Red Hot Christmas

by Carmen Falcone

  “When I proposed to her, I wanted things to be different. I wanted to be different, and be the guy who believes in happy marriages even though I grew up seeing my mom and dad fight a lot.”

  “It’s not your fault it didn’t work out with her.”

  “It’s not her fault either.” He sighed. “Before her I had never met a woman I wanted to tie myself to. And after her…I started to question if that was even something I’d ever want.”

  She nudged his elbow. “Maybe it’s for the best. I bet your mom is far too elegant to wear the grandmother badge.”

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind that badge. How about you?”

  “I never considered bringing children into this world in my whole life. I wonder though, if that’s all there is. If I can’t maybe adopt and make someone’s life better.” Her voice trailed off. “Not like I’ll have any shot with an agency, what with being a former inmate.”

  She shrugged and reached for her pizza. Her best option would be to shove food in her mouth to avoid saying something super stupid. To say the conversations with him had helped her to come to that conclusion would be dumb. Last thing she wanted was for Alejandro to think she was fantasizing about a future for the two of them, with rainbows and puppies. What a ridiculous idea—she was a cat person, to begin with.

  “Is that him?” He pointed at a man on his monitor.

  She squinted, and angled toward his screen.

  A man with the same blue baseball hat she’d seen the intruder wearing walked across the street. “Zoom in on him,” she said, and within a second, a cold sensation spilled into her veins. “It’s him. When did this happen?”

  Alejandro read the info on the bottom of the recording. “A day before the intruder came over.”

  She couldn’t help but peer at him. The contours of his face hardened, and she noticed his throat working. “Interesting. But what…”

  “Rewind. He just bumped into someone.” He raised his voice, his eyes widening for a moment.

  She brought her attention back to what mattered, and clicked on the mouse for a slow rewind. The man exchanged an envelope as he bumped into someone else. Intrigued, she paused the recording and enlarged the image. The man the intruder was next to was slim, a tad shorter than him and—

  “That’s my mother’s driver,” he said, and the bitterness in his voice spoke volumes.

  She let go of the mouse and swiveled her chair in his direction. “Should we talk to him?”

  His nostrils flared. “Let’s go straight to the source,” he said, and hit the button to print the image.

  She knew what that meant. They would talk to his mother, which would prove her early suspicion that his mother was somehow involved in Frank’s death—perhaps in Patty’s as well. In the same week, the man beside her could lose the uncle he thought he knew, and the mother he thought he had.

  With a quiet nod, Sydney surged to her feet and followed him out of the security area. For once in her life, she hoped she was wrong.

  ***

  “Oh, there you are. I knew you’d come to your senses and come home,” his mother said, as she stood next to the Christmas tree and added some sparkly ornaments to the already crowded piece. “I found a few ornaments I left behind, and thought it’s better late than never, right?” She gave him a wink, uncharacteristically playful. Although his mother was dressed to the nines as usual, her hair up and the expensive yet understated ruby necklace adorning her, he could tell by the circles her makeup failed to conceal that she had been worried. “Here, Sydney, take one.” She handed Sydney a green and gold ball, and Sydney mumbled something he couldn’t hear and palmed it.

  Mother. Did she really have to put on a show and pretend nothing had happened? Didn’t the last few days teach her anything? “What is your connection to the man who was here the other day?”

  “Excuse me?” she asked, eyes widened and chin jutting out.

  “The man you lied to us about.” He flung the picture he printed at her. “This guy knows your driver. Was he blackmailing you, Madre? Is there a sordid detail you left out?”

  She let out a long sigh, and fell back on the tufted sofa as if she had just been on a shopping marathon. “One.”

  He wouldn’t give in this time, and continued standing, legs apart and hands perched on his hips. Sydney played with the delicate ball, passing it from hand to hand. He realized the upside of not having a family was to avoid awkward moments like this. “Well, let’s hear it.”

  Constanza massaged her temples and closed her eyes for an instant, before straightening herself on the sofa. “I paid him…to pretend he was intruding.”

