Christmas Vendetta Read online

  “Thank you,” he whispered over the purr of the engine. And then he lightly kissed her fingertips.

  SIXTEEN

  The empty parking lot of a closed tourist center up ahead seemed ideal. Clay pulled in, drove through the entire lot to check for other exits, then parked beside an overgrown bush.

  “Okay. Now I can eat.” He smiled at her. “If you haven’t scarfed it all up.”

  “We may be a tad short of bacon, but the rest is still here.”

  Accepting the container she offered him, he opened it. “Forks?”

  “And napkins,” Sandy Lynn said, providing both. “Can we relax now?”

  “For a while. I kept watch behind us. We weren’t followed.”

  “Oh, good. Want some of my scrambled eggs? There’s way too much here for me.”

  “Sure.” Holding out his open tray he let her scoop in eggs. “Pancakes?”

  “You eat sticky stuff in this beautiful car?”

  “It’s washable. And speaking of washing, I need to shave unless I decide to grow a beard as a disguise.”

  Although he hadn’t been fishing for compliments, it pleased him to hear her say, “I kind of like the scruffy look. It’s very popular in the movies and on TV.”

  “Or for criminals who want to change their appearance.”

  “Speaking of criminals, can you check with Abe today and see if they’ve caught Charles yet. I still think going back to Springfield and explaining that you weren’t running away is the best move.”

  “I’m not risking your life again.”

  “I know, I know.”

  A look of disgust had replaced her smile. That bothered Clay enough to loosen his tongue. “Look. I get it. You don’t want me to keep hanging around.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t have to. I can see it all over your face.”

  She said, “That’s not emotion, that’s breakfast.” The quip did nothing to lighten his mood. He knew exactly what was wrong, how she felt, and it was killing him to stick around for more. Truth to tell, it was possible he could drop her somewhere and she’d be okay, but there was no guarantee one or more of their enemies would leave her alone once they were apart. His probably would. Her ex, not so much. Not if he was so bent on revenge that he was willing to stab a woman he mistook for Sandy Lynn.

  It didn’t take him long to satisfy his hunger. “Hand me what you don’t want and I’ll dispose of the trash.”

  She bagged up the remnants and passed them to him with a groan. “I ate too much. I feel like I could sleep for a week now.”

  “Thanksgiving dinner syndrome. Overeating can make you sleepy.” Hesitating at the open car door, he asked, “Will you be okay if I find a place to stay and it’s decorated for Christmas?”

  “I’ll make do with any place that has a comfy bed.”

  Clay anticipated her blush as soon as she realized what she’d said. He wasn’t disappointed. “For sleep. In separate rooms.”

  “Of course.” The embarrassed reaction was almost funny enough to make him smile again. Almost, not quite. It was in the best interests of his heart to keep his mind on reality. Sandy Lynn might be weary, but she wasn’t so tired that she’d shelve her morals. For that matter, neither would he. For him, love and respect went hand in hand. The last thing he’d ever purposely do was hurt her in any way.

  Driving through the next small town they came to, he found narrow streets, raised sidewalks and closed shops. A tiny restaurant advertised catfish specialties. On a whim, he turned up a side street. One or two more tries and he’d have to give up finding shelter and head on down the road.

  Then, there it was. A Victorian-style house, white with blue trim, bedecked in thousands of tiny twinkling lights and red ribbons highlighting shocks of pine greenery. Even the fancy B and B sign in the yard sported Christmas lights and brightly colored round ornaments in clusters at each corner.

  Best of all, interior lights shone from several downstairs rooms. Clay tapped Sandy Lynn’s arm to get her attention. “Over there. What do you think?”

  “Perfect, if they have somewhere we can stash your car out of sight.”

  “I’ll turn around and cruise by more slowly. See what you can see.”

  She leaned forward to get a good look. “I doubt we’ll find a better hideout.”

