Her Christmas Hero
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About the Authors
Award-winning author ROBIN PERINI’s love of heart-stopping suspense and poignant romance, coupled with her adoration of high-tech weaponry and covert ops, encouraged her secret inner commando to take on the challenge of writing romantic suspense novels. Her mission’s motto: “When danger and romance collide, no heart is safe.”
Devoted to giving her readers fast-paced, high-stakes adventures with a love story sure to melt their hearts, Robin won a prestigious Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award in 2011. Robin loves to interact with readers. You can catch her on her website, www.robinperini.com, and on several major social-networking sites, or write to her at PO Box 50472, Albuquerque, NM 87181-0472.
Though born in Chicago and raised in L.A., USA TODAY bestselling author CASSIE MILES has lived in Colorado long enough to be considered a semi-native. The first home she owned was a log cabin in the mountains overlooking Elk Creek, with a thirty-mile commute to her work at the Denver Post.
After raising two daughters and cooking tons of macaroni and cheese for her family, Cassie is trying to be more adventurous in her culinary efforts. Ceviche, anyone? She’s discovered that almost anything tastes better with wine. When she’s not plotting Mills & Boon Heroes books, Cassie likes to hang out at the Denver Botanical Gardens near her high-rise home.
A Golden Heart Award winner for Best Paranormal Romance in 2004, ELLE JAMES started writing when her sister issued a Y2K challenge to write a romance novel. She has managed a full-time job and raised three wonderful children, and she and her husband even tried their hands at ranching exotic birds (ostriches, emus and rheas) in the Texas Hill Country. After leaving her successful career in information technology management, Elle is now pursuing her writing full-time. Elle loves to hear from fans. You can contact her at ellejames@earthlink.net or visit her website at www.ellejames.com.
Her Christmas Hero
Christmas Justice
Robin Perini
Snow Blind
Cassie Miles
Christmas at Thunder Horse Ranch
Elle James
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-08175-7
HER CHRISTMAS HERO
Christmas Justice © 2014 Robin L. Perini Snow Blind © 2014 Kay Bergstrom Christmas At Thunder Horse Ranch © 2014 Mary Jernigan
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk
Version: 2020-03-02
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Table of Contents
Cover
About the Authors
Title Page
Copyright
Christmas Justice
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Snow Blind
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
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
Christmas at Thunder Horse Ranch
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
About the Publisher
Christmas Justice
Robin Perini
With love to my aunts, Gayle, Earlene, Sissy (Lynn)
and Barbara. I’m blessed to know you are always there.
No matter what.
Prologue
Today was no ordinary day.
Normally Laurel McCallister would have adored spending an evening with her niece Molly, playing princesses, throwing jacks and just being a kid again, but tonight was anything but typical. Laurel let the wind-driven ice bite into her cheeks. She stood just inside the warm entry of her sister’s Virginia home, staring out into the weather to see the family off to the local Christmas pageant. Her fist clutched the charm bracelet Ivy had forced into Laurel’s hand.
A gift from their missing father.
He’d been incommunicado for over two months. Then suddenly the silver jewelry had arrived in Ivy’s mailbox earlier that day. No note, only her father’s shaky handwriting on the address label, and postmarked Washington, D.C. Laurel squeezed the chain, quelling the shiver of foreboding that hadn’t left her since Ivy had shown her the package. Her sister had told her they needed to talk about it. Tonight. The news couldn’t be good, but it would have to wait.
Bracing against the cold, she met her sister’s solemn gaze, then picked up her five-year-old niece. Laurel snuggled Molly closer. At the end of a bout of strep throat, the girl had insisted on waving goodbye to her mother. Ivy returned the farewell wave from across the driveway, apprehension evident in her eyes. And not typical mom-concern-for-her-youngest-daughter’s-health worry.
Laurel scanned the rural setting surrounding Ivy’s house. With the nearest neighbors out of shouting distance, it should be quiet. And safe. Laurel might only be a CIA analyst, but she’d completed the same training as a field operative. She knew what to look for.
