Christmas Confidential Read online

  “Yeah, yeah.” She opened the door as he checked the living room and kitchen, then came up behind her. “You say classic, I say piece of junk.”

  “It takes nerve for a woman who’s holding on to a butt-ugly teddy bear like it’s gold to criticize my car.”

  Again, she was quiet on the stairs, making the thuds of his boots behind her sound like mini-explosions. They made it to the sidewalk and then to the car without notice. Maybe GranMare’s hearing wasn’t what it used to be.

  As they drove out of the homey family neighborhood, Miri realized she would never see that house or its neighbors again. Once they reached Atlanta, she would never see Dean again.

  Maybe, her inner voice whispered snidely. You thought you’d never see him again when you went to prison, and there he was today. You thought you’d never see him again after he let you off at the market, and there he was at the bus station. Do you really believe he’s going to drive you all the way to Atlanta and leave and not look back?

  That might not be his plan, but it was hers. She intended to make sure it happened just that way. No matter how much Dean wanted the money, it was hers, and Sophy’s, Oliver’s and Chloe’s. There was no way anyone was keeping it from them.

  Though John W. Smith had managed quite well for more than twenty years.

  Guess we were an obligation after all, weren’t we, Daddy?

  Chapter 3

  “I don’t suppose you know how to get to Atlanta.”

  Miri glanced at Dean, the man who often worked for her father, who spoke of him with respect. Did he have any idea how Mr. Smith had abandoned his first family?

  “You go east.” When he snorted, she shrugged. “I didn’t need to know. I intended to let the bus driver figure it out. So, driver, figure it out.”

  “Feel under your seat. There should be an atlas there. I’ll drive, you navigate.” The dash lights made his smirk easy to see. “We’ll be a team.”

  This time she snorted. The only team she’d ever been part of was Team Mom, first with her siblings and then eight years by herself.

  “I saw a T-shirt somewhere I’m gonna get you. Says ‘Doesn’t play well with others.’”

  “Especially with people who lie,” she muttered.

  “Hey, I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets when we were together. I was working undercover. You were stealing money from your boss. I think that makes my lies a little more righteous.”

  Righteous. John W. Smith had transformed himself into a very righteous man—respectable business owner, church deacon, city leader, adoring husband and loving father. Father, to two daughters and two sons, children whom he showered with every privilege money could buy. Apparently, his first family had just been practice. By all appearances, he’d gotten it right the second time.

  Miri didn’t believe there was a single thing righteous about Smith besides his arrogance. She knew better.

  * * *

  “No defense for that?” Dean asked when time had passed without a response. He shifted his gaze from the street to Miri, staring blankly into the distance. She’d always kept things from him. He’d known that practically from the start. He’d thought it might have been about her family, since she’d never admitted having one. Or maybe some boyfriend or husband had run around on her and broken her heart. Maybe she’d suffered traumas that he couldn’t imagine.

  But she’d always been quiet, cautious, keeping him at arm’s length. She’d been wary, skittish, but he’d known with time and patience, he could break through those walls she’d put up around herself.

  Once he’d figured out that she was the embezzler he was looking for, time had suddenly run out.

  “I pleaded guilty when I was arrested, and I served my sentence. I don’t need to defend anything I’ve done to you.”

  Dean’s fingers flexed tighter on the wheel as he turned on to a freeway ramp. Why hadn’t she fought the charges? God knows she’d had money to hire an attorney. She could have gotten a shorter sentence, maybe even skated on the charge completely. Who knew what a jury would do when presented with a mega-rich man like Mr. Smith versus a delicate, beautiful young woman who could pass for an angel atop a Christmas tree?

  But there was one more important question, and he asked it without thinking. “Why did you do it?”

  “I was guilty.”

  “Not the plea. Why did you embezzle the money?” In his business, the why didn’t usually matter. His clients asked for proof, and he gave it to them. The rest—retaliatory action, prosecution, restitution—was up to the clients or the justice system. But this time, the why had nagged at him. It had never gone away.

