Yuletide Suspect

CHRISTMAS FRAME-UP

Nothing will stop Secret Service agent Liberty Westmark from warning her ex-fiancé that he’s wanted on a terrorism charge—not even gunmen determined to kill them both. After breaking his heart, she owes Tate Almers that...especially since only she believes his innocence. Partnering with Liberty again is the last thing Tate, a former Secret Service agent, wants for Christmas. But with a mountain of evidence against him and both the feds and a rogue cartel behind him, Tate needs Liberty beside him. They’ve become the targets of a manhunt with just one ending...and they have only each other to stay alive.

It was coming straight at them.

A truck rumbling down the road at breakneck speed.

“Run!” Tate yelled.

They took a dozen steps before gunshots exploded around them...and someone yelled, “Freeze!”

As Liberty halted, she felt Tate’s arms encircle her. She didn’t ever want to move. Not because she would be shot but because Tate’s arms were around her. Strong arms she had missed so much it made her want to cry.

“Get in the truck,” the gunman ordered. He zip-tied their wrists, so tight the strap cut off her circulation.

Kidnapped.

What was her boss going to think?

First he’d have to realize what happened to her. But then would he think she was part of this with Tate?

“What are you going to do with us?”

He tipped his head back and let out a roar of laughter. His cackle told her what she needed to know. He planned to kill them.

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for journeying with me through the craziness of Tate’s and Liberty’s lives. So often we feel like we’re not worthy, but thank God that He shows us our worth to Him with His amazing gift of grace and forgiveness—and His son.

My prayer for you is that you understand the richness of His love toward you, and open your life to see that love displayed in the many ways God blesses us.

I hope you’ll join me for future books! In the meantime, you can check out my other books at www.authorlisaphillips.com and contact me there as well. You can also write to me c/o Love Inspired Books, 24th Floor, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.

God bless you richly,

Lisa

LISA PHILLIPS is a British-born tea-drinking, guitar-playing wife and mom of two. She and her husband lead worship together at their local church. Lisa pens high-stakes stories of mayhem and disaster where you can find made-for-each-other love that always ends in a happily-ever-after. She understands that faith is a work in progress more exciting than any story she can dream up. Lisa blogs monthly at teamloveontherun.com, and you can find out more about her books at authorlisaphillips.com.

Yuletide Suspect

Lisa Phillips

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, “Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep, which was lost!”

—Luke 15:6

To all my readers.

Have a very merry and blessed Christmas season.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Arrest him. Or apologize.

Liberty Westmark gripped the steering wheel, not sure which she was going to do first. If she ever got there. She peered out the windshield, where fat flakes of snow obscured both lanes of the highway beyond her high beams.

“In six hundred yards, turn right.”

The voice of her GPS was loud and clear, but the way was not. She’d probably wind up turning into a ditch. It would serve her right to end up the sad conclusion of an obscure news article about the snowstorm of the century. Heartwarming. She rolled her eyes and muttered, “Lone Secret Service agent who left ahead of her team gets lost and freezes to death chasing a dream.”

She froze. A suspect.

Not a dream.

Where had that come from, anyway? The fact that Tate Almers had been her fiancé a year ago was absolutely not relevant anymore—unless she got the chance to apologize. Otherwise this was just work, and once she had Tate in custody she could drop him off at the nearest federal agency office and go back to her cozy DC condo and her hairless cat.

Job done.

It was a courtesy, nothing more. Tate might have done something bad—really bad—but the qualifier was what made her unable to believe it was actually his doing. A plane had gone down, and three people were missing—two White House staffers and a senator. The man she had known and worked with—okay, and loved—would never have done something like this. That history was why she’d convinced the director she should come here ahead of the rest of the team.

Liberty was going to give Tate the courtesy of explaining, and then he could tell his former Secret Service team the same thing.

The turn came up faster than she was expecting. Liberty hit the brakes and took the corner too fast. The back end of her car hit ice and fishtailed. Stupid man, living in the middle of stupid nowhere. The car kept spinning. Liberty gripped the wheel harder, like it was going to help.

She squealed.

When the car came to a stop, she was sideways on the single-track road.

Liberty sighed. “No one heard that squeal.”

She was still the fully fledged Secret Service agent her teammates respected. Just a little ice that threw her for a minute. No big deal. She was fine.

Liberty shook off the rush of adrenaline that had set her heart racing and righted the car on the road. A single lane, probably dirt or gravel, but right now it was covered in a layer of snow and ice. Liberty drove slower than she needed to down to the house.

