This small-town sheriff has big-city secrets

As a detective in New York, Jacob Marx had been deep under cover in a drug cartel...until a bust went terribly wrong. Now posing as a good guy is proving even tougher. Since the force sent him to Brookhollow to lie low as a deputy sheriff, he’s been struggling to stay detached from the townspeople. Especially Heather, the gorgeous, high-heeled bartender at the local pool hall who asks too many questions. Tempted as he is, he can’t allow himself to connect with her or anyone else. His career and safety are at stake. Of course, a little flirting couldn’t hurt... Could it?

“Well, there you go. Longest eight-minute ride of your life,” Jacob said.

Heather unbuckled her seat belt and faced him. “Aren’t you going to stay to help decorate the tree and see the lighting?”

He really had nowhere else to be. Technically, he was on duty. And technically, this was his important assignment today. “I guess I could stay for a bit.” He shut off the car and reached for his gloves in the backseat, just as she went to grab hers.

Their heads butted and she jumped back. “Ow.”

He laughed. “Sorry. You stay there. I’ll get the gloves.”

Instead of handing hers over, he held one open for her.

She sent him a funny look as she slid her hand into the soft cashmere, then she held her other hand up for the second. “I’ll pretend that wasn’t totally awkward,” she said as she opened the door.

He touched her arm, stopping her.

She turned back in surprise. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just want to say thank you...for making the effort.” He wasn’t exactly making it easy for people in town to get to know him, and she could have continued ignoring him like everyone else.

“No problem...but I’m going to be gone soon, so you’ll have to step up if you want people around here to accept you.”

And what if he only wanted acceptance from the one person who was leaving soon? Then what?

Dear Reader,

By now, it’s probably obvious just how much I love writing holiday-themed romances. The first book in this small-town series is about finding love during the Christmas season, and I thought it was fitting to end the series on the same note. Heather and Jacob’s story is the final book in the Brookhollow series, and it was definitely bittersweet to write the final sentence. I have spent two years in this small town that has come to life on the page, with characters who feel like friends and story lines that I’ve always wanted to write.

I hope you will enjoy this slightly suspenseful conclusion to the series and fall in love with Heather and Jacob as we say goodbye to Brookhollow.

All the very best this holiday season from my family to yours. I hope love, peace and happiness find you wherever you are—small town or big city.

xo

Jennifer

Love, Lies & Mistletoe
Jennifer Snow

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JENNIFER SNOW lives in Edmonton, Alberta, with her husband and five-year-old son. She is a member of the Writers Guild of Alberta, the Romance Writers of America, the Canadian Author Association and shewrites.org. She is also a regular blogger on the Mills & Boon Heartwarming Authors site and is a contributing author to Mslexia, WestWord magazine and RWR. Her 2013 holiday romance, The Trouble with Mistletoe, was a finalist in the 2014 Golden Quill contest and the Heart of Denver Aspen Gold contest. More information can be found on her website, jennifersnowauthor.com.

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For all of the Brookhollow fans who have followed the series—laughed and cried along with me and who continue to show a level of love and support that I could only have dreamed of—thank you!

Acknowledgments

I can never say it often enough—thank you to my wonderful agent, Stephany Evans, who was the first one to believe in this series. And a special thank-you to editor Claire Caldwell, who offered valuable feedback on this story, along with my editor Victoria Curran. As always, this book is stronger because of you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgments

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

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“IS THAT THE one that got away?”

Jacob Marx placed his cell phone facedown onto the bar and glanced over his shoulder where Heather, the pool hall’s bartender, was so close, strands of her long, dark brown hair rested on his shoulder. The scent of peppermint filled his nose. Huh, must be a holiday thing—last month she’d smelled like pumpkin spice. Not that he paid much attention; he just rememb “Sweet for the sweet.” ered how it had left him craving a Starbucks pumpkin spiced latte.

“No,” he said, turning his attention back to the rum and Coke he’d been nursing for an hour. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but sitting at the bar beat being alone every evening, thinking about the life passing him by in New York. He’d done that enough in his first few weeks in tiny Brookhollow, New Jersey, located right between Nowhere Land and Boringsville.

Heather went around the bar and set down a tray of empty beer glasses. “Are you sure? ’Cause it would explain a lot,” she said, stacking the dirty dishes in the dishwasher.

Jacob picked up the phone, and closing the photo of his sister and eight-year-old nephew, he tucked it into his pocket. “Yeah, like what?” He leaned forward on the bar. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have, but the talkative brunette was likely to tell him what she thought anyway.

“Like why you’re such a—”

“Heather, we need another round on lane four.” Candace, the waitress working the bowling alley side of the local hot spot, passed them carrying a food order from the kitchen.

The smell of the hot wings on the tray tempted Jacob to place an order of his own, but checking his glucose monitor, he decided not to mess with his currently stable blood sugars.

“I’ll be right back,” Heather said, filling a tray with beers from the mini-fridge behind the bar.

“Take your time,” Jacob mumbled. He’d rather not spend his evenings at the pool hall when he wasn’t on duty, but, unfortunately, in a town as small as this one, there were few options. Other than this pool hall/bowling alley/movie theater complex, the only other bar in town was the Green Gator, a karaoke joint. And he’d rather have his eyes poked out than go there.

He watched Heather carry the drinks to the bowling lane and collect the cash from the under-forty league members. The teams were practicing for their annual holiday bowling tournament, which had been so well-advertised and talked about all over town that anyone would think it was the Super Bowl.

A holiday bowling tournament was creating an excited buzz. Man, this town couldn’t possibly be more boring.

But boring, quiet, uneventful was what he’d wanted, right?

Jacob drained the contents of his glass and threw several bills onto the bar as he stood.

“Hey, where are you going? We haven’t finished our discussion yet,” Heather said, returning. The holiday music had stopped playing, and she reached for another CD. More Christmas tunes. Same playlist every night that week. They’d already had the argument that it was too early to be playing that crap, but he’d lost and she’d only turned the music up louder.

“We weren’t having a discussion. You were just insulting me, so I think I’ll head out.”

“Look, I didn’t mean any offense,” she said, as the first few notes of “I’ll Be Home with Bells On” started to play.

“Could have fooled me,” he grumbled, sliding into his leather jacket.

“All I’m saying is people around here are curious about you. You’ve been here for four months, and no one really knows your deal.” She slid the other CD back into its case and turned to lean her hip against the bar.

“My deal?” he asked, his gaze returning to hers.

“Why you’re here.”

“Because it’s such a quaint, idyllic town isn’t enough reason?”

Heather shrugged. “Fine. But just so you know, when people around here get curious about someone, they start speculating on their own. Believe me, I’ve heard a dozen rumors already.” She turned away from him and resumed hanging a set of colored Christmas lights behind the bar.

Again, too early, but at least she hadn’t asked for his help. Christmas wasn’t exactly his thing. Or at least it hadn’t been for the last few years.

Jacob hesitated. He didn’t give a rat’s behind what these local people were saying about him, but his gut tightened at being the topic of conversation. Had someone actually figured out why he was there? Small-town gossip made him nervous, and while he had confidence in Sheriff Bishop’s discretion, he could never be too sure. Thirteen years on the job had made it impossible to trust anyone. Probably why he’d never gotten married. Actually, precisely why he hadn’t gotten married.

Sighing, he sat back down. “Okay, let’s hear them.”

Heather continued singing as the song reached its chorus, ignoring him now.

“Hey, Talks-a-lot!”

She turned with a wide smile that caught him off guard, and he felt the tips of his ears grow hot.

He hadn’t meant to blurt out his secret name for her. The truth was he had one for almost everyone in town. Four months in sleepy, low-crime Brookhollow was driving him mad. He had to do something to entertain himself. And he didn’t want to get attached to anyone or anything. Nicknames helped.

“Talks-a-lot, huh?”

He shrugged.

So did she. “I’m good with that. Been called worse. Okay, so here’s what I’ve heard.” She lowered her voice. “Blink once if it’s true, twice if it’s not.”

“No.”

She huffed. “Fine. Well, one story is that you shot a fellow cop in New York and you felt so guilty about it, you needed to get away.”

“I have shot a fellow cop before. Don’t feel the least bit guilty.” The rookie officer had caught a bullet in his left butt cheek in a liquor store robbery shoot-out, after ignoring protocol and advancing on the perpetrator. He’d been lucky it was only his butt; if Jacob hadn’t fired when he had, the guy may not have walked away at all. “What else you got?”

Her eyes widened for a quick moment, then she said, “Another theory is that you were fired, and no other big-city department would hire you.”

