Barb Han - Ambushed At Christmas

She’d no sooner put the gearshift in Park than movement on the east side of the parking lot caught her eye. A pickup truck door opened and Deacon Kent got out of the driver’s side. Her stomach gave a little flip at seeing Deacon Kent again. She ignored her reaction to him, even though instinctively she checked her face in the mirror. She should’ve known he would show. She’d all but invited him on the phone, and had regretted it almost instantly. It wasn’t like her to act on impulse, which is exactly what she’d done when she’d picked up her cell at almost four o’clock in the morning.

Speaking of which, lack of sleep had dark circles cradling her eyes. She’d never been one to do well without sleep, even though she’d gotten very little of it during her high school years. Unlike her peers, she wasn’t lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling because she worried she’d fail a test. Her stress levels reached far deeper than that. While everyone else met up on Friday nights to find out who would host the next party after Friday Night Lights , she churned all night feeling physically ill. She thought about what she could’ve done differently. Her mind stirred on how she’d let her friend down in the worst possible way.

Leah pushed those heavy thoughts aside and stepped out of her car. She didn’t bother asking what he was doing there.

“Good morning, Mr. Kent.” He was already making a beeline toward her by the time she climbed out of her driver’s seat.

“Call me Deacon,” he said. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here.”

“You have a vested interest in this case and so do I.” She left out the part where she liked having someone to bounce ideas off of for a change. For too long it had just been her and her three-year-old son, Connor. Even when she’d dated Detective Dougherty, she hadn’t felt the sense of—what?—comfort that she instantly felt with Deacon. She chalked it up to it being easier to talk to a stranger than those closest at times. But nothing felt strange about Deacon Kent. In a way, she felt like she’d known him for years and it was probably just because he was easy to talk to. She didn’t want to get inside her head about what that meant, so she just let it be.

There were four cars parked in the lot at this early hour aside from Deacon’s truck and her sedan. It wouldn’t be difficult to see if anyone came in or out.

“The Mitchell case isn’t mine to ask questions about. So I have a Jane Doe who came in three nights ago that we’ll say you might be able to ID. According to witnesses, she’s a vagrant and you won’t recognize her but that’s not the point—”

“You’re looking for an excuse to walk in the door,” he finished the sentence for her.

“That’s right.”

Leah badged them inside the building and then led Deacon down a hospital-like white-tiled hallway that led to a glass door. Etched on it were the words Dr. Timothy Rex along with a series of alphabet letters to indicate his degrees.

At sixty-eight, Dr. Rex, aka T-Rex was still a crackerjack. His mind was sharper than most thirty-year-olds she knew, which wasn’t exactly an endorsement for the people in her circle. Leah almost laughed out loud. Her circle consisted of the people she knew at work, her babysitter and a three-year-old. Unless she counted the purple dinosaur from Allen, Texas, whose voice she could hear in her sleep thanks to Connor binge-watching the DVDs. Did they call it binge-watching when it was almost-constant background noise and some of the same episodes over and over again?

Leah made a move for the metal bar to open the door but Deacon beat her to it. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had opened a door for her. She was independent and strong. She didn’t need a man to open doors. But there was something sweet and chivalrous about the gesture that caused her stomach to do another round of somersaults.

Old-fashioned chivalry was still a turn-on. She mumbled a thank-you and caught a small smile toying with the corner of his lips—lips she had no business focusing on.

There was no receptionist working this early. Leah had expected that. She didn’t have credentials to badge through the next set of doors leading to the lab. Dr. Rex looked up at her. He rocked his head as though he’d been expecting her. He hadn’t. She’d given him no warning. His manner had always been welcoming. That was just Rex.

He hurried over to the door, first removing his examination gloves and tossing them into the wastepaper basket positioned next to the door. He acknowledged Deacon with another smile after letting them in.

Deacon stuck out his hand as the door closed behind him.

T-Rex took it with a vigorous shake, introducing himself. His eyes sparked for the briefest moment when he heard Deacon’s last name. She figured that happened a lot, even though nothing about the down-to-earth cowboy screamed that he was one of the wealthiest men in Texas. Leah almost couldn’t wrap her mind around it. She came from money. Or, more accurately, her parents had money. They still did because she refused to let their money manipulate her and that’s exactly what they’d tried to use it for. As an only child, she blamed being the sole focus of their manipulation efforts on the lack of siblings to spread the “wealth” of their attention across.

Leah had gone to the police academy after getting her degree in criminal justice. Neither her philosophy-professor father nor her board-of-directors mother approved of her degree and that’s the reason they’d stated when they refused to pay tuition for her to go to the out-of-state college she wanted to attend. So she’d played the child-of-a-professor card and went to the University of Texas at Arlington instead. Being the child of faculty gave her free tuition and that had helped not to rack up education expenses. Now she couldn’t imagine trying to bring up a child on a detective’s salary and repay college loans.

T-Rex was given his nickname for his turtle-like shoulders and arms. It might’ve been cruel except that he’d been the one to make the joke and the name stuck. He said he’d had it since college and didn’t mind. T-Rex, after all, had been an apex predator. The real story behind it was that he’d broken both of his arms as a child. His missionary parents who traveled with him abroad had made sure he’d received the best available care. But he’d been given medical attention in a developing country. The incident had left him unable to lift his arms over his head. He liked to say he got a PhD and an MD because he couldn’t get the alphabet letters from his boyhood aspiration, NFL.

Otherwise, he was tall-ish. Admittedly, standing next to Deacon Kent made T-Rex look smaller. His spectacles slid down on his nose—much like pictures of Santa Claus. With the resemblance, there were other monikers T-Rex could’ve picked up. He had the same belly and carriage as the guy who made midnight rounds one night a year, a night that was coming soon. T-Rex also had a slow smile and quick wit. Both were genuine.

“How’s the grandbaby?” Leah always asked about the five-year-old light of his life, Harley. She’d come to live with him and his wife after losing his daughter to a rare bone disease. The father had never been in the picture.

“Growing like a weed.” He beamed. It couldn’t be easy to take on a child at his and his wife’s age. But he was the kind of man who wouldn’t turn his back on someone who needed him and especially not family. “She decided she needs to learn how to do a cartwheel.”

“What does she need to do that for?” Leah asked with a little more enthusiasm than she felt. She did care. Don’t get her wrong. But she was biding her time until she could ask what she wanted, what was on the tip of her tongue.