It was more of a cabin, really. The roofline was lit up with Christmas lights, and she could see a Christmas tree in the front window, the only light in the house. Tears filled her eyes. It was beautiful, like a Christmas card. Tate was a no-nonsense kind of guy, and this was anything but. What on earth? Then it hit her. What if he was married now? What if he’d found someone else, and this was all for her?

Liberty nearly turned around and left, but the Secret Service would be here soon and she wanted answers. After it was done, she’d be able to move on for good. Sure, he might be married, but actually that was better. It would help sever those few lingering ties, right?

Liberty cracked the car door and braced against the cold as she got out, then leaned back in and grabbed her gloves. The wool wouldn’t protect her much against this temperature. Cold cut through the layers of her clothing, and the wind chafed her cheeks. Her coat covered her badge, but maybe there would be time to really talk before she told him she was here for work reasons.

A couple of dogs barked, but not in the house. The sound came from the barn. Liberty waded through snow and banged her fist on the barn door. It swung open and two dogs raced toward her, barking louder. Liberty took a step back.

Tate stepped out of the barn, but she couldn’t take her focus off the dogs, even as she backed up more across the stretch of snow over the driveway between the barn and the house. They barked and circled her, their attention imposing enough that Liberty didn’t move.

“Good boys. Sit.”

Both dogs sat, one on either side of her. Liberty wanted to slump onto the packed down snow between them. The sound of Tate’s voice cut through her and left a ragged wound in its wake. She glanced up, and her eyes locked with his. It was too dark to get a good look, but in the glow of the Christmas lights the line of his jaw was set. He wasn’t happy.

One of the dogs broke his sit and barked.

Tate’s eyes widened, fixed on some point beyond her, away from the house. “What...” He lunged and grabbed her arm, dragged her the ten feet or so back toward the barn and yelled, “Bubblegum!”

A gunshot went off. Liberty ducked, having no idea where the shot had come from. She skidded on the barn floor, reached the end of Tate’s grasp and snapped back toward him. She grimaced. Tate didn’t let go. Outside the dogs barked, and someone yelled.

“Intruder,” he said. “I thought it was you who set off the alarm, but there was a man out there with a gun.” A gunshot went off outside. “Do you have your weapon?”

Liberty pulled her gun from the holster at her back, under her jacket. He grabbed it from her. “Hey—”

Tate stepped outside and shut the door behind him.

The dogs continued to bark. Outside, Tate yelled, “Hey!”

A gunshot followed.

Liberty pulled the backup weapon from her ankle holster and moved to the door. She was the Secret Service agent. Sure, Tate had been one, too, over a year ago. But he’d quit, and Liberty didn’t have time to think through all of that—or the fact that it was basically her fault.

Liberty wanted to pray, but that part of her life was long gone, just like her love life. Neither had ever done her any favors or bettered her in any way. She’d given up on God and romance both in the last eighteen months. This was one last favor to Tate, and then she was done. Liberty was going to live her life her way, on her terms.

The door swung open before she reached it. Tate strode to her, and the dogs raced in around him. Liberty shook her head. “What on earth was that? And why did you shut me in here?”

“Man outside,” he said, without handing her weapon back to her. “An intruder, which I already mentioned.” He didn’t look happy. “He ran off. The dogs did their job.”

As though they knew he’d complimented them, the two dogs returned to his side and sat to be petted. One was a German shepherd, lean enough that Liberty wanted to feed the animal treats. The other was a stocky Airedale who came to her next. She didn’t pet him.

Tate raised his eyebrow. “You still have that ugly cat?”

She ignored the question. Loki was alive and well, not that it was any of his business. “Bubblegum?” They had to talk about something; otherwise she’d just stare at the blond hair sticking out the bottom of his knit beanie. His hair grew fast and had to be cut frequently, but it seemed Tate no longer cared. He wore the mountain man uniform of jeans and a checkered shirt under a padded denim jacket. No gloves. Wasn’t he cold?

“Bubblegum is a command. If the person attacking you doesn’t know what you just asked your dog to do, they’ll think twice.” Tate’s jaw was hard again. “He shot at them, saw me and then ran off.”

“Are you going to give me my gun back?”

* * *

Tate stood stunned for a second before he forced himself to snap out of it. He motioned for her to back up. “You have one, and mine are all in the house. I’ll be keeping this until I know for sure he’s gone.”

He had to focus on the intruder who’d just tried to kill him. Otherwise he’d stare at her blond hair. Those blue-green eyes. Focus.

“That is against policy and you know it.” She used her most snooty voice, and it almost made him smile. Almost. “I can’t lend out my duty weapon.”