  “Having second thoughts?” he asked, worried about her seeming lack of enthusiasm. “We can keep driving if that’s what you want.”

  She shook her head, never looking directly at him. “No. You must be exhausted. I know I am. If we don’t get some sleep we won’t be as ready for the next attack.”

  “It might not come,” Clay said, hoping to help her cope and speaking to himself at the same time.

  “It will. We both know it will. After we’re rested, I want to talk everything over with you.”

  “Convince me to go back, you mean.”

  “Maybe, unless you can talk me into staying on the run. I know we needed to get away and work things out. I just think there has to be a better way. Don’t you trust anybody in law enforcement anymore?”

  “Of course I do. I’m just not sure who. I apparently made mistakes when I first suspected theft.”

  “Who did you tell?”

  The list was short. “My chief and one sergeant. Whoever they told is likely how the word spread.”

  “And your friend? Matthews?”

  “Abe? He’d never cause me grief. Remember how long we’ve known each other.”

  “Suppose he thought you were imagining things when you mentioned it? Might he have laughed it off until he saw the problems you were having?”

  That notion stuck in Clay’s throat like a knot. Was it possible? There was one sure way to tell. If he phoned Abe privately with news of their hiding place and they were subsequently accosted he’d know for sure. Doing that before they’d had a chance to sleep and recover, however, was foolish. Perhaps tomorrow, he reasoned. Or the next day, although that was Christmas Eve, providing he hadn’t totally lost track of time.

  Lights in front of the Victorian illuminated the shady covered porch area. A single bulb burned above the back door. Clay parked in the most secluded spot and escorted Sandy Lynn to the rear door.

  A polite knock brought a wiry middle-aged woman who was wiping her hands on a white butcher’s apron. “Morning. You folks lost?”

  “No,” Clay replied with a smile. “We made the mistake of thinking we could drive all night and now both of us are beat. Do you have any rooms available? We’ll need two.”

  “Two, huh. You been fightin’?”

  He chuckled and went along with the woman’s error. “Nope. I’m afraid I snore like a freight train.”

  “Me, too, son,” she said, grinning. “C’mon in. I’m about to take a pan of biscuits out of the oven and the coffee’s made.”

  “Thanks.” Standing back, he urged Sandy Lynn in before him. “Coffee will be nice. We ate about half an hour ago or we’d gladly take you up on the offer of food. So, you do have vacancies for us?”

  “Got one now and will have another by ten or so,” she said. “I need to spiff up the second room and change the linen after the current tenants check out.”

  “That’s a relief. Can we wait in here? It’s cold outside.”

  “Thought we might have fresh snow for Christmas, you know, add to the ambience,” the woman said as he held a kitchen chair for Sandy Lynn and then joined her. “Where y’all from? Is there snow over your way?”

  “A dusting,” Clay said before changing the subject. “Those biscuits smell wonderful. Wish I was hungry.”

  “All home cooking here,” she said proudly. “Too bad so many travelers pass us up on the holidays.”

  Sandy Lynn finally found her voice. “Really? That’s a surprise. I mean, you’ve decorated so beautiful
ly it’s a shame more people won’t see it.”

  It surprised Clay to hear her praising the Christmas theme. “It is pretty,” he agreed. “You don’t have bookings for tomorrow or the next day?”

  “Nobody but the two of you. Guess you’re the answer to my prayers.” She set two mugs of steaming coffee on the table for them.

  “How so?”

  “Don’t pay attention to me. I tend to get a bit broody this time of year. Miss my husband, don’t you know.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sandy Lynn said.

  Clay was reluctant to ask if the older woman’s husband had passed away. Turned out he didn’t need to.

  “Killed in the line of duty, he was. Right around this time of year, too. There were a couple of years I had to force myself to keep going and save this business all by myself.”

  Line of duty? There was little doubt what that meant. He clenched his jaw. If they up and left now, they’d raise all kinds of questions in the woman’s mind, questions he’d rather not have to answer. Worse, she might decide to get in touch with some of her late husband’s cronies and bring them into the situation.

