Mistletoe Justice Read online

  “Wiggins can be demanding.” She gave him a slight smile, but still appeared poised to bolt at any second.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine. I just came back to get something.”

  His eyes dipped to her hands. One held a set of keys. The other was empty. She wasn’t even carrying a purse. If she had really come back to get something, it was apparently small enough to fit inside the pocket of her lightweight jacket.

  “Did you find what you needed?”

  She nodded, the motion stiff and jerky. “Yep. Everything’s good.”

  That was a lie, if he’d ever heard one. He held up a hand. “Have a nice weekend. Mine starts in about an hour, if the Caterpillar back there will cooperate.”

  “Good luck.”

  She got into her car and backed from the space. When she pulled forward, she released the clutch too quickly and the car lurched. At the edge of the building, she made a sharp turn onto the drive, and its back fishtailed, slinging gravel.

  Conner frowned. Darci Tucker couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  He stepped on the gas and headed into the field. Someone at P. T. Aggregates probably had information about Claire’s disappearance. But he had a Caterpillar to wrestle. And he needed to get it done and get home before Jenna threw in the towel, like the four sitters before her had. No matter what kind of recommendations they came with or how much experience they had, one week with Kyle had put each of his babysitters at the end of her rope.

  He could relate. That was exactly where he had been since Kyle stepped over his threshold. And he couldn’t blame the kid. He never knew his dad, and now his mom was missing. He was moody and bitter and angry at the world. And Conner hadn’t the slightest clue how to help him.

  He brought his F-150 to a stop next to the service truck that held his mechanics’ tools. He hadn’t signed up for this. He was supposed to be free and single and enjoying life. He was still single. But freedom had flown out the window the moment his sister disappeared. And it had seemed like three forevers since he had enjoyed his life.

  He sighed and stepped from the truck. Maybe when he was finished, he would do a little snooping. He dismissed the idea as soon as it came. The incriminating stuff was likely to be inside. What he needed to do was get to know this Darci Tucker, which wouldn’t be an easy task. According to his coworkers, she kept her guard up. As the only young, single woman in the company, she probably felt like a guppy in a tank full of sharks.

  But he wasn’t going to hit on her. And not because she wasn’t attractive. She was. She was short—a good eight or nine inches less than his six feet. Her dark hair reached her shoulders, its soft, silky waves begging to be touched. With those expressive blue eyes that sparkled with life and that spontaneous smile that so often lit her face, she possessed a down-to-earth beauty that had piqued his interest from the get-go.

  But he had too much on his plate to think about romance, which was a good thing. His prospects had totally dried up over the past six months. Women weren’t looking for men with baggage, especially in the form of a seven-year-old with a stinkin’ attitude and a smart mouth.

  He opened the back doors of the service truck, pulled out a set of wrenches and approached the monster backhoe. He would figure out a way to get to Darci Tucker. Because he had no doubt—Claire didn’t just take off. She finally had her life on track. She liked her job. She loved her son. And she’d found the contentment that had always eluded her. She didn’t walk away from it all. At least not by choice.

  If Wiggins was involved, he was good at concealing it. Tucker wasn’t. She had guilt written all over her.

  Or maybe that wasn’t guilt. Maybe it was fear—not at him having seen her, but of something much more sinister.

  The same fear his sister had felt.

  * * *

  Sharp white light spilled from the fluorescent fixture overhead, chasing the shadows from Darci’s office. She dropped her purse and a small cooler on the floor of the closet then twisted the wand on the miniblinds. Outside, fog blanketed everything. It was a dreary Tuesday.

  But the gloominess wouldn’t last. In another hour, the mist would burn off and the sun would continue its ascent, blazing a path upward in a beautiful blue sky. Florida wasn’t called the Sunshine State for nothing.

  She slid into the swivel chair behind her desk. She enjoyed her job. Even though she wasn’t a CPA, her bachelor’s degree in accounting and finance, along with her years running Darci’s Collectibles and Gifts, more than qualified her to be the accounting manager at P. T. Unfortunately, none of her courses had included the chapter on dealing with difficult bosses.

  She reached into her in-basket and picked up the stack of time cards piled there. Her first task of the day would be running payroll. Then she would work on the October financial statements, along with her staff meeting report, a job she had hoped to finish last Friday.

  Friday. The now-familiar disquiet settled over her, and she swallowed hard. She’d come so close to getting caught. If her phone had rung on her way out, when she was sneaking down the hall...or if Wiggins had looked under her desk...

  But he hadn’t. Although he’d stood less than two feet away, he hadn’t known she was there. Thank You, Lord. As long as it stayed that way, everything would be fine.

  Unfortunately, the new mechanic had caught her leaving. Even stopped to introduce himself. Conner something. She remembered him, had seen him in the break room several times that week. He was the kind of guy women noticed—green eyes that sparked with restrained humor, honey-colored hair that always looked casually tousled and a bearing that radiated confidence. Yeah, hard to miss.

  Hopefully, he wasn’t much of a talker, because if he said anything to Wiggins about seeing her there...

