Nick (The Kringle Boys Book 1) (11 page)

Phoebe had to ask.

“What is that thing?”

“Boss asked for a new lock.”

“Lock?” asked Nick, baffled.

“For the humans,” said Spokes, as though that explained anything at all.

“For the Manhattan portal,” said Phoebe as the pieces clicked into place, “With so much interest in the Candyworks and the elf community, it makes sense to put a lock on the portal to keep the curious out. The wards keep out dark magic, but not so much ordinary humans. That’s why the locations have to be kept secret.”

Spokes held out what looked like a shiny, brass doorknob.

“Key,” he said, succinctly.

“The key to the portal?” asked Phoebe, reaching for it.

But Spokes shook his head.

“Nah, all of ‘em.”

All the portals.

“Are you sure you want me to hang onto this?” asked Nick as Phoebe handed it over.

“I trust you,” she said.

And she did.

He frowned at her for a moment, his eyes intense, and then nodded, pocketing it.

Spokes snapped his fingers and the gadget disappeared, presumably to lock down the portal with elven magic. Phoebe smiled, admiring and a little jealous – her half-elf genes left her with some pretty spectacular traits, but she’d never be able to command magic like that.

“Got any pie?” asked the old elf, and headed toward the buffet.

Phoebe started as Nick took her hand, but didn’t pull it away, and they moved to join the other elves as the feasting continued.

WHEN THE CLOCK STRUCK nine, Nick raised a glass.

“I want to thank you all for all your hard work,” he said to the horde of elves that turned eyes shiny with mirth and champagne in his direction.

He could feel the flush rising in his cheeks, but pushed through – it wasn’t such a hardship to thank the workers. They’d gone above and beyond.

“Let’s get this order out and make Santa proud.”

A chorus of cheers, and more than one elf hopped forward to hug and pat him on the back.

“All right, don’t go overboard,” he muttered, embarrassed.

But Phoebe leaned up to kiss his cheek.

“That was very sweet,” she whispered.

Nick slid an arm around her waist, lower, for a quick squeeze of her bitable ass, loving the hot little squeak of protest and pleasure.

“Behave,” she scolded.

“Yes, Ms. Winters,” grinned Nick.

They all headed down to the loading dock together, the elves trying to outdo each other with competing Christmas carols and bad reindeer puns that had Phoebe giggling madly. Nick hoped they weren’t too drunk to load the truck. Ceremoniously, Nick opened the steel doors to the dock.

And immediately felt sick.

There was a chorus of horrified gasps behind him, and the bite of sharp nails into his arm where Phoebe held him in a tight grip.

No words were necessary, which was good, since Nick’s throat had closed up.

The candy was gone.

Shit.

“THERE MUST BE A rational explanation,” said Phoebe.

“I think, ‘it’s not possible’ sums it up nicely,” countered Nick, running agitated fingers through his hair.

The elves had moved past shock to noisy sobbing after twenty minutes of frantic searching proved that the candy had, indeed, disappeared from a magically sealed room. The surveillance tapes were mysteriously blank and there was no sign of a forced entry.

“OK, nobody panic,” said Phoebe, “We’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

“There’s no getting to the bottom of anything. It was Canning.”

Phoebe turned on him, eyes snapping, trying to control her own panic.

“Because Arthur now has the ability to walk through walls. Lovely. I’ll alert the media.”

“I don’t know how he did it, but he did.”

“You have to let this go, Nick! We’ve got a real problem on our hands, and your obsession with him has got to stop. What is it with you and Arthur, anyway? Are you jealous?”

Something flashed in Nick’s eyes and Phoebe’s breath hitched as she realized she’d hit close to the mark. This big, complex, deliciously sexy, infuriating man was jealous of Arthur Canning. That was an issue for tomorrow. As for tonight…

“What do we tell Santa?” Spokes’ quiet voice cut through the cacophony of tears like a knife, and there was sudden silence.

“Santa!” wailed Trixie, and the whole pile of them burst into tears again.

Disaster
didn’t come close to describing it. Without magical candy, the North Pole elves would never be able to keep up their energy and speed for the crucial last days before the holiday. Without the elves in peak condition, the toys would never be finished, and Christmas would be ruined.

And the candy supply couldn’t be replaced that quickly.

Phoebe rubbed her temples.

“Spokes, go tell the elves at the portal what happened and have them send anyone they can spare. Mirabelle, organize everybody into groups. We need to start searching the factory and the city.”

Spokes performed a snappy salute and hurried away, while Mirabelle started passing out handkerchiefs and emergency caramels from her personal supply.

Nick turned on his heel and started for the door.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

“To talk to that son-of-a-bitch and get our candy back.”