  Paid? “What?” Anger skated up his throat. He looked at Sydney, whose jaw was dropping—not just her jaw. The ball she had been playing with must have slipped from her hands at the revelation, because dozens of tiny shimmering pieces were crushed under her feet. She opened her mouth to speak, but he waved her off. His mother was about to tell him one more of her stupid little lies, and he couldn’t miss a single word.

  “I’m not an idiot, son. I knew there was something you were hiding from me. Ever since you came from New York. I tried to listen here and there. When I eavesdropped on you the first night and heard about the biographer, I didn’t know how much about it you had discovered.”

  “And you thought by worrying me you would find out?” God, did she see him as a complete idiot? Restless, he paced in small circles, working his legs as frustration, hot and strong, flooded him. Who the fuck was his mother?

  “I…I expected you to tell me. I thought you needed some pushing. Maybe you were being blackmailed by someone. I just had to know,” his mother continued, a touch of defensiveness in her voice. “The guy I asked to er, assist me, obviously took his role a tad too seriously when he struck me and the maid.”

  “Did you have Frank Lewis killed?” He carefully pronounced every single word, to ensure there was no miscommunication this time.

  Tension crackled in the living room. Sydney nodded at him, egging him on. Was she proud he was standing up to his mother? He shook his head. What a strange time to worry about what Sydney was thinking.

  Constanza folded her arms across her chest. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never do such a thing.”

  “I don’t know you anymore. You and Evandro both had reasons why you didn’t want him alive. The man is dead, and he had no other enemies. Who’s to say you didn’t hire someone to do it? I learned yesterday that you lied to me my entire life about my biological father. You cheated on my dad continuously throughout the marriage. Pardon me if I don’t believe you right now.”

  His mother shook her head. “What are you going to do?”

  First things first, he needed to meet Joe in person and talk about his suspicions.

  Accusations, especially within the family, were a delicate matter. “I’ll bring justice to Frank Lewis’s death.”

  “That’s thoughtful, mi hijo. But how on Earth can you do that?” Constanza asked, straightening her posture.

  Alejandro’s gaze darted at Sydney, who leaned against the wall. Despite the misleading casual posture, there was that simmering intensity flickering in her eyes. A powerful warmth poured over him. “I have my ways, Madre,” he said, refusing to elaborate. He wouldn’t risk discussing his concerns with his mother. “It seems I won’t be able to stay for Christmas after all.”

  A lump lodged in his throat. He had promised his father on his grave to always be there for his mother, and to come celebrate every Christmas with her. His temples throbbed, and a rush of hot, pounding blood surged through him. This year, not only he wouldn’t be present—he would go back to Chicago.

  ***

  “Did you mean what you said back there?” she asked him after the flight attendant in his private jet left them alone.

  “Of course,” he said. Two shots of scotch and his blood pressure was still off the charts. The decision to leave Argentina and get to Chicago would pay off. He would take all the information
he had to his detective. He had sent Joe a text message saying he would contact him just as soon as he got back. “Do I want to believe my mother paid someone to kill him? No.” Shit. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. But if life taught him anything, it was to try and always be one step ahead of the curve.

  “I’m sorry. It’s a lot to process, isn’t it?”

  He lifted her hand to his mouth, and planted a small kiss. She quivered, and it was like the tremor passed from her body to his, as he too, shuddered. He wanted to thank her, thank her for being there for him. During the past week, he had endured the worst kind of news from his life—apart from Amparo’s death.

  The family he thought he had was a sham. Now, doubts crowded his thoughts. Was discovering even more worth it? What if he lost the little he had left? “I can’t stop anymore. I have to find out, Sydney.”

  “I get you.”

  “Remember when you were asking me earlier about starting a family? The idea is laughable. If I was ever far from it, it’s now. How can I consider it when my own family is falling apart? I feel I lost my father and Amparo decades ago. This week, I lost my mother and uncle.”

