Danica Winters - Ms Demeanor

A cold-case Christmas in Mystery, Montana

Yearning to be known as something other than Mystery’s ultimate bad boy, rancher Rainier Fitzgerald isn’t pleased when he stumbles upon the remains of a dead body. Especially when Officer Laura Blade catches him with a gun in his hand.

Spending Christmas chasing down a cold case with a man she’s not supposed to fraternize with isn’t granting any of Laura’s holiday wishes, either. But could her favorite time of the year be working its magic on Laura’s feelings? Or is Rainier truly transforming from a charismatic rogue to a hero worthy of her heart?

Mystery Christmas

“If you knew me a little better, you’d know that I’m hardly ever disappointed.”

“What if I disappoint you?” he asked.

He was going to kiss her. She could feel it in his touch and hear it in the lilt of his voice, and though she wanted it, there was a nagging voice in the back of her head that kept telling her how stupid it would be to let him. If he kissed her, the rules of their game would change. Their roles would be compromised. Her job would be compromised. Heck, even his future could be jeopardized.

“You won’t,” she said, as his lips grew nearer, so close that she shut her eyes and readied herself to feel his lips press against hers. “And we…can’t,” she said, nearly breathless.

But he didn’t stop. And she didn’t pull away.

Acknowledgements

This series wouldn’t have been possible without a great team of people, including my agents and editors at Harlequin—thank you for all your hard work.

Also, thank you to Suzanne Miller and the crew at Dunrovin Ranch in Lolo, Montana. Suzanne is the inspiration behind one of my favorite characters in this series, the fantastic Eloise Fitzgerald. Just like Eloise, she always greets you with a warm smile and an open heart.

I’m proud to say that all proceeds from the events in honor of this series shall go to the Missoula, Montana, Girls Using Their Strengths (GUTS!) program. This program empowers and promotes leadership in girls aged nine to eighteen. It is my belief that we must support and help empower young women so someday they can run the world.

Ms Demeanor

Danica Winters

www.millsandboon.co.uk

DANICA WINTERSis a multiple award-winning, bestselling author who writes books that grip readers with their ability to drive emotion through suspense and occasionally a touch of magic. When she’s not working, she can be found in the wilds of Montana, testing her patience while she tries to hone her skills at various crafts—quilting, pottery and painting are not her areas of expertise. She believes the cup is neither half-full nor half-empty, but it better be filled with wine. Visit her website at www.danicawinters.net.

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To Mac.

No matter what comes our way, we will always move our story forward.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Acknowledgements

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

There was nothing quite like the rush he’d felt when he had tried to kill his father. It had been like a charge running through Rainier Fitzgerald, shooting up from his toes straight through his body and escaping in one ill-advised and perfectly placed punch. One hit, one single punch had cost him more than three years of his life, thousands of dollars and nearly all his relationships.

There were times he wished he had really killed his biological father. Just a little bit harder or just a few more punches and he could’ve watched the life slip from the man’s body. If he had died, maybe then Rainier could’ve felt guilty about what he had done to him; as it was, the only regret he held was that he hadn’t punched him sooner.

The prison’s chain-link gate vibrated; metal ground against metal and made an ear-piercing squeal as the gate opened. Rainier had been dreaming about this day, the day of his release, since the moment he’d entered this hellhole.

He took in a deep breath. The cold air carried the heavy and earthy scent of concrete, dirt and broken dreams, but he didn’t care—for the first time in years, he was free.

The only hint it was nearly Christmas was the thick layer of snow on the ground and the black sedan in the parking lot complete with a set of felt reindeer antlers poking out of its passenger’s-and driver’s-side windows.

They looked ridiculous, but a hoarse chuckle escaped him, the sound so foreign that it caught him off guard.

In the corner of its windshield, the car had a parking decal for the Montana State Prison. Whoever it belonged to must work at this place, or was here enough that it was deemed necessary for them to have quick access—which made the Christmas fare seem even more asinine and somewhat obscene. It was as if the owner celebrated the fact that they could enjoy their freedom, even if it meant buying cheesy holiday decorations and displaying them from their cars for the inmates to see—and hate them for.

He looked around the parking lot, hoping to see Wyatt in one of their father’s ranch trucks or maybe his patrol vehicle. Rainier smirked as he considered the irony of being picked up from prison in a squad car. Only in his life would something so ridiculous be possible.

But the only truck was an old beat-up Dodge at the far end of the parking lot. The pickup was empty and a film of ice covered the windshield as if it had been parked there for days.

His brother had left him in the lurch. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but a promise was a promise.

Rainier sighed, rubbing his hands together as he tried to stave off the cold; though, if someone would have asked, it wasn’t the chill of winter that caused him to shiver but rather the icy reception from his family.

On the other hand, he could hardly blame his brother for not coming here to pick him up after everything he’d put the family through. It was the same reason he hadn’t asked his mother to come get him—he hated her seeing him in this kind of place. All she’d ever done was take care of him and shower him with love, and yet he repaid her by being sent to a place where meals were given on a tray and people told him what time he could take a shower. In some ways, he felt like the bastard child he’d always been—thrown into foster care and finally picked up by the Fitzgeralds. They’d always made him feel like one of them, just another one of the adopted sons. Yet now here he was, alone and adrift again.

The door to the black sedan opened, the reindeer antler on the driver’s-side door jiggling wildly, like a hand waving him down, as a woman stepped out. To say she was beautiful was an understatement. No, she was far more than that. Her ashy-blond hair was pulled tight into a no-nonsense bun, a pair of tortoiseshell-framed glasses teetered on the top of her head and her legs were long, and he couldn’t look away from the round contours of her luscious hips. She turned, bending over to get something out of her car, forcing him to stop midstep as her pencil skirt hugged the curves of her ass. His mouth watered as he stared at the diagonal lines her panties created as they pressed against the fabric.