Phoebe dove after him, hanging onto his arm. Nick kept moving, his strength impressive, refusing to listen to her pleas or let her stop his progress toward the front entrance and out into the street.

“Nick, you can’t do this! There’s nothing to prove – ”

She stumbled on the snowy sidewalk and he whirled, inhumanly fast, to catch her. For a long moment, they were pressed together, his heat and the scent of pine whirling around her head, his eyes cold blue fire.

“I
have
to do this, Phoebe,” he growled, his lips a breath away.

God, she just wanted to kiss him, here in the snow, and make the whole dreadful last hour of the world go away. They could be up in his apartment right now, tangled in blankets in front of the fireplace, his eyes bright with passion as he stripped her and savored her from head to toe. Instead, here they were, with Christmas on the line, Phoebe’s career in jeopardy, and Nick about to pound an innocent man into a pulp.

“OK,” gulped Phoebe, “but we’re just going to
talk
to him.”

“Not ‘we.’ Me. You’re going back inside.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. Either we do this together in a civilized fashion, or I’m calling the cops.”

Nick glared at her and abruptly let her go.

“Fine,” he muttered, and stomped off across the street, earning a blare from a passing taxi that nearly ran him down.

Phoebe followed, a sick feeling of dread in her stomach.

No matter which way this went, it was
not
going to be good.

ARTHUR’S STORE WAS STILL open and buzzing with customers, so nobody noticed Nick and Phoebe making their way toward the back of the store and the staff offices.

Phoebe was still trying to make her case, and Nick clenched his teeth until the pain radiated through his skull to keep from arguing with her.

“See how busy this place is? Even if Arthur did have a way to steal our candy,
why
would he? He obviously doesn’t need the business.”

Arthur.

If Nick couldn’t get the candy back, Nick wondered if Phoebe would turn to Arthur. The need to punch something grew stronger as he pictured
that bastard
putting his hands on Phoebe’s curves, making her laugh, and the smug grin on the asshole’s face as he slid into her heat.

MINE.

The thought was immediate as cold rage settled into his stomach. Blindly, he reached for Phoebe’s fingers and,
thank God,
she didn’t pull back, wrapping the ice within in soothing warmth. He kept her hand in his as he pushed through the door marked PRIVATE.

The office was spotless, a well-furnished space with clean lines and a few pieces of well-chosen artwork on the walls. A wet bar took up one corner, and a giant framed map of the city dotted with the store’s branches was propped against a bookcase.

Arthur Canning looked up from a file, startled. His face settled into smug confidence as he recognized them, though he tried to mask it with surprise.

“Why, Phoebe, I didn’t expect you.”

“I’m so sorry to barge in like this, Arthur – ”

“No, she’s not,” growled Nick.

Arthur sat back, splashing a little more scotch from the cut crystal decanter into the glass on his desk.

“Well, then. I hope you’re here to accept my job offer, Phoebe. I had a feeling Mr. Kringle wouldn’t be too happy about that. ”

For a moment, Nick forgot all about the missing candy and saving Christmas.

“He offered you a job?”

“I hadn’t said yes. Yet.”

Nick heard the small hesitation before that last word and wanted to rip something to shreds, preferably the asshole watching them with that superior smile on his face.

“I haven’t made up my mind, Arthur. I’ll let you know,” said Phoebe, her chin coming up in that mutinous way that Nick found intimidating and sexy as hell, “We’re not here about that. Actually – ”

“Give the candy back.”

Arthur frowned.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“The magical elf candy you stole from the loading dock tonight.”

“You think
I
had something to do with it?” Arthur laughed, “And how do you suppose I got into a presumably secure area without anyone noticing me? I’m only human, you know.”

“If you had nothing to do with it, you won’t mind if we search your warehouse.”

Arthur shrugged.

“Come back with a warrant and you can do anything you like.”

Nick snapped, lunging over the desk to haul a startled Arthur up by the lapels. He shook him like a rag doll, shoving him against the bookcase. Arthur struggled to get free, landing a couple of punches, but was no match for Nick’s brute strength coupled with a hefty dose of inherent magical muscle.

“Nick! Oh my God, don’t!” pleaded Phoebe, yanking on his arm.

Nick felt the touch, but shrugged her off as rage pushed him hard.

“This is the worst mistake of your life,” spat Arthur, disheveled, his lip bleeding, “If someone stole Santa’s magical candy I think we all know where to look. There’s only one person in this room who has spent his life trying to ruin Christmas, and it isn’t me.”

Nick dropped him, the verbal barb more effective than any right hook.

