Christmas Getaway (7 page)

“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.

“D
AMN
, S
PINELLI
, 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 clutch
ing 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.

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!

J
EAN
N
ORVILLE
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.

Likely she was suffering from wedding jitters the bride should be having. She should have stayed in New England and sent an expensive gift if she was going to be such a grumpy attendant.

The wedding was late getting started. Molly had just arrived a few minutes ago and Jean had had to tell her that Connor was not here yet. The wedding guests were inside, the wedding party was about to make the triumphal entry into the rose-and-ivy-festooned chapel and the groom was a no-show. That was cause for real concern, not the fact that she had to wear the grape velvet dress that Letitia, Connor's pretentious mother, had chosen.

Jean faked a serene, maid-of-honor smile.

“Cheer up,” she heard behind her. She turned to see Molly's brother, Sam Broadbent, looking down at her, no smile gracing his handsome face.

“Right back at you.” Jean clutched her huge bouquet more tightly, ignoring the zing she felt at seeing the handsome Texas Ranger. Why did the man have to be so sexy in a formal tuxedo? Dark, delicious, tall and strong; just the way a hero in a Western should look.

She didn't know a lot about Sam—he and Molly hadn't been extraordinarily close as kids. Sam was a lot older to begin with, and though their parents had been wealthy, they'd fought a lot and there hadn't been much love to go around. Molly and Sam were working on their relationship now, finding new pleasure in forging sibling bonds. She knew Sam was independent. Molly had told her he was burned out, and was giving the job a break for a while. Maybe a permanent break. He planned on enjoying ranch life—and he wasn't dating anyone, her friend confided with a sisterly wink that Jean had ignored at the time.

Her attention was caught by sudden whispers, pointing fingers. Four or five police cars pulled into the parking lot in view of the wedding party, doors slamming as officers jumped out. Loud cracks like fireworks shattered the nervous chatter of the bridal party. Heads turned, then screaming broke out. The rapping pops continued, and people began running in every direction.

Too stunned to move, Jean felt relief wash over her when Sam grabbed her, dragging her away from the chapel. Her skimpy strappy sandals were only meant to look pretty, not actually be functional. The dreaded hoop skirts ballooned around her legs awkwardly. “Wait!” She jerked away from Sam. “What are you doing?”

Cries rang out behind them, underlining the urgency. Realizing she wasn't going to be a willing escapee, Sam scooped her into his arms. He did it without grimacing, for which Jean gave him high marks. The hoop skirts weren't made for hustling down the pebbled path toward the parking lot. “You're supposed to be giving away a bride, not hauling off a maid of honor.”

He put her down and unlocked a silver Mercedes. “Think the plans changed. Get in.”

She did as he asked. It wasn't easy, considering she had
to fight the skirts for every inch of the seat. “What's happening? Should we be leaving? Molly's supposed to get married in a few—”

“Don't think she'll be a bride tonight.” Sam pulled out of the parking lot, swiftly heading away from the chapel. “Get down so you don't get hit by a bullet. Stay down until I've got you far away from the action.”

She refused to accept that Molly's lovely fairy-tale wedding had turned into a nightmare. “I didn't see guns!”

“You weren't looking for guns. But trust me, there were plenty.” He eyed the road behind them in his rearview mirror. She realized he was deadly serious. As a Ranger, he knew better than she the sounds of weapons being fired.

He was driving fast, his body tense. And then she got it: Sam was rescuing her from danger. “You left your sister! Turn around and go get Molly!”

His cell phone rang. He tapped the speakerphone on. “It's Sam.”

“Molly's fine.”

He breathed a sigh. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Do you have the maid of honor?”

“I do. What's going on back there with the bust?”

Jean listened, her heart racing.

“Right now, we're just trying to make sure everybody's all right. Sorry about your sister's wedding. Wish it could have happened a different way.” Whoever was on the phone sighed. “Hey, get the maid of honor somewhere far away, okay? We need her safe.”

Sam was silent for a moment. “Can do.”

“Three of the groomsmen were taken away in handcuffs, but a couple escaped, along with Morrissey. Everybody saw Tommy Morrissey shooting, but there were other shooters,
mass chaos. Until we know more, we're keeping everybody in the wedding party protected.”

“Where's Molly?” Sam demanded.

Jean leaned forward so she could hear every word.

“We've got her covered. She wasn't hit. Like I said, she's fine. We'll take care of your girl—you just take care of the maid of honor. Unfortunately, they're on to her.”

Jean's breath left. She felt faint. Sam clicked the phone off.

“Feel better?” he asked.

“Why did you grab me and not your sister? You should've protected Molly!”

“Molly was covered. I trusted the men who were looking out for her. Our information suggested you had inadvertently become a problem.”

He must be confusing her with someone else. She was in no danger.

“No one would want to hurt me!”

“We think Connor might have discovered his cover was blown at the rehearsal dinner. He ran, and his henchmen must have figured he'd left them holding the bag.”

“None of that has anything to do with me.”

He didn't answer, which infuriated her. He simply didn't understand that they needed to be worrying about Molly. She must be in shock—what bride wouldn't be with a shoot-out at her wedding? “Where are you taking me?”

“To my ranch. I can keep an eye on you there.”

