Mistletoe and Murder

Chapter Nineteen

“You are so, so lucky, Romana.”

By Tuesday morning, Fitz was sitting cross-legged in her hospital room, pigging out on Christmas candy and eager to hear every gory detail Romana could relate. Could remember. Because most of the rest of Sunday and a great deal of Monday were jumbled together in a wind-whipped haze.

“So Dylan’s dead, right?” Fitz asked.

“As the proverbial doornail.” Romana sighed. “I don’t mean to sound cold, but he did everything in his power to kill Jacob and me, and he didn’t seem to care who else might get hurt along the way.”

“He had a mission,” Fitz translated. “Avenge Belinda’s death. Just like Warren Critch.”

“Except that Critch’s conviction wavered and Dylan’s didn’t.” Leaning over her cousin’s folded legs, Romana selected a chocolate cherry from the box. “Critch regained consciousness last night and gave a brief statement. He did follow Dylan when Dylan slipped me the sixth card, so he knew what was going on. I guess he couldn’t live with it, because he tried to intervene. He left a note in the lobby of my building warning us about Dylan. It was too cryptic to make a whole lot of sense at the time, but in retrospect, I can see it.”

“So Critch gave you that even though he didn’t know who’d killed his wife. He only knew he didn’t think it was Jacob Knight anymore.”

“I think he also understood by then that grief had driven Dylan insane.”

“That’s sad, isn’t it?”

“Once you get past the horror, it really is.”

“What about Belinda being pregnant? Do you think Dylan knew?”

“I don’t think anyone knew-except Dr. Gorman, and Belinda didn’t mean to tell him. On a less somber note, I heard some gossip about your dad’s employer.”

“I’m all ears, Ro.”

“You remember I told you that James was supposed to be in Cleveland about the time you went missing? Well, he did in fact go there-via Columbus. He was checking out rehab facilities for your father. He figures your dad deserves the best, and that’s what he’s going to get.”

“No affair?”

“Not on that trip. Possibly not at all. But that’s for James and Shera to hash out. Your job is to get better.”

“I’ll work on it, after I hear more gory details. All I have so far is that Dylan’s dead. What’s Critch’s prognosis?”

“He’s improving. The doctors are optimistic.”

“Did he know about everything Dylan was doing?”

“Possibly-on some level.” Romana summoned a halfhearted smile. “When worlds collide…”

“No kidding. So Dylan figured he could kill you and Jacob, send Critch off to South America with fake ID, and just carry on with his life as before. Everyone would think Critch had fulfilled his promise, and no one would ever see or hear from him again. Story over.”

“That was the plan. Not sure how he thought he’d get out of that alley Sunday night, but, hey, insanity makes its own rules, right?”

“And Patrick?”

Romana’s expression softened. “I’m really sorry about him, Fitz. He’s, well-not well.”

“Man, can I pick ’em or what?”

“Huh, I married Connor. No one can top that blunder.”

Fitz snickered. “Ain’t we a pair, cous’?”

“Mmm.”

The snicker transformed into a sly smile. “So, have you and Jacob had sex yet? Was it great? Where’s it going for you two?”

Laughing, Romana leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “None of your business.” Then she smiled and added a teasing, “Yes, yes, and I don’t know. However,” she tapped Fitz’s leg, “now that the dust’s more or less settled, I think it’s time I found out.”

NIGHT FELL AS IT ALWAYS DID. The blizzard moved on. Only the cold remained-and a legion of last-minute Christmas shoppers.

O’Keefe had been badgering him for information nonstop since Sunday. Harris hadn’t been much better. He’d seen Romana exactly twice since Dylan’s death, and for no more than thirty minutes at a time.

Dropping his head onto the back of his chair, Jacob listened to the elevator door swish open and waited for O’Keefe’s voice. He had one hour before Harris wanted him at headquarters, no doubt for another round of questioning.

He caught the scent of her skin first but didn’t have time to react before her hair fell over his cheek.

“I believe, Detective, that the last words you spoke to me came in the form of a promise-one, to call me and, two, to hunt me down and make love to me until we were both unconscious.” Her lips brushed his ear from behind. “My phone hasn’t rung once today.”

