Jenna Ryan - Mistletoe and Murder

Jacob?

“You’re right,” she agreed before he could release her and turn. “I should have handled the situation differently. But it was my job to help him. That’s what we were taught at the Academy, right? Always help an officer in trouble.”

“You helped him, all right,” he snarled into her face. “You got Warren to back down and made it possible for Knight to kill Belinda two days later. She phoned me after they had lunch. She told me Knight wanted her dead.”

“She didn’t mean that literally, Dylan. Jacob wouldn’t get her a restraining order, so she got angry and…”

“We were a team, Belinda and me.” He spoke through his teeth now. Fury and sorrow mingled. Fury won as he gave her a head-snapping shake. “She was all the family I had. I protected her, my beautiful baby sister.”

Step-sister, Romana almost said, but held her tongue. Truthfully, it was the only part of this tragedy that had a touching aspect. Belinda had been family. And she’d been taken from him.

The shadow within the snow curtain moved again. Obviously Dylan expected Jacob to show up here. Just as obviously he hadn’t expected him to do it so soon.

He shoved her away in disgust, but only executed a half turn.

Romana wriggled forward on the trash can lid. Dylan hadn’t bound her ankles, only her wrists behind her back. If she could draw him close again…

Wind slapped at her cheeks and blew her hair around like wild streamers. Dylan paced, a caged animal once more. The movement behind the snow stopped.

“You did all of it, didn’t you?” she said. “Critch hid out while you threatened us. Did he even know?”

Dylan cast her a scathing look as he passed. “Warren is a damned ostrich. He saw what he chose to see and did what I, his concerned brother-in-law, encouraged him to do. South America was his best option, better than endless years of parole. Trade a ball and chain for the freedom of his youth. Make a fresh start. Leave the past behind.”

“You talked him into jumping parole?”

“And waiting for the false documents I would happily provide.”

“He was suspicious of you.”

“Oh, more than suspicious. I think he followed me the day I slipped the sixth card into your purse. He never said anything, but then why would he? It wasn’t like he could turn me in. Okay, I impersonated him. I was only building on what he’d started. When that prison door clanged shut behind him six years ago, he wanted you and Jacob dead.”

“But he mellowed.”

“No, he melted. He went all soft and gooey. Didn’t matter, I was there to take up the slack. It’ll all come out as it should when Knight gets here. You die, he dies, Warren escapes to South America and I go on-the grieving brother who wasn’t stupid enough, despite what his Academy instructors believed, to let himself be followed or his tapped phone rat him out.”

Romana caught a glimpse of Jacob then, in her peripheral vision. It had to be Jacob. She knew how he moved. She also knew that Dylan was pumped on adrenaline and not about to be taken down easily.

She wriggled forward a little more, knew she was close to the edge of the frozen can.

Keep talking, she told herself. Forget fear and pain. Think of Jacob. Think of something.

She pitched her voice low while still pretending to shout. “Aren’t you worried that someone will see you here, Dylan?”

“What?”

“What?” she called back.

Pent-up frustration made his movements jerky. He swung toward her at the exact moment she gave her butt one last twist on the lid.

“What are you…?” he began, then growled as the can toppled sideways and sent her tumbling onto a snowy mound.

When he reached down to snatch her upright, she rolled onto her back and planted her foot squarely in his groin.

The world clicked into surreal mode after that. She knew Jacob flew through the white curtain-she saw the blur of black leather and denim, spied the gun in his hand.

“He’s got three guns,” she managed to shout. “And a knife.”

Dylan’s foot narrowly missed her head as he flailed. Using the heel of her boot, she spiked his calf.

In spite of everything, he got a hand inside his Santa suit and drew a gun. The same gun Critch had held on Jacob seven years ago?

Jacob tackled him before he could take aim. The gun discharged. Dylan grunted like an animal. With one hand clutching his crotch, he grabbed a second gun from his waistband.

“Jacob!”

The only target Romana had was Dylan’s butt. She used the toe of her boot to spear him, then ducked as the weapon flew out of his hand.

“It’s over, Hoag.” In an anchored crouch, Jacob held him at gunpoint. “Don’t be stupid.”

Desperate, Dylan scrambled back and grabbed Romana’s ankle. Although she tried to kick free, he held fast.

“You won’t do it, Knight.” A third gun appeared and pointed at Romana’s head. “But I will.”

Romana squirmed and fought. Driving snow blinded her. She heard a shot. Then another. Dylan emitted one of his barking laughs. Her heart stuttered, almost stopped.

But she wasn’t dead. So…

“Jacob!’”

Dylan’s laugh became a gurgle. The hand on her ankle relaxed its grip. She kicked free and bumped herself upright. “Jacob?”

“Right here.” He sounded winded as he dropped to his knees beside her.

“Are you…?” Without her hands, she couldn’t check him for bullet holes. “Did he shoot you?”

“Shot at me. Missed.” Still breathing hard, he pulled a knife from his pocket and sliced the ropes on her wrists.

She started to throw her arms around his neck, but dug her fingers into his shoulders instead. “Where is he?”

Jacob moved his head. Romana moved her eyes. The crumpled heap that was Dylan didn’t move at all.

There was no need to ask. She saw the blood and knew. “Oh, God.” Dropping her head onto his shoulder, she let reaction set in. While Dylan’s blood turned the snow and two protruding sprigs of mistletoe beneath him red.

“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.”