752 79 510KB
Pages 55 Page size 612 x 792 pts (letter) Year 2007
Tinsel Time by Ericka Scott
Tinsel Time By Ericka Scott
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Tinsel Time by Ericka Scott
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Tinsel Time Copyright© 2007 Ericka Scott ISBN: 978‐1‐60088‐206‐7 Cover Artist: Emma Petersen Editor: Nancy Baker All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Cobblestone Press, LLC www.cobblestone‐press.com
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Dedication To Santa...because I still believe!
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Prologue The letters start arriving as early as June. A few are typewritten; some are written in painfully neat cursive. For the most part, the letters are printed with poor penmanship and spelling. Some are composed entirely of pictures drawn on lined notebook paper. Once, the request came in the form of an empty Barbie doll box from a heartbroken little girl whose favorite doll had been lost when her family moved. Despite the format, they all began the same. Dear Santa. This one was different. Tinsel could tell by the way Santa held the card. His face was ashen. To Tinsel’s distress, even his hands were shaking. From her vantage point at the desk across from Santa’s big chair, it looked like an ordinary Christmas card. Santa got a few each year from friends and retired elves. From his reaction, the card didn’t contain greetings of the season or anything resembling good news. Tinsel got up from her desk. Santa was so intent on the card he didn’t notice her until she’d finished reading the card over his shoulder. Dear Santa, All I want for Christmas is Tinsel. And if I don’t get her this year, you die! The message sent cold tendrils of fear out to clutch at her heart, and she gasped. Santa jumped and dropped the card in his lap. He put his hand over his heart. “Mercy, child, you scared me. I’m sorry, Tinsel.” Santa
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looked up at her with a sheepish expression. His pale blue eyes glinted behind his glasses. “I never wanted you to see these.” “There’s been more?” Tinsel stared at Santa in disbelief. “Show me the others.” Santa hefted himself out of his ornate carved chair with reluctance and walked over to his seldom‐used desk. His hands shook a little as he unlocked the bottom right drawer. Inside was a stack of identical Christmas cards. “Are they all the same?” Tinsel asked. Santa nodded, but she could tell he was hiding something. “Who in the world are the cards from?” Tinsel scrunched up her face. “At first I thought they were from your family,” Santa began. “When the Mrs. and I adopted you, the magistrate assured us the files were sealed.” “Whoever it is knows my adopted name. How odd…” Tinsel chewed on her bottom lip as she thought. “I can’t imagine anyone threatening you. We have to take this seriously. What can we do to keep you safe?” “Oh, heavens, Tinsel. I’ve received a card like this for the last eighteen years. I’m not the least bit worried about it,” Santa said, but something about his manner belied his words. Although Santa held out a hand to stop her, Tinsel reached into the drawer and withdrew one of the cards. She opened it. The wording was identical to the first; however, there was no threat to Santa’s life on this one. She pulled out a couple more and again noted there was no death threat on any of them. “This one is different. This one threatens your life.” Tinsel waved the most recent card under Santa’s nose. “You have to take this seriously. Someone could lie in wait for you and kill you. We have to do something.” “No, we don’t do anything. It’s important to keep you safe. I’ll be okay.” Santa’s smile looked forced.
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She was sure Santa thought the threat was serious. So why wasn’t he doing anything about it? Granted, he couldn’t quite call the police, but there had to be something they could do. What would they do if something happened to him? Well, he might be too proud and stubborn to ask for help, but she wasn’t. No, she’d hire the bodyguard for him. “So, please, don’t worry about me, sweetheart. Nothing’s going to happen,” Santa said. “Promise me you’ll forget you even saw the card.” Tinsel flashed a smile at Santa, hoping he couldn’t see the wheels spinning in her brain. It was only a few days until Christmas, so she didn’t have much time. She took her time composing a response that would both reassure him and not be an outright lie. “I’m not going to promise. But I’ll try not to worry.” “Okay.” Santa pressed a kiss to her forehead. He went back and sat down in his chair. She noticed he wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as he pulled out the next letter to read. Tinsel went back to work. Unable to concentrate on the invoices, she waited until he was distracted to slip out of the office. The hallways were decorated for the holidays. Boughs of holly hung over the doorways, delicate ornaments hung from strands of garland along the top of the walls, and Silver Bells played over the public address system. When she’d first come to live at the North Pole, she’d been overawed by the decorations that hung year‐round. After the first year or two, she’d stopped noticing them. Today, however, everything seemed to come into sharp focus. Goose flesh danced up her arms as she had a sudden feeling of grief and loss. Nothing, absolutely nothing, must happen to Santa. She strode down the hall, muttering to herself. How did one go about hiring a bodyguard? There was always the Internet but, as a security precaution against corporate espionage, Santa got a printout of all Internet activities at the Pole. She paused in the middle of the hallway, causing an elf following too closely behind her to squeak in sudden alarm as he bumped into her. “Sorry,” she murmured. Her mind was chasing down an idea. Bodyguards had to advertise, right? She’d just seen a whole stack of
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newspapers somewhere in the plant. She turned on her heel and walked back the way she’d come, heading toward the packing plant. The papers were where she’d remembered them. She grabbed The New York Times on top of the pile. Flipping through to the ads, she was amazed at the variety of employment opportunities afforded to people in the Big Apple. Under her thumb, she saw an ad circled in red. Noel Holiday, bodyguard. Available for holiday events. Well, she’d definitely define Santa’s Christmas Eve deliveries as events. She pulled out her red‐and‐white‐striped cell phone and punched in the numbers. The line was answered on the third ring, and Tinsel started babbling out her story until she realized she was talking to a machine. She drummed her fingers, waiting for the beep to signal her time to speak. “Hello, you’ve reached Noel Holiday. Please leave your name, phone number, and the date of your event. I’ll call you back as soon as I’ve checked my calendar for availability.” The male voice was deep and warm, like melted chocolate, and made her shivery all over and hot in certain places at the same time. Tinsel left a message but hung up with an unsatisfied feeling. What if he didn’t call back? Besides, she’d want to interview him in person. She’d just pop down to New York and talk to the guy. It wouldn’t take long, and no one would be the wiser. Santa had rescued her once. Now it was her turn to save Santa.