“I’ll be sure to write that on the form I fill out explaining why you’re dead.” Tate swept past her and moved toward the door again. Liberty huffed behind him, but he figured she didn’t argue because she knew he wasn’t wrong.

Tate cracked open the door, peered out into the night and tried to tamp down the boiling rage. Shoot at him? Whatever. Shoot at his dogs? Unacceptable. Tate adjusted his grip on the gun, though using it would deny him the fight he was itching for. He’d always had a temper problem. He’d learned in the army how to channel it into discipline, and during his time with the Secret Service, Tate had rarely lost his cool. It never went well when he did.

He sucked in a breath of icy air and counted to ten in his head. One of the dog’s muzzles touched his leg, and he reached down to pet Joey. His Airedale boy loved life and thought everything was a game. The German shepherd, Gem, was more task oriented. Wake up. Eat. Work. Sleep. Repeat.

“Looks clear.”

He shoved the door wider and walked out. Snow was thick on the ground and falling fast. They’d have another two feet by tomorrow, but that wasn’t what had his attention. He pointed at the far end of his front yard where the dense trees began. They blocked his view of the land, but he much preferred being in a cocoon of privacy.

Tate pointed. “That’s where he ran off to.”

“And you shoved me in the barn so you could take care of it?”

She was still stuck on that? “Guess it was a reflex. All those years of protection duty for the Secret Service ingrained in me. I’m the one who faces the danger.”

“And the dogs.”

She really was intent on arguing, wasn’t she? Tate sighed. “They’re trained.”

“And I’m not? I’m still a Secret Service agent, Tate.”

He turned to her. “That’s not what I meant.” Not that he’d have heard from out here if she’d quit or not.

He didn’t know how to get himself out of this one, and why did he even feel like he needed to? He didn’t owe her anything, and he didn’t want her to owe him anything back. Whatever they’d had was done now. She’d killed it when she gave him his ring back and sent him packing.

Tate had lost it a couple of days later and gotten pushed into early retirement from the Secret Service over it, but this life was better. Simpler. He knew who he was out here, with the dogs.

Tate scanned the area but couldn’t see any sign of the gunman. The man might return. He could scout out the area and see if the guy was still here, but he’d have to do it after Liberty left.

The dogs trotted along. Gem scanned the area, but Joey ran in circles, ready to play. Tate motioned with his hand and gave them the command to head for the porch and wait for him there. He used it mostly when the UPS guy delivered packages, but it came in handy at other times as well.

Tate didn’t even want to contemplate what it meant that Liberty was here. He’d do so later, when he was alone again. The way he preferred it.

Liar.

Okay, so it wasn’t his choice, but life was life. She’d broken up with him. Called off the whole thing, and he didn’t even know why, so he’d simply concluded it was him. He’d always known there was something defective in him, and she’d tried to make it work. Until she realized it never would.

Tate stopped beside her car and opened the driver’s-side door. Waited. She didn’t move, just stood there looking like she had so much to say. He really didn’t want to hear any of it. What was the point? He took her in. All her blond hair, even softer than it looked, was secured back in a business ponytail. Dress slacks. Completely the wrong shoes to be traipsing around in snow. The bottom few inches of her pants were wet, but it wasn’t his problem, now was it? Not anymore.

Liberty’s eyebrows pinched together. She wore makeup, but not much. The top curve of her lip had a bump he’d always thought was adorable, as she’d been born with a cleft palate. The scar where it had been repaired was barely visible now. Still cute, though.

“We should call the police and report that man. He tried to kill you.”

Tate said, “Maybe he was here to kill you.”

Liberty blinked. “I... No, I don’t think so.” Still, there was a question in her eyes as she considered it.

Tate didn’t want to think about her being in danger. It was a reality of being a Secret Service agent, but not one he was going to dwell on. “He can’t have known you’d be here, unless he followed you, and how could he do it through this terrain, on foot?” Only her car was out here. His truck was under the carport.

Liberty pulled out her phone. “I’ll call emergency services. Get a sheriff, or whoever is the law around here, to come over.”

“Give me your phone. I’ll call him.” Even if her cell actually worked up here, she shouldn’t do the talking. That was more involvement than she needed to have in this situation.

Then again, if she left now, he could make the report to the sheriff and perhaps pretend she’d never even been here. It wasn’t exactly honest, but tell that to his heart.

Liberty clutched the phone. “I’ve given you enough already.”

She had no idea. “I don’t have a signal, and I don’t have a landline either.”

“So how do you communicate with people?”

Tate said, “Shortwave radio.”

Liberty glanced up from her phone. Evidently she had the one carrier that actually got a signal up here. “There’s no reason to be rude.”

