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Murder Under The Mistletoe
Terri Reed


AGENT UNDERCOVERDEA agent Tyler Griffin must stop a drug cartel that's using an Idaho Christmas tree farm to smuggle narcotics across the Canadian border. But to do his job, Tyler needs the cooperation of farm owner and widowed mother Heather Larson-Randall—whose informant brother died on Tyler's watch. Tyler knows a crucial piece of evidence is hidden somewhere on the property. But getting the protective mother to trust him is the hardest part of his mission. As threats against Heather mount, he vows to keep her and her child safe…and clear the farm of danger before Christmas.Northern Border Patrol: Keeping the US-Canadian border safe…







AGENT UNDERCOVER

DEA agent Tyler Griffin must stop a drug cartel that’s using an Idaho Christmas tree farm to smuggle narcotics across the Canadian border. But to do his job, Tyler needs the cooperation of farm owner and widowed mother Heather Larson-Randall—whose informant brother died on Tyler’s watch. Tyler knows a crucial piece of evidence is hidden somewhere on the property. But getting the protective mother to trust him is the hardest part of his mission. As threats against Heather mount, he vows to keep her and her child safe...and clear the farm of danger before Christmas.

Northern Border Patrol: Keeping the US-Canadian border safe..


“You really do believe my brother was murdered?” Heather asked.

Tyler nodded. “I do. Whatever information he had found about the drug mastermind cost him his life.”

And now put her and her son in danger.

She shook her head. “No, you cost him his life. You pushed him to do something he wasn’t trained to do.”

The sharp tip of her barb hit him squarely in the gut. “A fact I will have to live with,” Tyler stated with more regret than she could possibly know. “Believe me, I wish I had done things differently.”

Tyler had been doing his job. A job that wasn’t finished. “If I am going to bring his murderers to justice, I need to find the notebook he told me he had.”

She held his gaze. “That’s why you broke into the house.”

“I didn’t break in. As I said, your brother gave me a key. He’d said if anything happened to him that I’d find what I needed here at the farm.”

Well, something had happened. Something terrible. And he wasn’t going to let anything happen to Heather and her boy.


TERRI REED’s romance and romantic suspense novels have appeared on Publishers Weekly top twenty-five and Nielsen BookScan’s top one hundred lists and have been featured in USA TODAY, Christian Fiction Magazine and RT Book Reviews. Her books have finaled in the Romance Writers of America RITA® Award contest, the National Readers’ Choice Award contest and three times in the American Christian Fiction Writers’ Carol Award contest. Contact Terri at terrireed.com (http://www.terrireed.com) or PO Box 19555, Portland, OR 97224.


Murder Under the Mistletoe

Terri Reed






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Every good and perfect gift is from above,

coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights,

who does not change like shifting shadows.

—James 1:17


This book is dedicated to my family for all the support

and love you give me every day. God blessed me greatly with a wonderful husband and two fabulous kids.


Contents

Cover (#ub54e91ff-b4f5-523e-b1d4-350c8f986841)

Back Cover Text (#u9e4960c9-69ac-5f94-9c11-7700d6dd7252)

Introduction (#ue3825fbd-9e2f-57e0-a857-290e50d002c5)

About the Author (#uf21b3161-058a-5f84-b104-09939f579e73)

Title Page (#u8ff02c33-4307-55ff-84a1-1cc0d43d098d)

Bible Verse (#u4b62e476-c3e1-5a57-8cca-fe1d9bbfadb6)

Dedication (#u8ea711b2-213c-5e19-bd72-3bb62947fa11)

ONE (#ulink_05d9eeb6-72d4-5a26-94c1-f46ad13780a6)

TWO (#ulink_91a5fc5b-3eef-5a0e-9a94-0b6d8be5aa9b)

THREE (#ulink_2306dcd0-20f9-58bc-aa1a-eabe07fc0b24)

FOUR (#ulink_8b4839bd-df7c-5c0e-b746-eec0753b513b)

FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


ONE (#ulink_115d08c5-f694-54b7-845a-58820f67d64e)

“Good night, sweet boy.” Heather Larson-Randall leaned in to kiss her six-year-old son’s forehead.

“Night, Mommy.” Colin snuggled deeper beneath the thick comforter. He lay in the twin-size bed in the room that once had been Heather’s.

Gone were the decorations of her adolescence—posters of the latest celebrity heartthrob and her 4-H ribbons and trophies. It had taken the past three days to transform the room in a superhero motif that would have made Ken, her late husband, proud.

A cold draft skated across the back of her neck. The late November night had grown chilly, but at least the northern Idaho rain had abated for now. The weatherman had predicted a drop in temperature over the next few days. Fitting for this year’s Thanksgiving. She just needed to get through the day for Colin’s sake. Then she could concentrate on Christmas.

Hopefully celebrating the birth of Jesus would take her mind off her brother’s tragic death.

She also hoped they had snow by Christmas morning. Colin loved the snow. And, as always, her life’s priority was Colin.

She moved to the bedroom door. The creak of the old farmhouse’s hardwood floor beneath her feet followed each of her steps, echoing the hollow, lonely beat of her heart.

“Mommy?”

Pausing in the doorway with her hand hovering over the light switch, she smiled patiently at her son. Colin looked so much like Ken with his dark brown hair falling over one eye and his dimpled chin. She ached with love for her son and regret that he’d never know his father. “Yes, sweetie?”

Her late parents had taught her that replacing the word what with the more positive yes when talking to children created a strong, effective bond. The proof was in how close her family had been.

Colin’s big blue-green eyes stared at her intently. “Do you think Uncle Seth is with Daddy and Grandma and Grandpa?”

The innocent question speared through her like a hot poker. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep the tears of grief at bay. Five years ago, just before Colin’s first birthday, her husband had been killed while serving his country in Afghanistan, leaving Heather to raise their son alone. She’d made sure every day that Colin knew his father had loved him. Adding to her grief, her parents had been killed in a freak car accident when Colin was four.

Now, two years later and five days ago, she’d lost her younger brother, Seth, to what appeared to be a cocaine overdose.

She struggled to comprehend how Seth had fallen back into using drugs after being clean the past couple of years. He’d had so much going for him. A fiancée he adored, half the tree farm and a bright future. She didn’t know what had sent him running back to the abyss.

Placing one hand on her chest, she leaned against the doorjamb, needing the strength of her childhood home to keep her upright when the grief pressing down on her threatened to send her to the floor in a heap. “Yes, dear. I’m sure they are all together.”

A familiar tide of anger washed over her. Anger at God for allowing the tragedies that had left her and Colin alone in the world. On the heels of the anger came a flood of guilt for blaming God. Sometimes it was hard to cling to her faith when the world tried to knock her down.

The cell phone in the pocket of her plush robe buzzed.

“I’ll come back to check on you in a bit,” she told Colin, then flipped off the light and stepped into the dimly lit hallway to answer the phone.

“Hello?”

“Your brother’s death isn’t what it seems,” a rough, low voice said into her ear, sending a chill down her spine. “Leave the farm. It’s not safe.”

Her breath hitched; her mind reeled. “What? Who is this?”

The line beeped, then went silent.

A tremor from deep inside worked its way out of her.

Leave the farm. It’s not safe.

She put a hand on the wall to steady herself, feeling the familiar fuzzy velvet texture of the flock wallpaper. This couldn’t be happening, not now with Seth’s death hanging over her like a cloud of doom.

His death had been ruled an accidental overdose.

Even if she wanted to leave the farm, she and Colin had nowhere to go. The day she had learned of Seth’s death, she’d given up her job and the apartment in Washington State to move back to Idaho.

Now the Christmas tree farm was her and Colin’s only home. Their livelihood. Without the farm she wasn’t sure what would happen to them.

Seeds of fear burrowed in her chest and took root. She quickly made her way downstairs, checking that the doors were securely locked. She peered out the front picture window. The full moon, big and round and shining brightly, bathed the sea of Douglas fir, grand fir and noble fir trees stretching over forty acres of land on the tree farm that had been in her family for three generations.

Long shadows obscured the front drive. The other work buildings on the farm were dark, as well. The small cabins that provided lodging for the seasonal employees couldn’t be seen through the thick grove of trees, creating a sense of isolation that had never bothered her when she was growing up here.

But she’d never had a menacing phone call before now.

Suddenly movement on the fringe between the trees and the wide expanse of lawn caught her eye. Then the shadow shifted and disappeared. Had she really seen something out there? Or was fear making her paranoid?