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Chapter One “I want my job back, damn it.” Noel Holiday didn’t try to hide the desperation in his voice. He was bored and antsy. Every time he heard a siren wail, which in New York was about once a minute, he jumped. Police work was his life, his reason for getting up in the morning and the reason he couldn’t sleep at night. He’d never felt as if he belonged anywhere until he started with the force almost ten years ago. The precinct was like his second home. Now that was being held out of his reach like a carrot on a stick. Dr. Snow, the NYPD staff psychologist, shook his head. His blue eyes were frosty and his expression grim. “I understand. Truly, I do. But I cannot clear you for duty. It is not normal to see Pilgrims and Indians sitting down for dinner in Central Park.” “Well, I figure it would be normal on Thanksgiving day,” Noel protested with a wave of his hand. “Only it was a few days before. I figure that’s because we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving on the exact date.” Noel tried to inject a little humor into the situation but realized he was wasting his time when he noticed the stony expression on Dr. Snow’s face. He’d been seeing Dr. Snow for several weeks now and had never seen the man so much as crack a smile. He’d almost begun to wonder if Dr. Snow were even human. There were no family pictures on the desk, no knick‐knacks on the bookshelf, and all the books on the shelves were arranged by size and color. The medical diplomas marched in a straight line across one wall, each exactly four or five inches apart. Noel suspected
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the good doctor was a little, okay maybe a lot, obsessive‐compulsive. Not for the first time, he questioned why he’d been sent to see a man who so clearly had issues of his own. Yep, he decided, the man was a robot. Every week it was the same. In fact, Noel could have repeated his closing speech verbatim. He resisted the urge to mouth the words along with Dr. Snow. That would probably get him kicked off the force permanently. “Head injuries are tricky things, Mr. Holiday. You’ve recovered your physical strength in remarkable time, but…” Dr. Snow paused to jot notes in Noel’s chart. The awkward way the doctor held his pen revealed scarring on the underside of his arm, and Noel questioned whether it was from a botched suicide attempt. “It’s my recommendation for you continue to rest and recover until you no longer have these fascinating hallucinations. It’s obvious you are unable to separate your fantasy life from real life. Combine visions with police work, and the results could be deadly. You are still taking your medication?” “Yes.” Noel met the doctor’s gaze steadily as he lied. “So, let’s make an appointment for…” Dr. Snow stood up and fussed with the files on his desk. He flipped open his appointment book and scanned the pages with his brow furrowed in concentration. “January seventh at one.” Noel stood up and took the appointment card the doctor proffered. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Holiday.” Merry Christmas, indeed. Noel fumed all the way out of the building. He pushed open the heavy glass doors of the building, and the blast of arctic air cooled his face if not his temper. Damn it. He wanted, no, he needed to get back to work. Clandestinely, he’d put ads in the paper offering to provide bodyguard protection during holiday events. Disability be damned. He’d known other officers who successfully moonlighted as bodyguards. But damn it all, he’d had no takers. Only a few prank phone calls, including one last night. Someone needing a bodyguard for Santa! He snorted with disgust and pulled his coat tighter. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an ornate, carved wooden sleigh pulled by two prancing reindeer and driven
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by a pretty redhead wearing a long red fur cape over candy‐striped coveralls. Even more ludicrous, she wore a perky red and green elf hat. No one else paid any attention as the sleigh pulled up along the curb in front of him. Shit, it was happening again. Noel closed his eyes then opened them again slowly. The sleigh and its beautiful occupant were still there. Guess he should have expected it, being as it was the day before Christmas Eve. Perhaps tomorrow he’d see the big guy himself. Why in the hell had he been the one to answer the call on Halloween night that had landed him in this ludicrous position? He’d responded to a simple breaking and entering. When he pulled up in front of the shop, he’d been surprised to see a witch on the sidewalk, complete with a steaming cauldron. Two skeletons and a black cat were dancing in a circle around the witch. When he got out of the car and asked them what they thought they were doing, one of the skeletons threw a jack‐o‐lantern at him while the witch chanted an incantation. He woke up two days later in intensive care. His arms and legs were weak, and they told him he had a month or so of physical therapy ahead of him. The worst part occurred two days later during the full moon when the entire hospital had been overrun by werewolves. Unfortunately, only he could see them. That episode won him a week’s stay in the psychiatric ward. A couple of weeks of physical therapy, counseling, and eleven bottles of prescription medications later, the hospital finally released him. On one condition. He couldn’t go back to work until he’d been cleared by a psychologist. So he sat at home feeling pitiful and spiteful. He would have ventured out of the apartment more, except he didn’t want to take the chance of seeing odd things. Like the pilgrims in Central Park. No, what he needed now was a drink. He had to find a bar, and fast. Especially now, since his latest vision was chasing him down the street calling his name. Tinsel spotted a man matching Noel Holiday’s description walking down the street. She’d never tried out Santa’s GPS locator to find a person before. Miracle of all miracles, it had worked. She slid out of the sled.
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“Noel. Noel Holiday!” She knew he could hear her. But, instead of stopping, the man just walked faster. So, it was him. She stood still for a second, trying to catch her breath. She was never going to catch up with him, not on the slick pavement in these curled‐toe boots. As if in answer to her wish, Noel turned and entered a building. Tinsel walked as fast as she could then skidded to a stop right inside the doorway. A bar. It had been so many years. Even now, she wasn’t sure why she had been in a bar as a small child. The inside of her nose tingled with the remembered scent of stale beer and cheap wine. She shuddered. At least in this bar, there was no lingering scent of cigarettes. However, oil from frying food in the kitchen hung in the air like mist and, in response, her stomach rumbled. She glanced around and sighted her quarry at a table in the back. Taking his order was a waitress in a skimpy outfit, revealing more skin than it covered. She saw the appreciative glance Noel cast in the direction of the woman’s cleavage. Hmm. What to do? Thinking about all the television detective shows she watched, she came to one conclusion. Detectives couldn’t turn down a sexy woman, even if she wanted him to do something he considered to be crazy. With a sly smile, she reached up, inched the zipper of her coveralls down and took a surreptitious look at herself in the mirror over the bar. Grimacing, she pulled off her hat. Her shoulder‐length red hair was tousled. Since it was curly, it never looked quite neat anyway. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were red from the cold. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be looking at her face. She slid the zipper down another inch and was pleased with the result. Just right. She slid into the seat across from Noel. He glanced up at her and then went back to studying the surface of the table. People had scratched all manner of graffiti into the wood. In front of her was one of the recent additions. Mery Xmas. Tinsel traced her fingers over the rough surface and hoped it was a good sign. The waitress sidled up to the table and slid a beer toward Noel. “And for the lady?” she asked him.
