Elle James - Her Christmas Hero

Laurel snuggled down under the blanket. Garrett shifted his seat back a bit. He’d slept in far worse places.

His hand reached for his weapon. He had to find a way to end this thing. Not only for his family, but before Laurel and Molly paid the price their family had.

The question was how.

James had obviously slipped up.

Garrett couldn’t afford to.

A small sigh of sleep escaped from the woman beside him. He tilted his head toward Laurel.

Her blue eyes blinked at him.

“Are we going to get out of this alive?” she whispered. “Truth.”

“I don’t know.”

* * *

THE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS decorating every damn corner in Trouble, Texas, twinkled with irritating randomness. Strickland’s eye twitched. He leaned forward toward the steering wheel as far as he could and still maneuver the vehicle.

He passed by the sheriff’s house for the fifteenth time.

Still dark, still deserted.

Headlights illuminated a house ahead.

Strickland whipped the steering wheel and turned down a side street to avoid the deputy crawling all over town. He plowed through a mailbox. With a curse he righted the car.

“Face it,” Krauss said, propping his leather work shoe against the dash. “We lost them.”

“We can’t,” Strickland muttered. “She has to die. Her and the kid.”

He made his way to Main and pressed the gas pedal. Trouble was a dead end. The SUV shot ahead. The deserted streets of the small town slipped past. They headed into the eerie pitch blackness of the desert without headlights to light the way.

“We have to tell the boss that the McCallister woman is alive, Mike. There’s no way we can keep it a secret.”

“We still have another day or two,” Strickland argued, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. Just the thought made his chest hurt. His pulse picked up speed. He knew what the boss would do. What had been done to others.

“Too risky. If we come clean—”

“We’re dead.”

Strickland’s phone rang.

He yanked the steering wheel and nearly drove off the road. Cursing, he straightened the vehicle.

The glowing screen on the phone turned into a beacon in the night.

Krauss shoved it at Strickland. “It’s the boss.”

“How—?” He pressed the call button. “Strickland.” He forced his voice to sound confident, arrogant.

“The car made the papers,” his boss said. “The coroner believes the family died. Well done.”

“Thank you.” A shiver tickled the back of his neck, as if a black-widow spider had crawled up the base of his skull.

“I have another job for you. It’s important.”

A string of curses flooded through Strickland’s brain. Another job. He had to finish this one first. He couldn’t leave it undone. “Of course.”

“Two years ago. Another car bomb. Another family. You were in charge.”

Strickland remembered it well. No mistakes that time. He’d earned the boss’s trust on that job.

“Our target is alive.”

Strickland slammed the brakes. The car skidded to a halt. “What?”

“You told me he was dead.”

“He wasn’t breathing. No way he could have survived those burns.” Strickland pulled at his hair. God, a mistake. No. He jumped out of the SUV and paced the pavement. His hand shook as he gripped the phone. Mistakes weren’t tolerated. Ever.

“Well, he did. I’m taking care of that loose end. I want you to finish the job. Make certain this time.”

Strickland turned on his heel and glared at the twinkling lights of Trouble. He was so screwed. “I’ll find him. You can count on me.”

“We’ll see.”

His heart thudded against his chest; his stomach rolled. Bile burned his throat.

“I’ll search for him. He can’t hide.”

“He’s not living under his real name.”

Krauss rounded the vehicle. Maybe they could split up. It was the only way either man would make it off this assignment alive.

“How do I find him?”

“Your target is Sheriff Garrett Galloway. Trouble, Texas. Kill him this time, Strickland. Be very sure he’s dead.”

Strickland met Krauss’s wide-eyed gaze. He’d heard the words. His partner shook his head in disbelief.

“Oh, and, Strickland? This is your last chance. One more less-than-adequate performance and you’ll pray your life will end well before I allow it.”

* * *

A SLIVER OF SUN peeked over the horizon, the light pricking Laurel awake. She blinked. The muted blue of the winter sky through the windshield brightened with each passing moment. Her cheek pressed against the leather seat. Awareness of the past week washed over her, drowning her in grief.

Ivy, her family. Her father.

Molly.

She jerked her head to one side, then the other, her gaze finally resting on Molly’s sweet face.

“She’s hasn’t stirred,” Garrett whispered, his voice low and husky.

Laurel longed to reach out and cuddle her niece, to touch her, to be certain. Molly’s pink cheeks were just visible at the edge of the blanket; a small frown tugged at her mouth.

“No nightmares?” Laurel asked, shifting in her seat, combing her hair back from her face with her fingers.

“A few whimpers in the middle of the night. She’s obviously exhausted.”

“She can’t wrap her mind around what happened.” Laurel avoided Garrett’s sympathetic gaze. She pretended to study the rugged bark of the piñon branches rapping gently against the window. “I can’t understand most of the time.”

He said nothing, and for that she was thankful. What could he say?

She sent him a sidelong glance. She’d avoided thinking about him as a man, but now, in the close proximity, she couldn’t deny her heart stuttered a bit when she looked at him. He was handsome, but that wasn’t what drew her. The hard line of his jaw, the determination in his eyes. And his gentleness with Molly. He was the kind of man she could fall for.

Smart, driven and deadly, but with a kind soul. And a heart.

She wanted to reach out and touch him. Just once. She blinked, staring at him. His gaze had narrowed, an awareness in his eyes.

He felt it, too.

The next moment, she wondered if she’d imagined the spark between them. He blinked; the heat doused.

Garrett pulled her SIG from below the seat. “You have extra ammo?”

“Of course,” she said. “In my duffel. Dad trained me to go everywhere prepared.”

“Not to mention the agency.”

“They weren’t as tough as my father.”

A small grin tugged at the edge of Garrett’s mouth. “So true. I’m going to check out the ranch house. If I’m not back in one hour, I want you to leave.” He handed her the keys and a slip of paper. “Contact Daniel Adams. He’s the only other person I know who can get you the kind of help you need.”

She pocketed the number and clutched the butt of the SIG.

“I’ll be back,” he said, opening the door.

“Be careful.”

He tipped the brim of his Stetson before closing the door softly.

His catlike moves revealed more training than Laurel had. He disappeared around a pile of rocks. She caught a glimpse of his hat for a moment, but within minutes he’d vanished.

She clutched the keys in her hand. She had a full tank of gas, Molly in the backseat. She could run, just disappear.

Forget the past?

The fiery inferno of her sister’s car burned the backs of her eyelids. Where was the justice in disappearing?

Her sister never would have let it go. Laurel dug into her pocket and pulled out the prepaid cell. No signal. If anything did happen, how would she find help? Her father wouldn’t appreciate it if she put Fiona at risk.

Who could Laurel ask?

There was a reason she’d traveled all the way across the country. She had no choice but to trust Garrett. Him and his secrets.