Sandra Robbins - Yuletide Defender

She’d never seen him in the building before. As his gaze met hers, he pushed away from the wall and took a step toward her.

Fear rushed through Rachel’s body and she backed toward the door. She could see his face better now. She was positive she’d never seen him before. He stuck his hand in his coat pocket as he advanced toward her. Her throat went dry. Was he reaching for something inside? A gun?

Rachel turned and bolted through the front door. The parking lot at the side of the building where she’d left her rental car this morning looked as if it were a mile away. She glanced over her shoulder. The man had followed her onto the sidewalk. He took a step in her direction before he halted, turned and ran across the street.

Rachel slowed her step and watched him climb into a red car. She had no idea the make of the automobile, so she concentrated on trying to remember how it looked. A dent creased the back fender and patches of chipped paint covered the trunk. The motor roared to life and the wheels squealed as the car shot into traffic.

Rachel breathed a sigh of relief and shook her head. She had to quit thinking about the bullet striking the bricks above her head and the two dead bodies on the street last night. If she didn’t, she’d end up suspecting everyone she came in contact with was out to kill her.

A bell clanged and Rachel whirled in the direction of the parking lot. A Santa Claus, the bell in his hand pealing out a familiar holiday sound, stood at the corner, his kettle ready for donations from passersby. The reminder of a time-honored Christmas tradition calmed the fear she’d experienced a few minutes earlier. Since she was a child, she’d looked forward to seeing the Santas who dotted the streets of Lake City each December—their mission to see underprivileged children have a happy holiday.

Inhaling the cold air, she smiled and strode forward. The memory of how her mother struggled to provide a good Christmas for her two daughters had caused her to vow she would never pass a Santa’s kettle without dropping in some money. A vigilante and murders across the city weren’t going to take away her yuletide spirit.

She stopped in front of the Santa and tried to suppress a smile. He wasn’t as chubby as others she’d seen in the past, but that didn’t matter. It was the size of one’s heart that really described a person. To her way of thinking, anyone who would dress up in a Santa suit and stand on a street ringing a bell for donations had to have a heart the size of the whole state.

She grasped the strap of her purse and pulled it from her shoulder. “Let me get some money for you.”

The Santa adjusted his beard, bent down and set his bell on the sidewalk. “Thank you.”

Rachel grasped the bag in both hands and unzipped the purse. “I’m glad to help—”

Before she could finish her sentence, the Santa grabbed her purse and pulled it from her hands. Clutching it tightly, he bolted across the street.

Speechless, Rachel gaped at the disappearing figure in the fur-trimmed red suit running as if his life depended on it. After a few seconds she regained her senses enough to realize she’d just been the victim of a robbery. She dashed into the street in pursuit and yelled at the top of her lungs. “Stop! Thief!”

A car horn honked and brakes squealed. Rachel glanced around to see a delivery truck bearing down on her. She jumped backward and groaned when the vehicle blocked her view of the retreating figure. When it passed, the Santa had disappeared.

The despair she felt at having been robbed turned to anger. In the last two days she had been brought face-to-face with crime in Lake City. Maybe a purse snatching didn’t rank as high as murder on the worst crime scale, but she felt violated.

She mentally listed the contents of her purse—a wallet containing thirty dollars, a credit card that was almost maxed out, her driver’s license, cell phone, a necklace her mother had given her and makeup. The only thing she couldn’t replace was the necklace, which had been a gift when she graduated college. She’d intended to get the clasp repaired today.

Rachel clenched her fists and gritted her teeth. How could she have been so careless? But then who would ever suspect Santa Claus of being a thief? She hoped he had a good time with her few possessions.

With a sigh she turned back to the newspaper office. She had to make a report to the police. Even if she never saw her purse again, she didn’t want other people in Lake City to be robbed by a thief posing as Kriss Kringle.

She stopped before she entered the building and thought of Matt. What would he say? The memory of his words earlier returned, and an uneasy feeling crept over her. Maybe she should tell him about her meeting with the source tonight. Her instincts told her she could trust the person she’d met with and talked to on the phone. On the other hand, she thought she could trust Santa Claus and she’d been wrong about that.

Rachel straightened her shoulders and walked to the elevator. She knew what she had to do. Getting a story that would boost one up the ladder to success didn’t mean a thing if you were dead. She was going to call Matt and tell him about her next meeting with the source.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.