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Noel made eye contact with Tinsel, and his eyebrows shot up toward his hairline in surprise. “I’ll have a hot apple cider, please,” Tinsel replied. When the waitress had left the table, Noel leaned across and whispered. “She could see you.” “Of course, she could.” Tinsel shook her head at him. “Everyone can see me.” Noel reached out a tentative hand and touched hers. The warmth of his skin against hers started a tingle from her fingertips all the way up her arm. “You’re real,” he said. “Of course, I’m real.” “You were driving a sleigh.” Noel’s voice was still low, but he was looking at her with a less speculative look in his eyes. “It’s just a little Christmas magic.” She shrugged and leaned back as the waitress placed a steaming mug of cider on the table. “Do you need anything else?” Noel shook his head, never taking his eyes from her. Tinsel felt a sudden rush of pleasure when she noted Noel’s attention was now focused on her cleavage and not the waitress’. “So what are you?” Noel asked when the waitress had drifted off to take the order from another table. What was she? What an odd question. Perhaps finding Noel had been a mistake. She could always go and buy another newspaper, find a different bodyguard. Time was ticking. Christmas Eve was only one day away. She didn’t have time to chase down more bodyguards. Besides, she didn’t need him to think; she just needed him to keep Santa safe. As a bodyguard, Noel fit the bill. He was tall, and his face was all right for the job, too. Rugged, with brown hair badly in need of a trim, just the right amount of stubble on his cleft chin, and the warmest brown eyes she’d ever seen. Noel sat up and shrugged out of his coat. She tried not to gasp as the muscles bunched on his arms—she could almost see them rippling through his flannel shirt. And she was positive she’d find a tight six‐pack
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hidden under the soft fabric. Oh my. She got all hot in all the right places just thinking about taking his clothes off. Reigning in her imagination, she decided she’d better get down to business. “My name is Tinsel.” She held her hand out for him to shake. “Like the silver stuff you put on Christmas trees?” “Yes. I was born on Christmas day.” “Hey, me, too.” Noel suddenly smiled, and it lit up his whole face. His brown eyes sparkled, and two dimples flashed in his cheeks. Then his smile dimmed. “However, it’s been a rotten Christmas so far.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You probably don’t want to hear about that.” “Sure I do,” Tinsel said. “Well…you see…I’m a cop. I got injured on the job a couple of months back. The doctor won’t clear me until after the New Year, if then. To tell you the truth, I’m going a little stir crazy.” “Oh, so you can’t work at all?” Her spirits flagged. She’d come all this way and was now going to have to start over. “Well, I can’t work at the precinct. I’ve been filling up my time doing some bodyguard work here and there.” “Oh, that’s why I—” Tinsel began. Noel didn’t seem to hear her. “Heck, I’ve been in such demand even prank callers are asking for my services. Can you believe some woman called yesterday wanting to hire me as a bodyguard for Santa?” Noel laughed. “Heck, if it pays, I’d guard Little Miss Muffet.” He took a deep gulp of his beer. Shit, shit, shit. Tinsel didn’t often curse, but now seemed as good a time as any. Prank call indeed. Now what was she going to do? While she was thinking, her gaze met Noel’s across the table, and time seemed to stand still. Tinsel struggled to take a breath. Perhaps the hot cider had gone to her head. Whatever it was, she liked it. She felt warm all over, and her nipples tightened, seeming to strain against the rough fabric of her coveralls. Heat flooded between her thighs, and she took a sip of her cider, hoping Noel wouldn’t notice her loss of composure. Then she had an idea. If he wouldn’t protect Santa knowingly, perhaps she could trick him into
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believing he was protecting her instead? If she didn’t tell him until the last minute when it was too late for him to back out, he’d have to do the job anyway. Who could he protect her from? She shuddered. There was one person she was afraid of. The memories flooded back. Memories of her mother, naked and wanton, in a man’s arms under the Christmas tree. She had been so little but even now could still feel the cold floor under her feet. She’d heard a noise and slipped out of bed to see if Santa had come. To her shock, it wasn’t Santa in the living room by the fireplace. It was an unknown man and her mother. She had stood still in the dark, holding her breath. She was afraid to be seen. As she watched, the man’s bandaged hands roamed over her mother’s breasts. Tinsel started to turn away when he bent to suckle on her mother’s nipple. That small movement caught his attention, and his gaze met and held Tinsel’s. Instead of turning away, he shifted so she could see the hard planes of his naked body pressed against her mother’s soft form. Then the man went back to sucking noisily on her mother’s breast. Tinsel had been relieved when the fire in the fireplace flared up and sparks danced out. The lovers scrambled apart, and Tinsel stepped back into the darkness of her room while her mother led the man down the hallway to her mother’s bedroom. As he passed, the man had looked back at her and smiled. A predatory smile that terrified her. There had been sounds—odd grunting and moaning sounds— coming from her mother’s room. She hadn’t panicked until she heard a stifled scream. Santa had found her huddled under the Christmas tree shaking with fear. With soft whispers, he took her in his arms and whispered for her not to be afraid. He’d packed her up among the toys in the back of his sleigh, and they had flown off. She hadn’t even looked back. She’d instinctively known something bad had happened to her mother. “Do you want another cider?” The waitress’s voice interrupted Tinsel’s reverie. “No.” Tinsel shook her head with a small smile. She looked across at Noel. “I think I’d like to hire you.”
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“Sure. But why would an…” Noel dropped his voice down to a whisper. “…an elf want to hire me?” “I’m not an elf.” Tinsel sighed and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Heavens, she was much taller than an elf, and her ears were not pointy. She cut him a break and answered without sarcasm. “I’m as human as you are. I’d like to find out what happened to my mother.” “So, you don’t need a bodyguard?” Noel asked. “I might. Well, it’s a long story. You’re a cop, right? You can find out about crimes that happened a long time ago.” “Yeah.” Noel was looking interested now. His gaze drifted from her cleavage and focused on her face. “I’ll do what I can. What’s her name?” “Don’t laugh, but it is Mary, Mary Christmas.” Noel’s jaw dropped open. “Oh, my God! Are you talking about the unsolved Santa slayer killings in 1989? I was just a kid at the time. I remember every article. Truthfully, I think that case is the reason I became a cop in the first place.” “Murders?” Tinsel felt cold all over. It confirmed her worst fears.
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Chapter Two Noel saw distress written on Tinsel’s pretty face and hastened to add. “Oh, it’s probably not the same Mary. It’s just, I was interested because of my name and birthday, you know.” Tinsel nodded, her face pale. “I…I ran away Christmas eve, 1989. I haven’t seen my mother since then.” Unshed tears shimmered in her green eyes. Noel looked at Tinsel in disbelief. “How old were you then? Six, seven?” “Six.” “Where did you go? How in the world did you survive? Did the Santa Slayer take you?” Any fuzziness he’d felt from the beer was gone as his mind sifted through the details of the murder cases. There had been ten murders on Christmas Eve over a twelve‐hour span. The killer targeted women with holiday‐themed names. Oddly, all the women were single parents of one small child. During the attack, the mother was sexually assaulted then she and her child murdered. In each case, ”Santa” left a calling card, a hand‐drawn depiction of the gifts from The Twelve Days of Christmas song. The police suspected there were to have been twelve murders but, toward the end of his killing spree, the killer began making mistakes. At the last murder, he’d left only one victim. A small girl, Tina, had disappeared that night along with the murderer. The killer never struck again. The artist who drew the picture was never found and
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none of the cases solved. Noel stared at Tinsel. Could she be Tina Christmas? “I have all the articles in a scrapbook,” Noel finally said. “We can Google her and see if your mother is listed anywhere in the country.” Tinsel’s green eyes were wide. “No. She won’t be listed. I think you are right. I think she’s dead.” “Let’s not jump to conclusions.” Noel pulled out his wallet and started to count out a few bills. He looked over at the waitress. She looked tired, harassed, overworked and underpaid. He didn’t know why he did it, only that for the first time in months he felt good. Filled with the holiday spirit, he pulled his emergency hundred dollar bill out of his wallet and laid it on the table. He slid out of the booth, waited while Tinsel stood up. “Where are we going?” Tinsel asked when they reached the sidewalk. “Unfortunately, I can’t go to my office. I’m on disability, and the union representative would have a cow. We’ll have to use the computer at my house.” Noel paused. “If that’s okay? Or we can go to the library if you’d rather.” Noel hoped Tinsel would accept the invitation to come back to his apartment. Especially since he had another reason for asking her to go there. “No, your apartment is fine,” Tinsel said. “Is it okay if we take the sleigh, though? I don’t want to just leave them here.” “That’s fine. It’ll save me getting a taxi.” Noel cast a wary look at the sleigh before the twitch of Tinsel’s ass as she strode down the sidewalk distracted him from further thought. Suddenly, Noel stopped on the sidewalk. Damn it all. What if Tinsel were just another vision like the pilgrims and werewolves? He closed his eyes then opened them again slowly. Nope, Tinsel and the reindeer were still there. “Come on.” Tinsel climbed up into the sleigh and patted the seat beside her. Noel strode up to the reindeer. They seemed so real. He could see the puff of their breath in the cold air and, standing next to them, could