  As she began alphabetizing the time cards, worry gnawed at her. Her chances would be better if she hadn’t acted so guilty. Maybe she should just talk to the mechanic and ask him not to tell anyone about seeing her Friday night. But that would make her look even guiltier. No, she’d better keep her mouth shut and pray the mechanic did the same.

  She had just finished payroll when a familiar voice drifted down the hall. And she almost dived under her desk again. Jimmy Fuller owned a large commercial construction company and bought aggregate from P. T. He also insisted on hand delivering his checks. It gave him three or four opportunities a month to hit on her.

  Footsteps drew closer and Fuller’s athletic frame filled the doorway. With that deep golden tan and sun-bleached hair, he was used to women throwing themselves at him.

  “Hello, beautiful.”

  She laid the time cards on her desk. Let the other women have him. Those model looks were wasted on her. So were the pickup lines.

  “Hello, Mr. Fuller.” She stayed with the formal address. He wasn’t much older than she was, maybe thirty-five to her twenty-six. But she wouldn’t get too chummy with him.

  He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “Come on, Darci. When are you going to start calling me Jimmy?”

  “Probably never. I’d only be encouraging bad behavior.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “I’m crushed. But I’m not giving up. If I keep coming in here almost every week, I’ll eventually talk you into going out with me.”

  “You can tell yourself that if it makes you happy.”

  He crossed her office and handed her a windowed envelope with a check inside. “No, what would make me happy is if you finally said yes.”

  He started to laugh again, but his laughter turned to coughing. When he was finished, he pulled a cough drop from his pocket. “Excuse me. I’m getting over a bad sore throat. No love ballads today.” He unwrapped the lozenge and put it into his mouth. “I’m just now getting my voice back.”

  Realization slammed into her. Fuller had l
ost his voice. Just like Wiggins’s visitor. She replayed phrases in her mind. The man had a slight Southern accent. So did Fuller. And Fuller had asked her out. Numerous times. Wiggins had said that she’d told him to take a hike. And she had, in so many words.

  But did Fuller have feelings for her, like Wiggins claimed? Probably not. With guys like him, love had nothing to do with it. It was all about the thrill of the chase. Once they had what they wanted, the challenge was over and they were soon off on their next adventure.

  But what did she know? Having not dated in five years, she was pretty rusty. Fuller was possibly the mystery man. She would try to avoid him. Of course, she’d been doing that for the past five and a half months. Easier said than done.

  After Fuller left, she pushed both him and Wiggins from her mind and reached for the mouse. With her October entries made, it was time to print the financial statements. As the sheets fell into her printer tray, she opened the reports folder on her computer. The latest file was the report for September, presented at the October staff meeting.

  She drew her brows together. Where was the report she’d created last week? Granted, she hadn’t gotten that far. It was mostly just notes of things she needed to include. But she would rather not have to start over.

  Maybe she’d saved it to her local drive instead of clicking through to the server. A few seconds later, she heaved a satisfied sigh. There it was, under My Documents on her C drive...

  Right below a folder titled D. Tucker Personal.

  What in the world? She hadn’t created that folder. She had no reason to. She didn’t do anything personal at work.

  She clicked on the folder and two files appeared. One was labeled Transactions. The other was untitled. They were both created Saturday, 8:58 and 9:01 p.m. She clicked on one, then the other, frowning at the security window that popped up. Both were password protected.

  The air whooshed out of her lungs and she flopped back in her chair. There was only one reason for those files to be on her computer. Someone was setting her up.

  The man with the raspy voice didn’t want her hurt. But Wiggins didn’t have to hurt her. All he had to do was frame her, making it impossible for her to go to the police without implicating herself.

  A weight pressed on her chest, and she struggled in a breath. Burying her head in the sand was no longer an option. Neither was leaving P. T., at least until she made sure that nothing would follow her and eventually land her in jail. The problem was, she had no idea where to start.

  The last one did. The words circled through her mind, as disturbing as when she’d first heard them. And her next step became clear—she needed to talk to the prior accounting manager.

  She logged on to the payroll program and brought up terminated employees. Claire Blackburn was near the beginning of the list. After pulling a Post-it from the dispenser, she jotted down the address and phone number. She would try to contact her tonight.

  And maybe she should check out Jimmy Fuller. She logged on to the Division of Corporations website and did a search for his company name. Nothing strange there. The business address matched what she used for billing. James Fuller was listed as the president. The vice president was...Lori Fuller? Her eyes shot back up to the president information. Same address. Not only was Jimmy Fuller a sleazy womanizer, he was married.

  Without warning, Wiggins’s doughy figure filled her doorway. She jumped and clicked off the site. His eyes darkened with suspicion as he stared down at her, eyebrows dipping toward the bridge of his nose, the edges of his mouth turned downward. When he crossed his arms, the gesture wasn’t playful, as when Fuller had assumed the same position a short time earlier. And it wasn’t done to show off rippling biceps, as she always suspected with the younger man. No, Wiggins’s pose was meant to intimidate. It was working.

  “Goofing off, are we?”

  “No. You startled me.” She held up the small stack of paper. “I just finished printing the financials.”

