Christmas Confidential (3 page)

Now, wasn’t that a cheery happy-holidays thought?

“I am sorry, Miriam.”

“Okay.” She locked her gaze on a minivan with out-of-state plates at the gas station next door, kids piling out of the back, herded inside by their father while their mother pumped gas. Suitcases were lashed to the baggage carrier on the roof, and piles of brightly wrapped gifts were visible in the rear storage space. Did those kids realize how lucky they were? Did they know they would look back in twenty years and forget the long hours of traveling and the squabbling and just remember that they’d been together?

Probably not. Look at Dean. He had his entire family, minus parents, ready to welcome him into their midst for Christmas, and instead he chose to stay here in Texas and...what? What use could he possibly have for Miri now?

The money, of course. It was only reasonable to assume that as soon as she got out of prison, she’d take the money and run. Returning it to John W. Smith—
Mister
Smith, she scoffed—would turn her case from merely solved to successfully tied up, restitution made and everyone happy except Miri.

In Dean’s dreams. That money belonged to her and nothing—no one, she added as he started the engine to back out—was going to take it away.

Once they’d merged into traffic on the interstate, he turned on the radio and for a moment, Christmas music blasted into the car. One good thing about prison: she hadn’t been forced to endure six weeks of “Jingle Bell Rock,” “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” or “The Christmas Song.” Before she finished the thought, though, he switched to a CD, Eric Clapton singing the blues. Much more appropriate to her mood.

They’d gone through that and a Joe Bonamassa disc before Dean spoke again. He was no longer making an effort at charming her. “Where do you want to go?”

She looked around and saw that they’d covered the distance into the city while the music distracted her. “My old neighborhood.”

His look was sharp, but he said nothing. He hadn’t liked the area around her apartment, or so he’d said. She needed to find someplace safer, less scary. As if he’d cared.

She wouldn’t forgive him for making her think that. Wouldn’t forgive herself for being so gullible.

The traffic, the crowdedness, the buildings looming everywhere disconcerted her, knotting her stomach. She’d lived her entire life in cities. They were wonderful places for getting lost, for being anonymous, but suddenly she was having trouble filling her lungs. Once she’d made contact with her sisters and brother, she would find a small town to settle in, maybe near them if they were open to that, maybe somewhere out west where she could finally start that brand-new life she’d been longing for since she was ten years old.

“Now where?”

She looked around again and recognized the down-on-its-luck neighborhood she’d called home for two years. On the four corners where they waited at a red light sat the market where she’d bought huge cups of diet pop more for the finely crushed ice than the drink, the dry cleaner where she’d dropped off her work clothes every Friday, the gas station where she’d filled her car when she forgot to do so at the cheaper stations on the way to work and a bar that did steady business all day and into the night.

Three blocks away was one of the storage facilities she’d rented more than a year ago.

“You can let me out here.”

“Come on.” He shot her an impatient look. “You don’t expect me to just leave you on a street corner.”

“I don’t expect anything of you.” She’d learned that the hard way.

“I told you I’d take you wherever you want to go.”

“I want out here.”

“Miriam—” A horn blasted behind them, and he scowled into the rearview mirror before turning the corner and pulling to the curb. “You don’t even have a place to stay.”

“I had access to both mail and telephones in prison. I took care of that.” She unbuckled the seat belt and reached for the door handle. His hand on her arm stopped her.

“Tell me where you’re staying and I’ll take you there.”

The smile that curved her lips as she turned to look at him was cool and a reminder of the chill deep inside her. “Why would I want you to know where I’m staying? Given our past—”

“You said you didn’t hold the job against me.”

“I don’t.”

“Then I don’t get—” He removed his hand to drag his fingers through his hair. “I said I’m sorry, damn it.”

She stared at him a long time, committing every detail to memory—as if she’d ever forgotten. “Some things can’t be fixed with an apology.” Her father had taught her that.
I’m sorry, but I can’t live this way any longer.
And later,
I’m sorry, but I can’t take you with me.
Later still,
I’m sorry, but she’s not my problem. Neither are you. I have a life, you know. Obligations.