She yanked the curtains closed. Surely she was imagining things. Satisfied the house was locked up tight, she hurried back upstairs to the master bedroom that had once belonged to her parents and her grandparents before them. Though she’d replaced her parents’ belongings with her own, she still considered the room theirs.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she called the local sheriff’s office and told the answering sergeant about the disturbing call. She couldn’t be sure she’d seen anything in the shadows of the trees, so she kept that to herself. Because there was no immediate threat, the sergeant promised to send a deputy over in the morning.

Not at all reassured, she hung up and crawled into bed. She held her phone to her chest. Right now she wished she’d given in to Colin’s pleas for a dog. Tomorrow she would go to the local animal shelter and find a nice big canine with a loud bark.

She leaned back against the pillows, her gaze landing on the picture of her parents hanging on the opposite wall. Her mother had been so beautiful and her father so handsome. But more important, they’d been great parents to her and Seth, providing a stable home and love. Lots of love.

The very things she wanted to give Colin.

Somehow none of that had been enough to keep Seth from turning to drugs. She didn’t know what had driven him to seek the high of narcotics when he was younger. Or more recently. The not knowing ate at her. He’d refused to talk about the dark days of his addiction. Heather had hoped one day he’d realize she loved him no matter what.

Maybe if she’d stayed closer to home rather than leaving for college, Seth wouldn’t have turned into a junkie. Maybe if she’d begged, Ken would have left the army. Maybe if she’d been with her parents that night, they wouldn’t have died in that accident. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

She turned off the light and lay in the dark. She wanted to pray for God to protect them and lessen the burden of guilt she carried. But her prayers for Ken’s safety had gone unanswered. Why would God listen to her now?

Her eyelids grew heavy. Her head bobbed as sleep’s greedy hands pulled her into slumber.

A soft thud jolted her fully awake. Her heart nearly exploded with fright. She bolted from the bed and strained to listen.

Nothing.

Maybe it had been Colin getting up to use the bathroom. Yes, that had to be it. She sucked in air and slowly released her breath, working to calm her frantic pulse. She glanced at the clock. She’d slept for three hours.

After pulling on her robe, she padded quietly down the hall to check on her son. The bathroom was dark and empty. She moved on to his room. The moon’s glow streamed through the open curtains, revealing Colin fast asleep. She closed the door and waited. The house was silent now, yet the hairs on her nape rose and chills prickled her skin.

Cautiously, she moved to the top of the stairs and stared into darkness.

Was someone in the house?

Another noise jolted through her, making her tremble. She needed to call for help. As quietly as she could, she raced back to her bedroom and swiped the phone off the bed, then hurried into the hall and stood guard in front of Colin’s door. She dialed and when the sergeant answered, she whispered, “This is Heather Randall again. There’s someone in my house!”

“Are you sure?” the man asked. “Have you seen an intruder?”

“No, I heard a noise.”

He sighed. “Sit tight. I’ll send one of the deputies out.”

Sit tight? It would take at least thirty minutes for a deputy to reach the farm from Bonners Ferry, the nearest town. Was she supposed to wait and see if the intruder decided to come upstairs? Then what? She had no weapon, no way to defend herself or Colin. She thanked the deputy anyway and hung up.

She couldn’t sit there like some insipid victim. She crept slowly down the staircase, careful to avoid the spots that would creak. She knew every inch of this house, knew every board that would betray her presence, every piece of furniture to navigate around in the inky blackness. She made her way to the kitchen.

She glanced at the knife block with the razor-sharp knife set. As tempting as it was to grab a knife to use as a weapon, she knew that wasn’t a good choice. A knife could be too easily taken away and used against her. Instead, she moved to the stove.

Careful not to jostle the pans hanging over the range, she grabbed the largest cast-iron skillet. Her mother’s favorite. Hefting the heavy pan in her hands like a baseball bat, she crept back to the stairs.

At the bottom step, she waited, listening.

All was quiet. She was being paranoid. The noises she’d heard had been the house settling for the night. All the doors and windows were locked up tight. The phone call had been a mean hoax, meant to frighten her.

Well, it had worked. Her hands tightened around the cold handle of the skillet. She placed one foot on the first step.

A soft knock at the back door echoed in the stillness of the house.

Abandoning the stairs, she pressed her back to the wall. Adjusting her grip more firmly on the skillet’s sturdy handle, she inched toward the kitchen. She peered around the corner. The outline of a man shone through the curtained window on the back door.

She had seen someone creeping around outside. And now they wanted inside.

Who would come to the farmhouse in the middle of the night? Caution had her refrain from turning on the lights. If she didn’t answer the door, would the person go away?

She hoped so.

The person knocked again, louder this time.

Maybe it was the sheriff’s deputy. Right, one just happened to be close enough?

It was possible, she supposed. Wary, she approached the door and flipped on the outside porch light. But nothing happened. Great timing to have a burned-out lightbulb at the exact moment she needed the glow.

As indecision on what to do warred within her, the man outside turned the doorknob. She jumped back, prepared to use the skillet to defend herself.

She should retreat and wait upstairs as the sergeant had said. That would be the smart thing to do. But what if the intruder decided to break in? What if he got to her son before the police could arrive?

A surge of protectiveness coursed through her veins. Adrenaline shoved back the fear. She was alone. It was up to her to defend her house, her son. She stood her ground.

The unmistakable sound of a key sliding into the lock and the lock’s tumblers turning ratcheted her tension.

She moved swiftly to press her back against the wall next to the door seconds before the door opened and the intruder stepped inside. A small beam of light glowed in the darkness as the man moved forward. Holding her breath, she knew she had the element of surprise on her side and one shot at felling the trespasser. She had to make it count.

Stepping carefully behind the figure, she raised the iron fry pan and swung.

* * *

The swoosh of moving air alerted DEA agent Tyler Griffin to an impending attack. He spun around, the penlight dropping to the ground, and raised an arm to deflect the blow. He was too late. Something hard and solid glanced off his elbow and connected with his head, sending pain shooting in all directions through his body.

The crack to his noggin sent him staggering backward until his back hit the dining room table. He toppled sideways into a sprawling heap on the floor. His elbow throbbed all the way to his shoulder.

He shook his head, trying to regain his equilibrium. He could barely make out the dark form of a body standing a few feet away. He wrenched his sidearm from the holster attached to his belt. “Halt! DEA!”

His shout didn’t quite have the normal amount of punch it usually held.

The figure retreated a few steps.

Tyler blinked back the spots and aimed. His finger hovered near the trigger, but he couldn’t keep his assailant in focus long enough to fire.

The sudden glare of the overhead light blinded him. With a sinking feeling, he realized he made an easy target if his assailant decided to finish him off. This wasn’t the way he’d pictured his life ending.

But, then again, he wasn’t in control of life’s happenings. He’d learned that long ago. The best he could do was pray that if God wanted to take him now, that it was quick and painless.

“You’re a cop?”

The distinctly female voice had him blinking rapidly to adjust to the light. He lowered his sidearm. His gaze fixed on the woman standing by the back door he’d just come through. She held a large black cast-iron skillet in her hands, looking as if she were ready to take another swing at his head.

He nearly laughed out loud. He’d allowed an assailant to get the drop on him. A woman with a frying pan, at that. Man, he must be suffering burnout.

He could only imagine the ribbing he’d suffer when his fellow agents found out he’d been clocked by a raven-haired beauty in a fuzzy yellow robe and... Were those toe socks?

Her tangle of thick ebony curls cascaded about her shoulders like a cloud, and the most amazing hazel eyes regarded him with stark fear. Her gaze moved to the gun in his hand, then back to meet his scrutiny.

Forcing himself to a sitting position, he reholstered his weapon and let his head sink into his hands with a groan. “You hit me.”

“I’ll do it again if you don’t tell me who you are and what you’re doing here and how you have a key to my house,” she growled.

Feisty, considering he’d had her at gunpoint. Lifting his head, he started at the sight of his hands covered with blood. Apparently the knock over the head with the pan had broken the skin on his scalp. Hopefully, that was the only thing she’d broken.

He reached for his ID wallet and held it up for her to see. “Agent Tyler Griffin, DEA. You must be Heather.”

One lip curled up. “Obviously.” Her dark winged brows dipped as she took a step closer to inspect his credentials. She danced back and frowned. “How do I know that’s real, and how do you know my name?”

“It’s real. You can check it out if you’d like.” He held the leather case out for her to take. “There’s a number on the card you can call.”

“Throw it over.”

Smart, too. He liked that. He tossed it so it landed at her feet. Keeping her focus on him, she picked the wallet up. Her straight white teeth tugged on her bottom lip. “You didn’t answer me. How did you get a key, and how do you know who I am?”