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feel the heat of their bodies. He reached out a hand and stroked the fur of the closest one. “Hello, Rudolf,” he said. The reindeer shook its head showing the white of an eye. Noel nervously jerked back his hand. “Silly, this is Prancer and his mate, Pandora. Rudolf was just a fictional reindeer. However, now we have quite a few Rudolfs in the herd. Just none of them with red noses,” Tinsel said with a teasing smile. Noel looked over his shoulder. No one on the crowded sidewalk even glanced at him or Tinsel. Ah, hell. Noel threw caution to the wind and climbed up into the sleigh. Dr. Snow already thought he was nuts. Maybe he really was. Perhaps it was the beer, finding someone to talk about the case with, or simply the Christmas season, but Noel wanted to kiss Tinsel. Besides, if she were just a hallucination… Without thinking, he leaned over and pressed his lips against hers. They were soft and warm and molded to his. When he slid his tongue into her mouth, she gasped then sighed. She tasted sweet, like apple cider and Christmas cookies. She kissed him back, hot, hungry, nibbling kisses that caused his cock to harden. He felt the sleigh move, but each kiss made him hungrier for the next. He touched his tongue to the seam on her mouth, licking softly. She moaned and opened her mouth to him. He plunged his tongue inside her mouth while their tongues made merry. The jingling of the bells on the reins added to the sense of fantasy. Noel pulled back, staring deep into Tinsel’s eyes. He sighed then kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and her eyelids. When he ran his fingers through her soft hair, he caught a whiff of a familiar fragrance. Peppermint. She tipped her head, and his kisses slid from her mouth to her neck. He could feel her pulse pounding beneath his lips. Tinsel hadn’t even seen the kiss coming. As his lips brushed over hers, it ignited a fire deep in her belly. She’d been attracted to him the
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moment she saw him. He was different from anyone she’d ever known, and no one else ever made her senses dance and nerves tingle the way he did in the short hour she’d known him. Over the years, only a rare man or two had been admitted to the North Pole, and only one of them had interested Tinsel. Michael was the network specialist who set up the North Pole’s computer system to bring them into the new millennium. Michael had been as inexperienced as Tinsel, and his lovemaking left her feeling as if there should have been so much more. Now she had the chance to find out what she’d been missing. She waited until he’d slid his hands under her cloak, holding her tight right under her breasts. Oh, they ached for him to hold. With a deft movement, she pushed a lever on the floor with her foot, and the seat slowly reclined. She could feel Noel smiling through his kisses. He was so warm and hard. She shifted her weight, and rolled him onto his back. Lifting her leg over him, she straddled him, feeling the hard length of his cock pressed against her quickly dampening pussy. She unzipped his coat and let her hands travel across the hard planes of his chest. Under her palms, she could feel his breath quicken. Her heart felt as if it were going to pound out of her chest and, under her hands, she could feel Noel’s heart thumping right along with hers. She ran her fingers down his chest then unbuttoned his shirt, wanting to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her palms. His chest was covered with crisp, curled hair, and his nipples were tiny. She leaned forward and touched one of them with the tip of her tongue. Noel lurched beneath her, and the ridge between her legs seemed to grow even harder. He stared up at her as she shook her hair back out of her face. “Can I look at you?” His voice was husky with desire. She could only nod. He pulled down the zipper of her coveralls. Her cloak still covered her shoulders and gave her a modicum of decency as more and more of her flesh was exposed to Noel’s perusal. She felt powerful as she watched
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his eyes go dark with desire as he gazed at her. She reached down and unfastened the clasp, designed to look like a holly leaf, of her lacy red bra. Her nipples tightened as the cold air brushed over them. He covered them with his hands. Warmth spread from her breasts and sent a surge of desire to her core. His touch was soft. With even softer strokes, he circled her nipples with his fingers and then tugged on them. She moaned and rocked against him. He tucked his arms around her and rolled. Breathless, they tumbled into the back of the sleigh. On Christmas Eve, this space would be full to overflowing with toys. Today, it was just filled with empty satin and fur toy bags. She arched under him as his knees pushed her thighs apart, and he settled against her. His cock was pressed hard against her, and she felt a fresh rush of desire as his head lowered to her breast. She held her breath. He caught her nipple between his teeth and bit gently. Then he took her nipple into his mouth and began to suck. She arched up as if trying to fill his mouth with her aching breasts. Just when she thought nothing could feel any better, Noel’s mouth moved to her other breast while his fingers plucked at the wet nipple he’d left behind. “Oh, Noel,” she moaned. As if in answer, he shifted and unzipped her coveralls to the knee. His brown eyes were almost black with desire as he looked at her. Then he lowered his head, feathering kisses down her body. She gulped back a giggle when the stubble on his chin tickled her sides. When he reached his final destination, she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe; she could only moan with need. His breath warmed her pussy, and she shivered. He flicked her clit gently with his tongue, and she gasped. His tongue rasped up and down her slit while she bucked against him with wordless need. He held her hips tightly while he used his tongue to tease her, delving deeper and deeper into her wet folds until she was panting and sobbing his name. As unexpectedly as an avalanche, her orgasm struck. It crashed over her and left her feeling as helpless as a skier caught in the rush.
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Noel made his way slowly back up her body, kissing a trail back up to her breasts. He stretched out beside her and cupped her face in his hands. “You are so beautiful and I want, well, I want it all. But…” “But what?” Tinsel felt her eyes fill with tears. Had she done something wrong? Or worse, was he married? He continued on, his gaze not quite meeting hers. “Believe me; I really, really want this. You are so beautiful. But, I’m still not sure you’re real.” “Of course, I’m real.” Noel grimaced and shook his head. “I had an accident on the job. A head injury. Sometimes I see things…” He paused as if searching for the right words. “I see things no one else sees, like werewolves on the full moon, and pilgrims and Indians in Central Park.” “And a woman driving a sleigh dressed like an elf.” “Exactly,” he said with a sigh of relief. “I understand,” Tinsel said, because it was an expected response. As small children, dreams, fantasies, and fairy tales are an accepted part of everyday life. Those imaginary characters are as real as their mom and dad or the house they live in. Unfortunately, as children grow, their imaginations falter. They’re taught to see only things adults define to be real. Noel’s accident must have realigned his adult mind with his imagination. It was a gift, not an injury. If she told him, would he doubt that, too? “I’m so glad you understand.” Noel sighed, pulling her in close and holding her tight. Well, she was glad he thought so, because she didn’t understand at all.
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Chapter Three The rocking of the sleigh stopped, and Noel looked up with surprise. They were outside his apartment building. It had been warm snuggled against Tinsel’s body among the satin and fur. He pulled on his clothes and watched Tinsel struggle with the zipper on her coverall. He reached over and pulled it up for her. Just for a second, he regretted his choice not to go all the way with this beautiful woman. She’d been warm and responsive in his arms. But, until he figured out what was going on inside his head, he couldn’t get seriously involved with anyone. That was the one thing his mother had taught him well. She’d been like an alley cat in heat, bringing home anyone who expressed the least interest in her. And she’d paid the price. A four‐year battle she’d fought with AIDS. After watching what she went through, there was no question of him even thinking about casual sex. He glanced over at Tinsel as she looked up at the building. Who was she really? Tina Christmas or an imposter? What had really happened to her that long ago Christmas Eve? People didn’t just disappear. Someone had to have taken her. The Santa Slayer? Perhaps she had been his captive all this time and had recently escaped? Nah. This was not a woman who had been raised under the influence of a serial killer. Looking at her, it would be easier to believe she’d been raised by Santa Claus! Tinsel was standing on the sidewalk in front of the building with an odd look on her face.
