Three Nights Before Christmas: A Holiday Romance Collection Read online

  Except as soon as I enter the chief’s big corner office, I realize I’ve gotten it wrong. Because Chief Jackson isn’t even at his desk; instead he’s parked over on the east side of the room, where a short leather couch and two club chairs are set up around a coffee table.

  No need to introduce the man sitting with him. Caucasian, dark blue eyes, and graying black hair that frames distinguished features. Six-two and a solid two hundred pounds. A suit that likely costs a month’s salary—of my salary. John Bennet is a big name in this small city, descending from one of the founding families or some crap like that. Guys like him are why I’ll never play politics. He’s currently sitting on one of the asses the mayor has to kiss every once in a while, especially come fundraising time. To his credit, Bennet puts his money where his mouth is—but word from City Hall is that he likes to throw his weight around along with his money.

  I don’t have to deal with that shit. Usually. Looks like I am now.

  “Detective Matthews.” Stars gleaming on the shoulders of his uniform, Jackson stands to perform the introduction. Bennet rises more slowly, cold blue eyes measuring me as he goes. “You know John Bennet?”

  “Only by sight.” Because I can play nice, I stick out my hand. “Pleasure.”

  “After what you did for the city, I’d say the pleasure’s mine, detective.” His grip is dry and firm and his voice contains the echo of the hallowed halls of some Ivy League school. He’s sure as hell not used to being shorter than anyone else in the room, though—and doesn’t like it much, either. He puffs out his chest a bit and rocks up onto the balls of his feet. Probably he’s thinking about taking out his dick to measure against mine.

  Better he doesn’t. He’d lose that contest, too. And I’ve got nothing to prove. All his posturing is just funny. Soon enough, though, it’ll be irritating.

  Seriously, who has time for this shit?

  “You’re looking well,” Bennet adds, his blue eyes skimming over me, lingering on the stripe alongside my head before roaming down to my leg, as if trying to see where the bullet ripped through the muscle in my upper thigh. I’m standing steady as a rock, giving him nothing. “I hear you’ve been cleared for light duty?”

  “That’s right. This shift will be the first one I’ve worked since the incident.” I glance at the chief. “Nothing better than being on the job, sir.”

  Jackson’s no fool. He knows I’m more worried about administrative leave than whatever the hell Bennet’s here for. “We’ll get you back out there as soon as we can, detective.”

  Bennet heads to the leather couch again. The chief sinks into one of the club chairs. It’s awkward as hell standing now, but I only plan on sitting once today—into the rolling chair in front of my desk—and staying there once I’m down. The stitches in my leg won’t allow for much else.

  “A big fellow like you, I imagine a desk’s not your style?” Bennet asks.

  I shrug. “There are always calls to make and reports to file. So I get plenty of time at a desk even when I’m on full duty.”

  Doing that part of the job is just that—part of the job. I don’t mind it. What chafes is not being able to do anything else.

  “I’ll testify to that.” The chief sits back. “I spent most of my time as a detective spinning the dial on my phone, that’s for damn sure. It’s easier to track people down these days, what with everyone carrying their smartphones. The paperwork, though…” He laughs. “Hell, I’m still trying to catch up on that.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, and leave it there. I was called in for a reason. I’m hoping someone gets around to that reason before too damn long.

  The chief does. Probably because he’s not one to waste time on small talk, either. “Luckily, detective, Bennet here has a request that might liven up your routine. You know his daughter is an assistant to the county medical examiner?”

  It’d be hard not to know. The ME’s office is in the county building that shares a courtyard with this station, and just about every dead body in the city moves through that morgue. And I’d heard that Bennet’s little princess had gotten a job there, though I haven’t met her myself. I don’t give a fuck about some spoiled rich girl whose daddy pulled enough strings to get her a job filing papers or making coffee or whatever. I don’t know what she does over there. But I know a lot of the guys around here suddenly found any reason to head over to the county building to pick up autopsy reports instead of waiting for them to land in their inboxes.