“Your brother.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Seth gave me the key.” Tyler probed the tender spot on his head. “He was working with us.”

Disbelief skipped across her lovely face. “Right. Seth was working with the DEA? Why would he give you a key to the house?”

“Yes, he was working for us.” He cringed. He loathed explaining why he had the key, but there was no help for it. He had to tell her. “He gave me the key in case anything happened to him.”

“I don’t believe you. The sheriff’s on his way.”

Perfect. Could this operation get any more complicated? They’d purposely kept the local law out of the loop in case there was corruption within the department. Tyler hadn’t wanted to blow his confidential informant’s identity.

He mentally snorted as the sharp blade of guilt twisted in his gut. Seth’s cover had been blown just the same.

“Look, call the number on the card. Then we’ll talk.”

“Put your gun on the floor and kick it over to me,” she said, her eyes sparking with challenge and distrust.

“No way. That’s not how this works.” An agent never handed over his firearm. He stood. The world swam. His vision blurred. He reached out for the desk and missed.

He toppled face-first onto the floor and fell into darkness.

* * *

Oh, no. He’d passed out. Or had she killed him?

Horrified by either prospect, Heather remained rooted to the floor. Her first impulse was to help him. But the need to protect her son was a fierce force, urging her to turn tail and run, grab Colin and head for the car.

She couldn’t leave the intruder lying there without making sure he wasn’t dead. Or that he didn’t die from the wound she’d given him. She would not feel guilty for clobbering him with the pan.

Stuffing his wallet into the deep pocket of her robe, she tentatively moved closer. Her foot bumped up against the gun holstered at his hip. Carefully, she slipped the weapon from the leather holster and clicked on the safety before tucking it into her pocket next to his ID.

Her muscles and nerves tensed, on high alert, ready to jump away if he so much as twitched. He didn’t move. She laid two fingers against his neck. His pulse beat with a strong rhythm. Good. He wasn’t dead, only unconscious.

Which wasn’t good. She’d probably given him a concussion.

She gently turned him onto his back. He’d made an intimidating picture awake, but now with his features relaxed, she noticed the chiseled strength of his jaw, the angles and planes of his brow and cheekbones. Handsome. Though his eyelids were closed now, she’d noticed his striking blue eyes were the color of the sky on a clear day.

He had to be at least six feet tall. The black cargo pants and black long-sleeved T-shirt beneath the leather jacket showed off a well-conditioned physique. Was he really a drug enforcement agent? What did he mean, Seth had been working for them?

She grabbed a kitchen towel and used the material as a makeshift bandage for the laceration on his scalp. Then, after undoing the ties to the dining room chair cushion, she slid the cushion off the seat, gently lifted the injured, unconscious man’s head and slipped the pillow beneath him. His eyelids popped open. Startled, she scuttled back and slipped a hand into her pocket to cradle the gun there.

Keeping a close watch on him, she called the number on the card placed opposite his badge inside the brown leather case and even though the man that answered identified himself as Deputy Director Moore, she asked, “How do I know you’re who you say you are?”

The agent sat up and rubbed his head. She stared him down, and he met her gaze, waiting.

“Excuse me? Who is this?” Irritation threaded through the tone of the man on the other end of the line.

Not willing to give her name, she said, “I’ve a man here claiming he’s a DEA agent and that you are his boss. But how do I know you two aren’t in league together and this isn’t some elaborate scam?”

“Madame, call this number.” The man rattled off a ten-digit number. Thankful for the memorization skills she’d learned in college, she put the number to memory. “You can confirm for yourself who I am. Once you have, ring me back.” The man hung up.

Still disbelieving, she input the number into the phone and waited a moment until a woman answered, “Department of Homeland Security, how may I direct your call?”

Surprised, she hesitated, then hung up. Was this for real? Homeland Security? No way.

She quickly called 411 and asked for the main number of the Department of Homeland Security. The automated voice gave her the same number that she’d just dialed.

Stunned but not quite ready to accept that the man sitting on the floor watching her was really law enforcement, she redialed the number for Homeland Security and asked to speak to Deputy Director Moore.

“The deputy director is not in at the moment. Would you care to leave a name and number for when he returns?”

Heather chewed on her bottom lip for a second before she said, “Uh, can you tell me if there is an agent name Tyler Griffin working for the DEA?”

“I’m not at liberty to give out that information. Did you want to leave a message for the deputy director?”

“No, that’s okay.” Heather hung up.

Tyler arched an eyebrow at her.

She narrowed her gaze and redialed Deputy Director Moore’s direct line. He answered on the first ring.

The man confirmed his agent’s identity. The relief was unexpected. At least she didn’t have to fear the agent was there to hurt her.

“Let me speak to Agent Griffin,” the gruff man on the phone demanded.

She squatted down next to Tyler and handed him the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

Tyler held the phone to his ear. “Griffin here.”

He listened, his mouth pressing into a grim line. “Yes, sir. I understand, sir. The local sheriff is on his way here. Thank you, sir.” He pressed the end button. “My boss will be in contact with the sheriff’s department.” He held out the phone. “Are you satisfied?”

“I suppose.” Her fingers curled around the phone.

His hand clasped around her wrist.

She let out a little yelp and tried to break his hold. His grip was warm, tight, but not painful.

“Not so fast,” he said. His intent gaze held her captive as surely as his hand. “I want my gun back.”

Her heart beat wildly. “It’s in my pocket.” Why did she sound as if she’d run a marathon?

With his free hand, he reached into the pocket of her robe, retrieved his weapon and jammed it into his holster.

“Uh, you can let go of me now.” She stared at the point where his big hand circled her slender wrist. She had no doubt he could break her bones with a quick snap if he chose to.

He let go, holding his hands up, palms out. “Sorry.”

“Tell me what you meant when you said my brother was working with you. And why did he think something would happen to him?”

Tyler scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Your brother informed my office that your family’s tree farm was being used to smuggle cocaine into Canada.”

She dropped from a squat to her knees. “Cocaine?”

The official ruling in her brother’s death flashed in her mind. Overdose of injectable cocaine. She’d had so much trouble accepting the coroner’s findings. Seth had been belonephobic. He abhorred sharp objects, especially needles. He’d snorted, smoked and swallowed his drugs.

Plus he’d promised her he was clean. She’d believed him.

However, the sheriff hadn’t believed her when she’d claimed Seth wouldn’t have injected himself with drugs. She could tell the sheriff had thought she was fooling herself. He’d said junkies would do whatever they could for the high, even overcome a lifelong fear.

Without any evidence to the contrary, she’d had to come to terms with Seth’s death as an accident. But now...?

“Someone here on the farm was involved in drug smuggling?” It didn’t make sense. “That can’t be. Most of our employees have been with us for years. I trust them. I can’t imagine any of them partaking in drugs, let alone using our farm for nefarious purposes.”

“Not all of your employees are long-term, right? You do have some transient workers.”

She chewed on the inside of her lip. An anxious flutter started low in her tummy. “True. We do have a few seasonal laborers who come in the fall and stay until Christmas day. Then they travel back to their homes. But those few have been coming for years, as well.”

“You can’t always predict what people will do if given the right motivation.” He slowly stood.

His words sent a shiver of apprehension crawling across the nape of her neck. She rose to face him. “Where is the cocaine coming from?”

“We don’t know the direct route, but we do know the source of the cocaine coming into the US is from Central America. There are many drug cartels in various countries south of the border infiltrating both the US and Canada. And more recently, Australia.”

Her mouth went dry. “There’s a drug cartel here?”

“Possibly.” Tyler sank down on the dining room chair. “I’m working with IBETs—Integrated Border Enforcement Teams—we’ve been investigating rumors of drugs crossing the US–Canadian border for months. Two weeks ago Seth reached out to me and my team.”

Pride filled Heather. She could only imagine how scary it had been for Seth to seek help. Going up against a drug cartel was no small feat.

“Apparently last year he’d needed some extra cash,” Tyler continued. “He had allowed a shipment of cocaine to hitch a ride into Canada with a shipment of trees from your farm. He’d thought it was a onetime deal. But when they came back to him this year, he realized he’d gotten in over his head.”

Heather silently groaned. One step forward, two steps back. Seth had always courted trouble with his decision making.

“We—” Tyler grimaced “—I convinced him to find out as much as he could and keep a record of everything he learned, including who, what, where and when.”

Stunned, Heather rocked back on her heels. “Let me get this straight. My brother came to you with information about an illegal drug operation on our farm and you—” A cold sweat broke out on her skin. “He was spying for you?”