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“Are you okay?” Noel asked. “I just have the feeling I’ve been here before. Déjà vu, I guess.” She shrugged and smiled. He noticed she hung back, almost afraid to follow him into the building. The elevator seemed to be on the fritz again. A large ”Out of Service” sign hung across the battered steel doors. Noel shivered as he led the way up the stairs, but he knew he’d be warm and toasty by the time they’d navigated their way to the third floor. He opened the fire door and looked back at Tinsel. She was staring at him, a little bit of fear in her eyes. “I lived here,” her voice was breathy, but he didn’t think it was the result of climbing three flights of stairs. No, she was scared. Noel hung his head. He’d both wanted her to remember and dreaded she might. “Yeah, in fact, you lived in my apartment.” “What?” Tinsel took a step backward and half turned as though she were going to flee back down the stairs. “Listen. It’s not what you think. Well, I mean, it kind of is. I was ten years old in 1989. The Santa Slayer, well, he captured my attention and scared me to death. I kept wondering what if.” “If what?” “My mom was a single mother, too, and her name was Holly Holiday. And I’m an only child. I often wondered if we would have been the next family but, for some reason, we got lucky.” Or did we? Noel thought back to the ugly scenes with his mother when she was drunk or on drugs. She’d even spent the entire day Christmas Eve at the hospital trying to convince someone, anyone, to give her a prescription for the narcotics she craved. There had been no gifts under the tree. Noel remembered wishing his mother were dead and that he had been the one to escape instead of Tina. Of course, as he grew older, he realized the little girl had probably had a hellish existence, if she had even survived. At ten years old, he had been innocent of the horrors perpetrated on children. He had only wanted to escape the nightmare of his own family. “That doesn’t explain why you’re now living in our old apartment.”
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“A coincidence, really. I didn’t realize this was one of the apartments until…” Noel trailed off. It had been Halloween night, right before the fateful call. He’d been going through old precinct files and noticed the address. “Until when?” “Halloween, right before I was put out of commission, in fact.” Noel tapped his forehead. “There’s nothing of yours left here. Dozens of people lived in the apartment between then and now. Really.” “Oh, I believe you. It’s just a really odd coincidence.” Tinsel’s voice sounded reassuring, but he wasn’t sure she really believed him. The apartment looked the way it always did. Dark, dreary, and a bit messy. “Welcome to my humble abode.” Noel ushered Tinsel in. He really wished he’d strung up a few Christmas lights or put up a tree. She stood looking around, her hands hugging her stomach and her face pale. “It looks different, but the same.” When her gaze met his concerned expression, she gave him a brave smile. “So, do you still think my mother might be alive?” Noel shook his head. “No, especially if you remember this place.” “I’d still like to know what happened.” Tinsel looked around, and Noel wondered if she saw the apartment as it was or as it had been that night. He knew from the crime scene pictures that the wood‐burning fireplace had been converted to gas. He’d made one concession to Christmas and purchased a large fake Yule log. His large screen television occupied the place where, long ago, the Christmas tree had stood. Two small bedrooms and an equally tiny bathroom were down a short hallway. “Which room was yours?” Noel asked, although he already knew. Unsuspecting of his test, Tinsel walked to the first door and opened it. “This one,” she said. The space, once occupied by a tiny bed with a threadbare chenille bedspread, was now occupied by weight‐lifting equipment, a floor gym, a desk, and a filing cabinet. “This is my office.” Noel said, peering over her shoulder. “Did you want to look in my bedroom?”
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Tinsel just shook her head. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears, and Noel’s heart ached for her. However, the cop in him was anxious to take her statement. He wanted to investigate this case. Hell, he’d been investigating it since he was ten years old. He could hardly believe he had a living breathing witness here in his living room! This could crack the case wide open. As though she had read his mind, Tinsel turned to him. “I want to know what happened that night.” Noel strode over to the filing cabinet. “Let’s get started then.” He pulled open the first drawer. It was stuffed full. He reached in and struggled to extract a folder. It took both hands, but it looked as if he was finally winning the battle when the phone rang. Then it rang again. “Are you going to answer the phone?” Tinsel asked. “Could you pick it up for me?” “Sure.” Tinsel picked up the receiver on the sixth ring. “Hello.” There was a metallic click on the line as the answering machine picked up. Noel’s voice gave his spiel. When the line went clear, Tinsel tried speaking again. “Hello,” Her voice echoed, and Noel realized the answering machine hadn’t disconnected, so he could hear the entire conversation. “May I speak to Noel Holiday?” The voice was clipped and impatient. Noel cringed when he recognized who it was. Dr. Snow. The last person on the planet he wanted to speak to. “Just take a message for me, will you,” Noel asked. He turned his attention back to the folders, trying to squish the ones in the back a fraction of an inch. If he could only get one folder out, the rest would be easy. “He’s busy right at the moment. Can I take a message?” Tinsel asked. Dr. Snow’s tone became even more annoyed. “If you must. This is Dr. Snow. I’m very concerned that Noel may not be taking his medications. He is due for refills, and the hospital pharmacy said they hadn’t been picked up. Please let him know its imperative for him to take
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those pills. Not doing so could cause the hallucinations to increase, and he could become a danger to himself and others.” “I’ll let him know.” Tinsel frowned at Noel as she hung up. She walked over to the filing cabinet and motioned to the numerous full pill bottles scattered across the top. “Those medications?” Noel fidgeted. His visions were just silly, nothing to worry about, and definitely nothing dangerous. “Yeah. I don’t like how the pills affect me, so I haven’t been taking them. It’s nothing to worry about.” “The doctor sounded worried.” Don’t mentally ill people often think they feel better off their medications? Noel brushed off her statement with a smile. “Dr. Snow always sounds worried. So, are you ready to get started?” Tinsel chewed her lip and glanced at Noel out of the corner of her eye. He did seem normal enough. Her body still tingled as she remembered the touch of his hands. The stack of pill bottles scared her. Although she lived at the North Pole, they had first‐rate medical facilities there. She recognized the names of the medicine. There were two antidepressants and an antipsychotic. Perhaps there were other symptoms of his injury Noel hadn’t told her about. Her instincts perked up when the doctor insinuated Noel might be dangerous. She’d only met him today; the doctor had been treating him for weeks. Wouldn’t the doctor know if a patient were dangerous or not? With a niggle of doubt, she set aside her suspicions. Right now she had to concentrate on one thing—finding out what happened to her mother. “This is the first case.” Noel spread out the crime scene photos on the desk. “Do you want to go over them in order, or skip to yours?” Tinsel couldn’t answer. She was afraid if she opened her mouth she would vomit. There was just too much blood. Taking a deep breath, she looked away. “Can I just read the reports?” “I don’t think they would be any better.” Noel’s voice was soft, and his hands were firm on her shoulders as he sat her down in a chair and pushed her head down between her knees. “I forget most people aren’t
