Mistletoe Justice

FRAME-UP

Someone has framed Darci Tucker for embezzlement—and she’s pretty sure it’s her boss. The real criminal will do anything to make sure she doesn’t talk, from breaking into her home to hacking her computer. Her only hope for regaining control, and protecting her young son from danger, is Conner Stevenson. Desperate for answers about his sister’s sudden disappearance, Conner is determined to uncover why the bookkeeper was named a target. Now Darci and her son have become pawns in a deadly game, and as Conner races to protect them, he finds he wants more than justice. He may want a family for Christmas after all…if they live that long.

Fear overtook her face.

“As much as I don’t want to go back there alone, I have no choice.”

“You’re not alone.”

Conner mentally shook away the crazy thoughts. When Darci decided to let a man back into her life, it would be someone who had what it took to be a father and husband. That someone wasn’t him.

Darci shook her head. “I won’t put you in danger. This is my fight, not yours.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Just who are you?”

“The missing woman is my sister. The night she disappeared she called me. Said she was scared and on her way over.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. If only…

No. Second-guessing himself was wasted energy. All the regrets in the world wouldn’t change anything.

“And?”

He met Darci’s eyes. “She never made it. Your boss apparently got to her first. And from the look of things, he’ll get you next.”

CAROL J. POST writes fun and fast-paced inspirational romantic suspense and lives in sunshiny central Florida. She sings and plays the piano for her church and also enjoys sailing, hiking, camping—almost anything outdoors. Her daughters and grandkids live too far away for her liking, so she now pours all that nurturing into taking care of two fat and sassy cats and one highly spoiled dachshund.

Mistletoe Justice

Carol J. Post

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Enter His gates with thanksgiving and His courts with praise; give thanks to Him and praise His name. For the Lord is good and His love endures forever; His faithfulness continues through all generations.

—Psalms 100:4–5

As always, I want to thank my family for your encouragement and support. And special thanks to Mom Roberts and Mom Post for promoting me to all your friends!

Thank you to my critique partners, Karen, Dixie and Sabrina. You have a great eye for seeing the things I’ve missed. Your input is invaluable.

Thank you to my editor, Rachel Burkot, and my agent, Nalini Akolekar. I’m so blessed to be working with both of you.

And thank you to my husband, Chris. If I had it to do over again, I’d do it all over again.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Gravel crunched beneath the tires of the old Corolla. Beyond the reaches of its headlights, the darkness was thick. A full moon had begun its ascent, but hidden behind the acres of pine forest, it wasn’t much help. The mine was an eerie place at night.

Darci Tucker rounded the final bend, and the view opened up. The office building stood to the left. Ahead and to the right, mounds of dirt rose in the slanted moonlight, a mini-mountain range against a dimly lit sky.

She turned into the parking lot and tightened her grip on the wheel. Two cars sat in front, a white Mercedes and a silver Lexus. The Lexus wasn’t familiar. The Mercedes was. When she’d left work forty minutes earlier, the place had been deserted. Now her boss was back. Mr. Wiggins wouldn’t appreciate her interrupting his after-hours meeting. But she’d left her phone on her desk and wouldn’t return until Monday.

She circled around the building and stopped at an unmarked door. Maybe she could slip in through the employee break room without bothering anyone. Rupert Wiggins was the chief financial officer of P. T. Aggregates and her direct supervisor. But he had his hands in all the operations. And he was a tyrant. During her five and a half months of employment, she’d never been the recipient of his wrath, but she’d seen him ream out enough others to know she’d rather avoid that temper.

When she stepped from the car, a cool breeze swept her hair into her face. She tucked the strands behind her ear and pulled her jacket more tightly around her. In mid-November, some parts of the country were bracing for a long winter. Not Florida. Its first cold front of the year had lost its bluster before reaching the Georgia-Florida line.

She crept toward the building, key in hand, and peered through the window. The break room was dark, but dim light came from elsewhere, probably the hall that led to six of the offices, hers and Wiggins’s included.

As she stepped inside, murmured words drifted to her. Wiggins and his guest. She tiptoed closer, and when she rounded the last corner, the muscles in her neck and shoulders tightened. Her boss’s office door was open, his light on.