  Bennet offers a smile. “It’s more of a favor to ask than a request, Detective Matthews. Given your recent injuries, however, I will understand if you deem it too strenuous.”

  Does he think that’ll prod me into accepting whatever he’s angling for? My ego isn’t so delicate that I’ll agree to something without first finding out what the hell it is I’m agreeing to. “I suppose my doctor will have to make that decision, then.”

  That smile tightens. “Not physically strenuous. It might lengthen the hours in your day, though. You see, Mia is somewhat…headstrong. And she’s entering into a rather independent phase.”

  He pauses as if to give me a chance to respond. But I’ve got nothing to say. If she’s rebelling that might explain the morgue. Maybe she’s going through a goth period, like so many teenagers do. But I still don’t see what the hell this has to do with me.

  The chief says, “She’s moving into your apartment building, detective.”

  “Yeah?” That surprises me. I still don’t give a flying fuck, but it surprises me. By my standards, I live in a real nice place. Rent’s on the upper end of what I can afford, but I don’t have any family or a girlfriend or many expenses except a beer with Huertas or a pizza now and then. But by Bennet standards, it’s a dump. “Not exactly the kind of place you’d expect her to live?”

  Bennet seems grateful that I was the one to say it and saved him the trouble of explaining to the guy who lives in a shithole that his place is a shithole. Hard to ask for a favor when you’re insulting someone. “Not exactly,” he agrees. “My wife and I would prefer her to remain at home, of course, but Mia seems determined to move out, and the harder we argue against it the more stubborn she’s becoming. So”—he spreads his hands, a ruby glinting on his pinky ring—“I was hoping you might agree to keep an eye on her. Not actively watching her…but just to make certain she stays out of trouble.”

  He’s got to be fucking kidding. I look to the chief. He’s regarding me impassively, but I already know how he wants me to answer. He knew what Bennet would ask and he still called me in.

  I return my gaze to Bennet and have to unclench my jaw before answering. “Just keeping an eye out?”

  He nods. “And letting me know if there’s anything I should be concerned about. If she’s getting visitors, people hanging around her who shouldn’t be. It’s well known that she’s my only heir. But even without the Bennet name, a girl with a trust fund the size of Mia’s always draws the wrong kind of attention from conmen looking for an easy payday.”

  So he doesn’t want his little girl getting fucked by the wrong men. That’s pretty goddamn creepy. So is a cop watching a girl and reporting to her daddy.

  This fucker doesn’t seem to care, though. “You sure my attention’s not the wrong type?”

  He laughs and gestures to the chief. “I already spoke with Mike here about your character. He assures me you aren’t a ladies’ man.”

  That’s true. I’m too much of an asshole. Any woman smart enough to be interesting is also smart enough to run away after about an hour in my company. I’m not likely to be attracted to some rebellious teenager, anyway. And no woman’s pussy is worth the kind of trouble that banging Bennet’s daughter could bring down on me.

  Maybe one woman would be worth it. Except I don’t even know if I dreamed her. When you’re bleeding out on the steps of the county courthouse, it’s hard to trust a vision of an angel hovering above you, gazing down with pale blue eyes and telling you in a throaty voice to hold on, detective, j
ust hold on, and we have to get some pressure on his leg!

  But to Bennet, I only say, “I’m focused on the job right now. Not women.”

  That seems to satisfy whatever is going on in that slick head. Rising to his feet, he holds out his hand again. Sealing the deal. “I appreciate you doing this favor for me, detective. And if I can ever do anything for you in return…”

  He leaves that open. But I don’t ever intend to fill it. Going to a guy like Bennet expecting him to return a favor just puts you in debt to him.

  So I shake his hand and say, “Seeing to your daughter’s safety is all part of the job.”

  Bennet smiles at that, then looks to the chief. “Say hello to Brenda for me, Mike.”

  “I’ll do that,” Chief Jackson says. “Give my best to Patricia.”

  With a perfunctory nod, Bennet leaves. And I don’t say a word, not a fucking word, because I’m an asshole but one thing I’ll never do is mouth off to the chief of police.

