CRIMINAL CHRISTMAS: A Set of 8 Holiday Suspense Stories, page 6
Frankie was cold, as in freezing. She stopped, looked down to see that not only was she not wearing her coat, but she was also missing her top. “Shit,” she mumbled under her breath as she raced back to her SUV, gathered up her clothes from the floor, then put them on, leaning against the vehicle while sobbing hysterically.
Still running, Lane leaped and tackled Holden, holding him face-down in the snow. "You freaking idiot! You just made a huge mistake."
"Mistake? If anyone made a mistake, it was the slut you were with. Did she really think she was following me unnoticed?"
Slipping a pair of handcuffs on Holden's wrists, Lane rolled the man over. "No, buddy, you're the one making the mistake. That so-called slut is my wife. And let me introduce myself. My name is Lane Hansen and I run the Major Crimes Department for the County Sheriff's Office. Oh, by the way, you, sir, are under arrest."
Lane walked, half-dragged Holden to his vehicle, read him his rights, and then locked him in the back seat. When he returned to Frankie, she was still leaning against her SUV, sobbing.
Lane pulled her against his chest and rubbed her back in an effort to get her to calm down.
"Baby, it’s okay. I know you could have handled this, but I was here and that jerk could have hurt you.”
She pushed at him and smothering a sob said, "You don't understand. We paid off this SUV last week. It was finally paid for. One less bill. And now it will cost us hundreds if not thousands to fix."
"Not necessarily," Lane said as he brushed a clump of blonde hair out of her eyes.
"What are you talking about?" Didn't he hear what she just said?
"I assume the jerk in the back of my car is who you were following."
"Yes, that's Arthur Holden. His wife hired me because she suspected him of cheating on her," Frankie said.
"Was he?"
"Yes."
"Did you get photos?"
"Yes," she said as she glanced inside at her camera.
"Then you take more photos of the damage he just did to your car and you add it to your client's bill."
"Hmmm, not a bad idea. Mrs. Holden did say money was no object."
"I have another idea."
"Let's hear it," said Frankie, as she kissed him on the cheek.
"Give me an hour to get this guy to the jail, and then meet me at the house. We need to finish what we started here. I wasn't kidding when I said I missed you. I also want you — a lot."
Frankie raised her wrist to look at her watch. "One hour. Our house. In the bedroom. No clothes. Got it? And I hope you've taken your vitamins today."
She watched Lane as he headed back to his vehicle. Yes, she needed to tell him she was pregnant. But not tonight.
<><><>
December 23
By the time Frankie reached their home, it was two in the morning. She bounded out of the car like an Olympian, unlocking and relocking the front door, and rushing up the stairs, taking them two at a time. In her bathroom, she ran hot water in the big garden tub, using a substantial amount of the rose-scented bubble bath that Lane liked. Stripping off her clothes, she threw them into the hamper, and eased into the tub. It was steamy-hot the way she liked it, the heat relaxing her aching muscles. It had been such a long day with the fruitless search for Shawn Isaac in the woods beside the farm where he used to live. As if that weren’t enough, she'd followed Arthur Holden to his girlfriend's house, where calamity ensued and her car fell victim to Arthur's Louisville Slugger. Frankie was exhausted, but then she was exhausted all the time when she was pregnant with Ashley.
Thinking of her little girl made her smile. She visualized Ashley fast asleep with Hunter by her side in one of Aunt Megan's and Uncle Tim's guest rooms.
Frankie heard the twist of the front door lock, then the door opened and slammed shut again. Lane was home. Her heart jolted and her pulse pounded. The man had the uncanny ability to turn her on just by thinking of him and his hard, ripped body—plus a sexual attraction that seemed to emanate from every pore, pulling her to him like iron to a magnet. She was powerless to resist him.
Frankie heard his heavy footsteps racing up the stairs, so she jumped out of the tub, not caring that she was dripping water all over the floor. When she reached the bathroom doorway, she draped her naked body seductively against the frame, waiting for him to enter their bedroom. She couldn't help but wonder how long she could pull off sexy before she'd start showing the baby she was carrying. She was already a bit self-conscious because she hadn't lost the last ten pounds after having Ashley. Lane had told her that any concerns about her weight were silly. He told her sexy was an attitude—not a size or numberand she had lots of attitude.