She started to protest, then remembered the person on the phone had requested that Sam get her “far away.” Yet she wasn't exactly comfortable about being on a ranch out in heaven-knew-where. All she had was this stupid dress—not that clothes were the most pressing of concerns, but what she wouldn't give for a worn pair of jeans and maybe some UGG
boots. And she was Molly's maid of honor, right? Supposed to be taking care of the bride on her big day? “There's no place else I could stay?” Preferably somewhere away from Sam's watchful vision, so she could go find Molly and make sure she was really all right.

He turned onto the highway and hit the gas, putting distance between them and the ruined wedding. “Until the coast is clear, you're my guest.”

Guest.
“Just for a day,” she said, scrambling to sound normal, as if she hadn't just been at a wedding where guns were fired. It was the only way to calm herself.

He didn't say anything. “Poor Molly,” Jean said. “Her wedding day ruined. What was that about groomsmen in handcuffs?”

“Several men at the wedding had concealed weapons. You didn't notice the bulges under the jackets?”

“I can't say that I did.”

“We'd already made some phone calls,” Sam said, “to check for gun permits. It seemed suspicious for firearms to be at my sister's wedding. I mentioned it to a buddy. Some cops were called in to quietly keep an eye on things. They were the guys who weren't wearing tuxes. They stayed out of sight until the shooting started.”

“Maybe it was a mistake,” Jean suggested. “It doesn't make sense that this wedding would be targeted. A wedding is supposed to be a happy, romantic occasion.” She still couldn't accept that criminal activity had disrupted her best friend's ceremony.

He pulled into a truck stop. “We have a two-hour drive ahead of us, in case you're interested.”

She glanced around at the packed truck stop. “What are we doing here?”

“I'm going to grab some water bottles and snacks in case you get hungry. There aren't tons of fast-food places along the highway, and I'm presuming you don't want to go out to eat in what you're wearing.”

She glanced down at her dress and shook her head. “Nor you, I imagine.”

He grimaced in agreement. “No man wears a tux willingly. I'll grab some food.”

Sam might be unwilling, but he looked great as he walked into the truck stop in his tux. He had a strong, tall bearing, an easy walk. He was taller even than her surgeon father, which was saying something.
Dad's six foot one, just right for hanging the star on the Christmas tree,
she thought wistfully. She should be home now with her family, making holiday preparations. Her stay-at-home mom would be baking Christmas cookies with her younger twin sisters, Trudy and Starla, twenty-four and just learning how to take care of their first apartment, which was only an hour from the family home, of course. Gigi, the golden retriever, would be scampering around the house wearing her traditional loopy red bow. The stairwell would be trimmed with red and gold velvet ribbons….

She made herself quit thinking about holidays and home. There was no way she could get there just yet—Sam had said she wasn't going anywhere for a while.

A truck with Vermont license plates caught her attention. A large, strong blond woman got down out of the cab to check her tires. Jean wondered if she dared approach the trucker for a ride. Of course she had no purse and no ID since they'd left the wedding in a hurry. She didn't have a cell phone.
C'mon,
a small voice egged,
you're an independent woman. Don't let a silly purple dress slow you down!

Wouldn't she be safer in New England than in Texas,
anyway? It was kind of dramatic to assume that she needed protection—no one had been shooting at
her.

“Don't even think about it,” Sam said, getting into the car. “When I saw those Vermont plates, I figured you'd consider hitching a ride.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “In this dress?”

He laughed and handed her a water bottle. “Just admit that's exactly what you were thinking and don't be annoyed you're so easy to read. You wear your emotions on your face.”

“If you escorted me home, it would solve everyone's dilemma. I'd be with my family, and you'd still be doing your bodyguard job. Not to mention my mom's an incredible cook, especially around Christmas. We're nothing if not addicted to the season.”

“And what if—just theorizing for a moment—what if you're part of something you haven't realized?” Sam said reasonably. “What if someone wanted to shut you up? And followed you home?” He glanced over at her. “Would you want to put your family in danger?”

“Of course not! But that's a Hollywood plot, Sam. No one is going to care that I was at the wedding. And everybody there was an eyewitness.”

“But to what, exactly?”

She sighed. “I don't know what you're getting at, but you're being overly concerned. Molly always said you were a very cautious person who was hard to get to know.”

For some reason that made him smile. “Molly was too easy to get to know.”

He was right. Molly had had lots of friends in college—she naturally drew people to her. “You're a more likely target than me. Dark, cynical ex-Ranger, taking a leave for unknown reasons… Maybe you ticked someone off?”

Her voice sounded hopeful, and he smiled. “Dark and cynical? Did Molly say that?”

“It's an observation on my part.” She wasn't going to expand the description by telling Sam that he was also handsome, sexy, smelled good, had nice hands… She tore her gaze away and looked out the window at the blur of lights. Very little else was visible in the darkness, just lights along the highway, marking how far she was from home.

“I don't think I was the target,” Sam said. “There are too many chances to get to me besides following me to a wedding.”

“True.” Jean shook her head. “Anyway, Connor seems seedy to me. You don't seem to like him, either. Any particular reason?”

Sam shrugged. “I don't know. I think I always saw Molly settling down with someone more…caring. That's the word that keeps coming to my mind. I just never got the sense deep down that Connor loved Molly for Molly.”