So he could be a total idiot at times. That was nothing new, as his brothers would be happy to tell him. And there was nothing he wanted to do more than follow her into the darkened restaurant, strip off that blanket and tell her…
Tell her what? That he had the gloomy, irrational suspicion that he’d actually done the impossible and fallen in love for the first time in his life? Hell, no. If it was real, it could keep for the time being. Right now they had more important things to concentrate on. Like staying alive.
When she emerged, she was fully dressed, her hair tied back, her face freshly washed. Her eyes were slightly red, but he was going to ignore that for now. “You found a bathroom in this place? I would have thought they’d drained the pipes for the winter.”
“Count your blessings,” she said in a cool voice that only had the faintest note of strain in it. “And hurry up. I’m hungry and in a small town like this that diner isn’t going to stay open forever.”
“Ellie…”
“Yes?”
“Never mind.” She wasn’t in the mood to hear apologies, and he wasn’t in the mood to give them. Once they were safe they could deal with what was between them. For now it could be ignored.
The moon was up, bright and full in the winter sky. She’d clearly decided on the silent treatment, which was fine with him. It made him feel guilty, and he deserved it, but for now it gave him time to think, to try to figure out how the hell he was going to get past the sentries and into Spinelli’s house.
The diner looked like a thousand other diners, with great cheeseburgers and French fries and lousy salads. He and Ellie took a booth, eating quickly and without conversation. The place was fairly full—a surprise, and everyone was wearing some kind of festive gear, like reindeer sweaters and Santa Claus hats. There was ketchup-splattered plastic holly along the counter, Christmas music played over the sound system and the waitresses were wearing elf hats. He wanted to groan.
But Ellie was loving it. She was a Christmas junkie, just like his mother, who decorated everything that wasn’t moving and a few things that were, including the ancient springer spaniel with his very own Christmas sweater and Christmas collar. She’d love Ellie, and Ellie would love her.
And what the hell was he thinking of?
“We need to get going,” he said.
“You figured out how you’re going to get inside Spinelli’s?” Her voice was deliberately casual.
“Not yet. Maybe it’ll come to me.”
“Maybe not. It’s a block away, right?”
“Spinelli’s place? Yeah. But don’t suggest you try to get in there instead of me—Spinelli won’t trust you. Hell, it took him years before he trusted me.”
“You go ahead but just wait for me on the corner. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
He didn’t bother pointing out to her that five minutes on a street corner in the middle of December in Maine was not going to be too comfortable, and he’d only just be out of sight of the cops keeping watch at Spinelli’s. But he figured he owed her that much.
The town, which consisted of one tiny little block with the diner, a restaurant, a sports store and a bunch of empty store-fronts, was deserted. All the holiday merriment seemed to be confined to the diner. He could see Spinelli’s place up ahead. One black sedan was parked on the opposite side of the street, the windows smoked, the motor still running. Just past Spinelli’s on the same side was another unmarked car. Just waiting for him to walk into their trap.
He heard the singing first, freaking Christmas carols, and he growled, turning… To see Ellie standing there, surrounded by most of the people in the diner, including two of the three waitresses, and they all were bellowing “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” with more enthusiasm than tunefulness. She came up to Fitz and tucked her arm through his. “Sing, Fitz. It’s the only way a stranger is going to be able to walk up to Spinelli’s door.”
He had to hand it to her, she had more balls than his brothers put together. She had launched into the second verse of the Christmas carol, and the rest of the makeshift carolers were struggling to keep up. He said to hell with it and started singing, as well, as they made their way up the narrow, shoveled sidewalks to Max Spinelli’s modest little ranch house.
The cops had gotten out of their cars, watching the procession warily. He knew both of them—they were from a different precinct but well known for their brutality and their corruption. Internal Affairs Division had been after them for years, but so far nothing had happened. Probably because they’d had O’Bannion’s protection.
They probably had two guns each—one in a shoulder holster, a smaller one on their ankles. Same as he usually had, but there were two of them, and now about a dozen innocents, singing their stupid hearts out.