  “You will survive this,” she said, and the sadness in her voice made him unbuckle his safety belt and reach out to her. Of course he knew he would survive it. He was a strong man, and deception wasn’t a crippling emotion—well, not for long. Yet it was the vulnerable veneer sweeping over her that got to him.

  Sydney had experienced real pain, real loss. Not that the ones he did weren’t real. He claimed her mouth with his, and she accepted it. She ran her fingers along his jaw, and the scrape of her sharp nails against his stubbled chin set a rumble through his body.

  “Come.” He stood up, and in a blink, led her to a small suite.

  Once he closed the door though, she was the one who pushed him against the wall. He was mad, and perhaps she was too. Why would she be upset? Because she wanted to avenge her friend’s death as much as he wanted to solve the mystery to get it all behind them. When all this was sorted, they would go different ways. The chat with her at the security room had opened his eyes wider—Sydney wasn’t the rough girl she portrayed herself to be. She had a soft, warm side—which he adored, and because of it, he had to let her go.

  The sex was fantastic, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t offer her any more.

  She had been through too much already to end up with a guy like him.

  But now…he was too damn weak to resist her.

  Seductively, she stroked her tongue over his neck, and he threw his head back so hard, he knocked it against the wall. The sensation of her luscious flesh on his skin set a trail of excitement through him. His cock tightened against the confines of his boxers and jeans, and he wrapped his arms around her. But she had other plans.

  Oh yeah. She yanked his arms from her, and stepped back a couple steps. When he glanced back at her, she was removing her clothes. She was stripping for him, and it was all her idea.

  His heart flipped in his chest, and then it shot up his throat. When was the last time his pulse spiked that quickly? She wiggled out of her shirt, and cast him a glance that was filled with insecurity. And resolve.

  “You’re amazing.”

  She pointed at his pants. “You’re an easy audience.”

  “Whenever you are around, I’m just…easy.” He cleared his throat. There was an underlying meaning behind his words, it menaced his brain. Shaking his head, he decided to will it away. Focus on here and now.

  With a chuckle, she tossed her bra to the side, and her breasts spilled free. He licked his lips, desperate to taste them. Perhaps his intentions were clear since the pink tips hardened. A powerful tingle skated down his spine.

  She removed her pants, shoved them to the side, and opened her arms in a grand gesture. “Thank you, Alejandro. I won’t ever forget you gave this back to me,” she said, her voice wavering. “Confidence.”

  An unfamiliar emotion welled up inside him, and he pushed past the doubt and swallowed hard. He was being selfish, and he knew it. As she let the scrape of silk slide down her smooth legs and hit the carpet, any feeble good intentions crushed like glass on tile.

  He closed the gap between them, and eased her down on the mattress. Why did it feel like he was the one taking?

  Chapter 12

  “So you’re telling me you never tried eggnog before?” Sydney asked him.

  They had called Joe after the plane had landed in Chicago, without luck. Perhaps because it was Christmas Eve and the man was just busy? They went to a grocery store to buy the essentials, though the essentials ended up being a lot more items than planned. And a pre-cooked turkey.

  Who was she trying to kid? She cared for him, and although he had made it clear he wasn’t in for the long haul, she would enjoy the last moments they had to share. Even now, as they put the groceries away, a warmth she wasn’t used to snuck its way into her.

  Besides…being with him gave her that layer of protection she never had before and was getting used to. She hadn’t even been to her old apartment yet. Being in Chicago again meant not only their time together would come to an end, but also her attacker was still at large. A chill raced down her spine at the thought.

  “No. Not my thing.” He shook his head when she handed him the eggnog, like a child who didn’t want to swallow cold medicine.

  “How can you be sure unless you try it?” She lifted the small bottle to her mouth and took a sip.

  Alejandro tossed the paper towels on the counter top and erased the distance between them. “Maybe you are right.” He traced the corner of her lip where a bit of eggnog had slipped out. She was about to move and wipe her mouth, when he dipped his head and licked her lips.