A grim expression stole over Tyler’s face. “Yes.”

Heather backed away. Her mind scrambled to make sense of what she was hearing. It was one thing for Seth to be a whistle-blower and another entirely for him to play the role of spy. “That was a dangerous thing for you to ask of him.”

“Yes, it was.”

She stilled as a thought burned through her brain. Her blood turned to ice. “He didn’t die of an accidental overdose. Someone killed him.”

“That’s what I believe.”

“He’s dead because of you!”

Tyler closed his eyes. When he opened them, the bleakness in his gaze confirmed her accusation. “Yes.”


TWO (#ulink_dfa5c69e-9aec-5b35-97b6-e0434e56a534)

Tyler held Heather’s gaze with what he hoped was dispassion and not the swirling maelstrom of guilt laying siege to his psyche. He wouldn’t shirk the responsibility of Seth Larson’s murder.

Despite Seth’s past addictions, Tyler had sensed his sincere need to get out from under the thumb of the drug cartel. Though Tyler may not have injected Seth with the lethal dose of cocaine, he felt responsible. Tyler had no doubt that someone had found out that Seth was keeping an account of the illegal activities going on at the Larson family Christmas tree farm. And that someone then killed Seth. He gritted his teeth against the throbbing in his head.

Heather stared at him with wide eyes full of flashing anger. “How could you let this happen?”

It was a valid question. One he’d been asking himself for the past five days. One his superiors were asking, as well. “Your brother initially wanted us to raid the farm, but we didn’t know who we were looking for and where the drugs were stashed. And Seth claimed he hadn’t been privy to how the smuggling took place. At least at first. A raid too soon would have only shut down the operation here, not stopped the flow. We needed evidence. We needed facts. Still do. Seth began to gather intel and had thought he had enough to shut the ring down, but then he was killed.”

Her eyes widened even more. “You really do believe he was murdered?”

“I do. Whatever information he had cost him his life.” And now it put Seth’s sister and nephew in danger. They weren’t supposed to be here. Seth had said they lived in Washington State. And now, per Tyler’s boss’s mandate, Tyler and his team were to make sure the widow and her son were protected.

She shook her head. “No, you cost him his life. You pushed him to do something he wasn’t trained to do.”

The sharp tip of her barb hit him squarely in the gut. “A fact I will have to live with,” Tyler stated with more regret than she could possibly know. This wasn’t the first time an informant had lost his life. “But Seth got himself into this mess. Seth came to us. He knew the risks. Believe me—I wish I had done things differently.”

If he could go back, he’d have extracted Seth a week ago. But Tyler had wanted more information. He’d wanted to cut off the head of the ring, not just pull in a few low-level minions. So he’d pushed Seth to keep up the pretense of going along with the drug-smuggling scheme until he knew the identity of the mastermind behind the illegal operation.

Tyler had been doing his job. A job that wasn’t finished. “If I am going to bring his murderers to justice, I need to find the notebook he told me he had.”

“That’s why you broke into the house.”

“I didn’t break in. As I said, Seth gave me a key. He’d said if anything happened to him that I’d find what I needed here at the farm. I didn’t mean to scare you. I had thought you and your son lived in Washington and would have returned there after Seth’s burial. Otherwise I would have arranged to meet you away from the farm.”

A contemplative expression crossed her face. “Ah. That’s why Seth offered to pay for our plane tickets to Florida for the upcoming holiday—so we wouldn’t come here.” A sad light entered her eyes. “My late husband’s parents live in a nursing facility there. Seth had insisted we should spend Thanksgiving with the Randalls. I declined Seth’s offer.” She gave a little shrug. “The Randalls barely know us, and we wouldn’t be able to stay with them. I didn’t want to spend the holiday in a motel.”

Her words resonated with him. He spent most holidays in motels or on stakeouts. It was a lonely way to celebrate.

“And now we’ll be spending the holiday here alone, without Seth.”

Guilt burned at her words. He had nothing to say to soothe her hurt.

Visibly pulling herself together, she asked crisply, “What does this notebook look like?”

“I wish I knew. All Seth had told me was to get the notebook if anything happened to him.” Tyler planted his feet beneath him and slowly rose. The world tilted. He swayed. He braced his feet wide, forcing back the dim shadows creeping in at the edges of his mind.

Heather rushed forward to steady him. “Take it easy. You probably have a concussion. You should go to urgent care. You might need stitches.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I find what I came for.” But he would lean on her for the moment, to keep from embarrassing himself again by falling flat on his face a second time. “You know how to handle a frying pan.”

“If I’d had Ken’s service weapon handy, I’d have used that,” she retorted drily. “But it’s locked in a safety deposit box at the bank in town.”

He slanted her a glance. “What were you thinking to begin with? You shouldn’t have confronted an intruder. You could have been seriously wounded or killed.”

From the background search he’d done on Seth and his family, Tyler knew Heather’s husband had been killed in action and they had a young child, who he assumed was upstairs at this very minute unaware of the danger that could have befallen his mother.

She paled and squared her shoulders. “I had to protect my child. My husband taught me how to take care of myself. I know how to shoot a gun. I know enough self-defense to break a stranglehold. And, as you said, I know how to wield a frying pan.”

He couldn’t help the little burst of admiration for the gutsy lady.

Slowly she extracted herself from his side. She moved away when it became apparent he was going to stay upright.

“You’re still bleeding,” she said. “Come along and let me take care of your head.” She turned and walked away.

He followed Heather to a large mudroom just off the kitchen, where he washed his hands while Heather grabbed a first aid kit from the cabinet over the washing machine and set it on the counter beside the washbasin. Next she dragged a chair in from the dining room.

He looked at the sturdy lattice-back chair with the pale yellow seat cushion. “I don’t want to ruin any more of your cushions.”

She found three towels in a drawer and brought them over. After laying one across the chair, she pushed on his shoulder. “Sit. I can’t work with you standing.”

Even sitting, he was as tall as her petite frame. She stood in front of him. The scent of her skin, a mix of soap and vanilla, teased his senses. Her face was a study in concentration as she unwound the cloth she’d fastened around his head.

“This is going to hurt,” she warned as she dabbed him with a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic.

The biting pain made him wince. When she finished, he sighed with relief.

“I think I can use butterfly bandages to close up the wound.” She worked with quick efficiency. “Why come at night? Why not come in the daylight with a search warrant?”

“Because I didn’t want to alert the bad guys that we’re onto them. I was hoping to get in and out unnoticed.”

She made a delicate-sounding snort. “But if you’d found the notebook, would its contents be admissible as evidence?”

“Yes, it would. The person, or persons, involved in the drug ring have no reasonable expectation of privacy on your farm, even if they are staying in one of the cabins. You’re the only one who would be exempt from the rule because you’re the owner. But you’re not involved, so that point is moot.”

“How can you be sure I’m not?”

“Seth was adamant you weren’t. Plus, I did a background check on you. You’re clean. I have no reason to believe you’re tangled up in this mess.” Could he be mistaken? His gut tightened. “You aren’t, right?”

The corners of her mouth quirked, and she shook her head. “I’m not.”

The last bit of doubt drained away. “Good.”

“You don’t even know what you’re looking for,” she said.

“True. But I’m sure I’ll know it when I see it.”

She frowned, her brow creasing. “Are you the one who called me?”

He cocked his head. “No, I never called you.”

“Well, someone did, and they seemed to share your thought that Seth’s death wasn’t just an overdose.”

A spike of concern sent his blood pressure soaring. “What did the caller say?”

“That my brother’s death was more than it seemed and I should leave the farm because it’s not safe.”

Dread punched him in the stomach. “When was this?”

“A few hours ago.”

His head pounded a rapid staccato. “All the more reason for me to find the book quickly. We need to put a stop to this fast before anyone else gets hurt.”

She stepped back and put the first aid kit away, then tossed the soiled towels into the washing machine. “I’ll help you look for the notebook, but first you need some fluids. Follow me.”

Bemused by her take-charge attitude, he allowed her to lead him out of the mudroom. She stopped in the kitchen and turned on the light over the sink. A large butcher block served as a center island. Long wooden counters and blond oak cabinets with glass doors gave the place a homey feel. The appliances were older but clean. Blue-and-yellow gingham curtains hung over the window behind the sink. The place had a cozy feel that was foreign to Tyler.

She took a tall glass from a cupboard, filled it with tap water and handed it to him. “Drink.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” He took the glass and drank the cool liquid.

She dug into a drawer and came up with two over-the-counter painkillers. “Here, these should help.”