“‘Hail the heav’n born prince of peace, hail the lord of righteousness,’” he sang, and Ellie looked at him in surprise, then joined back in. “Twelve years of Catholic school, baby,” he said in her ear. “I know all the verses.”
They stopped at the three houses on the street before Spinelli’s, which had a blow-up rock-and-roll Santa smack in the middle of the front lawn. He expected Ellie’s draftees from the diner would have started flagging, but they were singing with the same enthusiasm they’d started with.
And then they headed up Spinelli’s walkway. As the winter moon shone down, the armed cops waited for their chance, Christmas carols filled the air and the woman he loved had her arm through his and was holding on tightly. Totally surreal, and he was going to remember this for the rest of his life. Whether that was ten minutes or fifty years remained to be seen.
Ellie stepped forward and knocked loudly on Spinelli’s door, and the choir switched to “Do You Hear What I Hear?” which Fitz thought was particularly prescient. The door opened, and Spinelli stood there, dressed in a Santa suit, no wig on his balding head, smiling at them with benevolence until his eyes narrowed and he recognized Fitz.
It was only a blink, and everyone else would have missed it, thank God. Spinelli, the old ham, immediately joined in the singing, louder than anyone, and then bellowed loud enough for half the town to hear him, “Come in, friends, and let me get you something to eat!”
Like the freaking ghost of Christmas present, Fitz thought. The choir surged closer, blocking the doorway, and Ellie yanked his arm and they ducked into the house while the others kept singing like lunatics.
“No?” Spinelli bellowed, playing to the audience. “Well, merry Christmas, friends. Don’t stay out too long.” He closed the door behind them and turned to face Ellie and Fitz, a gun in his white-gloved hand.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“DAMN, SPINELLI, you’re not going to try to shoot me, are you?” Fitz said, sounding exhausted, while Ellie stood there, frozen.
“Hell, no,” the balding Santa Claus said, shoving the gun in the wide black patent leather belt of his costume. “Who’s she?”
“The bride.”
“You got married?” Spinelli said, clearly shocked.
“Not my bride,” Fitz clarified.
“Not anyone’s bride,” Ellie snapped, annoyed by all this. “I’m Ellie Pollard, Fitz’s hostage.”
“You don’t look that unwilling,” Spinelli pointed out. “And is that a love bite on your neck?” He turned to Fitz. “What the hell you been doing, son?”
The noisy caroling was growing fainter as the carolers moved away, and Ellie didn’t have much hope that they’d keep up the charade much longer. And sooner or later the cops staking out the place would realize the group of carolers had gotten smaller and they’d come looking.
“What the hell have you been doing?” Fitz demanded. “Why are you dressed up like Santa?”
“I volunteer at the senior center every Christmas. Bet you didn’t know your old partner had such a sentimental streak. I know you’d rather be caught dead than dressed up like Santa Claus.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Ellie said. “Shouldn’t we be getting out of here?”
/> “Good point, little lady.” He was looking at her approvingly, though Ellie had no idea what he was approving of, and at six feet tall she’d never considered herself a little lady, but what the hell. “I don’t know if I’ve got enough to nail O’Bannion for anything other than being a dirty cop. I’ve got documents, records of all the sleazy crap he’s been pulling for the last ten years, but that’s not gonna convict him of murder and grand larceny.”
“Why didn’t you turn him in?” Ellie asked, mystified. “If you knew he was a crook, why didn’t you tell someone?”
“She needs to understand about cops if she’s going to marry one,” Spinelli said. “We don’t rat on each other if we can help it. We handle these things internally. It’s only because things got this bad that I knew I had to make a move.”
“Who’s going to marry a cop?” Ellie demanded, as Fitz quickly interrupted.
“I owe you, Max,” Fitz said, taking the manila envelope and shoving it under his sweatshirt—the one with the Christmas tree that she knew would annoy him. He looked adorable.