Nothing seemed off, and yet, she couldn’t stop the tension knotting every muscle, settling low in her belly. For now, her sister and brother-in-law refused to let the trepidation destroy Christmas for the kids, but Laurel had recognized the strain in her sister’s eyes, the worry on her brother-in-law’s brow. Too many bad vibes filtered beneath the surface of every look her sister had given her.
Laurel touched the silky blond hair of her youngest niece.
Molly stared after her mother, father, brother and sister, her baby blues filled with tears. “It’s not fair. I want to go to the pageant. I’m supposed to be an angel.”
The forlorn voice hung on Laurel’s heart. She placed her hand on the little girl’s hot forehead. “Sorry, Molly Magoo. Not with that fever.”
Ivy bundled Molly’s older brother and sister into the backseat of the car. Laurel sent her sister a confident nod, even though her stomach still twisted. She recognized the same lie in her sister’s eyes. They were so alike.
One of the kids—it must have been Michaela—tossed a stuffed giraffe through the open car door. Ivy shook her head and walked a few paces away to pick up the wayward animal.
Laurel started to close the door. “Don’t worry, Molly. They’ll be back s—”
A loud explosion rocketed the night, and a blast of hot air buffeted Laurel. She staggered back. The driver’s side of the SUV erupted into flames. Fire and smoke engulfed the car in a hellish conflagration. Angry black plumes erupted into the sky.
God, no! Laurel’s knees trembled; she shook her head. This couldn’t be happening. Horror squeezed her throat. She wrenched Molly toward her, turning the little girl away from the sight, but Laurel couldn’t protect Molly. Her niece had seen too much. Molly’s earsplitting screams ripped the air.
No sounds came from the car. Not a shout, not a yell.
Laurel had to do something.
“Stay here!” She scrambled through the door, racing across the frozen yard. She glanced back; Molly had fallen to the floor in tears. Laurel squeezed her eyes shut against the heart-wrenching cries, then snagged her phone from her pocket and dialed 9-1-1. “Help! There’s been an explosion.”
Blazing heat seared Laurel’s skin. It wasn’t a typical car fire. It burned too hot, too fast. Laurel choked back the truth. This wasn’t just any bomb. This was a professional hit. A hit like she’d read about in dossiers as part of her job with the CIA.
Unable to look away, she stared in horror at the interior of the car. In a few minutes, nothing would be left. Just ash. They wouldn’t even be able to tell how many people had been in the car.
The phone slipped from her fingers.
Ivy’s family was gone. No one could have survived. Frantically, Laurel searched for her sister. Her heart shattered when she saw the smoking body lying several feet away from the car. She ran to Ivy and knelt next to her sister’s body, the right side blackened and burned beyond recognition, the left blistered and smoldering.
“Laur—” the raspy voice croaked.
“Don’t talk, Ivy.” Laurel couldn’t stop her tears. She could hear her niece’s wails from inside the house, but Ivy. God. Her clothes had melted into her skin.
Ivy shifted, then cried out in agony. “Stupid,” she rasped. “Not c-c-careful enough. Can’t...trust...”
“Shh...” Laurel had no idea how to help. She reached out a hand, but there wasn’t a spot on Ivy not burned. She was afraid to touch her sister. Where was the ambulance?
Ivy coughed and Laurel bent down. “Don’t give up. Help is coming.”
“Too late. F-find Garrett Galloway. Sheriff. Tell him...he was right.” Ivy blinked her one good eye and glanced at the fire-consumed vehicle. A lone tear pooled. “Please. Save. Molly.” The single tear cut through the soot, and then her eyes widened. “Gun!”
Laurel’s training took over. She plastered herself flat to the ground. A shot hit the tree behind her. With a quick roll, she cursed. Her weapon was locked up in the gun safe inside the house. A loud thwack hit the ground inches from her ear. The assault had come from the hedges.
“Traitor!” Ivy’s raspy voice shouted a weak curse.
Another shot rang out.