“Thanks.” He popped the tablets and swallowed them with another large gulp of water. When he was finished, he set the glass on the large center island. “Let’s check your brother’s room.”

In Seth’s room they worked in silence, rummaging through drawers, checking under the mattress, under the bed. In the closet, inside the crawl space in the closet floor. Their search resulted in nothing but frustration.

Fisting his hands, Tyler glanced around the tidy room, taking in the tall dresser standing in the corner, the desk and chair placed beneath the window and the long twin bed covered in a geometric-patterned quilt.

Seth had told Tyler he’d kept the journal on the farm; it stood to reason it was in this room. There were many places to hide a notebook in the large farmhouse, but which nook or cranny had Seth used?

Tyler’s head throbbed and so did his heart. He couldn’t change the past, only hope he could affect the future. Wasn’t that what his gran always told him?

Next they tackled the living area. It was a large great room that flowed into the dining area with the kitchen around the corner to form an L shape. Tyler searched the well-worn leather couches, while Heather checked the bookshelf, taking the books down, inspecting them and then piling them on the floor.

Tyler even checked under the large throw rug covering the hardwood in the living room. No secret compartments. No secret hiding places. He moved on to the dining room while Heather continued her slow but steady pace through the bookshelf.

The large rectangular table had no drawers or hidden slots in which to stash a notebook.

“Mommy?” A small boy stood at the bottom of the stairs staring at Tyler with wide eyes beneath a fringe of dark brown bangs. He wore footie pajamas with rockets all over them. A plush dinosaur dangled from one tiny hand.

Tyler untucked his shirt and quickly pulled it over his hip holster, hoping the boy hadn’t noticed his firearm. No need to frighten the child.

“Colin, honey.” Heather rushed to her son’s side. “What are you doing up?”

Keeping his eyes on Tyler, the child said, “I heard a noise.”

She picked him up, hugging him close. “It was just me and...” She looked at Tyler as if she weren’t sure how to introduce him.

Tyler stepped closer. “I’m Tyler. A friend of your uncle Seth.”

“Uncle Seth is with Daddy now,” Colin replied gravely.

“Yes, he is,” Tyler said. He gave the boy a sad smile. “I’m sure they are both watching over you and your mommy.”

Colin scrunched up his nose. “What happened to your head?”

Heather grimaced.

“I had an accident,” Tyler said, touching the bandage on his head. “With a frying pan.”

Heather’s eyes widened, and a pink blush stained her cheeks. He grinned at her. She flushed a deeper shade of red.

The boy snuggled into the crook of his mother’s neck. She kissed the top of his head. The sight of Heather and her son made a touching picture. Tyler’s chest grew tight.

“I’ll be right back,” Heather said and carried Colin upstairs.

Something shifted and constricted inside Tyler as he watched them go. Heather’s love for her son was obvious in the tender way she treated him. Tyler had never known that kind of love.

Certainly not from his mother. She’d been too busy scoring her next high or lost in a haze of drugs to bother with affection. Her only son had been a means to gain the weekly welfare check, nothing more.

After Heather and her son disappeared from Tyler’s sight, an unfamiliar ache of longing lingered. He wasn’t even sure what he longed for, but he was determined to keep Heather and her son safe.

He could only pray he didn’t fail them like he had Seth.

* * *

Heather tucked Colin back into bed. “You need your sleep, big guy. Tomorrow we’re helping Rob change out the village lights.”

Rob Zane lived in one of the houses on the property. Her parents had offered him the job of caretaker for the farm’s Christmas Village after he’d recovered from a house fire that had taken his own family nearly fifteen years earlier. A fire that some whispered he’d started. Her parents had stood by him through the arson investigation. And even though the fire had been deemed an accident, many in the area weren’t convinced. He’d been kind and generous to her family in return for her parents’ loyalty.

“And the decorations,” Colin said, the thrum of excitement in his tone. “Rob said I could help him with Santa’s house.”

“That will be fun.” This coming weekend they would open the farm up to the public to come enjoy the village and sleigh rides and to cut their own trees to take home. But first Heather had to get through Thanksgiving. The day wouldn’t be anything like she’d hoped, but she’d do her best to make it special for Colin, despite her sorrow over her brother’s death. Murder. She shuddered.

Careful to keep her expression from betraying the quiver of fear, she kissed Colin’s forehead. “You need to get some sleep so you’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow.”

“I don’t have a tail, Mommy,” Colin admonished her with a grin.

She laughed, thankful for his sweet innocence, and smoothed back a lock of hair, her chest crowding with a mother’s love. “No, you don’t, sweetie.”

Heather left Colin’s room and ducked into her own bedroom to change into comfortable sweatpants and a pullover hoodie. When she went back downstairs, she found Tyler had turned off all the lights except one lamp by the couch.

He stood looking at the family photos lining the mantel with his back to her. His feet were braced apart. He had wide shoulders and a slim waist. He clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides. With anger? Frustration? Perhaps both. The bandage she’d put on his head glowed in bright contrast to his short-cropped dark hair.

Part of her was so angry with Tyler for putting Seth in danger. And yet she was angry with Seth for not telling her what was going on and getting himself involved in something so dangerous. She might have been able to help him. Or at the very least talk some sense into him.

Tyler turned around. She glimpsed the tortured expression on his handsome face before he quickly settled his features into a shuttered look that hardened the line of his jaw. She resisted the empathy flooding her veins. What did he have to be tortured about? It was her brother who’d died because Tyler and his team couldn’t protect him.

Could she trust him to protect her and Colin?

What choice did she have but to put her life and that of her child into his keeping? “The only way you’ll get access to the farm is if you’re here on my say-so.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Meaning?”

“That we do this my way.”

“What’s your way?”

“I’ll hire you as the new foreman to take over for Seth. That way you could stay on the farm. I assume you have your team nearby. They could hire on as part of our seasonal labor.” They hadn’t hired enough people, and she hadn’t been able to think about the shortage the past few days as she dealt first with Seth’s death, then his burial.

He cocked his head to the side and appeared to consider her offer. “Only problem is I know nothing about tree farming. Anyone would see right through that.”

She thought for a moment. “An investor?”

“A business partner,” he countered.

“That would work. Then we’ll scour the farm until we discover where my brother hid the book.”

“Sounds like a great plan.” Tyler held out his hand. “Partners.”

After a brief hesitation—did she really want to partner with this man?—she slipped her hand into his larger one and repeated the word, answering her own question. “Partners.”

His fingers curled over hers, causing a riot of sparks to shoot up her arm. Disconcerted by the odd effect of his touch, she extracted her hand. “I’ll make the arrangements in the morning.”

He held her gaze. “I’d appreciate it. I’ll help you put the bookshelf back together.”

She glanced at the stacks of books on the floor. “I’ll take you up on the offer.” Only because she knew she wouldn’t get any sleep now anyway, not because she felt safer with him here.

Needing the calming properties of some herbal tea, she asked, “Would you like some tea?”

“Sure. I’ll try some.”

They moved into the kitchen. After taking two mugs from the cupboard, she dropped an herbal tea bag into each mug. Then she set the electric kettle to boil. “How are they smuggling the cocaine? And how do we stop it?”

“I don’t know.” Tyler leaned against the counter. “I’m confident Seth’s notes will give us all the necessary details.”

She poured hot water in the mugs, then slid one to him. “Hopefully this nightmare will end soon so no one else will pay the price Seth did.”

Unable to continue looking at him, she stared out the window over the sink. The back of the house faced the large horse barn to the left. And farther out to the right was the processing yard where the cut trees were fed into balers and stacked, ready to be loaded onto trucks for transport.

Within the next few days, hundreds of trees would leave the farm on trucks bound for destinations all over the country and up into Canada. Not to mention all the townsfolk who would come out to take a tree home and visit the Christmas Village, eat homemade donuts, drink hot cocoa and take a sleigh ride. The busyness would take her mind off her grief. But with so many people on the property, would the danger increase?

A shadow flickered near one of the balers and stole her breath. She leaned forward, straining to see. Was she imagining the movement? She’d dismissed what she’d seen earlier as paranoia, but now...

“Heather, what is it?”

No. She hadn’t imagined what she’d seen. There was definitely someone skulking around the balers. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. “Someone is out there.”


THREE (#ulink_ae0a65f5-2d11-5e3a-b260-a1e17b7a148c)

Adrenaline saturated Tyler’s veins at the prospect of an intruder lurking outside Heather’s farmhouse. He quickly set his mug down and gripped Heather by the elbow to draw her away from the window. “Turn all the lights off and go upstairs. Don’t come down until I tell you it’s clear.”