That was a little closer. “Fired for what?”

“The thoughts on that are varied. Some people say it was for withholding narcotics, others for killing an innocent bystander in a shoot-out. One person was kinder and said it was because you’d gotten strung out and went a little crazy.”

That was kinder? “That all you got?”

“Pretty much...the others are too ridiculous to be true.”

Right.

These people knew nothing. Reassured and relieved, he stood again and reached for his gloves. “Well, sorry to say they are all wrong. I’m just here for a change of scenery.”

“No one’s buying that story, Jake—I mean, Sheriff Matthews,” she said.

Jake. Sheriff Matthews. Man, the worst part about this whole thing was not even being allowed to keep his own name. He hated when people called him Jake, but at least he answered to it. Better than getting used to something totally different, and he wasn’t about to argue any of the conditions of his placement. Originally, they’d wanted to send him with his sister and nephew to some remote location, indefinitely, under the federal witness protection program. He’d been lucky to convince the department to let him stay close to New York and take on this mundane sheriff position instead. He’d claimed he wanted to stay nearby for when and if the drug case went to court and they needed him to testify, but the truth was he was still on the undercover case...just not officially.

“I’m not asking anyone to buy it,” he said, heading toward the door. He just needed them to mind their own business. “Have a good night.”

* * *

HEATHER CRADLED HER cell phone against her shoulder as she carried the heavy garbage bag through the back door of the pool hall. She set the trash down on the icy ground next to the already heaping bin, making a mental note to call the disposal company in the morning to come empty it. When she’d taken over running the bar from Melody Myers eleven months ago she a) hadn’t expected it to be so hard and b) hadn’t expected to be running it longer than six months.

“You still there?” her older sister said on the other end of the line.

“Barely,” she mumbled, glancing at the seconds ticking away on her phone. Cameron had left her on hold for almost nine minutes.

“Sorry... I’m working, you know,” she said distractedly.

Heather shivered in the late November air as she made her way back inside. “So am I.”

“Yeah, at some crappy pool hall in the middle of nowhere. Heather, you have an MBA.”

“I know,” she said, tugging the heavy metal door closed behind her and locking it. She hadn’t forgotten how hard she’d worked for the life and career she’d once had in New York; she was just struggling to figure out how to get back there, to all of that. “That’s why I’m asking you for this favor.”

“Heather, this is Highstone Acquisitions in Manhattan. Not some rinky-dink firm.”

She sighed, suppressing the urge to remind her sister that she had worked at Clarke and Johnston for over ten years. They weren’t a rinky-dink firm, either. “That’s why I want to apply for a job there.”

“Heather, you know I love you and I want nothing more than to have you back here in the city, but this is Rob’s employer. Asking him to stick his neck on the line for you is...”

Heather gaped. Sticking his neck on the line? Seriously? “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cam,” she said. “You know what? Never mind.” She’d look up the firm herself and apply for the acquisitions agent position without Rob’s help. It would be the fourth one she’d applied for in a year. She’d yet to even be called for an interview. And it baffled her. Her résumé was solid. She had the MBA Cameron had just mentioned. It was as though her previous employer had blackballed her somehow, she thought bitterly.

Calling in the favor to her sister’s husband had meant swallowing her pride, but she was getting desperate. She had exactly five hundred and seventy-two dollars left in her bank account, after depleting her savings for the past year while she searched for a job.

“I’m sorry,” Cameron said, sounding sincere. “That’s not what I meant.” She sighed. “Okay, Rob’s direct boss is Mike Ainsley. He owns the company. His phone number...”

Going to the register behind the bar, Heather ripped off a piece of receipt paper. “Can’t I just email him?”

“He’ll probably want you to email a résumé, but Rob always says he likes to have a chat with potential candidates first.”

That made sense, and she wasn’t opposed to calling him, she was just hoping for more time to prepare for a discussion with the man. She wanted to make sure she got a shot at this position. “How old is he?”

“Old. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’re looking for a new employer this time, not a potential boyfriend, remember?”

Heather cringed. Her sister would throw that in her face again. “Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson about that,” she mumbled. Three years in a relationship with her boss at Clarke and Johnston, only to lose him as both employer and boyfriend, had taught her to diversify.

Workplace relationships were not an option anymore.

“Good. So, just put away your sarcasm and resist every urge to be funny, and get through a short telephone call. We really do want you back here in the city.”

She wanted to get back to her old life, too. She’d been away and out of the game long enough. Her career as an acquisitions agent, buying out smaller companies on behalf of million-dollar clients—usually box stores and hotel chains—had come to a halt after she’d been fired and dumped in the same week. She’d hightailed it to Brookhollow for her friend Victoria’s wedding and a mini-vacation. She hadn’t planned to stay for two years. The reminder of her friend momentarily gave her pause. “Look, Cam, I’ll be there as soon as I can, but Victoria is depending on me now, too.” Victoria ran a B and B in town. Her business partner and best friend had died months before in a car accident, and Heather had stepped in to help as much as possible. Days at the Brookhollow Inn’s front desk and evenings at the pool hall were starting to take their toll, but leaving both her friend and the bar shorthanded made her feel guilty.

Yet every time she checked her bank account, she was reminded of how much she needed to get a job and get back to the city. She was volunteering her time at the B and B in exchange for a room, and the bar paid minimum wage and was never busy enough for her to make much in tips. “Victoria never expected you stay, and she’s a good friend—she’ll understand your decision. Just like you supported hers to move back to Brookview.”

“Brookhollow.”

“Sure, whatever. Call Mike Ainsley and secure this position before Christmas. We really want you to spend the holidays with us this year. Last year wasn’t the same without you.”

Guilt washed over her. Without their parents, she and her sister had always spent the holidays together, but the year before she’d decided to stay in Brookhollow, knowing that Christmas in the city—her first one single and alone—might be too depressing. But the holiday hadn’t been the same for her, either. And the truth was, she wasn’t happy in the small town anymore. It was time to move on. “I’ll call him in the morning.”

* * *

JACOB UNLOCKED THE back door of the three-story house on Pine Street where he was renting the attic-turned-bachelor-suite from Mrs. Kelly, a retired schoolteacher. Despite the late hour, all of the lights were on. He suspected she waited up for him every evening, and he sighed when he heard the sound of her slippers shuffling down the hallway.

“Jake, that you?” she called.

So much for sneaking upstairs unnoticed. “Yeah, Mrs. Kelly, it’s just me.”

“Hi, dear,” she said as she entered the back porch off of the kitchen. “I was hoping you’d be home sooner.”

Home? Hardly. Home was a two-bedroom apartment in the city that he hadn’t seen in three years, first living undercover in a dive motel in Brooklyn, where he slept with his clothes on and his gun under his pillow, and then hiding out here in Brookhollow, where the only danger—for now—was this woman’s nosiness.

Home was such a distant memory, he wasn’t sure he’d recognize it even if he ever did see it again.

He sighed. “Why? What did you need help with?” In addition to paying three hundred dollars in rent for the twenty by twenty, six-foot high space that had given him a permanent neck cramp from stooping, he’d also become her jar opener, her sidewalk clearer and, most recently, her plumber.

“Well, I wanted to start my holiday decorating...”

“Isn’t it a little soon?” Heather could argue that businesses needed to get an early push on the season, but individuals? Was that really necessary?

Mrs. Kelly’s expression revealed that she thought he was crazy for even making the suggestion. “Of course not.”

“Right. Okay, so what do you need?” Because he knew that’s where this was headed.

“Well, my nephew used to come and help me get my things out of the storage space...but he’s away at the police academy in Boston.”

That’s right, her nephew was Cody Kelly, the young man who’d been counting on the sheriff’s position here in Brookhollow once he graduated in a few weeks. Well, the kid could have it...as soon as Jacob didn’t need it anymore.

“He’ll be here during the holidays of course, so don’t worry, you’ll get a chance to meet him.”

He wasn’t worrying, and he seriously doubted he’d be attending the family’s holiday festivities. The young man probably wasn’t thrilled that Jacob had taken his position and wouldn’t be excited about meeting him, either.

“But in the meantime...”

“You’d like me to get your decorations out for you.”

She smiled. “You are such a sweet boy.”

“First thing in the morning, I’ll get everything out before I go to work,” he said, turning the corner and starting to climb the stairs.

She hurried after him. “I was kinda hoping to get started tonight.”

Jacob poked his head around the corner, checking the time on the microwave. “It’s eleven-thirty. You want to start decorating now?”

She nodded. “I’m a bit of a night owl.”