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used to this sort of thing. You sit there, and I’ll just tell you about the cases.” Tinsel just nodded and stared at the floor, wishing her stomach would stop churning. While she fought back the nausea, Noel began summarizing the crimes. The first victims were a lounge singer, Starry Night, and her eight‐ year‐old daughter, Crystal. Supposedly, they had just arrived home from Starry’s gig at the Blue Note Lounge. The manager stated Starry had left early, around nine o’clock, because her daughter was running a high fever. The coroner estimated the time of their deaths to be almost midnight exactly. So what (or who) had happened in those three hours was a mystery. The only clue to the killer was a picture left on the mantle in the apartment. At approximately 4 a.m., he killed again. This time, the victims were Christina Stocking and her newborn son. Christina had just been released from the hospital the day before. Since the victims were from different precincts, different neighborhoods, and different social classes, the connection might have been missed if the killer hadn’t left the same picture at the scene. The next murder took place in a high‐rise hotel room. Decker T. Halls and her daughter, Theodora, were on a literary book‐signing tour. However, Theodora was sick, so Decker had canceled her appearances. She had been gone from the hotel from 6 a.m. until almost noon, possibly to see a physician in the city. When they returned, Decker ordered lunch for herself and a small bowl of broth for her daughter from room service. Instead of a waiter, she had admitted the killer to her room. This time the picture was left on the desk by the phone. Right at dusk, the murderer broke into the home of Hope and Faith Church. This seems to be where things began to go wrong. The pair had just returned from a carol‐singing party where they’d toured various nursing homes and hospitals. There was a call to the police from their house, but the phone had been disconnected before they could state the problem. The police responded anyway and almost caught the perpetrator as he went over the back fence. What the man didn’t know was the top of
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the fence was lined with glass and barbed wire. The murderer was cut, badly, if the amount of blood he left behind was an indication. Unfortunately, his injuries didn’t slow him down, and he escaped. Mary Christmas was killed next. Mary was a nursing assistant at St. Vincent’s Hospital just coming off second shift. In her case, Mary had a bit of a reputation as a flirt. Police theorize she either knew her attacker or picked him up while she was on shift at the hospital. There was some suspicion he’d come into the emergency room with the injury he’d sustained at the Church household. A search of patient records didn’t reveal his identity. Tinsel’s throat choked with tears. Thinking back, she remembered all the times her mother had brought home a ”friend” from the hospital. Her poor mother had been looking for love and security, and found death instead. “At this point, something happened that caused the Santa Slayer to veer off track,” Noel said. Tinsel sat up in the chair. “Off track?” Noel handed her an eight‐by‐ten glossy photo. The picture consisted of twelve small blocks, like a quilt, each one depicting one of the twelve gifts of Christmas. However, in the picture she held, nine of the squares were marred by a large black X. She recognized this. It was like the Christmas card Santa received. The same one he’d received for 18 years, all requesting the same thing. Her… She swallowed and tried to keep her voice steady as she asked, “What sort of picture was this? Was it a photo or a card?” “They were all hand drawn. Colored pencil on artists paper according to forensics.” Tinsel thought back to the card Santa had been holding. It hadn’t looked as if it were done by hand. “Why did he stop?” Tinsel asked. “Wasn’t it because of you?” “What?” “The police theorized the killer took you with him. Somehow you interrupted the pattern.”
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“No.” Tinsel shook her head. “They are right about my mother. She brought home lots of different men from the hospital.” She closed her eyes, willing herself to remember. The men were all much younger than her mother. They were all so serious in their starched shirts, ties, and white jackets. She could remember her mother giggling and talking about ”playing doctor”, a term she didn’t understand until many years later. “This man was different. He was much older than the others. I think the younger ones were medical students.” She opened her eyes and looked at Noel. “What I don’t understand is why the killer didn’t go on to the next address when he couldn’t find me.” “I think I can explain it. Now, remember, this is just my theory. I think when you interrupted the pattern, he was stuck. Many people with obsessive‐compulsive disorders have to do things in exact order. They either have to finish what they started or start back at the beginning,” Noel said. “So, he never killed again?” Tinsel asked. “He could have just started over.” “Oh, but he got close to being caught at the last house. He’s smart, too. Now that the police knew his victimology and when the papers came out the next day, everyone with a holiday‐type name was going to be hyper‐alert. His chances of getting caught increased exponentially. No one knows why Jack the Ripper quit either. Who knows, perhaps he died.” Noel looked up at Tinsel with an appraising glance. “However, now there’s a witness to what the murderer looked like.” He paused to let the impact of his statement sink in. “Me?” She shuddered. She had known all along what he was going to say. He was going to ask her to describe the man. But, it had been such a long time ago. Her memory had blurred and people changed. Would it really help the case? She turned and looked out the window, longing for the familiar landscape of home. She’d come to New York to hire a bodyguard for Santa. Instead, she’d found herself at the center of a murder mystery. Someone in this unfamiliar city wanted her dead. If she came forward with her statement and his description, she’d never be safe again.
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For there was one thing she was certain of—the Santa Slayer wasn’t dead.
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Chapter Four Tinsel had been quiet for too long, and Noel desperately needed her to agree to describe the killer. Even if the son of a bitch were dead, knowing the identity of the killer would bring closure to all those families. Still, he could understand her distress. Walking up behind her, he put his arms around her and slid his hands up and down her shoulders until he felt her sigh and lean into him. She smelled so good, and he already knew she tasted even sweeter. He breathed in deep of her scent and rubbed his cheek against the softness of her hair. He didn’t really mean for it to go any further; he’d only meant to offer her comfort. But, remembering the passion they’d shared in the sleigh, he couldn’t resist taking one more taste of her. He slid his hands up to squeeze and knead her breasts through the thick fabric of her coveralls and felt her breath quicken. At the neckline, he began pulling the fabric apart, listening for the telltale rasp of the zipper as it gave way. Her breath came in little puffs as he slid his hands inside the coverall to cover her breasts. He savored the heavy weight of them, and his breath hitched when he felt the nipples pebble in his palms. He kissed her neck, sucking on the tender skin at the base and feeling her pulse thunder under his lips. She must have finished unzipping her coveralls, for they fell heavily to the floor. It only took a few seconds for her holly leaf bra and matching panties to join her coveralls on the floor.
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When she tried to turn in his arms, he held her still. With a little push on her back, he bent her forward while he quickly undid his zipper and let his pants slide down to the floor. He hated to let go of her for even a second, but he had to get his briefs off…and fast. He struggled with the buttons of his shirt, finally just dragging it half‐buttoned over the top of his head. Once he was naked, he pressed up against her soft skin while his hands roamed over her back and caressed the smooth curves of her ass. He explored lower and lower, until he found her nether lips. He spread her folds, slicking his fingers with her desire. His cock twitched. Although he was ready, he knew she needed more. He inserted one finger into her tight pussy, feeling it milk his finger. He inserted another finger then fucked her hard and fast with them. She backed up, driving his fingers deeper inside her as she made mewling sounds and bucked in his arms. When her body went all limp and soft, his cock was so hard it ached. It would be so easy to convince himself this once wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. He looked up and could see their silhouettes reflected in the window. No, he couldn’t do it; he couldn’t just fuck her senseless and then walk away. Not after all she’d been through with her mother. Not after all she would go through later. It would be hell giving her statement, finding the media on her doorstep every morning. The trial would be the worst…if there was one. No. As much as he wanted it, he couldn’t. He withdrew his fingers and put his arms around her to hold her tightly against him. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispered. “I know you probably want more, but I can’t. My mother was like yours; she brought home a different man almost every night of the week. It killed her, too.” When Tinsel gasped, he let her turn around in his embrace. “She was murdered by AIDS. She never even knew who gave it to her or when. But it killed her all the same.” “I’m so sorry.” “It was years ago. I promised I’d never do that to myself or to someone else. I want to get to know you before…well, you know.”