  He sighs and heads to his desk. “If you’re wondering whether you’re under orders to keep an eye on Mia Bennet, that answer is no.”

  Thank fuck. “We just let Bennet think it?”

  “Works for me.” Jackson drops into his chair, eyes me critically. “You have any issue playing that game, detective?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good. Truth is, I’ve known Mia almost her entire life—and she’s not going through a phase. This is how she’s always been. She’s just getting better at pushing back.”

  “Against him?” His little girl must have some steel in her, then.

  “And against her mother, which is really saying something.” He shakes his head. “Mia’s a good girl. Smart, too. Any trouble she gets into, she’s more than capable of getting herself out. Have you met her yet?”

  “Don’t think so. Unless it was in passing, and I didn’t notice.”

  That seems to amuse him. “You’d notice her. Mia is…memorable.”

  “I’ll take your word for it, sir.” There’s only one woman who’s ever stuck in my head longer than a few days. I don’t know who she is—or even if she’s real. But as soon as I’m at a hundred percent again, nothing will stop me from finding her.

  But nothing I’ve ever wanted has simply dropped into my lap. I’ve had to fight for it all, had to earn everything I have. So if I want her, whoever she is?

  That means it’s time to get back to work.

  2

  Cole

  Just fifteen more yards. Fifteen fucking yards. Five to my apartment building. Five to the elevator. Five to my apartment door.

  It feels like fifteen miles, but even that’s not right. Before Lowery’s bullet ripped through my leg, fifteen miles would have been nothing but time. My head wouldn’t have been swimming and my thigh feeling as if a dull, serrated blade was sawing through my bone with every step.

  And I left my crutches at my place this morning. So damn stupid. But I was getting around all right. Sure, walking hurt like a son of a bitch, but I could deal with that pain. Now I’ll be lucky to make it home without bawling like a baby.

  Thank fuck I threw out all the powerful meds the docs prescribed for me. Today I might be tempted to use them. I haven’t been popping anything stronger than ibuprofen because I’m too familiar with the shit that happens after someone starts relying on opioids. All the calls that come in, from murders and sex crimes to theft, a good percentage of them trace back to some addiction or another. And no one’s immune. Not housewives or doctors or teachers—or cops. They get into it trying to ease the pain, then can’t get out. So I won’t risk getting into it. Even if it leaves me flat on my face.

  I punch in my code at the door and nearly black out swinging it open. Despite the bullet that grazed off my skull, my head doesn’t give me much trouble. Just aches now and then. So this dizziness is more likely related to the way my heart’s pounding and my skin’s drenched in sweat. Because my body doesn’t know what to do with the pain.

  And because I’m pushing too hard. Just like the lieutenant warned me about. But I’ve always pushed too hard. I’ve worked for one damn thing my entire life. I’m not letting a piece of shit like Lowery steal it away.

  A vision of pale blue eyes flashes through my memory. Everything inside me wants to push for that, too. To find her. To get a taste of her. Just a little taste of her heaven. But right now, I’m in hell—and that’s no place for an angel.

  I don’t know if I’ll ever be back at one hundred percent. Shit, a woman like that, even my one hundred percent isn’t good enough. So I’ll get back to where I need to be, back to where I’m worth something again, before I even try.

  And I’ve always pushed hard for the job—but for the first time in my life, I want more than that. I want to be able to stand in front of her. Carry her to a bed. Kiss her from velvet softness of her lips to the sweetness between her thighs, making her come over and over again. She deserves a man who can give her that.

  Not a man who can barely walk through a door without fainting.

  Gritting my teeth, I start across the lobby. Like the rest of the building, it’s nothing fancy. Just an open space with a waiting area on the left, a bank of mailboxes on the right, and a hallway leading to the stairs. Today I don’t bother with the mail. When I moved into this place, it was the building’s proximity to the station that made it worth the high rent. Right now, though, every penny I’ve paid is worth it for the elevator.

  Almost there. Thank fuck.