He stifled a yawn. “Mrs. Kelly...” How did he tell the woman that, just because he was renting space in her home, she couldn’t expect him to be there to help her with every project? That he preferred his privacy and space. He should never have ignored his gut, which had told him moving into her attic apartment would be a mistake. The price had been right, and at the time, he’d hoped he wouldn’t need the place for more than a few weeks, a month at most. But a few weeks had quickly turned into four months and counting.

Four long months hiding who he really was, avoiding meaningful contact with people in town, trying to get used to once again being a beat cop—handing out tickets and issuing fines—and desperately trying to convince Mrs. Kelly that he could do his own laundry and that she didn’t need to go into his apartment for any reason, especially not to put away his clothes. He’d learned quickly to keep anything personal in his locker at the station, away from curious old eyes.

The only thing he kept close by was his gun...and he hoped his landlady wouldn’t be nosy enough to check inside the toilet tank in his bathroom.

But just in case, better to stay in her good books... “Where is the storage space?”

Her eyes lit up. “Well, since I turned the attic into an apartment, I’ve been storing everything in the crawl space,” she said, leading the way.

He hesitated. Crawl space?

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

He followed. “Mrs. Kelly, do you mean like underneath your house? That kind of crawl space?”

“That’s right,” she said, opening a half-size door beneath the staircase at the end of the hall. She reached inside and pulled a string attached to the lightbulb in the low ceiling. “Everything is in here.”

Yeah, everything like spiders, mice, enough dust to induce an asthma attack in the healthiest of lungs...

“I can no longer bend enough to get in there,” she said.

Jacob glanced at her. Mrs. Kelly was barely five feet tall; if she couldn’t bend low enough, how could he? “Huh, Mrs. Kelly... I’m not sure I’m the guy for this job. Why don’t you hire a junior high kid to come over after school and help you? Pay them twenty bucks, and I’m sure they’ll be eager to help any way they can.”

“Pay someone?” She looked at him as though he’d suggested burning it all. She shook her head. “No need. You’re here. There’s only four or five boxes.” She peered inside the space and waved him closer.

Sighing, he got down on his knees and crawled beneath the stairs. The cold draft coming from the large, uninsulated space made him shiver. He hoped she didn’t have any snow globes among her decorations; they were probably frozen solid.

“They are all over in that far corner.”

Of course they were.

“Most of them are labeled.”

Most?

“If you’re not sure, open the top flaps. It should be easy to tell what’s Christmas stuff and what’s not.” She moved past him and straightened. “Thanks, dear. I’ll leave you to it.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head, not for the first time wondering if maybe staying in the city and putting his life at risk was such a bad option after all.

Of course the department hadn’t left him much choice. It was either get out of town while the gun smoke settled on the bust that had gone wrong or be permanently removed from the force.

Heading farther into the space, he grabbed several nearby boxes and propped open the door.

“Oh, Jake, please close that while you’re in there. That draft is really cold.”

Right. “Okay, Mrs. Kelly,” he mumbled, moving the boxes aside and letting the door close behind him.

He was grateful for his jacket and gloves as he moved toward the corner where she said the boxes would be. Dishes... Clothing... Christmas decorations—in a far back corner behind dozens of other boxes. He sighed. It had been a long time since he’d needed to dig out holiday decorations...and he’d been hoping to avoid any reminder of better, happier times. He reached for the boxes and tried to simply focus on the task ahead of him. He just needed to get through the season.

* * *

HEATHER DESCENDED THE refinished hardwood staircase at the Brookhollow Inn the next morning, skipping the third from the bottom step that always creaked, despite Victoria’s husband’s many attempts to fix it.

The inn had been Heather’s home for a year and a half, but when she’d moved in, she’d had nowhere else to be. Visiting the quiet, laid-back small town had seemed like a great break from her stressful life in the city, but the desire to move on was increasing each day, especially as her bank account balance dipped lower.

She scanned the dining room, but it was empty. The B and B’s occupancy rate had dwindled in recent months, since the weather turned colder and the roads were less than ideal to travel on. And they wouldn’t be filling up again until the week before Christmas, when the inn would be full with guests visiting local family for the holidays.

She turned the daily calendar at the check-in desk. Almost another year wasted, without figuring out a plan for her future.

Well, it was time.

She reached into her jeans pocket and retrieved the piece of register tape from the bar. Mike Ainsley and the position at Highstone Acquisitions might be the answer to that. Tucking it in her hand, she poked her head into the kitchen.

Empty.

She headed toward the back of the house, listening carefully for Victoria’s voice. Her friend habitually sat in the back sunroom, feeding her baby girl, Harper, around this time every day. Usually, her off-key singing voice could be heard torturing a lullaby, but today it was quiet. Maybe she hadn’t arrived yet.

One glance through the glass walls of the sunroom revealed that it was snowing heavily, big fluffy white flakes collecting quickly on the already-covered ground.

The grandfather clock in the front sitting room chimed. Nine o’clock. Cameron had texted to say Rob had reluctantly agreed to give his boss a heads-up that she would be calling and that Mike Ainsley was expecting her call at nine. Heading back to the front desk, Heather pulled her cell phone from her purse.

Crap! She had to start remembering to plug in her phone at night. The dead battery light flickered a second longer, then the phone shut off completely. Wonderful. She’d have to make the long distance call at the desk. Luckily, she’d recently taken over paying the B and B’s invoices, so she would know how much to reimburse Victoria for the call.

She wondered if her friend would accept a payment plan schedule.

But what if her friend noticed the acquisition firm’s number on the bill? She bit her lip.

Two minutes past nine.

Picking up the receiver, she heard nothing. No dial tone. The line was dead.

What the...?

Glancing at the display screen on the phone revealed the connection with the server was down. Fantastic. She jiggled the mouse for the computer and waited for the reservation screen to appear. Great, the internet was down, too.

She wanted to scream. Stupid weather caused this to happen often around here. How many times had she told Victoria’s husband, Luke, that the internet phone system may be cheap, but it wasn’t reliable? And now was not the day to have her point proven. 9:04. What had her sister said about Mike Ainsley? He was old-school and didn’t appreciate lateness.

This wasn’t exactly her fault, but unless the other man had ever lived in a middle-of-nowhere town, he was probably not going to accept her excuses. Sitting in the chair, she noticed the old rotary phone on the corner of the desk. The phone lines should still work, just not the computerized system. Diving for it, she held her breath as she picked up the receiver.

Dial tone. Success. Thank God they’d kept the landline as a backup.

Man, this thing was heavy, she thought, retrieving the number and slowly dialing it. Good thing this wasn’t a real emergency. Finally, when the phone started ringing, she sat straighter, mentally rehearsing her pitch.

“Happy holidays. Thank you for calling Highstone Acquisitions, how may I help you?” a chirpy receptionist’s voice said.

“Hi, this is Heather Corbett. I’m calling for Mr. Ainsley.”

“Mr. Ainsley, Junior or Senior?” she asked.

Great, there were two of them. Thanks for the heads up, Cam. “Senior, I believe. Mike.”

“Mike is Junior. Michael is Senior. Which is it?”

Oh, come on. “The one in charge of hiring?”

“I’ll put you through to HR,” the young woman said in a tone that made it possible to imagine her rolling her eyes.

“Oh, no, actually Mr. Ainsley, Senior, I think, was expecting my call at nine,” Heather said.

“It’s ten after.”

It is now! “I know, I apologize. I was having technical difficulties this morning.” With a phone. Wow—could she sound any less competent?

“Hold the line,” the receptionist said.

A second later, the sound of voices outside the B and B caught her attention, followed by the scrape of a metal shovel clearing the steps. Victoria and her husband, Luke, were there. Heather’s eyes widened.

“This is Michael Ainsley,” a deep voice said on the other end of the line.

She swallowed hard, watching the front door, hoping her friends would remain outside long enough to get this man to agree to review her résumé. “Hi, Mr. Ainsley, this is Heather Corbett, Rob Ashley’s sister-in-law.”

“Yes, he said to expect your call.”

“Right, yes, so I’m interested in the opening for an acquisition agent that you have for the new year,” she said quickly.

Outside, slamming of the car door and more scraping.

“Well, we are hoping to fill the position in the next few weeks, preferably before the office shuts down for the holidays. We are closed from...hmm, let me find my calendar...”

Oh, my God! “Right, for the holidays, I understand. Anyway, I’d love to send you my résumé.”

“Well, before we get to that, I have a couple of questions.”

“Okay.”

“The most obvious one, of course, is why should we consider you for the position?” he asked, before erupting in a terrible fit of coughing.

“Um...” Still coughing.

