Mistletoe and Murder. Jenna Ryan

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СКАЧАТЬ his head during those prison years.”

      “I’m a good cop, O’Keefe.”

      “I’m worried about Romana, too, okay? Lie and tell me you’ve forgotten that incredible face.”

      Jacob slid his gaze to the window. “No, I haven’t forgotten her face.” Or anything else about her. “He won’t go after Romana, okay? I’ll make sure of it.”

      “Ah, finally, we arrive at the crux of it. You’ll make sure he doesn’t go for Romana by getting him to come after you.”

      With his eyes still on the windows and his lips curved in a smile, Jacob asked, “Shouldn’t you be heading home to your kid about now?”

      “Nah, she’s with her mom in Los Angeles. Indefinitely. It’s one way to get custody, I suppose. Move to a place with sunshine, beaches and an excess of skater boys.”

      Jacob hunted for and located his keys and badge. “We’ll have that beer before Christmas, Mick. And thanks for the heads-up on Critch.”

      “I’ll keep an eye on Romana.”

      Jacob ignored the tightening in his belly as he shouldered his holster. “I’m late. Tell Captain Harris I’ll be working on the Parker case tonight.”

      “Watch your back, Jacob.”

      His back, right. Except it hadn’t been his back Warren Critch had been aiming at in that alley six years ago. And Jacob knew he hadn’t done a damned thing to prevent the confrontation from taking place.

      Shrugging into his lined leather jacket, he noted that the snow was falling more heavily now. He clipped his badge to the waistband of his jeans and headed for the stairs.

      He didn’t believe in signs or portents, but human tendencies and inherited traits were different matters. And while he might wish he could dismiss them, in six long years he’d never quite been able to get past what might actually be.

      What he might have done.

      He raised his eyes skyward, realized where he was looking and let wry amusement rise. His father was dead, but there was no chance he’d gone upward in the afterlife. If hell existed, his old man would burn there forever. Who knew, one day his only son might be joining him.

      Because he didn’t want to think about the night ahead—or anything or anyone else right then—Jacob concentrated on his neighbor’s music as he started down the stairs.

      Seventy-eight-year-old Denny Leech had been blasting Rat Pack Christmas songs on her ancient stereo for the past two days. She claimed Frank, Dean and Sammy ignited her creative fire. Painters needed inspiration. The problem was, Denny was painting her entire lower loft with one very small roller and a brush she’d found in the trash. In her case, creativity could take until Easter to play out.

      She waved to him through her open door. “I’m doing a northern lights ceiling mural, Jacob. My granddaughter’s coming over Sunday to see it. You remember Penelope, don’t you?”

      “Yeah, she’s very pretty.”

      “You’d make a lovely couple. She’s growing her hair. She’s a blonde now…”

      Humor kindled as he pushed on the rear door. Denny’s voice followed him out. She’d talk for five more minutes before she realized he was gone.

      He’d parked his black SUV in the alley early this morning. Had he alarmed it? A movement near the snow-covered hood suggested he’d forgotten.

      “Punctual as always, Detective Knight. I love that quality in a man.”

      Romana Grey. He’d recognize that seductive purr anywhere. He also recognized the act she put on as she strolled around the fender.

      She did it well, better than most people, but she had to be as uncertain of him now as she had been after Belinda Critch was found dead on her living room floor.

      Jacob ran his gaze over her long white coat and black boots, then back up until he encountered her striking gray-blue eyes. “You love too easily, Romana. Why are you here?”

      She leaned on the hood with her customary teasing grace. “You didn’t answer your phone this afternoon, Detective.”

      He felt the tightening in his groin and shifted position. “I work the night shift. I sleep in the afternoon.”

      “And let me guess. You don’t listen to your messages or check your mailbox when you wake up.” She produced a red envelope from her pocket, held it between two gloved fingers. “Wanna guess who sent this?”

      Something black and oily slid through his veins. He paused before reaching out. “Is it the same as the others?”

      “Not quite.” At last the nerves jittered through. “This one’s darker, more malevolent.”

      The light in the alley was bad. Jacob squinted at the red-lettered message inside. “Looks like he wrote it with his left hand.”

      “It looks like he wrote it with his left foot, but the print’s consistent with the other cards. I’ll have that verified tomorrow,” she promised at his quick glance. “I still have friends in the crime lab.”

      “I thought the crime lab was your ex’s territory.” Jacob jockeyed for a clearer view of the words. “How’s Connor doing these days? Living fat on the Hanson family money?”

      “I’m not going there with you.” Romana let her hood fall back, slid her gaze down the alley and breathed out. Her expression softened as her mental focus shifted. “I believed him when he said he could make his own way in life without his family. I know he believed it.”

      “Instead, he took bribes, cut deals and lied to you.”

      Her smile was fast and false. “Thanks for the emotional lift, Knight. I needed it after that card.” She watched him for a moment, before arching a shrewd eyebrow. “Do you want me to tell you what it says?”

      “If you can, you’ve got Superman’s vision.”

      “What I have is an excellent memory. ‘I send you a Christmas greeting, Romana Grey,’” she quoted. “‘A kiss for you, for the murderer you saved. It is the Kiss of Death.’ Nice, huh?” She bumped his tire with the heel of her boot. “There’s a sprig of mistletoe on the front. Can’t imagine what he came up with for you. It’s a mass-marketed card. I checked it out first thing. They’re sold all over the country, same as the other five he sent, except this time I have a creepy feeling Critch delivered it himself.”

      “Delivered it where?”

      “Into my purse. Don’t say it,” she warned at his sharp look. “You shop in crowded stores, you get jostled. You open your purse for credit cards, parking money, donation drums.”

      “Hands slip inside, remove wallets.”

      “We’re talking about something that was added not subtracted.”

      “You were a cop, Romana.”

      “And now I teach СКАЧАТЬ