When Lane burst through the bedroom door, the only thing he was wearing was his white boxer shorts. She knew the moment he noticed her because her temperature shot up about one hundred degrees as his smoldering eyes raked boldly over her, starting from her eyes to her shoulders to her breasts. Slowly, sensually, his gaze slid downward until her body ached so much for his touch, she didn't think she could withstand another second without it. In one forward motion, she was in his strong arms, her soft curves molding to the contours of his hard body. She gasped as bare chest met bare chest. Claiming her lips, Lane crushed her to him. He kissed her like he was hungry for her, sending new spirals of ecstasy surging through her body, down to her toes.
"I think," Frankie whispered in a sultry voice, "you are wearing entirely too many clothes."
Lane chuckled as he suddenly lifted Frankie into the cradle of his arms and he carried her to the bed, gently setting her down. With a quick motion, his boxers were off and he was lying next to her, kissing her slowly and thoughtfully. But she didn't want slow and thoughtful. Frankie wiggled and pulled until he was on top of her, bracing himself on his elbows with her legs intertwined around his.
"Baby, slow down," he whispered against her lips. "We've got lots time. I want to explore every delicious inch of your body."
A soft moan came deep from within Frankie's throat as his tongue found a sensitive area on her neck. She had a burning desire, an aching need for him that couldn't wait. His kiss became forceful and she responded in kind. She arched against him and said, "Take me, Lane. Hard and fast. We can do slow later. Please, honey."
Lane reached across her and she heard the rip of foil. She wanted to tell him he didn't need protection, but his mouth clamped against hers and he made love to her with an urgency she matched with her own lusty, unsated needs. He entered her and she gasped from the force of it. The pleasure was pure and explosive, making the real world spin and careen on its axis. Together they found the tempo that bound their bodies together, their bodies in exquisite harmony, until they exploded in a downpour of fiery sensations.
Panting as if he'd just run a marathon, Lane rolled over and took her with him, positioning her body close to his side, her head on his chest.
"I love you so much, Frankie," he whispered, his voice tight with emotion.
"I love..." Frankie couldn't finish her sentence because nausea rushed to her throat at breakneck speed. She rolled over and climbed off the bed before flying into the bathroom, throwing up in the toilet.
Lane brushed past her, grabbed a washcloth and ran cool water over it, pressing the cloth to her forehead.
"Baby, are you okay? First, earlier in the woods, and now. It's just like when you were pregnant with Ashley."
Wide-eyed she looked up at him.
"I'll be damned. That's it. You're pregnant, aren't you?"
Frankie nodded.
Lane picked her up and spun her around the room until she thought she'd get sick again. Finally, he set her down and said, "This is the best Christmas present ever! We're going to have a baby!"
"You're not upset?" Frankie asked.
"No way. Why would I be? Ashley's three now. She needs a brother or sister. It's time we had another baby."
"But what about our bills?"
"What about them? Frankie, this rough patch is going to pass. Besides, I'm getting a raise starting January 1. It's already been approved."
He smiled down at her with such warmth and tenderness in his eyes, it wrapped around her like a warm blanket. "We're having a baby."
<><><>
Shawn peered out the round etched window of Billy's attic, watching the cars drive by, splashing icy slush onto the people who were walking down the sidewalk. He'd been sitting by the window since before dawn. He couldn't sleep. After a night of bad dreams, tossing and turning, he crawled out of the sleeping bag and pup-tent to look out the window and think.
Shawn had a nightmare about his daddy escaping from jail and finding him at the farm. His daddy's face was red as he glared at Shawn with burning, reproachful eyes.
"You betrayed me," Daddy said, as he towered over him with his big hands on his hips. "You told the secret and they locked me away. Then you testified against me, your own father."
Shawn cowered in a corner in the kitchen. There was nowhere to run, and no way to escape the hulking man standing over him. Shawn screamed as his daddy raised his arm to hit him. Shawn pushed at him and ran through the house with his father close behind, getting closer and closer.