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Tears leaked out of Tinsel’s eyes. Noel wasn’t sure whom she was crying for—him, his mother, or herself. He held her close. Damn, he wished he didn’t have to pick up the phone and make that call. He knew the minute he did, real life would bulldoze over this small interlude of peace. Part of him kept thinking since the Santa Slayer murders had been unsolved for so long now, another year, or ten, or fifty, wouldn’t matter. In the end, his sense of duty won. “I’m sorry Tinsel, but I have to call the precinct,” he finally said. “I know. Can I clean up first?” She smiled wryly. “I’d like to look my best if I’m going to end up on the front page of The New York Times.” “Sure, I need to clean up, too. Hey, instead of just calling this in, why don’t we both go down to the precinct…together,” he said. Tinsel thanked him with a sweet kiss. He had to clench his fists to resist the urge to pull her close, deepen the kiss, and take what he wanted. With a sigh of regret, he tried to erase the thoughts of Tinsel naked in his shower and tried to concentrate on the crimes. But, the thought of soap bubbles caressing her sweet curves proved too much of a distraction. He had the feeling he was missing something—something that was hovering just out of his grasp. Tinsel came out of the bathroom wrapped in a fleecy red and white striped towel. With it wrapped around her body, she looked like a delicious candy. Noel wanted nothing more than to unwrap her, savor her, then make love to her for hours and hours. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the ache in his heart. To do that would just delay the inevitable. With a sigh of regret, Tinsel watched Noel close the bathroom door. The big fluffy towel was soft against her skin. But as Tinsel dried herself, she was thinking only of how good Noel’s hands felt as they explored her body. She couldn’t understand why he’d not made love to her. Although she’d come, her orgasm hadn’t satisfied her. She still had an empty feeling deep inside. Or perhaps she was just hungry. Her stomach rumbled, and she started toward the kitchen when she saw a white square envelope lying on the floor. She picked it up with
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a shrug and carried it with her into the kitchen. She put the envelope next to a stack of Christmas cards then turned her attention to the refrigerator. She opened the door and took out a small waxed box of leftover Chinese food, popped the top open, and sniffed. She reeled back and put her hand over her nose. Resisting the urge to gag, she took a closer look. Something green was growing on one side of the unidentifiable mass in the box. Shuddering, she tossed it into the adjacent trash can and pulled out another carton. This one smelled even worse. She was hungry, but certainly didn’t feel like spending Christmas Eve in the emergency room the way the Santa Slayer victims had. She opened the cabinets one by one. Dishes, cups, and ah, finally…food. She pulled out a box of dry cereal and a bowl. She perched on a stool at the breakfast bar and spooned up the sugar‐puffed cereal. The taste brought back memories she thought she’d long forgotten. She could almost see her mother standing at the kitchen counter, pouring the cereal into the bowl. When some of the cereal had swirled out of the bowl and fallen on the floor, her mother had called them sugar bombs. Tinsel blinked back a sudden rush of emotion. To take her mind off her memories, she flipped idly through a stack of Christmas cards propped against the napkin holder. It looked as if Noel had quite a few friends. The envelope she’d picked up wasn’t addressed. She assumed it was a card Noel was planning to send out. Smiling, she opened the flap to peek inside. A lot could be learned about the personalities of people from the Christmas cards they chose to send. Tinsel flicked the envelope open slightly then stared. The card depicted the twelve days of Christmas in a quilted pattern exactly like the card Santa had received. No, it couldn’t be. Worse still, it looked like the same artwork from the pictures the Santa Slayer left behind. Still not wanting to believe her eyes, she picked up the card and started through the living room to Noah’s office. She relaxed a little when she heard the water running in the shower. It would only take a minute to pull one of the pictures out of the file and take a closer look. If she were wrong, she could have the card back on the counter before Noel caught her snooping.
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She wasn’t wrong. She stared from the picture to the card and back again. The theme, the colors, and the depictions in each square were identical. There was a sudden thud then the cessation of the hiss of the shower. Heart thumping in her chest, all she could think about was getting out of the apartment as fast as she could. She’d have to go to the police and report this. She grabbed the card and the photo and shot out into the living room, shedding the cozy warm towel as she went. She slid into her coveralls and struggled with the zipper. Her hands were shaking and, no matter how hard she pulled, it just wouldn’t slide up. Damn it. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the doorknob to the bathroom door start to turn. She had to get out of here and fast. Still pulling on the zipper, she dashed across the room and pulled open the door. Looking back, she realized she’d left her cloak behind. Oh, well…better to be cold than cold and dead. Once in the hallway, she took a couple of deep breaths, and the zipper finally gave in to her coaxing tugs. Noel wouldn’t realize she was missing for a minute or so. But she didn’t want to run down the streets of New York half naked. She had been such a fool. That ad had been circled in the paper for a reason. Santa probably knew Noel had sent him the card. Why? Noel wasn’t the killer. She’d seen the killer. Just thinking about his predatory grin made her shudder. However, Noel might be a copycat. Lord knows, he was obsessed enough with the case. He seemed so normal, except when it came to lovemaking. She had practically offered herself up on a silver platter, and he said, ”Sorry, no thank you.“ Most men…okay, no men she knew would have turned her down. Her imagination dashed off along a crazy path. Weren’t serial killers often impotent? Was Noel impotent? His knowledge of the Santa Slayer was extraordinary. In her mind’s eye, she saw the unopened pill bottles on the dresser. Perhaps medication was the only thing keeping Noel from acting on his obsession. And he hadn’t been taking his medication…. Her mind whirled in a dozen different directions. But she had to go in only one, to the police as fast as she could.
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She started down the hallway when she heard the sound of a bell. The elevator. She’d take it down. It would save time, and Noel wouldn’t hear her panicked flight down the fire stairs. The doors opened. Once inside, she frantically pushed the button to close the doors. As they slid shut, she leaned against the cool steel walls and tried to catch her breath while she planned her next move. She’d have to get to the sleigh and to the police station before Noel. Hopefully, he didn’t have a car and would have to rely on a taxi. That would give her a head start. What if no one believed her? She stared down at the card and the picture in her hand. Well, she’d just have to make them believe. The bell rang, announcing her arrival on the first floor. Tinsel took a tight grip on the papers in her hand and prepared to sprint across the lobby. But, when the doors slid open, a man’s tall figure blocked her exit. “Hello, Tinsel,” he said.