  “That’s no one’s business but mine.”

  In the dim light, he thought she mouthed a few additional words, but if he asked her to repeat them, she’d probably give him the cold shoulder again.

  “So one day, Miriam Duncan, who’d never had so much as a parking ticket, went to work and decided to steal $1.1 million dollars from the boss. How does that happen? How do you make the decision to go from a lifetime of law abiding to embezzling a boatload of money? Is it the same way you decide to wear red instead of blue? Sneakers instead of boots? To buy a Toyota instead of a Chevy?” He watched her from the corner of his eye for a hint of a reaction but got none. “I’ll tell you, Miriam, I’ve been dealing with less-than-scrupulous people my whole adult life, and I’ve gotta believe there’s more to it than that. Something important must have pushed you to that decision. Something desperate, something traumatic.”

  Her response was slow in coming and phony as hell. Her voice was light, almost lighthearted, but she was holding the bear so tightly it would squeal if it had a real mouth. “Sorry. No desperation, no trauma. Just plain greed.”

  Dean couldn’t remember ever seeing the bear at her apartment, but then, he hadn’t ever been inside her bedroom—not for lack of desire—and wasn’t that the likely place for a security blanket/bear? What thirty-year-old wanted her aged, worn snuggly on display for visitors and dates to see?

  His was neatly tucked away in a box at the back of the closet shelf. It was a rabbit, once white with pink satin ears and a fluffy tail. Now it was an odd shade of age and dirty little boy, the pink had faded to a noncolor and only a few threads remained of the tail. His name was Bunny, and Dean had no doubt Miri wouldn’t believe he existed without seeing him for herself.

  With an effort, he forced his attention back to the conversation. “If it was greed, why didn’t you spend the money? Why didn’t you buy a better car, find a decent place to live, dress better, take vacations, live in luxury?”

  Slowly she turned to meet his gaze. “Maybe I didn’t have the chance. Maybe that’s what I plan to do now.”

  Not if he could help it.

  “So you’re going to leave me in Atlanta and... What? Catch a flight to some obscure tropical island where you can lie on the beach and have a handsome cabana boy bringing you iced tea and dessert all day? Because if you’ll take me with you, I’ll be happy to play cabana boy for a while.” He was joking, of course. Sort of. Though the idea of endless days on a warm beach watching Miri relax in the sun in a skimpy bikini... And, just to be safe, he had grabbed his passport when he was packing. He wasn’t about to be left standing in Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International watching her fly away for good.

  “You can play all sorts of roles, can’t you? How good are you with the strong, silent type?”

  He grinned. “I do strong great, but I’m never silent. Too little time, too many interesting things to say.”

  “I promise you, I have no plans to be interesting.”

  “That’s okay. You’re interesting even when you’re quiet.”

  She gave him another look, one he was pretty sure meant she didn’t believe a word he said, but he let it slide.

  It took a couple of freeway shifts, but soon they were on I-20 headed east. Wind buffeted the car, and when he touched the window, the glass was frigid. The front had officially arrived, he’d gues
s. Hopefully, the snow would stay a few hours behind them.

  Not that he would mind being snowed in somewhere with Miri.

  “They’re saying Dallas might have snow for Christmas. We were spending the holidays in Colorado with my grandparents before I ever saw a really white Christmas.” When she gave no response, he said, “Personally, I thought it was overrated. Cold, wet, stuck in the house with a convention of Montgomerys. I was never so glad to see dead grass and gray concrete again in my life.”

  Her death grip on the bear had eased, and now she was gently, absently stroking it. Who would have ever guessed he’d be jealous of an ugly bear?

  “Did you have white Christmases where you grew up?”

  He didn’t expect her to answer, but after a hesitation, she did. “Often enough that it wasn’t special.” Another pause, then another surprise. “My mother loved snow for the holidays. She said it made everything so much more Christmassy.”

  Loved. Said. Past tense because it was, simply, the past? Or because Mom was no longer around to love anything?