Thankfully, he'd awakened, shivering and frightened, but he was okay. His daddy wasn't in the attic. He couldn't hurt him now. That was when the little boy gave up on sleep and moved to the window to look outside.
His tummy growled and he realized he was hungry. Shawn hadn't seen Billy since before Detective Blake arrived to talk with Billy's mom yesterday morning. So that meant no food. Not that he had much of an appetite after Detective Blake left. He hid behind some old boxes the rest of the day, fearing that at any second, Billy's mom would come up the attic stairs and find him.
The familiar creaking of the attic door as it opened startled Shawn. He rushed to hide behind the boxes again. Soon he heard Billy whisper, "Shawn, where are you? I brought you some food."
The mention of food brought Shawn out of hiding in no time. On a tray, Billy had brought a turkey sandwich, some chips and cookies, a half-filled glass of milk and a bottle of water.
Pretending they were camping, Shawn sat next to Billy in front of the pup-tent and ate the turkey sandwich, washing it down with milk.
"Sorry about yesterday," Billy began. "After Mr. Stone left, Mommy started crying and said she didn't know what she'd do if anything ever happened to me. She kept hugging me and didn't leave me alone the rest of the day."
"Where is she now?" asked Shawn.
"She's back in the basement cleaning. I heard Daddy say he wanted to start working on the remodeling this weekend." Billy answered, as he munched on one of Shawn's cookies.
"What did Detective Blake want yesterday, Billy?"
Billy thought for a moment and then said, "He said he's trying to find you and that he's your friend. Is he your friend? Because I know you like him. That's why you picked him for the Buddy Program."
"I like Detective Blake very much. But right now, his job is to find me and make me go back home to my mommy. I can't go there because she will hurt me again." Shawn's eyes filled with tears that he wiped away with the back of his sleeve.
"But your mommy is in heaven. So she can't hurt you now," declared Billy with confidence.
Confused, Shawn asked, "What are you talking about?"
"My mommy and daddy were whispering about it at breakfast and didn't think I could hear. But I did," Billy began. "When I asked, they said that your mommy and daddy were in a car accident and now they're in heaven."
"No, Billy. You must have heard them wrong. My daddy is in jail and my mommy is at home waiting for me. She's probably mad because she doesn't know where I am. The madder she gets, the harder she hits. So I hope Detective Blake doesn't find me."
<><><>
Tim had been unusually quiet all morning. A warning cloud had settled on his features, and each time Megan started a conversation, he'd ask her to repeat herself.
Waiting in the drive-thru line of Jennifer's favorite barbeque restaurant, Megan handed him a Post-It note with their daughter's order written on it. Jennifer was having a serious craving for pulled-pork barbeque and cornbread, and they'd promised pick-up and delivery.
"Is it the B&B?" she asked.
"What?"
"Does the idea of turning our home into a bed and breakfast still bother you?"
"Who said it bothered me?" he asked defensively.
"I did. I can tell it bothers you. What concerns me is that you're not talking to me about it."
Tim moved the car up to the order window and handed a young girl Jennifer's order. She rang it up Tim handed her the cash, then pulled up to the pick-up window, where he retrieved the warm paper bag filled with food and handed it to Megan.
Pulling the car back onto the highway, he headed toward his daughter's house, but soon turned into a small park by a lake and stopped the car.
Tim yanked off his seatbelt and turned toward Megan and said, "Okay, Megan. I admit it. The whole bed and breakfast idea bothers me. I mean we're talking about our home. It's not just a house. It's where we brought up Jennifer, and had more than thirty years of family dinners."
"I know," she said quietly.
"Megan, I'm not sure I'm ready to open my home up to strangers."
"I thought you agreed that turning it into a bed and breakfast would help finance our retirement."
"That's another thing that's bugging me. I'm fifty-freaking-five years old, and not even close to leaving my job as Sheriff. You know more than anyone how hard I had to work to get to where I am. Why are you so eager to turn me out to pasture?"