  “Alejandro…” she whimpered.

  He took the drink from her hand and placed it on the counter, while her blood boiled with anticipation. She spread her legs apart and hooked them around his waist, and he intensified the kiss. For one moment, it seemed they were the same.

  The doorbell abruptly pulled them from their potential great kitchen sex. “At this time of night?” she whispered.

  He cursed under his breath, and she imagined he was evoking all kinds of images and thoughts to get rid of that delicious erection, as he walked to the front door.

  “Mr. Soto?” said a deep male voice. “I am Detective Warner, and this is Detective Kolinsky with the Chicago Police Department. May we ask you some questions?”

  Any time she saw the police badge, her blood froze. She willed herself to move, and walk toward the three men. There was no way she would be an outsider. Not anymore. The instinct to bolt, to run from the police pounded in her veins, but she drew in a breath and resisted. Running was ridiculous. Nonsense. They were in Alejandro’s apartment. They wanted to talk to him—although, what if she got entangled in the story somehow? Her lungs tightened. I already am.

  “What is this regarding?” Alejandro asked, shoulders straight. He darted the stocky officer, Warner, one of those should-I-call-my-lawyer glances, which hinted at the truth she had to face: he had access to the country’s best lawyers if need be.

  As for her? Her stomach curled, and she pressed her palm against it, willing the nausea away. A cold shiver swept over her, the sensation of déjà vu too much too soon. No. Alejandro wasn’t anything like Mr. Phillips.

  “Joe Peterson,” said the other man.

  Alejandro stalked toward the living area and gestured for them to sit. “Come in.”

  Warner sat on the edge of a seat and took a small notepad from his pocket. Did people still use those?

  The other officer, Kolinsky, the one with the deep voice and higher stature, stood on his feet. He studied the place with his eyes, as if he could come to a conclusion within a few seconds. Was he profiling Alejandro?

  “Mr. Peterson was found dead in his office. His assistant told me he was working on a few cases, yours being one of them.”

  A chill went through her, and her stomach curled. “Joe? De
ad?” she repeated, and checked the balcony door, which was shut and locked. Why did it seem like the snowflakes from outside had found their way in, and a freezing sensation crept under her skin and was about to suffocate her?

  Kolinsky spared her sideways glance. “You must be Ms. Bell.”

  “Yes, and she’s with me.” Alejandro ate the space between them and stood next to her. Holding her hand in his, he gave it a light squeeze. She could kick herself for the warm current traveling though her. Short-lived reassurance. “How did he die?”

  Warner scratched his chin, tapped a pen on the notepad. “We are waiting on the results of the autopsy to be sure. He was found asphyxiated in his office. Did he ever seem depressed, or unhappy with his job?”

  “No. Never. In fact, I just talked to him yesterday. I called his cell today, but it was off,” Alejandro said.

  Kolinsky stepped toward them, and sighed. “We understand Mr. Peterson worked for you. Did he make a discovery about the deaths of Patty Berg or Frank Lewis that would make him a target?”

  “No,” Alejandro said. “Will you look into those two deaths?”

  “We have, but there’s no evidence they were linked.” Warren surged to his feet and walked around the room. “Can you think of anyone who would want him dead? Because of a secret he could expose?”

  “No.”

  No? His answer reverberated in her, and she was about to move but he squeezed her hand a tad harder, pinning her in place. The slick coolness of his palm was a telltale sign he was just as apprehensive as she was. That was the first time she noticed him sweating that didn’t include sex or hot weather. Why wouldn’t he mention his mother or his uncle?

  “Okay. Please get in touch if you remember anything.” Warner handed him a card, but she barely registered that they were leaving. “Have a good day.”

  He let go of her hand and swiftly closed the door behind the detectives. Moisture evaporated from her throat, words failed her. Although she stood, the back of her knees threatened to buck under the pressure of her rumbling emotions. Alejandro had had the chance to tell them the entire truth, and he had chosen instead to protect his betraying family. Of course.