  “What else made it Christmassy? Lights, wreaths, big red bows?”

  “Candles, holly, mistletoe, evergreen garlands and carols all the time.” Her next words slipped out quietly, as if she were talking to herself. “She did a truly horrid rendition of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” And she made us watch the Burl Ives cartoon every year even though it freaked out all of us kids.”

  Ah, a nugget of data: in addition to a mother, she’d also had at least two siblings. More personal information than he’d ever gotten from her before. “Are you the oldest?”

  “Yeah, I am—” Abruptly her gaze cut to him. “What does it matter?”

  He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I’m just making conversation. You know all about my family.” They were a big part of his life and so a big part of his conversations. “We’ve got a lot of hours ahead of us in the car. We’ve got to talk about something.”

  No, we don’t. He heard the words in the turning away of her head as clearly as if she’d said them. Did she ever talk about her family to anyone, or was it just him she didn’t trust with knowledge of them? The possibility sent a shaft of regret through him.

  The silence was heavy as they drove on. At some point, she positioned the bear against the window and rested her head on it. After a while, Dean figured she’d fallen asleep, and he was about to do the same. It was getting hard to hear his yawns over the growling of his stomach. When a sign for the next exit showed a choice of motels and fast-food places, he slowed and took it.

  Miri roused in the seat beside him, looking around. “Do we need gas?”

  “We need food and sleep.” Of course she opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “I’m tired. I’m hungry. So are you. We’re not driving all night. I offered you a ride. I didn’t put the safety of my car on the line to get you there a few hours faster.” To say nothing of their own safety. Wherever she was going, she had to be alive to get there.

  “Trade places. You can sleep while I drive.”

  He stopped at the end of the exit ramp sign before giving her an incredulous look. “You’re kidding, right? No one drives my car but my mechanic and me.”

  “Oh, come on, it’s just a car.” She scrubbed her fingers through her hair. “I’ve been driving since I was twenty. Ignition, gas, brake, turn signals—it’s all the same, even on old junkers like this.”

  He turned into a parking lot that contained a waffle place at one end, a motel at the other and a gas station in between. The Vacancy sign, minus a few letters, alternated with messages for peace on earth, breakfast twenty-four hours a day and cheap gas. “Let’s make a deal. You quit criticizing my car, and I won’t mention again how ugly that bear is.

  Okay?”

  Her gaze narrowed, her mouth thinned, she nodded.

  As he stopped in front of the motel, he shut off the engine, then pocketed the keys. Registering wouldn’t take more than a few minutes, but that was long enough for her to leave him standing in the cold wind alone.

  “Get two rooms,” she instructed when he opened the door.

  “Yeah.” More appropriately, he murmured after slamming the door, “Yeah, right.”

  Of course he got only one room. That didn’t surprise Miri at all. The fact that it had two beds in it should have surprised her—didn’t most men take advantage of women whenever given the chance?—but it really didn’t. Dean was persistent, no doubt about that, but he’d always been gentlemanly about it. He had never behaved badly.

  Unless she counted the lies and the pretense.

  And then she’d have to count her own thefts and pretense. She never should have gotten involved with him, no matter how charmingly persistent he’d been. She’d known there was no room for a man in her life. But his attention had been so flattering, and she’d been needy.

  The room was clean, though it smelled musty, rather like her pajamas. The shorts and T-shirt had been packed away for eighteen months after being laundered. But that was okay. She didn’t mind, and Dean didn’t care.

  As soon as he’d taken her to the room, he’d left again to get food. She’d told him she wasn’t hungry, but her stomach had rumbled loud enough to make a liar of her. She hoped he was the kind who could eat and fall into bed. She didn’t want to waste any time unwinding. The sooner they slept, the sooner they could get on the road again.

  She sat on the bed farthest from the door, Boo tucked beside her. The sound of Elvis singing “Blue Christmas” filtered faintly from somewhere. Never one of her favorite songs, especially not right now. She switched on the television to drown out the tune, channeling through holiday movies to commercials blaring gift-giving ideas to twenty-four-hour news. She muted it and turned to the program guide to find something definitively non-holiday.