“Hell, no, you don’t owe me. You saved my life at least a half a dozen times over the years. I’m just sorry things had to get to this point. Tell you what you should do—the two of you head out the back onto the beach. There’s a break in the fence about half a mile up. You can circle around and get the hell out of here while I figure out the best way to handle this. Until we have proof of what O’Bannion’s been doing we’ll have to lay low.”
“Are you going to be okay?” Ellie asked.
“Hell, those boys wouldn’t dare…” A look of surprise passed over his face, and his words stopped midsentence. She heard the belated sound of the window shattering, and clutching his chest, Spinelli fell. She tried to catch him, but Fitz was ahead of her, lowering the old man to the ground with surprising gentleness. Outside the cops were shouting, and she could hear them pounding on the door. Fitz jumped up, dragging her with him.
“We have to get the hell out of here.”
“I can’t leave him,” she said. “I need to see how badly he’s hurt.”
“He’s either too far gone for you to make any difference or a few minutes won’t matter. He wouldn’t want you to endanger yourself. Come on.”
He wasn’t giving her a choice in the matter—he was hauling her through the darkened house, through what must have been the kitchen and out the back door, onto the moonlit stretch of sand.
She could hear voices shouting behind her, and then nothing but the rush of icy wind in her ears as he dragged her across the sand in a forced run. She heard something zip past her, and she looked back for a moment to see the two cops struggling through the sand, coming after them.
“Keep going,” Fitz said, breathless, not slowing for a moment.
There was another gunshot, this one louder, and she knew the cops were gaining on them, knew they’d be aiming for Fitz. They’d go for a headshot, and there’d be nothing she could do for him, and she couldn’t let that happen.
Another crack, and Fitz stumbled. Without thinking she threw herself at him, knocking him to the ground, covering him as gunshots filled the air. She buried her head in his shoulder, expecting him to put his hands on her arms and shove her off, but he didn’t move, and she was afraid he was already dead.
And suddenly all was silence. She kept her eyes closed, breathing in the night air, and then she realized Fitz’s chest was rising and falling beneath hers. She opened her eyes, and he was looking up at her, an odd expression on his face.
“Why did you do that?” he whispered.
“I didn’t want them to kill you,” she said.
He managed a slow, bemused smile. “Bride, you still manage to surprise me.”
“It’s Ellie,” she said.
“It’s Bride,” he said, cupping her face with his hands and kissing her.
“That you, Fitzpatrick?” a voice called out.
She jerked away in panic, but Fitz simply sat up, still holding on to her. “It’s me, Harry. How did you know where to find us?”
Fitz scrambled to his feet, pulling Ellie with him. The man standing there was older, relaxed, and behind him she could see the two cops down on the sand, with half a dozen uniforms moving around. “Ellie, this is my uncle Harry. He’s with IAD.”
“Internal Affairs,” the older man clarified.
“How’s Spinelli?” Ellie asked.
“He’ll be fine. He was wearing a vest—an old cop never forgets his tricks. I’m afraid those two scumbag cops aren’t saying a word, and I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for them to spill. So far we haven’t got enough to touch O’Bannion.”
Fitz cursed. “What else do you need?”
“It’s not up to you anymore. You need to take this little lady and stay low for a while. Get the heck out of Dodge.”
“Dodge?” Ellie echoed. “I thought we were in Maine?”
Fitz’s uncle chuckled. “She’s cute, Jimmy-boy. Better than you deserve. You treat her right or your ma will have your ears. Take her somewhere safe and warm while we clean up this mess. O’Bannion’s going to want to shut you both up if he can.” He looked at Ellie. “You’re Australian. It’s summer in Australia, isn’t it? Great place for a honeymoon, out of danger and all.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Ellie demanded, incensed. “He’s not taking me anywhere.”
Harry beamed at her. “She’s a firecracker, isn’t she? Any Irish in her?”
“I forgot to ask,” Fitz said, sounding bemused.