“Uh-huh, well, you might want to check your battery.”

The tease in her voice strengthened. “Oh, good, you’re in a funk. I love it when you go all dark and broody.”

Something cinched inside him. He drank a mouthful of coffee, kept his eyes on the city lights. “You have no idea, Romana, what my father was like. What I could be like and not know it yet.”

Undeterred, she circled his chair and made herself at home on his lap. “If you were half the monster you’re afraid you are, you’d have shown signs of it long before now. You deal with your anger, I’ve seen you do it. And don’t forget,” she traced the outline of his lips with a light finger, “I have a wicked kick to the crotch in my repertoire.”

Amusement kindled in spite of everything. “Have you ever not taken risks?”

“Grandma Grey says life would suck if we did that. Answer’s no,” she added with a twinkle. “On an up note, Fitz is fine. She’s also totally unrepentant about her sticky-fingered past. She lifted the key to Patrick’s handcuffs without him feeling a thing.”

“So, as a cop, I’m supposed to applaud that?”

“In this case, absolutely.” She touched her lips to his. “When do you have to report in?”

“Fifty minutes.”

She shifted position on his lap. “Doesn’t give us a whole lot of time, does it?You could call in sick. Harris would understand.”

“Anyone who’s met you would understand.”

“There you go then, problem solved. Except…”

He wouldn’t let her coax a smile out of him. Yet. “Except what?”

“You haven’t done your Christmas tree.”

“I’ve been a little busy.”

“Me, too. And Fitz. So here’s my plan.” She kissed him twice, then caught his lower lip. “We’ll take all three trees to Grandma Grey’s and make our own mini tree farm there. Her ranch is huge. We’re all going down for Christmas-my brothers and their families, Fitz and her father, my parents. And before you whip out the standard lame objection, I happen to know you don’t have any plans.”

“O’Keefe…”

“Playing poker with O’Keefe and three other single cops is no way to spend Christmas Day. New Year’s Day, no problem, but Christmas is family, and you’re getting one this year, like it or not. O’Keefe, too, if he wants to come.”

Jacob quirked an eyebrow at her. “Are you going to run that spiel past Harris, or do I have to try and repeat whatever it was you just said?”

“The running’s done. Harris has four kids. He understands Christmas very well. Now, think suitcases and snowballs because you’re off the clock for the next fifteen days.”

Dubious surprise shimmered through him. “You want me to spend two weeks on your grandmother’s ranch?”

“Well, no.” She played with the ends of his hair. “I thought after Christmas we could go skiing-if you ski. And if you don’t, there are other activities we could pursue. Life’s all about unexpected adventures and enjoying the journey. Did Mark Twain say that? Anyway, enjoyment is the point, and I think we should strive to achieve as much of it as possible, don’t you?”

“I see why you teach.”

“And I see why you’re still a cop-a very hot, very sexy cop whom I’m going to jump after I ask him one more question.”

“We’ll see who jumps who, but shoot.”

“Why did Patrick surround Belinda with mistletoe leaves?”

“Ah.”

Her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt. “Could you be a bit more specific?”

“Long or short version?”

She twisted on his lap and sent a bolt of desire through his entire body. “Short and simple’s fine.”

“He didn’t put the leaves around her, she did.”

“Okay, maybe a little less simple.”

“When Patrick came to the house, Belinda was hanging mistletoe in the living room. They argued, she told him to leave. She said she had no feelings for him. To prove it, she stripped off the leaves and tossed the bare branch at him.”

“There was no significance to it at all?”

“None.”

“So Dylan was going to shoot us and sprinkle mistletoe leaves around our dead bodies, and he didn’t even know why?”

“He made a false assumption.” The light of anticipation gleamed as he unsnapped her jeans. “It happens. Are you sure you cleared this Christmas thing with Harris?”

“Yes, Detective. His orders were for you to enjoy yourself. He also mentioned a ladder and some rungs you’re going to be climbing very soon, but that part went over my head.”

“The rungs are in his dreams.”

“Forget his dreams.” She stopped her mouth a tempting inch away from his. “Think about mine. And yours. Think with your heart, Jacob.”

“Already have,” he told her. And, capturing her lips, let the last of his nightmares scatter in the night wind.