She blinked up at him with wide, stunned eyes. “What are you going to do?”

“Find out what’s going on.” Maybe this was his chance to capture those involved in the drug ring. If he could catch them in the act of hiding the drugs, then Heather and her son would be safe and he could move on to the next assignment. This one had grown exponentially more problematic. He’d rather be chasing down drug-pushing thugs than dealing with a protective mom.

He released Heather’s elbow and sent her up the stairs. Once she reached the top landing, he slipped out the back door, leading with his gun in a two-handed grip. The moon provided enough light for him to navigate his way through the yard toward the three hulking pieces of machinery where Heather said she’d seen someone. He paused with his back against the side of a baler and listened.

A breeze had kicked up, and it rustled through the trees. The howl of some creature sent a shiver down Tyler’s spine. Too close for his peace of mind. Had it been a wild animal Heather had seen?

Noise near the barn drew his attention. The barn’s door sliding open and then closing?

He ran in a low crouch toward the large structure. Pressing his back against the side of the barn, he peered around the edge. No one there. From inside the barn, one of the draft horses used to pull the sleigh nickered. Inching his way to the barn door, he kept an eye out for any signs of life.

He eased the barn door open as soundlessly as he could. The pungent scent of hay and horse made his nose twitch. He ducked inside and hid in a pocket of shadow, waiting, listening.

A horse whinnied. The sound of metal scraping against metal raised the fine hairs on Tyler’s arm. The scuff of a shoe on the dirt floor jolted through him. There was definitely someone in the barn.

Keeping low, he crept toward the rear part of the barn, where a pen had been constructed to house the smaller animals of the farm’s petting zoo. He bumped into a pail, momentarily losing his balance in the dark. The noise spooked the horse to his left. Tyler reached out for the edge of the stall to steady himself just as someone bolted past him for the barn door.

“Hey!” Tyler shouted, barely making out the silhouette of a man as he yanked the door open wider and ran through.

Tyler chased after him. He caught a fleeting glimpse of the dark figure disappearing into the inky shadows of the tree crop. For a moment Tyler contemplated giving pursuit, but the prospect of getting lost among the hundreds of trees disabused him of that thought. Heather and her son needed Tyler to stand guard, in case the man decided to approach the house from another direction.

After shutting the barn door, Tyler retraced his steps to the back of the farmhouse and entered the back door. He threw the bolt into place.

“What did you see?” Heather’s whispered question brought him up short. He spun around and could just barely make out her form. She stood in the archway of the kitchen, the frying pan clutched in her hands.

Achingly familiar with the damage the utensil could inflict, he kept his distance. “Someone was in the barn. They ran away when they realized I was there.”

“I can’t believe how paranoid I’m being,” she said, laying the frying pan on the counter. “It was probably one of the farm employees checking on the barn animals. He’s probably calling the police on you as we speak.”

Following Heather into the living room, Tyler said, “Maybe.” But he wasn’t so sure. If it had been an employee who had every right to be there, why hadn’t he confronted Tyler? “But you did receive a threatening phone call, right? Your paranoia is appropriate.”

She blew out a breath. “You’re right.” She turned on a table lamp before picking up several books and arranging them in the bookcase.

“You can go on to bed and get some sleep,” he told her. “I’ll take care of this while I stand watch.”

She made a face. “I won’t get any sleep, so I might as well tackle this now.”

He didn’t blame her. She’d had a scary night, and there was a stranger in her house. He grabbed some books and handed them to her so she could place them on the shelf.

“Do you have a wife? Kids?”

The question punched him in the gut, stirring up an old dream that he knew would never happen for him. “No. I’m not husband material, let alone father material.”

“Why would you say that?”

Aware of her curious glances, he kept his attention on the book in his hands. “I don’t lead the kind of life that lends itself to settling down in one place for very long.”

“Surely you must have a home somewhere.”

He had an apartment where he stored his few belongings, but he wouldn’t call the place homey. Not anything close to what she meant. “Los Angeles.”

“Parents? Siblings?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Do you always grill your guests like this?”

She matched his arched eyebrow with one of her own. “You aren’t a guest. You came uninvited into my house, my life. I think I can ask you all the questions I want.”

Liking her spunk, he said, “Touché.” He handed her a book. “In answer to your question, no. I’m alone in the world, and I like it that way.”

He wouldn’t mention that deep inside, in places he’d rather ignore, the acute emptiness of his life pressed in on him like a boulder that wouldn’t budge.

Placing the last book onto the shelf, he cleared his throat and wished he could clear away his thoughts as easily. He sat in the wingback chair by the front door and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest.”

He closed his eyes, hopefully putting an end to her curiosity. Not that he was about to sleep, not when the danger plaguing the farm could strike at any moment. On any undercover assignment or stakeout, one learned how to rest while still staying alert.

For a moment she was silent. Then he thought he heard a little huff of exasperation as she moved to the couch. A moment later the light winked out. He smiled in the dark.

* * *

Rest, my eye! Heather shifted on the leather couch. She was certain the man sitting across the darkened room had no intention of sleeping. He’d just wanted to stop her questions, which only made her more curious about him. What made a man like Tyler go into law enforcement? Why the drug enforcement agency? Why was he alone in the world?

If not for Colin, she’d be alone in the world, too.

The familiar ache of loneliness camped out in her chest. She missed her husband. Missed having someone she could count on to always have her back, to hold her when the world became too much.

In the years since his death, she’d had to learn to be strong on her own. For Colin. For herself.

Had Tyler lost someone, too? Was that the hurt she sensed in him?

The trill of her cell phone startled her. She flinched and quickly dug it out of the pocket of her sweatpants.

“Put it on speaker.” Tyler’s voice came to her in the dark.

Remembering the last call, she really wanted to ignore it, but burying her head in the sand wasn’t smart. She needed to face this head-on. She pressed the answer button and then the speaker icon. “Hello.”

“I told you once,” said a muffled male voice. “You need to leave the farm. Do it now! It’s not safe for you here.” The caller hung up after the last word.

Alarm wormed its way through her, making her tremble.

Tyler moved to sit beside her. “Turn on the light.”

With shaky hands, she groped for the switch. She turned the table lamp on and was grateful when the light dispelled the gloom.

Tyler was on his phone. “Hey, I need a call traced now.” He held out his hand for her phone. She set it in his palm. He quickly rattled off her phone number to whomever was on the other side of his phone conversation. “The caller ID comes up blocked. I need to know where the call originated and if the phone can be tracked.” He cupped a hand over the phone’s microphone. “This will take a few minutes.”

Heather drew her knees to her chest as they waited. The tick of her mother’s grandfather clock sitting on the mantel seemed extraordinarily loud.

She knew the moment they had an answer by the troubled look on Tyler’s face. Her blood ran cold in her veins. As soon as he hung up, she asked, “What happened? Were they able to trace the call?”

“They were able to triangulate the approximate location.” He laid her phone on the couch. “The call originated from somewhere here on the farm.”

Her stomach sank. Betrayal swamped her. She’d stepped into a surreal world where she had no idea what was what. Not only had her brother not trusted her enough to tell her what was going on, but someone on the farm wanted her gone.

“Once the guys and I have secured our covers, you and Colin should leave.”

She let out a mirthless laugh. “We have nowhere else to go.”

“Your in-laws?”

“I told you—they’re in an assisted-living facility in Florida.”

“A friend? Seth’s fiancée?”

Her shoulders sagged. “My life revolves around the farm and Colin now. There’s no one who I’d feel comfortable asking to stay with, especially with Thanksgiving coming up. As for Olivia, I’d rather keep her out of this. She’s grieving. She doesn’t need to know about Seth’s troubles.”

“Maybe she already knows?”

Heather shook her head. “Liv is as uptight as they come. No way would she have let Seth get away with what he was doing.” She shrugged. “Besides, when I talked to her at Seth’s funeral, she said she was going to visit her folks in California for the holiday.”

Tyler laid his hand on her arm. “Don’t worry, Heather. I’m not going to let anything happen to you or your son.”

As much as she wanted to believe him, she knew that life could turn on a dime. A life, any life, could be snuffed out as quickly and as silently as a candle’s flame.

* * *

The next morning dawned with a cloudless blue sky bathing the living room in soft light. Heather rubbed her stiff neck and glanced at the time on her phone. Early still. The farm employees wouldn’t start their day for another couple of hours. Good. She needed some time to figure out how she was going to explain why she’d formed a partnership. She’d just buried her brother.