“Sorry...give me...just a sec...” he said between coughs, and she could hear him set the phone down.

She closed her eyes and rested her head against her hand. Come on.

“Sorry about that. Terrible cold...it seems to have migrated to my lungs.”

“Terrible...just awful. To answer your question, though, I think I would be a great candidate for the position based on my years of experience in a similar role with Clarke and Johnston Acquisitions in New York City...”

“We do things a little differently around here, I’ll warn you.”

“That’s okay. I’m a quick learner, and I’m loyal,” she said and cringed. Sure she was; that’s why she was desperate to get this job and bail on one of her best friends.

The outside porch door opened, and her heart raced.

“We do appreciate long-term employees. Your brother-in-law has been with us probably the least amount of time and he’s been here...”

“Ten years, I know,” she said quickly, hearing the stomping of boots in the entryway. “Anyway, sir, I really would love to send you my résumé, and I’m available for a face-to-face interview anytime.” Not exactly true, but she would make time.

Any second now, Vic would enter, and she really wasn’t ready to tell her friend that she hoped to move back to the city. She’d rather wait to tell her once she knew for sure about the job...maybe by phone. She shook her head. Victoria deserved better after all their years of friendship. She would tell her...soon.

The door opened, and Victoria came in, carrying a wailing Harper in her car seat. Weighed down with the baby, a diaper bag and several grocery bags, she struggled to close the door.

“Do you have children?” Mike asked.

“Some help, please?” Victoria said at the same time.

“No!” Heather answered Mike’s question.

“Seriously?” Victoria shot her a look before noticing she was on the phone. “Oh, sorry,” she said, setting the crying baby girl on the floor and shutting the door against the cold breeze.

“Okay...because we expect our employees to travel quite a bit,” Mike said.

Heather plugged her other ear against the earth-shattering wails. “I understand. That’s not a problem.”

Victoria unharnessed Harper from her car seat, and the crying stopped immediately.

Finally.

“Who are you talking to?” she mouthed.

Nosy much? Heather shook her head, hoping Vic would move on.

She didn’t. Instead, she bounced Harper on her shoulder as she paced in front of the desk.

“Okay, send me your résumé, and I’ll have a look,” Mike said.

“Great. Where should I send it?” she mumbled into the phone, turning her back to Victoria.

Please, let the email address be an easy one that she wouldn’t have to write down.

“Michael...underscore Ainsley...underscore nineteen...not the numerals, actually spelled out...at Highstone...no, wait... Did I say the nineteen?”

Heather sighed. “Yes.” Forget it, she’d ask her brother-in-law for the email later.

“Great. So, Michael...underscore...” The man’s voice broke into another fit of loud, throat-ripping coughs.

Victoria moved to stand in front of her, her eyes wide. “They sound terrible—who is that?” she asked. “And why are you on the rotary?”

“Hey, anyone notice that the connection for the network is down?” Luke asked, entering a second later.

Heather nodded and gestured at the receiver in her hand.

“I’ll try to fix it,” Luke said, coming around the desk.

Sure, why don’t they all hang out there?

He glanced at her with a frown. “Who’s dying on the phone?”

She was.

“Sorry, Heather. Did you get that email?”

“Yes, sir,” she lied. “Thank you. I’ll send it right away,” she said quickly, hanging up the phone.

Oh, my God.

Victoria was staring at her.

“What?”

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” she asked, still bouncing Harper on her shoulder.

“No, of course—” She stopped. She couldn’t lie to her friend. “Yes...as fast as my little legs can go.” She stood and hugged her. “I’m so sorry, Vic.”

Victoria waved a hand. “Don’t be. I knew this wasn’t a permanent situation. It’s fine,” she choked out, as tears formed in her eyes.

“Oh, Vic—don’t do that!”

“They’re happy tears, see?” She faked a weird, grimace-type smile.

Luke laughed behind the desk. “Yep, those are happy tears.”

Heather shot him a look. “Nothing is definite yet. I haven’t even sent my résumé.”

“What company is it?”

“Highstone Acquisitions.”

Victoria’s eyes widened. “That’s wonderful! I applied there three times when I worked for Clarke and Johnston.”

Heather frowned. “I never knew that. Why didn’t you tell me? My brother-in-law works there—I probably could have gotten you an interview.”

“You were dating our boss, remember? Not exactly a trustworthy vault back then,” she said, looking envious. “So if Rob works there, you’re sure to get the position.” She didn’t sound thrilled.

“Not necessarily,” Heather said, but she prayed Victoria was right.

“Well, if you need a reference or anything...”

“No offense, Vic, but I don’t think I’ll be adding front desk clerk to my résumé.”

“I meant a coworker reference from when we worked together at Clarke and Johnston,” she said, playfully slapping her arm.

Heather smiled at her friend. Nearly all traces of the high-powered, New York City woman had disappeared from her over the past few years, except for the tiniest spark in her eyes when she talked about her former life in the city. “Thanks,” she said.

“I’m going to go feed the baby now,” Victoria said, choking up again as she left the room.

“No crying!” Heather called after her.

Luke checked the phone and then pointed at her. “You’re going to be crying if you remind Victoria again about how much she loved her life in New York.”

CHAPTER TWO

“WHAT ON EARTH is that old lady doing?” Jacob mumbled, leaning low in the driver’s seat of his squad car to peer through the windshield. The people around here made no sense to him.

Rolling down the passenger-side window as he slowed the car and pulled to the side of the road in front of Ginger Snaps, the bakery he avoided on Main Street, he called out, careful not to startle the woman and extra careful not to use the nickname he’d assigned to her. “Ginger! Mrs. Norris—what are you doing?”

The woman was standing on a plastic step stool on the icy ground outside her bakery, holding on to the side of the building for support and using the end of a broomstick to swipe at the large icicles hanging from the awning.

She stopped and turned to look at him. “I’m clearing the awning of icicles. You threatened me with a fine if I didn’t do it, remember?” she snapped.

“You’re eighty years old. You shouldn’t be doing that. I meant ask someone to do it for you.” He’d noticed her granddaughter, Leigh, and her husband going inside the bakery at least once a week. And he was sure the guy was renting the space above the bakery for an office. Some bestselling author or something. Jacob may not care about the goings-on in town, but little escaped his notice.

“I’m seventy-seven,” she said, resuming her attempt to knock them loose, swinging the broom haphazardly.

He swallowed a curse and climbed out, sliding his hands into his gloves. “Get down, please,” he said, taking her elbow to assist her.

“Don’t get fresh with me, young man.”

Wow. “Just making sure you don’t break your neck on all of this packed snow that I’m pretty sure I asked you to have cleared weeks ago,” he said, taking the broom.

“I’ll do that next,” she mumbled.

He shook his head as he opened her bakery door and waved her inside, trying not to breathe in the delicious smell of gingerbread and cinnamon.

She muttered something under her breath as she passed him, and he couldn’t be sure that it was an insult aimed at him, but it certainly wasn’t “thank you.”

“Hey, Sheriff Matthews, when you’re done over there, could you maybe come do mine, as well?” Tina Miller, or Nosy Nelly, as he liked to think of her, called to him as she wrote on the specials board outside Joey’s Diner.

He gave a mock salute and continued working. The day before, he’d issued twenty-four-hour warnings to the business owners along Main Street to clear their awnings of these dangerous icicles. By the look of things, everyone had ignored him. Except Ginger. Well, they wouldn’t be laughing when an icicle fell on a passerby, and they were suddenly smacked with a lawsuit.

Oh, what was he thinking—no one sued anyone around here. A New York City boy from the time he could walk, he was so far out of his comfort zone in Brookhollow, he couldn’t even remember what his comfort zone felt like. But it certainly wasn’t this sense of being watched from afar and speculated about on a regular basis. He’d told himself that he was being paranoid, and that was natural given the extreme circumstances. But after his conversation with Heather the night before, he knew that wasn’t the case. People were watching and speculating and judging.

After clearing the awning, he went inside the bakery and immediately wished he hadn’t. The tempting aromas were almost too much to resist. But diabetic from the age of eight, he rarely consumed sweets or refined carbs. Keeping his blood sugars under control was his first priority. “Here are your broom and your step stool,” he said, leaving them inside the door.

“Did you want a muffin or something?” Ginger offered begrudgingly.

“No. What I want is for you to ask your granddaughter or her husband to come clear the walkway...or at least put salt or sand on it or something.” He was wasting his breath. No one around here listened to him. He was just the big-city, hotshot cop who didn’t understand about small-town life. Well, they were right about that. And unfortunately, uncleared walkways and awnings just didn’t compare to drug deals and dangerous criminals on his scale of what mattered. But unfortunately, this was what he was reduced to dealing with...and he was still a cop, for better or worse.