Then an angry shout stopped her in her tracks. Wiggins wasn’t pleased. The other man responded, but she couldn’t make out the words. He was hoarse, as if he had laryngitis.

“You want out?” Wiggins’s voice was still raised. “It’s a little too late for that now.”

She held her breath, straining to hear the stranger’s answer.

“I don’t like the way you’re doing things.”

“Tough.”

After another moment’s hesitation, she spurred herself to action. She wasn’t going through the weekend without a phone, especially after driving forty minutes to get back. She’d almost made it to Cedar Key before she realized it was missing.

She crept down the hall. Wiggins’s office was at the end, but she wouldn’t go that far. Interrupting him when he was angry might have serious consequences.

Wiggins continued, “We had a problem, and I took care of it. I did what had to be done.”

“And you crossed a line that I wouldn’t cross.”

The derisive snort that followed came from Wiggins. “You haven’t complained about the money you’re raking in, so don’t go getting pious on me.”

Darci stepped into her office without turning on the light, her pulse pounding in her ears. That didn’t sound like a disagreement over business practices. Not ethical ones, anyway. If they knew she had overheard, losing her job would be the least of her worries.

Before she could reach her phone, the screen lit up and a drumbeat sounded. She froze just inside her doorway, her heart lodged in her throat. Other instruments joined in, bringing the ringtone to full volume. The conversation at the end of the hall ceased.

The thud of footsteps kicked her body into motion. She flew around her desk and dived under it a nanosecond before bright light filled the room. Both men approached.

She swallowed hard and clenched her fists. Her hands were ice-cold, but perspiration dampened her palms. Dear God, please don’t let them look under the desk. They were standing so close she could have reached out and touched their shoes.

Wiggins gave a dry laugh. “Chill. It’s just her phone. You’re way too jumpy.”

“And you’re not jumpy enough.”

The voice penetrated her spiraling thoughts. Beneath the raspy tone was the hint of something familiar.

“There’s no reason to be nervous. No one’s here but us.”

Several excruciating moments passed before the men moved toward the door. Strength drained from her body, relief tempered with caution. She wasn’t safe yet.

“How much does Darci know?”

At the raspy words, relief fled. Dizziness assaulted her, as if some unknown force had sucked the oxygen from the air. She did know the man. At least, he knew her.

“Absolutely nothing.”

“And if she finds out?” The confidence in Wiggins’s voice was lacking in the other man’s.

“She won’t.”

“The other one did.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she doesn’t talk.”

Dread knotted her insides. Someone flipped the light switch, casting the area into semidarkness, and the men stepped into the hall. Her head was tucked and turned to the side, her neck bent at an awkward angle, her knees pressed into her cheek. But she didn’t move. No matter how long Wiggins’s meeting lasted, she would wait it out.

His office door closed with a soft thud, and footsteps again sounded in the hall. Maybe they were done for the night. Wiggins always kept his door locked. Now she knew why.

The other man spoke from just outside her office. “How many people do you think can disappear before someone suspects something?”

Tension that had just started to ease returned tenfold. Disappear?

“It won’t come to that.” There was a coldness in the words that shot straight to her core. “I have ways of guaranteeing silence. Darci Tucker won’t be a problem.”

“You’d better not hurt her.” A threat lay underneath the tone.

The footsteps moved away. Yes, they were leaving. Wiggins gave another derisive snort. He had condescension down to a science. “Sounds like you’ve still got feelings for my accounting manager.”

The hallway light clicked off, casting her in darkness. The other man’s response didn’t reach her. Wiggins’s next words barely did.

“You’re so used to women falling at your feet, you can’t get over the fact that one told you to take a hike.”

Darci crawled out from under the desk and tiptoed to the doorway. Who was Wiggins talking to? Someone who’d hit on her at some point. But that wasn’t much help. Since starting at P. T., she’d been asked out by several employees, as well as a couple of vendors and customers—the joys of being the only single female in a predominantly male work environment. But with a special-needs four-year-old who required her attention, she wasn’t in the market for any of it.