She thought he was lying? Tate just enjoyed his privacy.

She said, “I know you want me to leave, but there’s a reason I’m here, so I’m not going to go. I came to tell you the Secret Service is on their way here to talk with you.”

“About what?” He had even less to say to his former employer than he did to his former fiancée.

“A plane went missing a hundred miles from here. Two White House staffers and a senator were on board.”

“I haven’t heard anything about it.” Not that he watched the news much. His aerial only got half a dozen channels, and he didn’t listen to the police band all the time on his scanner.

She kept talking. “It happened in the early hours of this morning. They lost contact right after the pilot sent out a distress call. We don’t know if the plane went down or if they were hijacked. Everyone is out looking for it.”

“I’m sure I can lend some assistance with the search,” he said. “For old times’ sake.”

“That isn’t why the Secret Service wants to talk with you.”

Tate didn’t know what else there would be to say. It didn’t seem like this had anything to do with him. “They’ll have to get in line. I need to make a report with the sheriff about a gunman on my property.”

Liberty let him change the subject. “Did you see who it was?”

Tate shook his head, still leaning his forearms on her open car door. Was she ever going to get in and drive away? This was painful enough without her drawing it out.

Tate sighed. “I didn’t get a good look at his face, but he didn’t seem familiar to me.” And it had definitely been a man. “Joey nearly chased him to the trees.”

Liberty didn’t smile. He knew she liked dogs, so he figured the problem was him. Tate glanced at the dogs. Joey wasn’t sitting the way Gem was. Instead, the Airedale paced the porch by the front door with his nose to the mat. He pawed at the door and then barked once.

Tate saw the flash of movement through the living room window.

He started running toward his cabin. “Someone’s in the house.”

TWO

Tate ran to the front door, so Liberty circled the house in case the intruder ran out the back. It was slow going, wading through thick snow, but she was already soaked and there would be time later to thaw out her toes. Liberty pulled out her cell phone and dialed emergency services. She requested the police, and was told the sheriff was on his way. The dispatcher seemed to know exactly where Tate’s house was, but this was a small town. Maybe they knew each other. Maybe she—it had been a woman—was his girlfriend.

Liberty stuffed her phone back in her jacket pocket and huffed out a breath at the workout she was getting. Okay, not only at the workout. Who cared if there was someone in Tate’s life now? It wasn’t like she had any claim on him. Not since she’d broken it off and severed the tie between them. As much as it had pained her to do it—and the reason for it hurt almost more than the act of doing it—Liberty hadn’t had another choice.

There was no future for them.

Still, if she got the chance, then she might tell him she regretted hurting him. But Liberty was never, ever going to tell him why. She could barely even think about it herself.

She reached the rear corner of the cabin, and the back door slammed. Liberty brought her gun up as the man flew out the door, stumbled and then started to run.

“Secret Service! Freeze!” Her voice barely carried.

He didn’t even slow down.

She ran after him. Tate rushed out the back door and got to the man first, launched himself at the guy and tackled his legs. The two went down in the snow like an ugly version of a snow angel. Tate grunted, and the two men struggled.

Liberty stopped six feet away and planted her now-numb feet. “Freeze, or I’ll shoot!” Tate would have to get out of the way first, but the man didn’t know.

Tate shifted and she saw the man’s face. He was probably in his midthirties.

He gritted his teeth and struggled. Tate jammed his arm up under the man’s chin. “Who are you?”

The man jerked his head around, trying to get away. “Get off me.” His gaze found hers, and she saw the moment he realized he’d lost this fight to the two of them. His eyes flashed. “Let me go.”

If he was going to try to get her to shoot him, Liberty wasn’t going to oblige. Suicide by cop might be something the police had to face, but it wasn’t part of her résumé. “Tate.”

He lifted the man off the snow to his feet. “Who are you?”

The guy looked like he was about to bolt. He wore jeans, boots and a heavy jacket. The men had both dressed for the weather, while Liberty was dressed for a mild winter in DC. Which was exactly what they’d been having. How was she to know this part of Montana was freezing and buried under four feet of snow?

When the man didn’t answer, Tate said, “Find me something to secure him with.”

Liberty went inside and found a dog leash hanging by the front door, beside where a big duffel sat on the floor. He’d always carried a bag to his workouts. The two animals were on dog beds in the living room, making the Christmas picture complete. They watched her move through the cabin, but thankfully didn’t come over expecting her to pet them. Liberty couldn’t handle that, when they would only remind her of her favorite dog. She’d had only cats since Beauregard died.

Hurrying back to Tate, Liberty held out the leash. He motioned to the guy with a tilt of his head. “You do it.”