“Will do,” she said, rushing to the kitchen at the sound of the oven timer.

“No, you won’t,” he mumbled, heading back outside.

As he returned to the squad car, his glucose monitor beeped. Great, he was low. He could have had a muffin. He sighed as he checked the numbers. Three point four and dropping. This stupid disease was responsible for all of this, he thought, the memory of his last day undercover never too far from his mind.

His blood glucose monitor had been beeping that day, too, revealing that his sugar levels were dropping steadily for almost an hour. He’d searched his vehicle for a juice box or a granola bar...an old doughnut or candy...

But found nothing.

He hadn’t expected to be waiting that long for Leo Gonzales to emerge from the warehouse. Most exchanges happened quickly, so as not to draw attention. All Jacob had needed was visual confirmation that Gonzales was dealing with Mario Lorenzo, the drug lord they’d been chasing, and he’d have everything necessary to put the man away for a long time. His two-year undercover stint would be over and he could resume some semblance of a life after debriefing and resocialization.

The longer he’d been under, the harder it had been to remember who he really was. He tried to visit his family—his sister and nephew—a weekend every month or a few stolen days over the holidays, but it had been getting tougher to leave the cartel unnoticed. Tougher to leave the persona behind and become Uncle Jacob again. Then to go back to being a drug-pushing thug.

Deciding to work undercover hadn’t been easy for him, knowing he’d have to leave his family for long periods of time, but he’d gone into policing to make a difference, and despite the extreme living conditions and having to pretend to be something he despised, he was so close...he was making a difference...

The door to the warehouse opened, and he sat straighter, but Gonzales exited alone, scanned the area, then went back inside. It wasn’t enough. He needed to see Gonzales and Lorenzo together.

The monitor had beeped.

Crap. He needed to eat. But he’d waited two years for this opportunity; he couldn’t leave now. Three SWAT team vehicles were parked two blocks away, awaiting his signal. He couldn’t sacrifice two years of weight gain, drug use and hurting people when they were so close.

Searching his duffel bag in the backseat, he found half a chocolate bar. Who knew how long it had been in there, but he didn’t care—he needed to get his sugars up.

He scarfed it down, but twenty minutes later, his blood sugar continued to drop again.

Two point one. Stress often had this effect on his body.

Sweat collected on his back beneath the bulletproof vest he wore and ran down his forehead. His mouth was dry and his hands unsteady.

Come on. Come out.

Fifteen minutes passed. The monitor continued to beep relentlessly, and his vision started to blur. He glanced at the reading. Under one. Even if they did come out, there was nothing he could do now except signal. He would be completely useless in helping to arrest these guys.

He prayed he wouldn’t lose consciousness before he could at least do that much.

His head swayed, and he fought to focus as the warehouse lights went off.

What? That wasn’t right. Where were they? Was there another entrance into the building? He’d scoped the place out the night before. He reached for his radio, but it fell to the floor on the passenger side of the car.

When he reached for it, his vest pressed against the steering wheel and sounded the horn.

Oh, no.

The warehouse door opened, and Gonzales and Lorenzo exited, Gonzales’s gaze landing directly on Jacob, as if he knew he’d be there. Jacob grabbed the radio and hit the button for the signal as gunfire rang out and his world went black.

That day, four months ago, would have put an end to Mario Lorenzo and his cartel if the drug lord hadn’t escaped before the SWAT teams arrived. Now all that would put the man behind bars was Jacob’s statement, which was still under evaluation because he’d lost consciousness immediately after the visual confirmation, making his observations questionable. While Gonzales had been caught with enough evidence to put him away, the head of the operation was still a free man until a court case could be scheduled, and Jacob had his day on the witness stand.

Shutting off the vehicle, Jacob jogged across the street to Joey’s. The diner’s fifties-style décor, complete with red leather bar stools and a jukebox in the corner, was seriously something out of the movie Grease, but he had to admit the food was better than anything he’d ever tasted.

The place was packed. Every table and booth was occupied, and even the stools at the counter were all taken. The plates piled with eggs, pancakes, sausages and toast passing by him, as Tina and her daughter, April, delivered the meals, made his stomach growl and his mouth water. His monitor beeped again. He could get something to go. Sit in the car and eat until his blood sugar returned to normal.

Going to the register, he waited. He knew what he wanted. Eggs Benedict and a side order of bacon. Two side orders of bacon.

Tina moved past him and rang in an order.

“Hi, can I place an order to go?” he asked.

She didn’t glance up as she said, “You’ll have to give me like ten minutes, we’re backed up in the kitchen.”

Once his blood sugar level started to drop, it went down quickly. He didn’t want to pass out in the busy diner. So far, he’d been successful in keeping his diabetes to himself...except for Mrs. Kelly who’d found one of his needles in his bathroom when she’d been cleaning. He cringed at the memory. She had accused him of being a drug addict and had refused to give him back his insulin until he’d explained everything to her and then reassured her, he could clean his own apartment. “Can I at least order now?”

“I told you, you’re going to have to wait. Tables get priority over takeout,” Tina said.

He sighed and turned to lean against the counter. He’d leave and go someplace else, but the fact was there was nowhere else. No pizza places within a ten-mile radius, no sub sandwich chain stores, no familiar coffee shops...just Joey’s Diner. God, he missed the city.

He spotted Heather sitting alone at the corner booth near the window, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then headed toward her.

She had a laptop open on the table and was typing furiously with one hand, while eating—eggs Benedict, of course—with the other.

“That’s quite the talent,” he said.

“Lucky for me, I’m ambidextrous,” she said with a quick glance in his direction.

“Well, I can see that you’re busy, but if I promise to be quiet, can I share your table?”

She looked surprised when she finally gave him her attention. “You always eat alone.”

“And I would today, but all the tables are full, including the bar stools.”

“So you only want to eat with me because there’s nowhere else to sit?”

“Exactly.”

“Charming.”

“Honest.”

She laughed and gestured for him to be her guest. “Go ahead.”

He slid into the booth. “Look, if it makes you feel better—if I have to sit with someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Heather’s expression was one of amusement as she said, “Am I supposed to be flattered?”

“Yes. You’re probably the only person in Brookhollow that I can actually tolerate.” He shrugged out of his jacket and tucked it next to him on the seat.

“Tolerate? Wow. Anyway, you promised not to talk, so shhh, I have five minutes to finish this,” she said, resuming her typing.

Jacob silently nodded and leaned back against the cushioned booth. He attempted to flag Tina for coffee as she passed, but she ignored him. “If only the food wasn’t so good around here,” he mumbled.

“You’re talking.”

“Sorry.” He stared out the window for a long moment, then he said, “What are you doing, anyway?”

She cocked her head as she glanced over the top of the computer. “You barely talk to anyone around here, unless it’s to yell at them about a hazardous front step or something, and now you can’t shut up?”

“I don’t yell. I ask. They ignore. So, what are you working on?”

“A résumé,” she said, lowering her voice.

“Don’t you already have two jobs in town?”

“It’s for a job in New York.”

“What kind of job?”

“One I won’t get if I don’t send this. Hold on,” she said, typing a few more things.

He watched her lips move as she scanned the screen in front of her.

Cute.

In fact, if he allowed himself the opportunity to look, she was cute. Long, dark hair that once again smelled like peppermint and waved around her shoulders beneath the purple hat she wore. Her hazel eyes had flecks of gold around the center that resembled a starburst, and her long, thin neck was exposed beneath her slightly open scarf.

“What’s with the hat and scarf inside?” It was like eighty degrees inside the crowded diner.

“I’m always cold,” she said, closing her laptop.

“Done?” he asked.

“Yes.” She gathered her things and stood, sliding her arms into her jacket.

“You’re leaving?”

Reaching for her coffee cup, she drained the contents. “Yes. You already said you just wanted my table.”

“But you were going to tell me about the job in New York.” Any opportunity to talk about the city made him feel better. Being around a fellow New York native somehow made him feel better, too. Probably why he found himself at the pool hall bar far too often.

“No, I wasn’t.” She tapped his shoulder as she passed him on her way to the door. “You’re not the only one around here who can be mysterious. Bye, Sheriff Matthews.”

Jacob turned in the booth to watch her leave, fighting an odd sense of disappointment. He had a table; what did he care if she wasn’t sticking around to eat with him? Eating alone hadn’t bothered him before. Doing everything alone in Brookhollow hadn’t bothered him before. But lately...