She, Sophy, Oliver and Chloe hadn’t even ranked as obligations to their father.

Mister
Smith.

Before Dean could say anything else—or, worse, touch her again—she opened the door, climbed out, then closed it again with a solid
thunk.
She was in Dallas. Sophy’s gift was only three blocks away. Dean Montgomery was about to drive out of her life forever.

She was ready to take the next step, and she did it literally, turning to cross the sidewalk and go inside the market. The clerk behind the counter was the same elderly Vietnamese woman who’d worked there a year ago. She looked up from the customer she was waiting on, and a rote smile flashed across her face. Not a sign that she remembered Miri, but just the way she greeted every customer.

Miri browsed up and down the aisles, keeping an eye on the street outside. Dean sat there for a long time, long enough to change the clerk’s expression from polite to suspicious. Miri picked up a couple of candy bars, a bag of potato chips and filled a monster cup with ice and diet pop, and finally Dean drove away from the curb. Satisfaction settled over her. Weird how it had a kind of disappointed feel to it.

She was the lone customer at the counter when she paid, adding a last-minute purchase of a ball cap. Sliding her change into her pocket, she ripped the tag from the hat, then picked up the bag and the pop before asking, “Would it be okay if I go out the back door? There’s a man...” She gestured toward the street, even though the Charger was gone.

The woman’s gaze narrowed, but after a moment she nodded toward the rear door that led into the storeroom, then to the back door. As Miri was walking that way, the woman murmured, “Welcome back.”

Miri stumbled, a sharp sting in her chest making her breath catch. The woman remembered her, even though her entire adult life she’d worked so hard at being forgettable that she’d actually become it. “Th-thank you.”

The storeroom’s heavy steel door opened into an alley that stank of refuse. Clamping the hat on her head, hair gathered up beneath it, she removed her jacket and shoved it into the plastic bag. As camouflage went, it wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. She walked to the far end of the street, eyes shifting constantly, then turned left for a block. There was no sign of Dean anywhere, thank God.

There were no decorations attached to the light poles, but about half the businesses she passed had some sign of the holiday: wreaths on doors, paintings of Santa, reindeer and plump snowmen on the plate-glass windows. Snippets of the Muppets singing carols came from one open door as she passed, too sudden to tune out.

At the next alley, she turned again, zigging and zagging until she reached the storage facility. The chain-link fence was lined with Christmas lights, even its sagging sections, and life-size replicas formed a manger scene in the yellow grass outside the office door. Overhead, garish red-and-green lights on a sign flashed out greetings and Bible quotes.

She’d rented the smallest-size locker eighteen months ago, paying cash for two years, to store what few belongings she’d brought to Dallas with her: clothes, keepsakes, books. On good days, her mother had read the books to them every night. On bad days, her flair for the dramatic soared over the top, funny and entertaining until they—at least Miri and Sophy—had realized the behavior was a sign that something ugly was about to happen. Those were the days their father had turned cold, eventually sending their mother to bed where she cried inconsolably. A day, or two or three, later, she would emerge from the bedroom, smiling, happy once again, but each time more fragile, like a delicate glass ball that might shatter.

Miri opened the door and walked into the space, barely bigger than a closet. By the light of the dim bulb overhead, she pried the lid from a plastic tub, took the backpack off the top and began stuffing it with clothes. She located the few bits of her mother’s jewelry she’d been able to hang on to and zipped them into the pack, then added Sophy’s favorite of the thin, flat storybooks. She traded her jacket for a sturdy coat from another tub before opening the bin labeled Dishes
and taking out the final, most important item.

Boo was close to thirty years old, the size of a small child, and he showed the wear of a well-loved bear. His button eyes didn’t match, and his fur was rubbed bare in places. One ear stood straight, the other flopping over, and thick black
X’
s stitched on his left arm showed Miri’s brief foray into a surgical career.

To most people, he would look old, worn and worthless.