  My chest’s heaving like I sprinted a marathon when I enter the hallway. The relief of almost there vanishes in an instant. A huge leather couch is shoved halfway into the elevator. Trying to wrestle it in from this end is a blond white male, six-one and with ‘fucking frat boy’ written all over him. Almost literally, given the Greek letters that arc across the front of his university hoodie.

  “No, you’ve got to lift up that end. Shit, you’re going to—” Wincing, he breaks off as a heavy thunk sounds. Laughter mixes with concern as he says, “Is your hand okay?”

  I don’t hear anything from inside the elevator, but the response is clear when frat boy begins laughing harder. “At least your middle finger’s not broken.”

  For fuck’s sake. I raise my voice over the goddamn gigglefest. “Will this take much longer?”

  Frat boy’s head whips around. “Oh shit. Sorry, man. Uh…” His gaze zips from the couch to the inside of the elevator before zooming back to me. “The way this is going, the stairs might be the best option.”

  “The stairs aren’t a fucking option. So maybe just back that shit out of there so I can—”

  The head that pokes past the elevator doors stops me cold. My angel. Who’s looking just as shocked to see me.

  And who’s looking just as beautiful as before. Even more so. That hazy vision on the courthouse steps was dominated by her pale blue eyes, filled with the husky warmth of her voice. I knew she had dark hair, but it’s thick and black and sleeked back into a ponytail in a way that leaves her stunning features exposed and vulnerable to my starving gaze. Like a desperate man I fill myself up on the sight of her. I remember red velvet lips, but she must have been wearing lipstick that day, because now they’re pink and full and parted softly as she stares at me in wordless surprise and with widened eyes.

  Those eyes have haunted my dreams. But not just while I’m sleeping. Every damn waking moment.

  Without thinking, I step closer to her—and my knee almost gives out. Pain rips up my leg. Fuck. I almost shout the curse, but instead grind my teeth and brace my hand against the wall to stop myself from face-planting right in front of her.

  I hear her soft exclamation as she scrambles over the couch. But it’s all a dim roar in my head, because a few realizations are hitting me hard and fast.

  Bennet talked about his daughter like she was a rebellious teenager going through a phase. Instead she’s twenty-five, give or take a year or two. Long past the age when any father should be asking a cop to report back
on who’s visiting her apartment.

  And she’s taken. By a fucker who already has his shit together, is probably already at a hundred percent. You’re a cop long enough, you can size up people pretty damn fast. Frat boy is from decent money, went to a good college—not some asshole who had to claw his way up out of the gutter just to look at her. His fraternity sweatshirt has some years on it, too, which means he’s probably already out of school and working, a lawyer or stockbroker or some white collar shit that pulls in a ton of cash and can give Mia Bennet the life she’s used to. The kind she deserves.

  I shouldn’t be so twisted up by the knowledge that my angel already has a man. I should have known. A woman like her, of course someone snatched her up.

  “Detective Matthews.” Her voice is warm and with a rusty edge, just like I remember it. She’s so damn close, looking up at me with concern furrowing her brow. She’s five-nine or so, taller than I thought she would be, but just as curvy as I dreamed in her dark leggings and thin zip-up hoodie. Her hand hovers just inches from my chest, as if she’s thinking she might need to hold me up but is worried that touching me will hurt me worse. “Are you all right?”

  “No.” The hoarse answer is too fucking honest. “But I will be. Give me a minute.”

  It’ll take longer than a minute before I’m all right. Maybe a lifetime.

  But a minute is all my leg needs.

  “Okay.” Watching me closely, as if not really believing that a minute is all it’ll take and she expects me to keel over any second, Mia Bennet crosses her arms beneath her breasts and waits.

  Her gaze continually roams my face, settling on my mouth for an instant like the lightest kiss. And despite the agony ripping up my leg, my dick decides to get in on the action. That’s when I learn that when your upper thigh is stitched up, a hard cock is just another thing that adds to the pain, like it’s yanking on muscles and nerves that shouldn’t be yanked. My breath hisses from between my clenched teeth.