Clandestine Christmas. Elle James

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      “Here we are.” Hannah stopped outside a plain wood and smoked glass door marked Records—Do Not Enter and knocked.

      “Can you get into hot water for this?” Chad asked as she opened the door.

      “Don’t let the sign scare you. I think more people enter because of it.”

      She peered around a series of metal shelves. “Schindler?”

      There was a long silence, then a short, brawny man stepped from between two of the metal monsters over-burdened with worn manila folders.

      “Hannah, is that you?” She leaned closer to Chad. “The running guess around the precinct is Danny Schindler lifts file folders in lieu of weights in his spare time.”

      Chad got a whiff of her skin. She never had idea one how much her nearness affected him while they were together. The passage of time told him she still didn’t have a clue. It was the innocent smiles, the innocuous comments, the spontaneous touches that always got to him more than any obvious overtures. Then again, Hannah was obvious about nothing but her opinion. And she’d welcome his reaction—innocent or otherwise—as much as she’d welcome a bad sunburn on her fair skin.

      “Hey, Danny, I see you’re still buried up to your neck in files,” she said, oblivious to Chad’s thoughts. Which was just as well. If she caught a hint of what was going on in his mind, she’d likely push him into a taxi the instant they hit the street again.

      “Yeah, well, you remember how it is. A crime a second and all that. Someone has to keep track of them all.”

      Schindler scrutinized Chad as Hannah introduced him.

      Chad crunched the clerk’s hand in his, giving the muscle-bound geek a once-over before Schindler turned back to Hannah.

      “Tell me you’re not still living the life of a bounty hunter.”

      “Bail enforcer,” Hannah corrected.

      “Then this is more than a I-was-in-the-neighborhood-and-thought-I’d-stop-by visit, isn’t it?”

      She appeared slighted. “Now, would I be so crude as to use our friendship for my own professional gain?”

      The smile never wavered from Schindler’s face. “Every chance you get.” He dropped the files he held to his overloaded desk. Chad watched one slip toward the edge then fall to the floor. He didn’t move to stop it. “What can I do for you, Hannah?”

      “What have you heard on the two arrested at PlayCo?”

      “The team that unofficially skipped bail from Lower East?”

      “That’s them. I need whatever L.E. has on them. Can you handle it?”

      “There is nothing I can’t handle, you know that.”

      Schindler picked up the telephone and called what Chad guessed was his fellow records clerk at the Manhattan precinct.

      “Danny and I go back a ways,” Hannah quietly explained.

      “So it seems.” Chad settled his weight more evenly as he listened to Schindler persuade the person on the other end of the line to fax him the information.

      “What are the odds on them having something we can use?” Chad asked, shifting through the files strewn across the desk.

      Hannah closed a file he had opened. “Better than average. I’m sure PlayCo kept files on them. Whatever was in them was no doubt turned over to the police.” She tried to take another folder from him but he refused to let it go. She sighed. “Would you quit? We could get in enough trouble as it is.”

      Chad opened the file and scanned the contents. “You didn’t seem too concerned before.”

      “That’s because I’m used to being in trouble with the hierarchy of this precinct.” She pressed her index finger into his chest. “You, on the other hand, could very well be arrested for just being in this room.”

      Chad gazed at her finger, then slowly followed it up to her face. The finger against his chest grew suddenly hot. She quickly removed her hand.

      “It might be an enjoyable experience. Provided you’re in the cell with me,” he said.

      “It took a little doing, but Janice promised to fax the records right over,” Schindler said, hanging up the receiver. As he spoke, a telephone rang in the corner and the fax machine sprang to life. “And here they are now.”

      The three of them watched the information roll in. The physical data sheets listed Lisa Furgeson as a thirty-five-year-old female with blond hair and blue eyes, five feet, six inches tall, one hundred and thirty pounds. Eric Persky was a thirty-eight-year-old male with light brown hair and green eyes, six foot two, two hundred and fifty pounds. Grainy black-and-white copies of pictures followed.

      “Thanks, Schindler.” Hannah pulled the last page from the holder, looking to where Chad gazed over her shoulder. It took all of his restraint not to curve his arms around her waist and pull her against him, just as he used to do, back before—

      He took a step backward, barely aware of putting distance between them. Her closeness reminded him of times he had no right remembering. He watched Schindler offer Hannah a manila folder to put the fax in. Her hands shook as she put the flimsy paper into the file folder. Apparently she was as aware of their closeness as he was.

      “It’s a start.” Chad concentrated on something other than the shadow of fear in her wide blue eyes. “Mug shots, charges….” He reached around her, turning the top of the folder open, careful not to touch her as he did so.

      Hannah moved farther away from him. He dammed the groundswell of emotion her rejection aroused.

      “I’ve…I’ve got to make a phone call.” She hurried away from him and toward Schindler’s desk a few feet away.

      “Be my guest,” Danny offered. “You need anything else, give me a yell. Oh, and I think that it goes without saying, but this little…transaction stays between us, okay? The last thing I need is Marconi coming down on me.” He grinned. “I think that’s the last thing you need, too.”

      “You can say that again.” The records clerk disappeared between the towering metal shelves. Chad turned his attention back to Hannah. She tugged the slip of paper Blackstone had given her from her pocket and started dialing a number. Chad rubbed the back of his neck, easing the tension bunched there. Who had left her a message at Elliott’s office?

      “Hi, it’s Hannah,” she said into the receiver, turning away from where he looked on.

      The familiarity of her tone didn’t sit well with Chad.

      Had she become involved with someone else since their breakup? He stiffened, something similar to jealousy burning through him. He wanted to take the receiver from her pretty little hand and hang up on whoever was on the other side of the line. Instead, he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets.

      “I see,” Hannah said into the phone. Chad slowly stepped around the other side of the desk, watching her brows draw together. What? Trouble in paradise? Good.

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