  He stood. “Tell you what. Why don’t we let my—wife—have the available room right away. I’ll wait down here, maybe in the parlor if there’s room, until your current guests check out.”

  “Suits me.” She pointed a gnarled finger. “Stop off at the front desk and fill out a registration card, will you, while I finish cooking. The only key hangin’ on a peg out there will be yours. It has the room number on it. I’d go with you, but I don’t want to burn this food.”

  “No problem,” Clay said, “Mrs....?”

  “Proctor,” she said, “Everybody calls me Bessie.”

  “Thank you, Bessie.” He pulled out Sandy Lynn’s chair, having to practically lift her to her feet to make her move. With one arm around her waist, he shepherded her to the foyer and located the described desk. Not only did the front of the house smell like pine and gingerbread, it was filled with memorabilia and charming Victoriana.

  Sandy Lynn was hesitant. “What are you going to write on the card?”

  “Nothing, for the moment,” Clay replied. “If she remembers to ask again I’ll think of something. In the meantime, I want you to take this key—” he unhooked it “—and go on up to the empty room. I’ll look after things down here.”

  “Bessie said...”

  “I know what she said. Sounds like her husband was a cop. That won’t make any difference.”

  “What if she takes after him? Married couples sometimes adopt each other’s habits. Suppose she gets too curious?”

  “One dilemma at a time, please,” Clay said. “You go on up and lock the door after you. I’ll knock when I’ve brought in our luggage.”

  “Luggage? You think she won’t wonder why we packed in pillowcases?”

  That almost made him laugh. “It beats plastic grocery bags. Don’t worry. I’ll sneak them in while she’s busy with breakfast. Now get into your room before anybody else sees you.”

  Halfway up the carpeted staircase, Sandy Lynn paused and looked down at him. “I forgot all about Enid. We promised to take clothes to her. I should call and tell her I was delayed.”

  “I’ll take care of everything.” He pointed forcefully. “Go!”

  Once she had disappeared at the top of the stairs he blew out the breath he’d been holding. A cop’s widow. Of all places to stop, they had to come here. At times like these Clay couldn’t help wondering if God was for them or against them. Concluding it could be both, he shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered back toward the warm kitchen, intending to conduct an impromptu interview with Bessie Proctor. They had to know if she was still closely connected with law enforcement or if the loss of her husband had turned her against his profession.

  The answer to that question would probably determine how long he and Sandy Lynn stayed, and whether or not he dared close his eyes and rest for even a few hours.

  Hair on the back of Clay’s neck prickled. “I’m going to run out and get our stuff from the car,” he told the landlady.

  She never turned from the stove as she called, “Glad to have you here. Merry Christmas.”

  * * *

  After having been uprooted and stuck in a car half the night, Sandy Lynn was more than ready to kick back. Admittedly, the bedroom suite was lovely, not too fussy, not too plain, and done in a restful blue-and-aqua color scheme that complemented the light gray tiles in the adjoining bath. That was the only part of the accommodations that wasn’t from the Victorian era and, even then, the sink stood on a footed pedestal the way a pitcher and bowl would have in the old days. Under other circumstances she would have loved to stay there for weeks.

  Thin walls were the only drawback. She listened to the couple in the adjoining room talk while packing to leave. They sounded so happy, looking forward to seeing family again and attending a big holiday gathering. Sandy Lynn had never seen the appeal of that kind of party. Her idea of bliss was a carton of mint chip ice cream, a spoon and a fire in the fireplace. Her former apartment had lacked a real hearth, but the one at Clay’s condo had been nice to sit in front of, even without the ice cream.

  Thoughts of him brought back the manic butterfly feeling in her stomach and made her wish she didn’t have such a vivid imagination—she was beginning to find it easy to picture him in her life. To stay.