She emerged from her office and crept toward the front of the building. The entry door opened then closed, and a key turned in the lock. Now alone, she slipped into the lobby, avoiding the soft light spilling in through the two large windows. Outside was Wiggins’s Mercedes. The Lexus was next to it, backed in, but with the angle and heavy shadow, the license plate was obscured.

She couldn’t identify the man, either. He stood at his driver’s door with his back to her, the hood of his lightweight coat flipped over his head. Wiggins gave him a rough pat on the shoulder and moved toward his own vehicle. Then they both drove away into the night. A relieved breath fell from her mouth. They didn’t circle around back, so she could escape unnoticed.

Anxious to be gone, she hurried toward the break room. As she stepped into the damp night air, she heaved a sigh. She could have been at her parents’ house, snuggled up on the couch with Jayden while a Disney movie played on the big-screen TV.

Instead she was sneaking around in the dark like a fugitive. She could have gotten herself killed. And she still didn’t have her phone. But she couldn’t take it now that Wiggins had seen it.

From day one, she’d never liked him. He was overbearing, arrogant and patronizing. And crooked. Though she didn’t know what it was, Rupert Wiggins was involved in something shady. Someone had found out. And at least one person had disappeared.

She slipped her key into the lock and slid the dead bolt over. The other one did. The other what? The other accounting manager? Wiggins had said she’d quit without notice. Maybe she’d found something and didn’t want to be there when it all blew up.

Darci frowned. If she was smart, she would do the same thing.

But that wasn’t an option. She needed her job. The years she ran Darci’s Collectibles and Gifts had been good. But during the summer months, keeping her head above water had been difficult. So she’d sold the shop and applied for several jobs. When she landed the one at P. T. Aggregates, she’d been thrilled. First with the pay. Second with the insurance benefits. Both opened up opportunities for Jayden that she didn’t have as a self-employed store owner. It had almost seemed too good to be true.

Maybe it was. Maybe her dream job would become a nightmare.

A chill that had nothing to do with the cool weather swept over her. She turned and headed toward her car. Tonight’s conversation confirmed what she had suspected all along—Wiggins wasn’t a man to be messed with.

Well, he had nothing to fear from her. She wasn’t a sleuth. She wasn’t even a detective wannabe. Whatever he was involved in, she was content to just do her job and stay blissfully ignorant.

Because if Wiggins even thought that she knew his business, he would deal with her. He had ways of guaranteeing her silence. He would make sure she didn’t talk.

Maybe he would even make her disappear.

Dear God, what have I gotten myself into?

* * *

Conner Stevenson eased to a stop at the entrance to the mine and waited as two vehicles exited the gravel drive. The first was Rupert Wiggins’s Mercedes. The CFO of P. T. Aggregates was well paid. That power and prestige showed in everything he did, from the way he carried himself to how he talked down to those under his command.

But Wiggins could talk to him any way he liked. Conner was right where he wanted to be. After five months of trying to land a job—any job—with P. T. Aggregates, he’d finally succeeded. The glowing recommendation from C. S. Equipment had had a lot to do with it. But nothing that Sandy, his HR person, had said was false. He really did know his stuff. He had years of experience with heavy equipment repair—overseeing, as well as hands-on. Sandy had just failed to mention that he was the owner of the company.

Conner made his way up the gravel drive, a crumpled McDonald’s bag in the seat beside him. He wasn’t finished working, but the trip off-site had been necessary. Not only had he been half-starved himself, but his nephew, Kyle, had needed something to eat. So had the teenage neighbor girl Conner had rooked into helping him after the previous babysitter quit. If he was lucky, she would survive until he found a replacement.

Conner sighed. He’d take it a day at a time. One minigoal had been reached—he now had his foot in the door at P. T. Today completed his first full week as their equipment mechanic. Actually, tonight would complete it. His first week on the job, and he’d almost been whipped by a Caterpillar.

But after cleaning the carburetor, installing a new manifold and changing a couple of hydraulic cylinders, he was on the home stretch. It was a good thing. Wiggins said the backhoe had to be running by the end of the day. He just didn’t say what time.