“I’m betting on it.” He took Ellie’s cold hand and shook it vigorously. “Nice to meet you, Ellie. Welcome to the family.”
“What?” she shrieked, but he was already heading back to the group of men waiting for him. She turned to Fitz. “What was he talking about?”
“He seems to have gotten the impression that you’re my girlfriend. Actually, it sounded more like he thinks I’m going to marry you. I have to warn you, Uncle Harry is well known to possess ‘the gift.’ No one argues with him when he makes one of his pronouncements.”
“But that’s ridiculous. You’re not going to marry me….”
He was shaking his head. “You don’t argue with Uncle Harry,” he said again. “And besides, I’ve always wanted to see Australia. And you can still be a Christmas bride. Mine.”
“Did a bullet hit you in the head when I wasn’t looking?” she demanded, exasperated.
“No.”
“Are you seriously asking me to marry you?”
He looked amused. “I guess I am.”
“And you expect me to say yes?”
“I do.”
She looked at him for a long, contemplative moment. He’d kidnapped her, insulted her, dragged her hundreds of miles at gunpoint and nearly gotten her killed. She needed to get as far away from such a crazy man as she could.
Except she wanted to stay right there. “I do,” she said.
He looked at her warily. “You do?”
“I do,” she said, moving closer, and he pulled her into his arms, kissing her.
There was a roar of approval from down the beach, a rushing noise in the back of Ellie’s head, but it didn’t matter. She’d found her way home, and she was there to stay.
CAUGHT AT CHRISTMAS
Tina Leonard
Many thanks to the wonderful Anne Stuart and the fabulous Marion Lennox for being awesome and kind to this “newbie”—this was the most fun project! Also great appreciation and a sincere thank-you to Kathleen Scheibling for pulling me, Marsha Zinberg for being wonderful and patient, and Margaret Learn for fabulous editing.
Also appreciation to Alexandra Patrikios for her invaluable assistance, and Georgia Haynes for helping with last-minute reads. There are a lot of other wonderful people who deserve thanks at Harlequin, and gratitude goes to them, as well.
As always, so much of my success comes from being supported by a wonderful family: my husband, Tim, and my children, Lisa and Dean.
Happy holidays and blessings to all!
CHAPTER ONE
JEAN NORVILLE was dressed like a velvet grape, complete with purple hoop skirts and silver trim. Yes, she was a grape, bursting with Christmas cheer and wedding wishes.
Like hell. The tight-waisted Southern belle bridesmaid gown was hideous—it had to be viscose and not a good silk velvet. But she would have worn it with pleasure if any holiday spirit she’d possessed hadn’t gone out the window when she’d met Connor O’Bannion, the man Molly, her best friend from college, was to marry. Ten days before Christmas was a terrible time to be thinking Scrooge-like thoughts, but from what she’d seen of the groom and his groomsmen, they looked more like bad elves hiding from Santa than detectives with the Boston P.D.
To be fair, since this was her second maid-of-honor role this year, her fourteenth lifetime opportunity to serve at a friend’s big moment—but who was counting?—she wasn’t exactly the poster girl for wedding enthusiasm. There was also a possibility she’d read one too many Agatha Christies in her career as a librarian and was seeing trouble where there was none. Yet she was pretty certain that despite the lightly falling snow and the white Christmas lights twinkling around the Southfork Texas Wedding Chapel, there was very little romance in the air. That feeling had intensified last night at the rehearsal dinner party when she’d overheard Connor in the gardens angrily talking to someone on his cell phone. “Find the diamonds, kill the kids, end of story is how I figure.”
It hadn’t seemed like a very warm and fuzzy thing to say at Christmas, or anytime. Jean had accidentally caught Connor’s gaze, his eyes narrowing at her. She pretended she hadn’t heard a thing, smiled and airily departed.
Since then, all kinds of horrible misgivings had risen in her imagination. Surely she had misheard. She shouldn’t take a remark out of context when she hadn’t heard the other end of the conversation.
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