Mistletoe Justice. Carol J. Post

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      “You can tell yourself that if it makes you happy.”

      He crossed her office and handed her a windowed envelope with a check inside. “No, what would make me happy is if you finally said yes.”

      He started to laugh again, but his laughter turned to coughing. When he was finished, he pulled a cough drop from his pocket. “Excuse me. I’m getting over a bad sore throat. No love ballads today.” He unwrapped the lozenge and put it into his mouth. “I’m just now getting my voice back.”

      Realization slammed into her. Fuller had lost his voice. Just like Wiggins’s visitor. She replayed phrases in her mind. The man had a slight Southern accent. So did Fuller. And Fuller had asked her out. Numerous times. Wiggins had said that she’d told him to take a hike. And she had, in so many words.

      But did Fuller have feelings for her, like Wiggins claimed? Probably not. With guys like him, love had nothing to do with it. It was all about the thrill of the chase. Once they had what they wanted, the challenge was over and they were soon off on their next adventure.

      But what did she know? Having not dated in five years, she was pretty rusty. Fuller was possibly the mystery man. She would try to avoid him. Of course, she’d been doing that for the past five and a half months. Easier said than done.

      After Fuller left, she pushed both him and Wiggins from her mind and reached for the mouse. With her October entries made, it was time to print the financial statements. As the sheets fell into her printer tray, she opened the reports folder on her computer. The latest file was the report for September, presented at the October staff meeting.

      She drew her brows together. Where was the report she’d created last week? Granted, she hadn’t gotten that far. It was mostly just notes of things she needed to include. But she would rather not have to start over.

      Maybe she’d saved it to her local drive instead of clicking through to the server. A few seconds later, she heaved a satisfied sigh. There it was, under My Documents on her C drive...

      Right below a folder titled D. Tucker Personal.

      What in the world? She hadn’t created that folder. She had no reason to. She didn’t do anything personal at work.

      She clicked on the folder and two files appeared. One was labeled Transactions. The other was untitled. They were both created Saturday, 8:58 and 9:01 p.m. She clicked on one, then the other, frowning at the security window that popped up. Both were password protected.

      The air whooshed out of her lungs and she flopped back in her chair. There was only one reason for those files to be on her computer. Someone was setting her up.

      The man with the raspy voice didn’t want her hurt. But Wiggins didn’t have to hurt her. All he had to do was frame her, making it impossible for her to go to the police without implicating herself.

      A weight pressed on her chest, and she struggled in a breath. Burying her head in the sand was no longer an option. Neither was leaving P. T., at least until she made sure that nothing would follow her and eventually land her in jail. The problem was, she had no idea where to start.

      The last one did. The words circled through her mind, as disturbing as when she’d first heard them. And her next step became clear—she needed to talk to the prior accounting manager.

      She logged on to the payroll program and brought up terminated employees. Claire Blackburn was near the beginning of the list. After pulling a Post-it from the dispenser, she jotted down the address and phone number. She would try to contact her tonight.

      And maybe she should check out Jimmy Fuller. She logged on to the Division of Corporations website and did a search for his company name. Nothing strange there. The business address matched what she used for billing. James Fuller was listed as the president. The vice president was...Lori Fuller? Her eyes shot back up to the president information. Same address. Not only was Jimmy Fuller a sleazy womanizer, he was married.

      Without warning, Wiggins’s doughy figure filled her doorway. She jumped and clicked off the site. His eyes darkened with suspicion as he stared down at her, eyebrows dipping toward the bridge of his nose, the edges of his mouth turned downward. When he crossed his arms, the gesture wasn’t playful, as when Fuller had assumed the same position a short time earlier. And it wasn’t done to show off rippling biceps, as she always suspected with the younger man. No, Wiggins’s pose was meant to intimidate. It was working.

      “Goofing off, are we?”

      “No. You startled me.” She held up the small stack of paper. “I just finished printing the financials.”

      Wiggins shook his head, his eyes scolding. “I know what you’re doing. You’d best let sleeping dogs lie, or you’ll get bit.” Without giving her an opportunity to respond, he stalked down the hall toward his office. Except Wiggins didn’t stalk. More like swaggered—the cocky gait of a man who thought too much of himself.

      What was he, psychic? How did he know she was snooping?

      She reached for the mouse and moved her report to the proper location. Wiggins had never been her favorite person. When she’d applied for her job, she’d interviewed with Peter Turlong, the owner, who divided his time between their Florida and Georgia mines. But since acquiring a mine in South Carolina four months ago, he’d left the Florida location in Wiggins’s hands. He might live to regret that decision.

      Meanwhile, everyone was forced to put up with Wiggins. He didn’t just run a tight ship. He micromanaged every employee there. And she was no exception. Every report she did, he went over with a fine-tooth comb.

      But when he’d stood in her doorway glaring down at her, he hadn’t been concerned about her work performance. He’d been afraid she was snooping. A man with secrets had every reason to be afraid.

      Wiggins was making a big mistake. She had her hands too full with her own issues to worry about the business of other people. But now that he had involved her, he’d left her with no choice.

      First she would try to talk to Claire Blackburn. Then she would go to Cedar Key police officer Hunter Kingston, not in an official capacity, but as a friend.

      And she would pray like crazy that she could find a way to escape the noose that was tightening around her neck.

       TWO

      Darci’s eyes shot open, and she lay tense and alert, the remnants of a nightmare still holding her in its grasp. In her dream, she’d discovered something important, although she couldn’t remember now what it was. She had looked up to see Wiggins watching her and she had run. She was still running when she awoke.

      But it wasn’t the nightmare that had awoken her. It was something else. Every instinct she possessed seemed to warn her of impending danger.

      She waited in the darkness, but there was nothing. Just a lingering sense of unrest, as if somewhere beyond her awareness, something evil had penetrated the security of her world.

      Then a soft shhh pierced the silence, and her senses shot to СКАЧАТЬ