  When three sharp raps sounded at the door, she stiffened, then gave herself a mental shake and went to undo the chain lock. Dean came in, shivering and carrying a couple of bags of pure sensory heaven. Hamburgers, French fries, onion rings and, nearly overpowered by the other aromas, hot cocoa.

  She loved hot cocoa.

  “Damn, it’s cold out there. I think my ears have frozen solid.” He set the bags on the dresser while she locked up again behind him. His hands were red and so were his cheeks, chapped by the sharp wind that had sent her scurrying from car to room when they’d arrived.

  “I can’t promise how hot anything is after the run across the parking lot, but it smells good.” In the process of unloading the bags, he noticed she was still standing by the door. “What?”

  She shook her head and crossed to claim her food, taking it to her bed. She’d been thinking of all he’d done today—meeting her at, or at least near, the prison, giving her a ride, buying her first McDonald’s hamburger in more than a year. Saving her from those men at the bus stop, taking her to Atlanta. Remembering that she liked onion rings and loved cocoa. It was more than anyone had done for her, or remembered about her, in twelve years, maybe twenty. It was enough to make her feel.

  And she wasn’t going to feel. He had his reasons. She couldn’t let herself forget that. The fact that he’d remembered her preference for rings and cocoa was meaningless. It was probably detailed, along with all her other likes and dislikes, in a case file somewhere. No doubt, he’d reviewed it before heading for the prison today.

  She sank on the bed, slowly unwrapping foil from the burger, a sense of wonder building inside her. Twelve hours ago, she’d been in prison, wearing her tacky uniform, sticking to the schedule they’d set for her, making a point of minding her own business. Now here she sat, long after lights-out, on a comfortable bed in a motel in east Texas, eating restaurant food way past dinnertime. Tonight there would be no talk to disturb her sleep, no snoring unless it was Dean’s, no crying unless it was her own. She was a free woman.

  Then her gaze shifted to Dean. Free being relative. Still, for sheer good looks and disposition, he beat her old cellmate by a mile. On a goo
d day, LaRinda was about as charming as a snake and trustworthy as a troll, and she hadn’t had many good days.

  He took the other bed, food spread across sheets and drink on the night table. As he broke open a packet of salt to sprinkle on his fries, he asked, “How come you didn’t learn to drive until you were twenty?”

  She’d told him that, hadn’t she? No matter. Surely his friends at the police department—all private investigators had them, didn’t they?—could tell him that she’d been a late bloomer when it came to cars. “No car until then, no point in learning to drive.”

  “What about when you were sixteen? Didn’t your parents have a car?”

  Her father, she’d learned, had had a garage full of them. At fifteen, Miri had sold her mother’s aged car with a forged signature to buy food and medication. The car was worthless to them. It didn’t run half the time, and by then, Mom’s mental condition had deteriorated to the point that she rarely left her bed.

  “We took the bus when it was convenient and walked when it wasn’t.”

  “This ‘walking’ you speak of...it’s an alien concept.” He scooped up some fries. “I got that car for my sixteenth birthday. Keep in mind, it didn’t run, was missing all its glass and had only two tires and no doors, but it was the best gift I ever got. My dad and I worked on it every evening until it was like brand-new. Good times.” Popping the fries into his mouth, he chewed and swallowed before asking, “Did you ever do anything like that with your dad or mom? You know, a mother-daughter project.”

  “Not unless forcing a pill she didn’t want to take into her mouth, then holding her jaws shut until she swallowed counts,” Miri murmured, then went utterly still. Oh, God, had she said that out loud?

  She must have, because Dean was staring at her with—surprise? Shock? Pity? Her shoulders straightened. She didn’t want pity, not from him or anyone else. She’d loved her mother. She’d committed seven years of her life to taking care of her, and she didn’t regret or resent one minute of it.