The bullet struck true, hitting Ivy right in the temple.
Horrified, Laurel scampered a few feet, using the fire as a shield between her and the gunman. She panted, ignoring the pain ripping through her heart. She would grieve later. She had one job: protect Molly.
Sirens roared through the night sky. A curse rang out followed by at least two sets of footsteps, the sound diminishing.
Thank God they’d run. Laurel had one chance. She flung open the door and grabbed a sobbing Molly in her arms. She hugged her tight, then kicked the door closed.
Through the break in the curtains, she watched. A squad car tore into the driveway. No way. That cop had gotten here way too fast. Laurel pressed Molly against her, then locked the dead bolt.
She sagged against the wall. “Oh, Ivy.”
“Aunt Laurel?” Molly’s small voice choked through her sobs. “I want Mommy and Daddy.”
“Me, too, pumpkin.”
Laurel squeezed her niece tighter. She had two choices: trust the cop outside or follow her sister’s advice.
After the past two months... She slipped the bracelet from her father into her pocket, then snagged a photo from the wall. Her sister and family, all smiles. She had no choice. The high-tech bomb, the cop’s quick arrival. It smelled of setup.
Laurel raced through the house and grabbed Molly’s antibiotics and the weapon from the gun safe, half expecting the cop to bang on the door. When he didn’t, Laurel knew she was right. She peeked through the curtains. Her sister’s body was gone. And so was the police car.
The flames sparked higher and Laurel nearly doubled over in pain.
The sound of a fire engine penetrated the house. No time left. She snagged the envelope her father had sent and stuffed it into a canvas bag along with a blanket and Molly’s favorite stuffed lion.
She bundled Molly into her coat, lifted her niece into her arms and ran out the back door. Laurel’s feet slapped on the pavement. She sprinted down an alley. Shouts rained down on her. Smoke and fire painted the night sky in a vision of horror. One she would never forget.
She paused, catching her breath, the cold seeping through her jacket.
“Aunt Laurel? Stop. Mommy won’t know where to find us.” Molly’s fingers dug into Laurel’s neck.
Oh, God. Poor Molly. Laurel hugged her niece closer. How could she explain to a five-year-old about bad people who killed families?
Laurel leaned against the concrete wall, her lungs burning with effort. She wished she didn’t understand. She wished she could be like Molly. But this wasn’t a child’s cartoon where everyone survived even the most horrendous attacks. Reality meant no one had a second chance.
Laurel had to get away from the men who had shot at her, who had killed her sister and her family.
But Laurel didn’t know what to believe. Except her sister’s final words.
Which left her with one option. One man to trust.
Garrett Galloway.
Now all she had to do was find him.
Chapter One
Normally Trouble, Texas, wasn’t much trouble, and that was the way Sheriff Garrett Galloway liked it. No problems to speak of, save the town drunk, a few rambunctious kids and a mayor who drove too nice a car with no obvious supplemental income.
Garrett adjusted his Stetson and shoved his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket to ward off the December chill. He’d hidden out in Trouble too long. When he’d arrived a year ago, body broken and soul bleeding, he’d trusted that the tiny West Texas town would be the perfect place to get lost and stay lost for a few months. After all, the world thought he was dead. And Garrett needed it to stay that way.
Just until he could identify who had destroyed everyone he loved and make them pay. He’d never imagined he’d stay this long.
But the latest status call he’d counted on hadn’t occurred. Not to mention his last conversation with his mentor and ex-partner, James McCallister, had been much too...optimistic. That, combined with a missed contact, usually meant the operation had gone to hell.
Garrett’s right shoulder blade hiked, settling under the feel of his holster. He never left home without his weapon or his badge. He liked to know he had a gun within reach. Always. The townsfolk liked to know their sheriff walked the streets.
He eyed the garland-and tinsel-laden but otherwise empty Main Street and stepped onto the pavement, his boots silent, no sound echoing, no warning to anyone that he might be making his nightly nine o’clock rounds.