  An image of him as the father of the big family he’d always said he wanted made her daydream fade. Clay would make a wonderful dad someday. She just wasn’t cut out to play the part of the mother of his children. Not now. Not ever.

  Sandy Lynn kicked off her boots and stretched out on top of the coverlet. How did a person like her escape the imprints of such a harrowing childhood? Would she have been as poor a mother as her own was? That notion cut to the heart until she realized she truly did love her students.

  Meaning to shower and change as soon as she had the opportunity, she allowed herself a moment’s repose, eyes shut, and was awakened by a sharp rapping on her door.

  “Open up. It’s me,” Clay called.

  Momentarily disoriented, she stood and went to let him in. Instead of a calm entrance, he burst through and slammed the door behind him.

  Half-asleep, she rubbed her eyes. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “I was downstairs talking to Bessie, and she happened to mention that she’s throwing a party for her husband’s old unit.”

  That was a waker-upper. “What? When?”

  “Tomorrow. I’d like to stay here and rest, and I’m sure you would, too, but we don’t dare.”

  Sandy Lynn eyed the comfortable bed where she’d been napping. “Not even for one night?”

  “No. We need to get a head start. I’ll pay her for two days and we’ll pretend we’re staying.”

  “But we won’t?”

  “No, we won’t. Tonight, after she’s turned in and the house is quiet, we’ll sneak out and hit the road again. In the meantime, you can nap. I’ll keep watch.”

  “We’ll share the watch,” Sandy Lynn countered. “I’ll sleep first and as soon as you get access to your room, come and tell me so I can stand lookout from my window. I can’t imagine anybody will locate us, though, can you?”

  “Not logically. If we hadn’t been tracked before I’d be positive.”

  “And you’re not, even now?”

  “No.” Clay was shaking his head and raking his fingers through his hair. “Sleep in your clothes so you’re ready to leave immediately.”

  “You really expect me to go to sleep again, after you showed up wired like this? Give me a break.” She glanced at the comfortable bed. “Tell you what. I’ll go downstairs to talk to our landlady and you can grab a few winks while I’m gone.”

  “No way.” He was adamant.

  “Yes, way. The more time that passes,
the greater our chance of your car being spotted. It’s safer for me now than it would be later. Plus, sometimes women will share info they wouldn’t tell a man.”

  “Like what?”

  She wanted to shake him, to shout. Instead, she shrugged and smiled. “If I knew that I wouldn’t have to ask, would I? I’ll see if she has any more plans for Christmas that will cause us grief.” She pointed to the bed. “In the meantime, crash. That’s an order.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  Sandy Lynn stood her ground, hands fisted on her hips, her jutting chin and steady gaze proving her stubbornness. “Yeah.”

  Clay’s shoulders began to sag. He yawned and stepped aside to give her access to the door. “Well, okay then.” A smile lit his weary yet mischievous expression.

  Realizing she had won this skirmish, Sandy Lynn returned his smile. “Glad you’ve finally come to your senses.”

  When he countered with, “I don’t have any sense left,” she chuckled under her breath.

  Descending the stairs, she pondered past events. In retrospect, neither of them had behaved rationally after that first encounter when he’d helped save Enid’s life. The only good thing was that her bestie had survived.

  Well, that and the fact that Clay was sticking around. Before entering the kitchen, she paused in the foyer for a quick prayer of thanksgiving. No matter what his motives might be, she needed him.

  “Thank you, Father,” she whispered, her heart opening despite misgivings. “Thank you for sending Clay back into my life.” As a postscript she added, “Please look after him, too,” and meant every word.

  SEVENTEEN

  Bessie was nowhere to be found when Sandy Lynn reentered the kitchen. Amiable-sounding conversation was coming from an adjoining dining room and she followed the sounds. Four other guests, probably two couples, were enjoying a sumptuous breakfast.

  She acknowledged them with a tiny wave. “Sorry to bother you. I was looking for Mrs. Proctor.”