The thought brought the ache of loss to the forefront of her mind, diminishing the physical pain of stiff muscles from falling asleep sitting upright on the couch, her feet tucked beneath her. With a little start, she realized Tyler had spread the blanket that had hung on the back of the couch over her while she slept.

She was touched by Tyler’s thoughtfulness, and her gaze landed on the man sleeping in the chair across the room. After the second menacing phone call, he’d double-checked that all the windows and doors were locked. He’d taken her rolling pin and placed it into the channel of the windowsill in Seth’s room, saying the window would be too easy to jimmy open.

Now his eyes were closed, his legs spread out in front of him and his arms hugged a pillow to his chest like a favored toy. For some reason the sight stirred something inside her, something she hadn’t felt in a long time and refused to feel now. Not for this man. Not for any man. She’d had her one true love.

In the light of day, Tyler was even more of a presence than he’d been last night. His day’s growth of beard darkened his jaw, emphasizing the contours of his face. Dark circles rimmed his eyes beneath the splay of long lashes resting against his cheeks.

Despite her anger at Agent Tyler Griffin, she appreciated that he accepted the responsibility for her brother’s murder. He didn’t make excuses, but he’d pushed her brother to risk his life, a means to an end. He’d put his mission before her brother’s safety.

Ken had been like that. Quick to assume responsibility. Always putting the military before his family. She hated the little whisper of bitterness that floated at the edges of her mind. She’d admired Ken’s dedication at first but came to resent it in time.

It had been five years since he’d left on that final mission, promising to return soon. And not a moment went by when she didn’t hope there’d been some mistake and he’d come home to her and Colin.

Ken had been the love of her life. She doubted she’d ever find anyone she could love like that again. The thought filled her with a stinging emptiness.

One of Tyler’s eyes popped open. Caught staring, she felt a heated flush creep up her neck. She took that as her cue to stand and divert her attention, which was hard to do considering every fiber of her being was aware of the man stirring in the chair. Plus the last thing she wanted was for him to think she was interested in him in any way.

The sooner they found Seth’s journal, the quicker Tyler would be gone from her life and she could grieve in peace without worrying about drug lords and murderers.

Tyler sat up and tucked his sidearm back into its holster. He met her gaze. “G’morning.”

“Morning,” she replied and stretched out the kinks from the awkward position she’d maintained through the night. She went to the front window and pulled the curtains back all the way. The view of the acres of trees stretching out in all directions usually brought her a nostalgic sense of pride. This morning however, she felt only anxious.

Someone living on the farm had probably killed her brother.

And threatened her.

Who?

She clenched her fists at her sides. A sense of betrayal wrapped around her, making her pulse pound.

The quick footsteps of her son racing down the stairs forced back the tide of anger. She rounded the couch and caught him in her arms.

Lifting him high, she said, “Whoa, slow down, little man.”

He stared at her with frightened eyes. “You weren’t in your room.”

She hugged him to her chest, sensing his unspoken fear that she, too, would go away. “I’m right here, buddy.”

Colin pulled back and leaned to peer around her shoulder. “Good morning, Mr. Tyler. Are you having breakfast with us?” Colin asked.

Heather’s heart hiccupped. Her son was so accepting, so trusting. She prayed he never lost that ability.

“Not today, buddy. But thank you for asking me.”

Heather met Tyler’s gaze. He clearly wanted to talk to her. She ruffled Colin’s hair. “How about pancakes?”

Colin let out a whoop. “Pancakes!”

The second she set him on his feet, he was off at a mad dash to the dining room. The sound of a chair being dragged across the hardwood floor to the kitchen counter filled the house. A cupboard banged open. She tensed, hoping the glass bowl she imagined Colin reaching for didn’t slip from his hands and break on the counter.

Tyler came to stand beside her. Her senses flared as waves of heat coming off him warmed her chilled limbs.

“I take it pancakes are a special treat?”

Tyler’s low voice washed over her, making her pulse spike. Uncomfortable with her reaction to him, she stepped away. “Yes. Pancakes are a special treat.”

One corner of Tyler’s mouth curved upward, making him look boyish and roguish at the same time. “I’d love a rain check.”

Words stuck in her throat. She nodded.

“I’m going to retrieve my truck,” he said, keeping his voice low so Colin wouldn’t hear him, which she appreciated. “I left it out on the shoulder of Johnstone Lane. I’ll return with my colleagues Blake and Nathanial.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” she replied. “We’ll be okay.” She hoped.

“Let me program my number into your phone,” he said. “Just in case. The guys aren’t staying far away. We’ll be back within the hour.”

As she watched him punching his numbers into her phone, she had the strangest urge to plead with him not to go. She lifted her chin in determination. She would not let fear rule her life.

* * *

Tyler hesitated, suddenly loath to leave Heather and Colin, even for as long as it would take him to get his truck, go to the motel to retrieve his travel bag and the guys and then drive back here. He had a sneaking suspicion that the reason he didn’t want to leave was much more complex than he wanted to admit.

This whole assignment had become extremely unpredictable. Heather and her son were distractions he couldn’t afford, yet he had to stick close. To protect them.

Yeah, that was right. Wanting to stick close to the stunning widow had nothing to do with the fact he found Heather appealing.

He couldn’t forget his primary objective was to bring down the drug ring and discover the identity of the mastermind. Not yearn for the dark-haired beauty.

Stalling, he found the restroom and freshened up as much as he could. But he wished he had his to-go bag handy. The stubble on his face itched. He stepped into the living room and made a decision.

Making sure his sidearm was concealed beneath his shirt, he entered the kitchen and stopped in his tracks. Colin stood on a chair pushed up to the counter. Heather was pouring milk into the measuring cup Colin held over a large bowl. The domestic scene looked like something one would see in a greeting card. Tenderness flooded his system.

“That’s enough, Mommy,” Colin exclaimed, then dumped the milk into the bowl.

Heather set the milk carton aside and handed him an egg. “You remember how to crack this?”

“Yes, I can do it myself,” Colin insisted, snatching the egg from her hand.

Heather met Tyler’s gaze over Colin’s head. “Honey, I’ll be right back. Try not to let any of the shells get into the mix.”

Heather moved to stand in front of Tyler. She’d tied her dark hair back with a ribbon. White flour dusted her cheek. She looked so pretty and so fragile. The oversize sweats she wore hid her feminine form, but her beauty went deeper than her skin. It was in the gentle way she related to her son, in the way she’d taken care of Tyler’s injury. An injury she’d inflicted out of fear and the need to protect her child.

Beneath that soft female exterior was a strong and brave woman.

“Is something the matter?”

“No, everything’s good.” He was quick to assure her. “I was thinking I’d have the guys pick up my truck and head on over here. If you’re okay with that plan.”

The relieved smile she flashed hit him square in the chest.

“Of course it’s okay. That would be great. We’ll make plenty of pancakes.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Heather’s dining room was filled with three large men and one small boy who stared at the newcomers with awe as they ate pancake after pancake. She’d made a triple batch of pancake batter, fried up three pounds of bacon and made a gallon of orange juice. Though it had been years, she remembered what it was like to cook for hungry men. Ken had brought home his army buddies often to their small duplex on the Joint Base Lewis-McChord in Tacoma, Washington.

Heather didn’t blame Colin for being mesmerized. She’d forgotten what it was like to be around men like these. Hard men. Men who not only faced danger but sought it out.

She’d thought Tyler intimidating on his own. Flanked by his fellow team members, she pitied anyone who would take on this trio.

US Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent Blake Fallon’s hard features could cut diamonds out of stone. Though she doubted the stoic man realized how his penetrating dark gaze softened when he answered Colin’s many questions in the subtle accent of the Southern states.

The other man, Canadian Customs Border Patrol agent Nathanial Longhorn, was charm personified. His comments made Colin giggle in a way usually reserved for silly cartoons. But there was a lethal grace to the man that made Heather suspect he was the type of guy one wouldn’t want to cross.

“That was delicious.” Tyler tilted his chair back on two legs and smiled at her across the table.

His praise brought heat to her cheeks.

“Thank you, Mrs. Randall,” Blake said. His deep voice rumbled from his chest. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a decent meal.”

“Hey, now,” Nathanial said. “My cooking’s not that bad.”

Blake raised an eyebrow. “Says you.”

“You make a mean hot dog,” Tyler quipped.

Heather couldn’t help but laugh at the ribbing between the men.

“I will admit these pancakes were out of this world,” Nathanial stated, then eyed Heather. “There was a touch of vanilla and something else...”

“It’s a family recipe,” she said. “Highly guarded.”

