counter. He’d talked himself out of coming then back into it a dozen times. If she had doubts about whether getting involved with him was a good idea, then maybe it wasn’t. He’d had a few doubts of his own, hadn’t he?

  Somehow he’d managed not to get to this emotional place with the women he’d seen in the past year. But was he lowering his guard because time had healed some old wounds, or because this woman was special?

  But seeing her now, he was thinking it was the latter. And it wasn’t just because she had every sweet curve and dip a man wanted to touch and feel against him. It was . . . the whole package. Her wit, her unpretentious approach to life, and even the fact that she owned her own business. He liked beautiful, smart, funny, down-to-earth go-getters.

  And he really liked seeing her in her element. His gaze shifted around the place to the glass coolers that held a dozen different vases of colorful floral Christmas arrangements.

  “You need to buy some flowers?” she asked with a smile.

  “Yeah, I was wondering what kind of flowers you send a girl who you had a great date with, but when you text and call her, she doesn’t answer.”

  “Hmm. As a florist, I’d sell you something really expensive, but because I’m thinking I might be that woman . . .” She held up her phone. “I’d tell you if you’d given her five more minutes, you’d have heard from her.”

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “Look for yourself.” She handed him her phone that held the message she’d already started writing: Mark, I just found your text this morning and I was swamped, but I have thought of . . .

  He looked up into her soft blue eyes. “So what have you thought of?”

  “You,” she said.

  He glanced around to make sure they were alone. “Not the kiss particularly?”

  She grinned and those blue eyes twinkled with a touch of embarrassment. “That too.” She sighed. “I’ve actually had a busy day. It kept me from . . . thinking too much.”

  “Well, that’s a shame.” He leaned over the counter and kissed her. A quick kiss. “I guess I’ve been thinking enough for both of us.”

  When he pulled back, she blinked her eyes open. “You’re good at that.”

  “Kissing?” he asked in a teasing voice.

  “Well, you’re good at that, too, but I meant making me forget my life’s a mess right now.”

  He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “I hope you don’t consider me part of that mess.”

  “I don’t,” she said. “It’s just . . . everything’s happening so fast and in the middle of chaos.”

  In spite of thinking pretty much the same thing, disappointment curled up in his gut. “So you want to slow it down?”


  She bit down on her lip as if debating. “No. I probably should, but I don’t. Unless you think it would be best?”

  “No, I don’t.” It wasn’t a lie. Sure, he’d considered it, but he wasn’t ready to turn his back on this. If the “being his neighbor” thing came back to bite him in the butt, he could lease out his house and move. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford it.

  “Have you heard anything else about the case?”

  He really wasn’t supposed to tell her everything, but he told her what he could. “I think they are interviewing a couple of your friends again.”

  “Jennifer called me. She forgot to tell them she walked next door to the pharmacy that night. It’s ridiculous. Jennifer didn’t do it. She won’t even spray her yard with pesticide because it will kill the lizards.”

  He hoped Savanna was right about her friends, because it would hurt if she learned otherwise. But as a cop, he couldn’t help but think it was one of them. “They’re just doing their jobs.”

  “They’re wasting their time,” she insisted.

  “Unfortunately, homicide detectives have to waste a lot of time to find answers. But, I do have some good news. The Piperville police are finished with your house.”

  “I can go home.” She blinked several times and then glanced away, and he figured he knew why. Home wasn’t the safe haven it had been a few days ago.

  “How about I come over and we’ll figure out dinner?” he asked. “Or you come over to my place. We can do pizza or Chinese takeout.”

  “Sounds good,” she said, but he could tell her mind was someplace else, and he had a good guess where.

  “You still having flashbacks?” he asked.

  “It’s happening less. But yeah.”

  “If it doesn’t go away, you might need to see someone about it.” A bell rang, announcing someone had walked in.

  She bit down on her lip. “I thought you said it’s normal?”

  “It is, but it’s hard to deal with sometimes.”

  “I’m a big girl,” she said.

  No, she wasn’t, he thought. She wasn’t petite, but she barely came to his shoulders, and right now she had that vulnerable look about her. The look that made a man want to rush in and take care of her. Was that what he was doing? Just wanting to take care of her?