As the holiday season drew closer, he felt the void of family and friends much more than usual. For the two years he’d spent undercover, he’d been unable to slip away to see Amber and Kyle on Christmas Day. He swallowed hard. This year was supposed to have been different, their first Christmas together as a family. Some of their family, anyway.

Heather passed Sheriff Bishop on his way into the diner. She said something to him before leaving, and the man laughed, his gaze immediately landing on Jacob.

Great. He turned back in the booth and caught April’s arm. “Can I please order?” he asked, his glucose monitor beeping again.

“Sure.” She glanced toward the kitchen, then leaned closer to fill his coffee cup. “And I saw you helping Ginger just now,” she whispered, “so I’ll try to make sure they don’t do anything to your food this time.”

This time? He’d been eating at Joey’s almost every day for weeks. How often were his meals tampered with? “Why are they messing with my food?” And they claimed people in small towns were nice.

“Because you keep messing with them,” she said.

“How?”

“The fine for the parking out back.”

“It’s a fire lane,” he argued.

“And then the expired liquor license thing.”

“They need a valid license.” Give me a break. They were angry at him for holding them responsible for breaking the law? Besides, those warnings had come from Sheriff Bishop—Jacob had just been the messenger.

“All I’m saying is, I know you’re probably bored out of your mind—”

Understatement.

“—with the lack of real crimes around here, but maybe don’t focus so heavily on the place that feeds you,” she said with a wink. “Now—eggs Benedict?”

“Yes, preferably without spit,” he mumbled.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said as Sheriff Bishop joined them. “How’s my favorite sheriff today?”

Subtle.

Jacob took a sip of his coffee. Lukewarm.

“I’m great, April. Just coffee, please,” Sheriff Bishop said.

“You got it. I’ll go grab a fresh pot.”

Jacob sighed.

“Eating alone?” the older man asked.

“Have a seat, please,” he said, staring out the window. Across the street, he saw Ginger chipping away at the block of ice outside her front door. Unbelievable.

“How’s it going?” Sheriff Bishop asked.

“Fantastic,” Jacob grumbled.

“It’ll get easier. Once they get to know you a bit, they’ll warm up.”

He didn’t want them to warm up; he wanted to get back to his life in the city. Besides, how was anyone supposed to get to know him when he couldn’t be honest about who he was and why he was there? And while everyone thought he was a major annoyance? So for that much, he couldn’t blame them. “Well, having to issue all of these warnings aren’t helping.”

The man smiled. “Ah, they’ll get over it. We’ve been down a sheriff since the last guy retired, and I’ve been too soft on them. Give them time.”

He didn’t want to give them time. He wanted to leave Brookhollow. “Have you heard anything?” Jacob asked quietly. He’d asked the same question every day for four months. The answer was never promising.

April returned with fresh coffee and poured a cup for Sheriff Bishop and graciously topped his up with the hot liquid, checking to make sure Tina wasn’t watching.

“Thanks.”

When she left, Sheriff Bishop shook his head. “Nothing.”

Jacob sighed. He knew the NYPD had guys on the case, and that they were doing everything they could to bring Lorenzo in, so Jacob could testify against him and then return to his life, but he also knew the department was being careful. They weren’t about to get aggressive, risking the lives of several other officers, just to bring him back. That was assuming he even had a job to go back to. Blacking out and compromising his position had raised flags about Jacob’s ability to do his job effectively.

Heck, even he was questioning his ability.

Which was exactly why he was here. He had an informant working on the docks at the Port of Newark Terminal, and Jacob was expecting the guy to give him a “wrong number” call when he knew Lorenzo would be there. And that would be Jacob’s cue to move in. Disobeying orders and getting involved with a case that he’d been removed from was wrong, but it was his only opportunity to prove that he could still be a valuable member of the force.

And if it was just his life to consider, he might be able to show more patience and resolve, waiting for either the department to catch Lorenzo or the call from Emilio in Newark.

“Anything from Amber or Kyle?” he asked.

“There may be something in your locker at the station,” Sheriff Bishop said quietly.

Jacob almost smiled at that. “Amber?” he asked, hopefully.

Sheriff Bishop shook his head.

Of course not. His sister was still far too angry at him for making her uproot her entire life and move into the federal witness protection four months ago. But he’d had no choice. Jacob couldn’t protect them anymore, and when Kyle had been approached outside of school by a stranger with a note for his uncle, meant as a warning, their only choice had been the program. Amber had been furious that Jacob expected her to leave her art gallery and take Kyle out of school to move to the middle of nowhere. They’d all had a life in the city—one that had changed abruptly.

Because of him.

He didn’t even know where they were, for their safety. Letters back and forth were the only form of communication allowed, and they were filtered through the US Marshals and Sheriff Bishop, who also read the correspondence.

April brought over his breakfast, and he shot a look behind the counter at Tina. “Is it safe?” he asked April.

She nodded.

He picked up his fork and dove in. At that point, he wasn’t even sure he cared if they’d done anything to it. He was starving, and he knew he’d be helping Ginger Norris with her sidewalk in a few minutes. He needed his blood sugars up for the job.

CHAPTER THREE

JACOB ENTERED THE locker room at the station a few hours later. All afternoon he’d been dying to read the letter from his nephew, but a few emergencies had kept him busy. Pearl Howard, the woman who owned the flower shop on Main Street, had reported a lost cat, and it had taken nearly an hour to locate the tabby—locked accidentally in her coat closet when she’d come home from the supermarket. Unbelievable. In the city, he’d never have answered a missing cat call.

What constituted an emergency in Brookhollow was so different from in New York, and by now Jacob should have learned not to answer the more ridiculous calls. They were making him crazy. Unfortunately, he had to keep up the act.

“Hey, Jake,” Ethan Bishop, Sheriff Bishop’s son and head of the fire department, said as he entered the shared locker room, removing his jacket.

“Hi.” Jacob sat on the bench and removed his boots.

“I heard Mrs. Howard found her cat,” he said, hanging his gear on the hook and reaching for his jeans.

“She sure did.”

Ethan laughed. “I swear she locks him away on purpose to have us stop by for company.”

Pearl had looked slightly disappointed to see Jacob pull up in the squad car instead of the firemen. “I wouldn’t doubt it.” She had invited him to stay for tea and cookies afterward, which he’d refused, so instead she’d asked him to clear her walkway, which he’d done.

“Hey, man—do you ever wish there were real emergency calls around here? A burning shed, at least?” He couldn’t understand how guys like Ethan—young, fit, ambitious and hardworking—could be satisfied with the snail’s pace of life in Brookhollow.

But Ethan shook his head. “Nope. The last time there was a real fire here, it was in my wife’s garage.”

“Oh, man. I’m sorry.”

“Nah, it worked out for the best. She wasn’t there, and the garage got rebuilt to code, which I’d been begging her to do for years. But it was still scary.”

“I guess in a small town, a real emergency could mean your own family or friends are involved.” Heck, even in New York, his job had affected the well-being of his family.

“Yeah, that’s why we’re totally fine being bored out of our minds,” Ethan said, grabbing his winter coat from the locker. “Hey, I know some of the guys asked you before, but...here,” he said, taking a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handing it to him.

Jacob opened it. The bowling league again.

“We need a couple extras for the tournament in a few weeks. If you know how to roll a straight ball even just by fluke, you’re in, if you’re interested,” he said.

“Thanks. I’ll...uh...think about it.”

“Okay. See ya around,” Ethan said as he left.

Alone, Jacob balled the paper and tossed it into the trash can in the corner. Bowling was something he and Kyle used to enjoy together. They’d even joined a family league before Jacob had taken the promotion to undercover agent. The disappointment on Kyle’s face when he’d told him their weekly bowling nights would be suspended for a while had torn a hole through him, and participating in the sport now, without his nephew, would make him feel like crap.

Reaching into the back of the locker, he retrieved the already opened letter from Kyle. The return address had been cut from the corner of the envelope, and for the millionth time, Jacob wondered where they’d been sent. He hoped it was somewhere sunny and warm and fun, at least. He wished he was somewhere warm, sunny and fun. Hiding out on a beach in California surrounded by beautiful women and unlimited cocktails would be easier to swallow. An image of Heather behind the pool hall bar flashed in his mind. Okay, two out of three, but still no beach. And besides, she’d told him earlier she was applying for a job in New York. Pretty soon, the only thing making his time there bearable would be gone.

Unfolding the letter, he read.

Dear Uncle Jacob,

How are you? We are fine. Mom says hello, even though she said she is still mad at you. I’m not. The school here is better than the one in New York, they even have snowboarding lessons.