He grinned. “Ha! A challenge. I’ll ferret out the secret.”

The front legs of Tyler’s chair dropped to the floor. Tension radiated off him in waves as he shot to his feet. “Someone’s here.”

A knock at the back door punctuated his words.

Wow, how’d he know that?

“Rob!” Colin cried, jumping out of his chair and racing to the door.

“Colin, wait!” Heather hurried after him.

Nathanial snagged Colin by the waist and lifted him off his feet. “Slow up there, speedy.”

Heather hadn’t even seen the man rise out of his seat, let alone beat her son to the door. He carried him to the living room. Within seconds, Nathanial had her son laughing hysterically as the man acted out a story.

Tyler moved to her side while Blake disappeared from the room like a puff of smoke.

Heather frowned at Tyler. “It’s Rob Zane. He’s a longtime employee.”

No doubt he suspected Rob was in on the drug ring, but, then again, she figured Tyler would suspect everyone on the farm.

She hated the thought that one of the farm’s employees could be involved in smuggling drugs and threatening her, let alone her brother’s death.

Especially the man her parents had trusted completely. She wasn’t about to drag Rob into the danger surrounding the farm.

Unless he was already mixed up in it.

The thought shook her to the core.

No. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, believe such a thing. Despite how uncomfortable he made her feel at times, Rob was a God-fearing man. Or at least he had been once. He’d been a friend of her parents for as long as she could remember. Despite the unsubstantiated suspicions that he’d been responsible for the fire that had claimed his family, he deserved the benefit of the doubt from Heather. Didn’t he?

“Heather?” Rob called, sounding worried.

“I have to answer the door,” she said to Tyler. “My parents trust him.”

Though his expression wasn’t pleased, Tyler gave her a sharp nod. His hand rested on his holstered weapon.

Heather opened the door. “Rob, we weren’t expecting you this early.”

He tried to peer around her. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Was his concern real or a ploy to garner her trust? She stared at the man who’d become a surrogate grandfather to Colin after her parents were killed and searched for the answer to her question. In all honesty, she didn’t know that much about Rob, but she had always trusted him with her son whenever they’d come home for a visit.

Now she wasn’t sure who she could trust.


FOUR (#ulink_8d83da2e-16b2-5d06-ab0a-b6d17c1c188a)

“I thought I saw someone through the window, and I wanted to make sure you were all right,” Rob said.

Tyler tensed, and his “something’s hinky” senses went wild. Rob had been watching the house? Why?

Needing to establish his cover sooner rather than later, Tyler stepped out from behind the door. The man standing on the other side of the door was average in height and build with blond hair. He wore corduroy pants and a thick jean jacket over a black turtleneck and he leaned heavily on a cane.

Horrible scars twisted the flesh of his hands and one side of his face. Empathy crimped Tyler’s gut. He’d read in the dossier about the tragedy the man had suffered, but seeing the evidence... Tyler could only imagine the agony Rob had endured, both physically and emotionally. Enough to need illegal drugs to dull the pain?

“Robbie!” Colin reentered the kitchen at a run and charged at them. Afraid the boy would bowl Rob over—he appeared unsteady on his cane—Tyler snagged Colin with one arm and lifted him to settle him on his hip. Glancing over his shoulder, Tyler saw Nathanial slip out the front door on Blake’s heels.

“Mr. Tyler, this is Mr. Robbie. He takes care of the Christmas Village.” Colin patted Tyler’s chest, having no idea of the turmoil he was causing inside Tyler. Holding the boy in his arms as if he were the child’s parent made Tyler’s heart ache in ways he’d never experienced. “Mr. Tyler’s a friend of—”

“Mine,” Heather interjected, cutting off her son’s words. “My new business partner, to be exact.”

Appreciating Heather’s quick thinking, Tyler held out his hand to the other man. “Hello, Rob. I’m Tyler.”

The man’s shrewd gaze bounced between Tyler and Heather and back again. After a long moment, Rob grasped Tyler’s hand. “Tyler, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Partner?” Rob released Tyler’s hand to stare at Heather.

A slight grimace pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Uh, yes.”

They hadn’t had time to come up with a proper explanation, so Tyler had to wing it. “I’m here to help Heather at this difficult time. More in a business advisory capacity than an operational partner.”

“Ah.” Obviously troubled, Rob slanted one brow upward at Heather. “I’m glad to see you’re all right. Since you have company, I’ll make myself scarce. When you’re ready, I’ll be in the village.”

“Me, too!” Colin cried, launching himself toward Rob. Tyler held on fast.

“We will go to the village after you’re dressed.” Heather lifted Colin out of Tyler’s arms and set the boy’s feet on the floor. As soon as he touched down, he darted off, running through the kitchen. The echo of his feet pounding up the stairs rang through the house.

Rob’s deep chuckle drew Tyler’s attention.

“That child never walks. He always runs.” Rob shifted on his cane with a wince.

“So I’ve noticed,” Tyler confessed.

“We’ll come help in the village a little later,” Heather told Rob.

He nodded and turned to leave, but he drew up short at the sight of Blake and Nathanial standing side by side at the end of the walkway.

Tyler had to admit they made a daunting pair. Big and brawny, the two men blocked the path. Tyler cut Heather a pointed look.

Understanding widened her eyes, and she nodded. “I forgot to mention,” she said, drawing Rob’s attention back to her. “I hired two more hands since we’re short-staffed.” She motioned to the two men. “This is Blake and Nathanial.”

Nathanial stepped forward and gave Rob a charming smile. “Hello. I’m Nathanial. It’s nice to be working with you.”

Rob shook his hand without comment.

Blake remained stoic as he shook Rob’s hand. “Blake.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Rob murmured.

“Rob, would you show the men to the empty cabin?” Heather asked. “And then introduce them to Don.” To Tyler she said, “He’s our unofficial foreman now that Seth is gone.” Her voice broke as she said her brother’s name. Tyler felt the stab of her grief like a sharp-tipped knife to the chest.

Rob nodded. “Of course. This way.” He hobbled away from the house.

Blake saluted Tyler. He inclined his head, acknowledging the agent’s communication. Their undercover operation was under way.

Shutting the door, Tyler said, “I’ll join the guys later.”

“The cabin’s barely big enough for two,” she said. “I was thinking you’d be more comfortable in the carriage house. It’s where we keep the sleigh. There’s an upstairs apartment with running water and a kitchenette.”

He’d seen the detached garage last night. Staying there would allow him to be close enough to quickly reach her and Colin if they needed him. “That would work.”

Colin rushed back to the kitchen and skidded to a stop beside Tyler. “Where’s Rob?”

Colin had pulled on a pair of sweatpants that were inside out and backward with the tag sticking out like a flag. He’d missed a few buttons on the plaid flannel shirt, no doubt in too much of a hurry to be careful. Tyler pressed his lips together to keep from smiling.

Heather bent down to talk to him. “He’s showing Blake and Nathanial to their cabin.”

“But we were going to decorate and change the lightbulbs at the village,” Colin complained.

“And we will. Later.” Heather rose and began clearing the table. She moved with fluid grace like a dancer. Tyler wondered if she had some training. She carried herself with an elegance that fascinated him.

Colin tugged on Tyler’s hand, drawing his attention away from Heather.

“Are you coming to the village with us?” Colin craned his neck to look up at Tyler.

Swallowing back the tenderness swamping him at having the boy’s hand clutching his, Tyler said, “We should help your mother clean up.”

“Okay.” Colin let go of his hand to grab a plate and then danced away from the dining table.

“Carefully,” Heather called just as the clatter of the plate hitting the sink mocked her warning. She cringed.

“Sorry.” Colin raced back to Tyler’s side. “I cleaned up. Can we go now? I want to help decorate.”

“There’s more to do, honey,” Heather said to Colin.

Needing to appease his curiosity, Tyler finally asked, “What’s the Christmas Village?”

Heather smiled at Tyler as she washed a dish. “Exactly what it sounds like. We have a gift shop, bakery, a toy shop, a model train depot and, of course, Santa’s house.”

“And the nativity! With baby Jesus and real animals,” Colin piped up as he stood on a chair to reach the empty bacon plate.

Tyler rushed to steady the chair before it tipped over. “Well, I definitely want to see this place.”

There was a lot about this farm he couldn’t wait to see. But, he reminded himself not for the first time, he wasn’t here on a social visit. He needed to stay focused on the objective. Protect Heather and her son while finding Seth’s killer and stopping the drug flow in and out of the farm. And that big Christmas Village meant lots of places to hide a journal.




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