James McCallister’s disappearance had thrown Garrett. His mentor had spent the past few months using every connection he’d made over his nearly thirty-year career, trying to ferret out the traitor.
Big risks, but after a year of nothing, a few intel tidbits had fallen their way: some compromised top secret documents identifying overseas operatives and operations, some missing state-of-the-art weapons. The door had cracked open, but not enough to step through.
Garrett didn’t like the radio silence. Either James was breaking open the case or he was dead. Neither option boded well. If it was the first, Garrett contacting him would blow the whole mission; if the second, Garrett was on his own and would have to come back from the dead.
Or he could end up in federal prison, where his life wouldn’t be worth a spare .22 bullet.
With his no-win options circling his mind, Garrett strode past another block. After a few more houses, he spied an unfamiliar dark car slowly making its way down the street.
No one drove that slowly. Not in Texas. Not unless they were up to no good. And no one visited Trouble without good reason. It wasn’t a town folks passed through by chance.
His instincts firing warning signals, Garrett turned the corner and disappeared behind a hedge.
The car slowed, then drove past. Interesting.
Could be a relative from out of town, but Garrett didn’t like changes. Or the unexpected. He headed across a dead-end street, his entire body poised and tense, watching for the car. He reached the edge of town and peered through the deserted night.
Nearby, he heard a small crack, as if a piece of wood snapped.
No one should be out this way, not at this time of night. Could be a coyote—human, not the animal variety. Garrett hadn’t made friends with either one during the past year.
He slid his Beretta 92 from his shoulder holster and gripped the butt of the gun. Making a show of a cowboy searching the stars, he gazed up at the black expanse of the night sky and pushed his Stetson back.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a cloaked figure ducking behind a fence: average height, slight, but the movements careful, strategic, trained. Someone he might have faced in his previous life. Definitely. Not your average coyote or even criminal up to no good. James McCallister was the only person who knew Garrett was in Trouble, and James was AWOL.
The night went still.
Garrett kicked the dirt and dusted off his hat.
His muscles twitchy, he kept his gun at the ready, not wanting to use it. This could be unrelated to his past, but he needed information, not a dead body on the outskirts of his town. What happened in Trouble stayed in Trouble, unless the body count started climbing. Then he wouldn’t be able to keep the state or the feds out.
He didn’t need the attention.
He could feel someone watching him, studying him. He veered off his route, heading slightly toward the hidden figure. His plan? Saunter past the guy hiding in the shadows and then take him out.
He hit his mark and, with a quick turn on his heel, shifted, launching himself into a tackle. A few quick moves and Garrett pushed the guy to the ground, slid the SIG P229 out of reach and forced his forearm against the vulnerable section of throat.
“What do you want?” he growled, shoving aside his pinned assailant’s hood.
The grunts coming from his victim weren’t what he’d expected. With years of experience subduing the worst human element, he wrestled free his flashlight and clicked it on.
Blue eyes full of fear peered up at him. A woman. He pressed harder. A woman could kill just as dead. Could play the victim, all the while coldheartedly planning his demise. He wasn’t about to let go.
The light hit her face. He blinked back his surprise. He knew those eyes. Knew that nose.
Oh, hell.
“Laurel McCallister,” he said. His gut sank. Only one thing would bring her to Trouble.
His past had found him. And that meant one thing. James McCallister was six feet under, and the men who wanted Garrett dead wouldn’t be far behind.
* * *
THE PAVEMENT DUG into Laurel’s back, but she didn’t move, not with two hundred pounds holding her down. He’d taken her SIG too easily, and the man lying on top of her knew how to kill. The pressure against her throat proved it.
Worse than that, the sheriff—badge and all—knew her name. So much for using surprise as an advantage.
She lay still and silent, her body jarred from his attack. She could feel every inch of skin and muscle that had struck the ground. She’d be bruised later.
Laurel had thought watching him for a while would be a good idea. Maybe not so much. Ivy might have told her to trust Garrett Galloway, Sheriff of Trouble, Texas, but Laurel had to be cautious.