Snowboarding lessons? Colorado?

Mom says you’re probably lying around on a beach somewhere.

Ha! He wished he’d been able to be honest with his sister about his plan when he’d told her he wasn’t going into the program with her and Kyle—it might have made her a little less angry with him. Maybe.

I’ve made some new friends and I’m ahead of everyone with math and English, so the teacher asked me to be her helper. Isn’t that great?

Jacob breathed a sigh of relief. That was great. For a kid who struggled with Asperger’s and being bullied, it was great to hear he was doing well in this new place. No doubt a small town, where their story wasn’t being questioned as much as his own, and where people were accepting of them as a young single mom and son starting over in a new place.

I’m going to see Santa next week at the mall. I’m going to ask him to make sure the police catch the bad guys wanting to hurt us, so we can all be together again in time for Christmas. You ask for the same thing, too, okay? Maybe if we both ask for it, we’ll get it.

Love you Stinker,

Kyle

Jacob sighed as he folded the letter. If only he still believed in Christmas miracles...but he’d stopped believing in holiday magic a long time ago.

* * *

IT WAS GOING to take a Christmas miracle to get her out of Brookhollow before the holidays, Heather thought as she stared at the returned email notification. Invalid email address was the reason the résumé she’d sent to Mike Ainsley hadn’t been delivered. Almost twelve hours later! Shutting down the email on her phone, she dialed her sister’s number.

“Hello?” Cam’s sleepy voice said after the fourth ring.

“Were you asleep?” She glanced at the beer-can-shaped, neon-rimmed clock above the bar. Her sister was a night owl, so she hadn’t thought twice about calling after ten.

“No. I’m going over some testimonies for court tomorrow, what’s up?”

Cam was a prosecuting attorney for the DA’s office in New York and often brought her work home with her. Heather marveled over her sister’s ability to juggle her important, high-powered career with being a wife and mom. Cameron had inherited their parents’ work ethic and ambition, but had somehow gone above that and developed a work-life balance. Tonight she sounded stressed, though, and Heather almost hesitated before saying, “You gave me the wrong email address for Mike Ainsley.”

“No, I didn’t. You must have written it down wrong.” This was exactly why her sister was so great at her job. She was never wrong and had a way of wording things that made people question their own arguments.

“Maybe,” Heather mumbled. “Either way, the résumé I sent today bounced back.”

“Come on, Heather. One sec...” She heard the sound of shuffling papers. “Okay, write this down...”

After Heather copied the insane email address for the second time, she tucked the paper into her apron pocket. “It’s a wonder any of his emails actually reach him. What’s with this crazy email address anyway? I doubt M Ainsley at Highstone Acquisitions was taken,” she mumbled.

“I don’t know,” Cameron said distractedly. It sounded more like I don’t care. “Send it again now.”

“I can’t. I’m at work. I just checked the email on my phone.”

“Well, leave work and go send it. This is more important.”

Her sister didn’t get that she had responsibilities here that she couldn’t just abandon. “Cam, I’ll send it again in the morning. I have to get back to work. Talk soon,” she said, disconnecting the call as the front door opened and Sheriff Matthews entered.

If I was going to eat with someone, it would be you. Not exactly a charmer, but his earlier words in the diner seemed to almost mean more, coming from him, than the most flowery compliment from anyone else. Niceness was obviously not his forte. “Hello again,” she said as he took his usual seat at the bar.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you put stuff in my drinks?” He removed his leather jacket and pushed up the sleeves of his dark blue crew neck sweater as he sat, revealing several scars on his left forearm. They only enhanced his rugged, manly attractiveness.

He was a great-looking guy. If he could work on his game a little bit, he wouldn’t have any trouble attracting women around town. “Like what—roofies?” She’d never had that much trouble securing a date, she mused.

“No, like spit.”

She laughed so hard her sides hurt, and she bent at the waist. When she looked at him again, his unamused expression made her laugh even harder. “I’m sorry...” She struggled to catch her breath. “Tina and Joey are actually tampering with your food at the diner?” Wow, they must really not like this guy. She almost pitied him. Sure, he was rude, and arrogant, and condescending... Wait—where was she going with that thought?

“Can I get a beer, please?”

She nodded, suppressing another laugh. Reaching into the mini-fridge, she took out a bottle of the brand he usually ordered, twisted off the cap and handed it to him. “Want to start a tab?”

He usually paid cash, and it annoyed her, as she had to constantly ring in his drinks and cash him out each time. But still, she always asked, and that evening, he surprised her.

“Sure.”

She smiled. “Great. ID, please.”

“Really? I’m sitting right here. And I’m a police officer. I’m not going to skip out on the bill.”

“Rules are rules. Aren’t you always going around trying to enforce the rules?” she said, hands on her hips.

Jacob reached into his pocket and retrieved his wallet, then hesitated for a second before handing her his driver’s license.

She took it and glanced at the photo. Then glanced at him. Then back at the photo.

“I was a little heavier then,” he said, gulping his beer.

“A little?” she asked. “And what’s with the bushman’s beard?” The guy in the picture was hardly recognizable as the man sitting in front of her. His brown hair was longer, and his expression was dark, making him look more like a criminal than a cop.

“Do you always criticize people’s ID photos?” he asked, as she tucked it away with the others behind the register.

“Usually not in front of them,” she said with a grin.

She went to grab a food order from the kitchen, and when she returned to gather cutlery and condiments from the bar, she asked, “Is the station entering a float into the Christmas parade?”

“Christmas parade? Really? The only street long enough to accommodate a parade around here is Main Street, and how many floats could a parade here possibly have?” He shrugged before answering her question. “I have no idea.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, adding glasses of beer to the tray. “Our float is going to win anyway. Melody Myers and Brad Monroe are back in town for the holidays, and I’ve convinced them to perform Christmas songs all along the parade route.” She wasn’t sure if Jake had ever heard of the country music stars, but whether he had or not, he nodded.

“What theme are you going with?”

Heather shook her head. “Uh-uh, you’re not getting any more information from me about our entry.”

He sighed. “I was just trying to be polite. It seemed as though you wanted to talk...as usual.”

“I was just wondering if you guys were competing. The float designs every year are a big deal and kept under wraps. We don’t want people stealing each other’s ideas.” She reached for extra napkins and picked up the loaded tray.

“Seriously? It’s a parade float.”

She shot him a look. “Well, our team is not disclosing any information—we know we have a winning design.”

“Team?”

“Yeah. Each float is only allowed to have four people working on it, and their names have to be submitted before construction starts.”

“Wow, this thing is pretty regulated...more than anything else in town.”

Heather laughed. “Christmas is a big deal around here, in case you haven’t noticed,” she said, coming around the side of the bar.

“The house across the street from me looks like it was decorated by Santa’s elves on crack—believe me, I’ve noticed.”

Heather laughed again as she made her way to the bowling alley to deliver the order.

On her way back, she stopped at a corner booth where Lindsay Harper and Noah Parks sat cuddled together on the same side. They’d been together for four months, and it was rare to see one without the other. It was even rarer to see them without five children in tow—they’d recently adopted Lindsay’s nieces and nephews. “Hey, guys. Date night?”

Lindsay nodded “The kids are with Ben and Lily.”

The kids’ godfather had moved to town recently to help Lindsay with the five children who’d been left in her care after the sudden, tragic death of her brother and his wife. And to everyone’s surprise, he’d soon started dating Lindsay’s friend Lily, who owned a clothing store on Main Street.

Families really did come in all shapes and sizes, Heather marveled.

“What can I get you guys?”

“A beer for me and...” Noah glanced at Lindsay.

“A Bloody Mary, please, with extra celery sticks and pickled veggies,” she said.

Noah glanced at her. “Hungry?”

“Twelve-hour shift, remember—I’m starving,” she said, removing her coat to reveal her nurse’s uniform.

“Menus, too, please, Heather,” Noah said, glancing toward the bar. “Oh, great. No one have fun—Sheriff Matthews is here.”

Since Jake had arrived in town, he’d butted heads with no one more so than Noah, a former MMA fighter who ran the at-risk-youth program at the local community center. Both men had the town’s best interest at heart, but they had different ways of dealing with things. Completely opposite ways, in fact.

“He’s easing up a little, I think,” Heather said, not sure why she felt the need to defend Jake, except that he was a nice guy.

Sort of...somewhere deep down...maybe?

“Tell that to my kids at the center. They’re terrified of doing anything wrong. He keeps watching them, waiting for one of them to mess up,” Noah said.

“Maybe that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I mean, I haven’t heard about any graffiti problems lately or any of the kids getting hurt,” she reminded him.