  Wiggins shook his head, his eyes scolding. “I know what you’re doing. You’d best let sleeping dogs lie, or you’ll get bit.” Without giving her an opportunity to respond, he stalked down the hall toward his office. Except Wiggins didn’t stalk. More like swaggered—the cocky gait of a man who thought too much of himself.

  What was he, psychic? How did he know she was snooping?

  She reached for the mouse and moved her report to the proper location. Wiggins had never been her favorite person. When she’d applied for her job, she’d interviewed with Peter Turlong, the owner, who divided his time between their Florida and Georgia mines. But since acquiring a mine in South Carolina four months ago, he’d left the Florida location in Wiggins’s hands. He might live to regret that decision.

  Meanwhile, everyone was forced to put up with Wiggins. He didn’t just run a tight ship. He micromanaged every employee there. And she was no exception. Every report she did, he went over with a fine-tooth comb.

  But when he’d stood in her doorway glaring down at her, he hadn’t been concerned about her work performance. He’d been afraid she was snooping. A man with secrets had every reason to be afraid.

  Wiggins was making a big mistake. She had her hands too full with her own issues to worry about the business of other people. But now that he had involved her, he’d left her with no choice.

  First she would try to talk to Claire Blackburn. Then she would go to Cedar Key police officer Hunter Kingston, not in an official capacity, but as a friend.

  And she would pray like crazy that she could find a way to escape the noose that was tightening around her neck.

  TWO

  Darci’s eyes shot open, and she lay tense and alert, the remnants of a nightmare still holding her in its grasp. In her dream, she’d discovered something important, although she couldn’t remember now what it was. She had looked up to see Wiggins watching her and she had run. She was still running when she awoke.

  But it wasn’t the nightmare that had awoken her. It was something else. Every instinct she possessed seemed to warn her of impending danger.

  She waited in the darkness, but there was nothing. Just a lingering sense of unrest, as if somewhere beyond her awareness, something evil had penetrated the security of her world.

  Then a soft shhh pierced the silence, and her senses shot to full alert. Had the sliding glass door just moved back in its track? Muffled footsteps sounded on the vinyl tile floor, confirming her fears.

  She thrust the covers back and sprang from the bed, ignoring the panic showering down on her. Her son lay sleeping in the next room, twenty feet from whatever menace had just entered their haven. She snatched her phone from the nightstand and paused at the doorway to peer down the hall. A flashlight beam made wide sweeps of her living and dining area. As long as he didn’t shine it down the hall... God, please protect us.

  As she crept toward Jayden’s room, her heart pounded against her ribs, and her breath came in shallow gasps. Once inside, she silently closed the door and turned the lock. A night-light cast its dim glow through the room, over the sleeping form of her precious little boy. She needed to call 911 without alerting the intruder or awakening Jayden. Maybe from inside the closet.

  Nestled between his clothes and a stack of toy-filled crates, she touched the three numbers. Moments later, a soothing voice came through the phone, and the panic she had managed to hold at bay broke through its bounds. Her words tumbled out in a harsh whisper, and she began to shake.

  “Help me, please. Someone’s in my house.”

  After verifying the address and promising that help was on the way, the dispatcher stayed on the line offering words of encouragement. They did nothing to still her pounding heart or calm her frayed nerves.

  When she emerged from the closet, Jayden stirred, and she moved to the side of his bed. If he woke up, she would have to keep him quiet. He did
n’t talk unless prompted, but he sometimes cried. As she watched, he drew in a deep breath and let out a sigh, then returned to the rhythmic breathing of sleep.

  “Are you still there?” The dispatcher’s question cut across her thoughts.

  “Yes.” She spoke in the softest whisper.

  “The police should be there any minute.”

  She swallowed past the lump of fear that had congealed in her throat and mentally ticked through the items in Jayden’s room. If only she had something she could use to defend them.

  Jayden had a bat and a baseball. Unfortunately, they were made of plastic. And he had a pistol, but it shot foam Nerf balls. Her best bet was to pray that the intruder didn’t kick down the door before the police arrived.

  Sirens sounded in the distance, and she sagged against the wall. A few more minutes. Actually, the intruder had likely already run out the back door.

  The squeal grew louder then died. Law enforcement was out front. She released a pent-up breath. Once the officers were inside and she knew for sure the intruder was gone, she would open the bedroom door.

  Jayden sat up suddenly and climbed from the bed. She circled around and caught him before he reached the door.

  “Sweetheart?”

  He turned toward her, his eyes wide in the dim glow of the night-light.

  “Mommy’s right here.” She picked him up and held him against her chest. Little arms went around her neck, and she pressed a kiss to the top of his head, breathing in the berry scent of his shampoo.

  In another part of the house, the sliding glass door slid back farther in its track and footsteps sounded against the vinyl floor, multiple sets this time.

  The last of the tension fled. She thanked the dispatcher and ended the call. A few minutes later, a knock on Jayden’s door accompanied a deep male voice.

  “Levy County Sheriff’s. Everything’s clear. It’s all right to come out.”

  When she emerged from the room, two deputies stood in the hall. The older one smiled down at her. “Are you all right?”