"Sweetheart, I never said that. I was just thinking about our future."
"Okay. Sorry I got so worked up," Tim said, as he kissed Megan on the cheek. "I love you, Meg. Always have. Always will. Any chance we can table the bed and breakfast discussion for a couple of years?"
<><><>
Frankie sat in Bea Holden's formal living room, and was having a claustrophobic experience. The elaborate holiday decorations, covering every inch of the room, were closing in on her. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her wrist to check her watch, noting it had been fifteen minutes since she'd arrived and the Holden maid had told her the Mrs. would be right down. She'd seen Arthur Holden's Mercedes in the driveway, and half-expected him to pop into the room in a rage at any moment.
Finally Frankie heard high-heeled footsteps, and Mrs. Bea Holden, wearing a long, flowing red-plaid taffeta shirt with a black velvet top, swept into the room. An ornate necklace of pearls and diamonds circled her neck.
"Cheers!" Mrs. Holden called out, continuing her fake British accent as before. She sat on a chair near Frankie, and poured hot tea from the china teapot into a small gold teacup. She sipped daintily from the cup with her pinky finger extended, then continued, "Before we get started, I simply must thank you for a most delightful evening."
Confused, Frankie said, "I don't understand."
"It seems when my Arthur could not reach his attorney, he called me around midnight to come bail him out of jail. Of course, I told my husband I would be right there, so he'd spend a minimum amount of time in that wretched place. I hung up the receiver, then spent the next seven hours in the most blissful sleep. I finally rescued poor Arthur at nine o'clock this morning." Mrs. Holden said, her mouth quirking with humor.
"Oh," uttered Frankie.
"It was all I could do to hold back my laughter when the guard brought Arthur out, dirty, disheveled, and filled with embarrassment," she said as she smiled comfortably to herself. "In the car on the way home, he tried to tell me some poppycock story, but now that you're here, I'm eager to hear what really happened from you." She set her teacup on the table.
"Well, it was after I'd followed him to..."
"Photos first, dear," Mrs. Holden interrupted, holding out her hand for them, wriggling her fingers.
Frankie opened her file and withdrew the dozen photographs she'd taken. Before giving them to her client, she warned, "Mrs. Holden, some of the photos here may upset you."
"Not likely," the older woman returned in a low voice with her hand outstretched. "Hand them over."
Mrs. Holden laid the stack of photos in her lap and picked up the first one, which was her husband knocking on his girlfriend's door. "Odd," she said, "I know Arthur's friends and where they live. This house wouldn't fit into one of their garages. Poker night, my arse!"
She threw the photo on the coffee table, and then plucked the next one from the stack to view. Frankie braced herself for an explosion when she noticed this was the photo of the buxom twenty-year old love interest thrusting herself into the arms of Arthur Holden.
"Well, this explains a lot," Mrs. Holden began, as Frankie held her breath. "No wonder my husband spends so much for medical treatment for his aching back problem."
She glanced quickly at Frankie, then back at the photo. "Lovely Santa-Helper outfit, don't you think? Wonder where she got it? Sluts-R-Us?"
Frankie held back a grin, still expecting the woman to explode with rage.
Mrs. Holden threw the photo onto the table, picked up the rest of the stack and began thumbing through each one. When she came to the pictures of Frankie's beaten SUV, she stopped and stared at Frankie. "What in the world happened to your vehicle?"
"Once your husband caught me following him, he came out slugging. In this case, he used a baseball bat to destroy my SUV."
"Well, that bastard. What was he thinking?" Mrs. Holden arose from her chair, left the room, and returned moments later, dangling a pair of car keys from her index finger.
"Did you happen to notice the brand-new black Mercedes parked in the driveway when you arrived?" she asked with a tone that was cold and exact.
When Frankie nodded, Mrs. Holden handed her the keys.
"I purchased that car with Daddy's money not even two months ago. It's now yours. My attorney will take care of the title transfer."
"Oh, Mrs. Holden, I can't accept..."
"But you will because you will not deny me this pleasure. Arthur loves that car, and I cannot wait to tell him it is no longer his to drive."