As he rounded the back of the office building on his way to the equipment area, something moved at the edge of his headlight beams. He drew his brows together. No one should be there. The mine didn’t run a night shift. He turned the wheel left and angled his pickup toward the building.

White light flooded the scene. An older red Corolla sat parked in front of the back door of the break room, picnic tables to one side. A figure stood frozen in his headlight beams, eyes wide. Dark, windblown hair framed a pale face.

It was Darci Tucker, the accounting manager. The same position his sister had held. He hadn’t officially met Tucker, but he’d seen her around and knew who she was. He’d made it a point to find out. Based on what a couple of his coworkers had told him, Tucker had shown up two weeks after his sister had left.

Except Claire hadn’t left. She’d disappeared. Vehicle and all.

The cops investigated, talked to her friends, neighbors and coworkers. After coming up with nothing, they’d finally given up. Maybe they would have stuck it out longer if Claire hadn’t had a habit of disappearing every few years since age sixteen.

But this time was different. She’d been clean for over a year and was working a steady job. And she was finally being a mother to her seven-year-old son, had even started taking him to church.

And there was that phone call, the last time they’d spoken. She’d called to say she was on her way over. Said she’d discovered something and was scared. She never made it. And he never found out what that “something” was.

He eased to a stop but didn’t pull into a parking space. Checking out Claire’s friends and neighbors had led nowhere, so he’d expanded his unofficial investigation to her workplace. It looked as if he was on the right track. Apparently Wiggins’s after-hours meeting had included Tucker. And judging from her deer-caught-in-headlights pose, she hadn’t planned on being seen.

He lowered the window and tilted his head through the opening. “I’m Conner Stevenson, the new mechanic.”

His words jarred her into motion. She swung open her driver’s door.

“Pleased to meet you.” She didn’t introduce herself.

“I have to finish a repair on the backhoe. It’s giving me fits, but I get the impression Wiggins doesn’t entertain excuses.”

“Wiggins can be demanding.” She gave him a slight smile, but still appeared poised to bolt at any second.

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. I just came back to get something.”

His eyes dipped to her hands. One held a set of keys. The other was empty. She wasn’t even carrying a purse. If she had really come back to get something, it was apparently small enough to fit inside the pocket of her lightweight jacket.

“Did you find what you needed?”

She nodded, the motion stiff and jerky. “Yep. Everything’s good.”

That was a lie, if he’d ever heard one. He held up a hand. “Have a nice weekend. Mine starts in about an hour, if the Caterpillar back there will cooperate.”

“Good luck.”

She got into her car and backed from the space. When she pulled forward, she released the clutch too quickly and the car lurched. At the edge of the building, she made a sharp turn onto the drive, and its back fishtailed, slinging gravel.

Conner frowned. Darci Tucker couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

He stepped on the gas and headed into the field. Someone at P. T. Aggregates probably had information about Claire’s disappearance. But he had a Caterpillar to wrestle. And he needed to get it done and get home before Jenna threw in the towel, like the four sitters before her had. No matter what kind of recommendations they came with or how much experience they had, one week with Kyle had put each of his babysitters at the end of her rope.

He could relate. That was exactly where he had been since Kyle stepped over his threshold. And he couldn’t blame the kid. He never knew his dad, and now his mom was missing. He was moody and bitter and angry at the world. And Conner hadn’t the slightest clue how to help him.

He brought his F-150 to a stop next to the service truck that held his mechanics’ tools. He hadn’t signed up for this. He was supposed to be free and single and enjoying life. He was still single. But freedom had flown out the window the moment his sister disappeared. And it had seemed like three forevers since he had enjoyed his life.

He sighed and stepped from the truck. Maybe when he was finished, he would do a little snooping. He dismissed the idea as soon as it came. The incriminating stuff was likely to be inside. What he needed to do was get to know this Darci Tucker, which wouldn’t be an easy task. According to his coworkers, she kept her guard up. As the only young, single woman in the company, she probably felt like a guppy in a tank full of sharks.