But most people didn’t know about the quarter of a million dollars stuffed into his middle.

Slinging the backpack over one shoulder, she wrapped both arms around Boo’s neck, locked up and headed back the way she’d come. It wasn’t more than a mile’s walk to the bus station, where she hoped she could catch a bus heading east.

She was afraid to even hope much for a good reception when she got there.

But at least Sophy would surely welcome Boo.

Chapter 2

W
hen a song about decking the halls came on the radio, Dean jabbed the button to shut it off. He’d like to deck something, but it sure wasn’t a freaking hall. What kind of P.I. was he if he couldn’t even follow one woman who stood out in every crowd she’d ever been in?

Two, no more than three minutes—that was how long he’d been gone from the convenience store, just long enough to drive down the block and make a U-turn, and when he’d come back, Miri was already gone. Guessing she’d gone out the back door, he’d driven for an hour up and down the streets, through alleys and three times past the apartments where she used to live. He’d seen few blondes and none that was even vaguely familiar.

For the past hour he’d driven in widening circles, so focused on the women on the street that he felt like a perv. Where would she go? She had no friends in Dallas, no family. With her lack of ties, logic dictated that after leaving prison, she would get the hell out of Texas and go someplace where she could enjoy Mr. Smith’s money in peace.

But where? He’d gone over every conversation they’d ever had, trying to remember if she’d mentioned any place she would like to visit, any place she missed, but he came up blank. He’d talked about the future—in general terms, since he was posing as the new IT guy at John W. Smith Global and restricted from telling too much truth—but she’d never said a word about her plans. No
I’d love to be soaking up rays on a Caribbean beach
or
hiking in the Rockies
or
eating my mom’s pierogies in Michigan.

So, continuing with logic... To leave Dallas, she needed transportation. This close to Christmas, airline tickets were tough to come by. Buses and trains, he had no idea. She no longer owned the old Toyota, and—

She’d asked the prison guard where she could catch a bus. When he’d wondered where she was going, she’d shrugged and said,
Dallas, for a start.
He’d directed her to the town nearest the prison, where she would have caught a Greyhound, if Dean hadn’t shown up, which would have delivered her directly to the bus station in Dallas—
for a start.

Since he didn’t have any other clues, he headed toward the station. Traffic was heavy, and tension made him grip the steering wheel hard when he was moving and drum his fingers on it when he wasn’t. He didn’t want to lose his shot at the finder’s fee. More than that, he didn’t want to disappoint Mr. Smith. If not for the business he’d thrown Dean’s way, the P.I. office would still be a barely-breaking-even one-man job. Now he had three employees, and he finished each month with a nice bit of change in the bank. He owed Mr. Smith.

He didn’t like leaving a case unfinished.

And he especially didn’t like being outsmarted.

The bus station was busier than he expected. He couldn’t imagine a much worse fate than being stuck on a bus for endless hours, with no control over who sat beside him or what they did while they sat there. Plus, it put him in mind of grade school when he’d had to ride the bus every day, the target of three kids who’d lived to torment him. One, no surprise, had ended up in prison. The second was a career non-commissioned officer in the Marine Corps, and the third had become a minister. Holy crap.

Finding a parking space half a block away, Dean locked the car and tugged his jacket tighter as he walked to the station. According to the weather guys, a cold spell was moving into Texas today on its way east. There was talk about snow for Christmas, something he could definitely live without.

He walked through the terminal, scanning passengers. There were couples, families, people traveling alone, some toting bags of gifts, others with nothing more than a backpack or duffel, one clutching a big stuffed bear. None of them was Miri. After waiting in line, he showed the woman at the ticket counter Miri’s picture. Dorrie, with big hair and no smile, flashed it around at her coworkers, then handed it back without a word.

Okay, the bus hunch was wrong. No one could have sold a ticket to Miri in the past few hours—the past few
months
—and not remembered her.

He’d been so smug when he’d caught sight of her outside the prison. The day had sure gone downhill fast since then.