Arthur whipped out a handkerchief to wipe his lip, the sight of blood seeming to infuriate him even more.

“Before you go hurling accusations, let’s not forget that I’m not the one with access to every room in your factory. I’m not the one who’s the son of Santa’s worst enemy. I’m not a soulless, icy freak.”

“It wasn’t me,” gritted out Nick.

“You can explain that to Santa. And to my lawyers. Whatever you think you know about him, Ms. Winters, he can’t be trusted.”

Nick turned to Phoebe, who had fallen silent, her eyes huge.

“It wasn’t me,” he repeated, “
Phoebe.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but suddenly Nick couldn’t bear to hear the doubt that she was harboring inside. He could see the conflict in her eyes, knew she was wrestling with everything she knew about him – the rumor and the truth – and coming up short. Nick knew a few short days acquaintance and some scorching sex wasn’t enough to wipe away a lifetime of bad behavior, and her doubts were realistic, but they
hurt.
He wanted her to trust him, as she said she did.

“Forget it,” said Nick.

“Wait, Nick – ” began Phoebe.

“He’s right. You shouldn’t trust me.”

“You’ll be hearing from my attorneys, Mr. Kringle,” said Arthur, as the door closed behind him.

AFTER A STUNNED MOMENT of silence, Phoebe fled Arthur’s office with more haste than grace, not bothering to make an excuse as she struggled to deal with the wave of guilt that swamped her the moment Nick turned all that desperate resignation her way.

I should have said something,
she berated herself, searching the icy street for Nick, but he was already gone.

She called herself a hundred un-elflike names under her breath as she hurried back toward the factory, realizing she’d handled the situation badly. It was the shock, more than anything, of realizing that Nick was perfectly positioned to pull off such a horrendous scheme, and that the seemingly sophisticated and polite Arthur Canning was rotten to the core. Unfortunately, he was also right. To the outside world, it wouldn’t matter that Nick had seemingly reformed – he was Jack Frost’s son, and blood ran true.

Except that it didn’t.

Phoebe cursed her moment of doubt.
Of course
Nick didn’t do it. She’d told him that she trusted him, and she did. This was a deliberate, malicious, criminal act, and maybe the old Nick would have been capable of it, but the new Nick was a cantankerous, difficult,
honest
,
trustworthy
man. And she loved him.

I’ve got a funny way of showing it. Girlfriend rule number one. Don’t assume your boyfriend is a Christmas-destroying thief.

Phoebe stopped short outside the factory door.

Nick Kringle was her boyfriend. And she loved him.

Dammit.

And Phoebe Winters wasn’t about to let him crash and burn.

Determined, she opened the door and stepped inside. Much as she wanted to scour the city looking for Nick and proving that she didn’t believe a word of Arthur’s vicious lies, there was work to be done.

By dawn, the search of the factory was complete and the elf search parties had returned from an exhaustive search of the city with dour faces and wrung-out anxiety. More than anything, Phoebe wanted to send them all home and close up for the day, but she couldn’t. There were orders to fill, and they had to use what was left of the magical sugar – not much – to make whatever candy they could to send up to North Pole Village to stave off the impending disaster.

Her feet hurt, her back ached, and her body was wound tight with suppressed arousal after a night spent in all the nooks and crannies of the factory – too much exposure to sugar had gone from making her feel uncomfortably aroused to just uncomfortable. Once she’d gotten the elves back to their stations and seen that everybody had started work for the day – albeit unhappily – she trudged up the stairs to the office. She supposed she could have snuck into Nick’s apartment and crawled into bed, but the thought of not finding him there, or worse, having him throw her out without giving her a chance to apologize, was too much to handle. She’d have to content herself with a quick catnap at his desk.

Phoebe pushed the door open.

The elf sitting behind the desk was neat as a pin, with a carefully groomed handlebar moustache and a shiny pair of gold-rimmed spectacles on his pointed nose. He chewed thoughtfully on a licorice whip as he perused a file, but looked up with a smile as Phoebe entered.

“Phoebe Winters! My, how you’ve grown up. The last time I saw you, you were knee-high to a candy cane.”

“Mr. Berry! What a nice surprise.”

She tried to pull herself together.

“Please, call me Rupert.”

“We didn’t expect you, or – ”

Mr. Berry shook his head, tsking as he polished his spotless glasses.

“Terrible business. Terrible. North Pole Village is falling apart. They’ve got a day’s worth of candy left, tops.”

Phoebe took the news like a blow, the thought of her fellow elves suffering on her watch, of the disappointment from her friends and family, of the disapproval from Santa. That last one was the worst. She didn’t have to be on the Naughty List to feel like the lowest of the low.