“Sorry, Heather. It’s going to take quite a bit of convincing for me to like that guy,” Noah said, his gaze locked on the back of Jake’s head.

Well, the two men could agree to disagree. It wasn’t her problem. She wouldn’t be in town much longer anyway, she hoped. “I’ll go get your drinks,” she said, going back behind the bar.

Opening the beer for Noah and mixing Lindsay’s drink a moment later, she said, “Hey, I was just talking to Noah...”

Jake groaned, casting a glance over his shoulder toward their table.

Okay, so the feelings were mutual between the two men.

“And I was thinking maybe you should try easing up a little on the surveillance around the community center.”

He laughed. “Has everyone in town voted you the person to ‘deal’ with me...talk me down a bit?”

She was starting to think so herself. “I’m just saying those kids are not that bad. Noah’s on them like white on rice—you can ease up a little. Maybe even offer to help out at the center or something.” Putting in a few hours with at-risk kids would be a better way to get involved in the community, instead of making enemies out of everyone.

“I don’t think so. And trust me, this cute, quaint little town may not be as safe as everyone wants to believe. False sense of security is common in places like this, where you all feel as though you know one another. But just because nothing bad has ever happened here, doesn’t mean nothing ever will.” He reached for his coat and tossed several bills onto the bar.

Retrieving his ID, she handed it to him.

“Nighty-night, Talks-a-lot,” he said with a wink as he headed toward the door.

* * *

“JAKE—PERFECT TIMING,” Sheriff Bishop said as he entered the station the next morning.

Crap. That sentence was never followed by something good. “What’s up?” he asked, removing his jacket and draping it over the back of his chair before wiping the snow from his dark hair.

“We just got a call from Darlene Dawson. She’s in charge of town events...and she said they still need several more floats for the Christmas parade.”

“Okay...”

“So we’ve decided to enter one this year,” he said.

Why did he get the feeling that he would somehow get roped into helping? He sighed. “I still can’t believe a town this small even has a parade,” he mumbled, pouring a cup of weak coffee.

“It’s for the kids,” Sheriff Bishop said. “My daughter and her sons live in Nashville now, but they’ll be home soon for the holidays, and I know my grandsons would just love to ride on the float.”

Fantastic. Jacob still didn’t know what any of it had to do with him. If he had his way, he would sleep away the holiday. He’d all but given up on the idea that he could be back in the city by Christmas, so he’d accepted the fact that it would be another lonely one for him.

“Anyway, I just thought you might want to take on the project.”

What on earth would give the older man that idea? His holly, jolly demeanor? He shook his head. “No, thanks.”

“Jake, I know you’re hoping to get back...home...someday,” he said, lowering his voice. “But you’re here now—why not try to make the best of the situation, get involved with the community, get to know people better? You might actually like it here.”

Doubtful. “Sorry, Sheriff Bishop—Christmas just isn’t my favorite time of year, and I’d rather leave float-building and other holiday events to the people who enjoy them.” They couldn’t force him to participate, after all.

Sheriff Bishop frowned but then nodded. “Okay, I understand.”

It didn’t sound as if he did, but Jacob wasn’t about to explain that he’d spent the past two Christmases alone in a dingy hotel room, and that the one before that he’d put his own father in jail. Prior to the Lorenzo case, he’d been investigating corporate fraud cases, and his father’s company had been found guilty on several counts. Nope, this time of year wasn’t exactly a good one for him.

“Well, I’ll need you to stick around for a while this afternoon,” Sheriff Bishop was saying. “I need to drive to Newark to pick up the flatbed trailer for the float.”

Jacob’s ears perked. “Newark?”

Sheriff Bishop nodded, printing off the information for the rental place.

He cleared his throat. “You know, I could go pick it up for you.” The perfect opportunity to sneak off to Newark to meet Emilio at the dock without anyone questioning him.

He frowned. “But you just said you weren’t interested.”

Jacob sighed. Like it or not, he’d just agreed to help with the float. He shrugged. “It’s for the kids, right?”

Sheriff Bishop grinned, handing him the printout and his truck keys. “Tell Ted at Xtra Lease to send the invoice to the station.”

“He’ll be okay with that? He’ll know who I am?” he asked, reaching for his jacket. He wasn’t thrilled about taking care of the rental, but he was eager to check in with Emilio. Make sure the man hadn’t changed his mind about helping him.

“I told him to expect you,” Sheriff Bishop said with a grin.

Of course he had.

* * *

WITH THE TRAILER attached to Sheriff Bishop’s Ford F-350, Jacob drove to the Port Newark Container Terminal. Emilio worked as a container inspector, and the inside man had allowed more than ten containers of illegal drugs and contraband to pass through clearance in the two years that Jacob had been undercover. When the man had announced that he wanted to get out of the cartel business, his life had been in jeopardy, but Jacob had offered him another solution. Working for the good team, Emilio had agreed to let him know when the next shipment was arriving in the port. It had been the backup plan in case the original bust had gone wrong—which it had.

Of course, no one knew about plan B except the two men.

Turning onto the yard, Jacob parked the truck near the empty container stacks in the storage facility and jumped down. He raised the collar of his coat to shield his face against the blowing snow and made his way toward Emilio’s office at the far end of the yard.

An eerie sense of déjà vu made him shiver as he recalled the last time he’d visited the man here. Gun loaded, his mind racing and his heart thundering, he’d been there to “take care” of the older man. With one of Lorenzo’s goons at his side, he’d had no idea how he was going to get out of shooting the man without blowing his cover. Luckily, the other young man had had an even weaker stomach for murder, and he’d disappeared behind the containers, puking long enough for Jacob to make his pitch to Emilio, fire off his weapon and meet the guy as he was returning—looking more than a little relieved that Jacob had “taken care of things” without him.

Knocking on the office door, he scanned the area. Containers were being unloaded at the port terminal, and the place was full of people. He’d never been here during the day before, and he hoped no one questioned his presence. Though his sheriff’s badge in his pocket gave him a much stronger sense of peace than the illegal gun he’d carried the last time he was there.

Emilio opened the door. “Can I help you?” he asked, his frown indicating that he didn’t recognize the forty-pound-lighter, clean-shaven cop.

“Emilio, it’s me,” he said, lowering the collar. “Jake.”

Still, the man hesitated, holding the door open just a fraction. “Jake who?”

Jacob held out his hand to reveal the knife-wound scar he’d suffered from the guy before he’d had a chance to explain that he was undercover and was trying to save his life. “The man you stabbed.”

Emilio’s eyes widened. “Jake?” He opened the door wider and ushered him inside. “You look so different.”

“More handsome, I hope,” he said, shaking the man’s hand.

“Well, you’re no Channing Tatum,” Emilio said. “You’re also not supposed to be here.” He lowered his voice. “I heard your cover was blown, and the bust was...a bust.”

Jacob nodded. He really shouldn’t be there, but not hearing anything from the man was starting to make him feel nervous. He was placing his fate in the hands of a guy who’d been playing for the other side for a long time, and with Jacob gone, he might feel as if his only choice was to shift his loyalty back to the cartel. Being there was an opportunity to feel the guy out and reassure him that he was still on the case. “I just wanted to stop in and see if there was any word on the baby?” he asked loudly, glancing around the office trailer and taking inventory of the security cameras. Everything at the docks was monitored.

Emilio looked nervous as he caught the code word. “Nothing yet. In fact, it’s about a week overdue.”

Jacob smiled, patting the man on the back. To anyone watching, he was just an old friend stopping by for a visit. One who expertly turned his face away from all camera angles. “Well, they always come when they’re ready. Be sure to let me know as soon as he or she arrives,” he said.

“Jake, are you sure about this?” Emilio sat behind his desk, and Jacob could see his hands shaking.

Reaching casually for the volume button on the stereo, the sound of “Jingle Bell Rock” drowning out his words, he leaned closer as he said, “Yes. I’m sure. And this is your way out once and for all, Emilio. Call the number I gave you immediately as soon as you know anything.”

“He’s coming here himself,” the man mumbled.

Jacob forced his voice to sound worry-free as he said, “I know. And that’s why I need to be here, too.” As soon as he could arrest the man in action, accepting his cargo, the faster Emilio could be free of his involvement, the court case could be over, and his sister and nephew could go home...he could go home.

The man swallowed hard. “Okay.”

Jacob touched his shoulder. “Emilio, we both need this.” This shot at redemption was the only way either of them could move on with their lives.

“I know, Jake. I won’t let you down.”

He nodded. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Emilio he was worried about.

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