But he wasn’t going to hit on her. And not because she wasn’t attractive. She was. She was short—a good eight or nine inches less than his six feet. Her dark hair reached her shoulders, its soft, silky waves begging to be touched. With those expressive blue eyes that sparkled with life and that spontaneous smile that so often lit her face, she possessed a down-to-earth beauty that had piqued his interest from the get-go.

But he had too much on his plate to think about romance, which was a good thing. His prospects had totally dried up over the past six months. Women weren’t looking for men with baggage, especially in the form of a seven-year-old with a stinkin’ attitude and a smart mouth.

He opened the back doors of the service truck, pulled out a set of wrenches and approached the monster backhoe. He would figure out a way to get to Darci Tucker. Because he had no doubt—Claire didn’t just take off. She finally had her life on track. She liked her job. She loved her son. And she’d found the contentment that had always eluded her. She didn’t walk away from it all. At least not by choice.

If Wiggins was involved, he was good at concealing it. Tucker wasn’t. She had guilt written all over her.

Or maybe that wasn’t guilt. Maybe it was fear—not at him having seen her, but of something much more sinister.

The same fear his sister had felt.

* * *

Sharp white light spilled from the fluorescent fixture overhead, chasing the shadows from Darci’s office. She dropped her purse and a small cooler on the floor of the closet then twisted the wand on the miniblinds. Outside, fog blanketed everything. It was a dreary Tuesday.

But the gloominess wouldn’t last. In another hour, the mist would burn off and the sun would continue its ascent, blazing a path upward in a beautiful blue sky. Florida wasn’t called the Sunshine State for nothing.

She slid into the swivel chair behind her desk. She enjoyed her job. Even though she wasn’t a CPA, her bachelor’s degree in accounting and finance, along with her years running Darci’s Collectibles and Gifts, more than qualified her to be the accounting manager at P. T. Unfortunately, none of her courses had included the chapter on dealing with difficult bosses.

She reached into her in-basket and picked up the stack of time cards piled there. Her first task of the day would be running payroll. Then she would work on the October financial statements, along with her staff meeting report, a job she had hoped to finish last Friday.

Friday. The now-familiar disquiet settled over her, and she swallowed hard. She’d come so close to getting caught. If her phone had rung on her way out, when she was sneaking down the hall...or if Wiggins had looked under her desk...

But he hadn’t. Although he’d stood less than two feet away, he hadn’t known she was there. Thank You, Lord. As long as it stayed that way, everything would be fine.

Unfortunately, the new mechanic had caught her leaving. Even stopped to introduce himself. Conner something. She remembered him, had seen him in the break room several times that week. He was the kind of guy women noticed—green eyes that sparked with restrained humor, honey-colored hair that always looked casually tousled and a bearing that radiated confidence. Yeah, hard to miss.

Hopefully, he wasn’t much of a talker, because if he said anything to Wiggins about seeing her there...

As she began alphabetizing the time cards, worry gnawed at her. Her chances would be better if she hadn’t acted so guilty. Maybe she should just talk to the mechanic and ask him not to tell anyone about seeing her Friday night. But that would make her look even guiltier. No, she’d better keep her mouth shut and pray the mechanic did the same.

She had just finished payroll when a familiar voice drifted down the hall. And she almost dived under her desk again. Jimmy Fuller owned a large commercial construction company and bought aggregate from P. T. He also insisted on hand delivering his checks. It gave him three or four opportunities a month to hit on her.

Footsteps drew closer and Fuller’s athletic frame filled the doorway. With that deep golden tan and sun-bleached hair, he was used to women throwing themselves at him.

“Hello, beautiful.”

She laid the time cards on her desk. Let the other women have him. Those model looks were wasted on her. So were the pickup lines.

“Hello, Mr. Fuller.” She stayed with the formal address. He wasn’t much older than she was, maybe thirty-five to her twenty-six. But she wouldn’t get too chummy with him.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “Come on, Darci. When are you going to start calling me Jimmy?”

“Probably never. I’d only be encouraging bad behavior.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “I’m crushed. But I’m not giving up. If I keep coming in here almost every week, I’ll eventually talk you into going out with me.”

“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.