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Chapter Five “Tinsel,” Noel called, feeling more than a little silly. The apartment wasn’t big. Thinking she’d gone back to the master bedroom, he opened the door and peered in. Despite his hopes, there was no Tinsel lying naked and willing in his bed. His brow furrowed in frustration. He sat down on the bed, and his breath came out in a whoosh. Could Tinsel have just been a hallucination? No. She had to be real. Dr. Snow had even talked to her. Perhaps she’d forgotten something in the sleigh and had gone downstairs. Noel dashed over to the front window and peered out. The sleigh was still sitting at the curb where Tinsel had parked it. There was someone sitting in the passenger seat. Noel squinted. He didn’t know who it was, but it wasn’t Tinsel. It was someone large, wearing a hooded black cape and carrying a scythe. As if the being felt his gaze, it turned toward him and looked up. Noel saw glowing red eyes in a face of seething maggots. He had no doubt whom he was looking at. Death. And he was waiting for Tinsel. Noel grabbed his shirt and coat and dashed out into the hallway. Hopefully, she hadn’t gone far. He sprinted down the hallway toward the stairs and stopped. Lying in the hallway was a glossy photo and a Christmas card. What the hell was one of his case photos doing out here? He picked it up. The photo was his, but the card didn’t look familiar. He studied it. They were the same.
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His heart began to pound painfully in his chest, and a strange roar filled his ears. They were the same. He closed his eyes and opened them again. Nothing changed. He flipped the card open. It was blank inside. He hadn’t seen this card before. Forensics had distinctly said the cards were hand drawn. He flipped it over to the back. Printed across the very bottom of the card was a copyright. The year was 1989. The copyright belonged to P.W. Snow. It was as if a cold hand reached out and gripped his heart. Tinsel must have found the card and jumped to conclusions. If so, she was headed to the police station now. But…she wouldn’t have left the evidence behind. She must have run into someone who changed those plans. Someone who would kill her. Then he remembered the telephone call from Dr. Snow. Could the answer have been right in front of his eyes all this time? Noel staggered back to his apartment and picked up the phone. A pert‐voiced receptionist picked up the line. “Dr. Snow’s office, did you need to make an appointment?” “Um, no. Hi, this is Noel Holiday. I forgot something in Dr. Snow’s office earlier today and was wondering if I could come by to pick it up.” “What is it, perhaps I can go look for you?” “Um, a Christmas card.” He looked down at the card in his hand. “I know it sounds silly, but I collect them. And this one was unique.” “They are beautiful aren’t they? He has them made up every year, but I didn’t realize he distributed them to his patients. However, I’ll most certainly set one aside for you.” He didn’t even say good‐bye before hanging up and dialing again. His next call was to his precinct. Tinsel hadn’t arrived. So, if she wasn’t there, where the hell was she? Noel looked out the window. Death was still seated in the sleigh. His head was pounding, and he didn’t have a clue how to convince anyone of his suspicions. The picture could have been drawn after the Santa Slayer murders. Dr. Snow was the right age to have known some of the victims. Perhaps this was just his way of memorializing them. He looked down at the picture in his hand and then at the Christmas card.
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His mind could make all the excuses it wanted, but his instinct was screaming that Dr. Snow had something to do with the murders. Perhaps Dr. Snow was the Santa Slayer. Why had Dr. Snow called here? Tinsel had answered the phone. She hadn’t given him her name or any clue to her identity, so there was no way he would know she was Tina Christmas. Was there? Perhaps it was finally time to call in a few favors. He reached for the phone again. His partner picked it up on the second ring. A gruff voice answered, “Sully.” “Hey, Sullivan. This is Holiday. I have a huge favor to ask.” * * * * * Tinsel stared at the man in front of her. His hair was snow white, but his eyes were still as blue. “You,” she gasped out. “After all this time, I didn’t know if you would recognize me.” “I’ve never forgotten you,” she replied, hoping her voice didn’t shake. “Nor I you.” “What do you want?” “What I’ve always wanted. To finish what I started.” The man put his hand over Tinsel’s mouth and hauled her out of the elevator. He dragged her down a short hallway and fumbled in his pocket for keys. The man was strong, too strong. Even though she struggled and kicked, he had no trouble restraining her. Tears pricked at the inside of her eyelids, but she blinked them back. She was not going to let him see her cry. The apartment had the same layout as Noel’s, but it was there the similarity ended. The walls were covered with pictures, all painstakingly taped to the wall. Pictures of women and children from Christmas eighteen years ago. She recognized her mother and herself. Based on Noel’s cases, she could identify almost every other victim. Except two, a young woman with a small boy. Tinsel had a sneaking suspicion that
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lucky couple was the last two victims, the ones who had somehow escaped. Her suspicion was confirmed when she saw a small table against the wall. Her picture along with several of the woman and her son were arrayed above the table. Three black candles sat lit on the table below. The candlelight glittered off something. Taking a closer look, Tinsel realized it was a razor sharp knife. The man took his hand from her mouth, and Tinsel tried to scream and run. As soon as her mouth opened, the killer stuffed a soft cloth between her teeth and covered her mouth with a piece of duct tape. Tears ran unbidden down her cheeks as she struggled. The man was simply too strong. He pushed her roughly down onto a hard‐backed armchair and duct taped her hands and feet to the chair. As he worked, he talked. Telling her about each of the victims, how he’d met them, and how he’d killed them. “In case you are wondering why I haven’t killed you already, just know it’s not time yet.” The man glanced at the gold watch on his wrist. “In only a few short hours, I can finally complete my Christmas masterpiece.” The man slammed the door as he left. Tinsel rocked the chair, trying to loosen the tape. But she was bound too tightly. When the chair tipped over, she bruised her hip, elbow, and head. She pushed with her toes and fingers, trying to creep over to the door. Perhaps someone would hear her muffled moans under the door and come to the rescue. Tears ran down Tinsel’s cheeks as she tried not to cry. She sniffed then gagged. Her throat closed, and she couldn’t catch her breath. If she didn’t calm down, she was going to choke and die. Tears flowed faster. Perhaps it would be better if she did suffocate. It would be a better fate than what the killer had in store for her. Eighteen years ago Santa had rescued her, but Santa was at the North Pole, getting ready for the biggest day of the year. He probably hadn’t even missed her yet. The floor was cool against her cheek, and Tinsel closed her eyes. She tried to remember everything she could about the North Pole. Santa’s
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smile, Mama Claus’ famous cookies, her scrumptious fried chicken, and especially the funny pranks the elves pulled on each other in the toy room. They had all seemed so mundane just a few days ago. Now, she’d give anything to have it all back again. She didn’t know how long she had lain there, but the building was dark and quiet. Irrationally, all she could think about was Noel. In her mind, she relived every moment of the afternoon. Remembered chasing him down in the street, the taste of beer on his breath when he kissed her and, at that moment, realizing she loved him. She didn’t know what was going to happen to her now, but she was sure of one thing. Noel would never rest until the killer was brought to justice. Perhaps, even now, he was doing everything in his power to find her. If she lived through this, the first thing she’d tell him was that she loved him. Well, after she’d apologized for being a fool and running off into the arms of a killer. Hopefully, he wouldn’t hate her for not trusting him. After what seemed like hours, she heard the slow even tread of footsteps coming down the hallway. She moaned as loud as she could before she realized the footsteps halted outside the door. Keys jangled as the lock clicked open. She closed her eyes and prepared to die.
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Chapter Six Noel paced back and forth as he waited for the phone to ring. Damn. How long could it take to get a match on a few fingerprints? He knew from experience it could take minutes to hours. But he didn’t have hours. He looked at the clock for the fifth time in two minutes. It was 11:46. Would the bastard play his cards at midnight tonight or wait an excruciating twenty‐four hours until midnight Christmas Eve? Damn it. The killer had waited eighteen years. Hopefully, he wouldn’t want to wait a minute longer than he had to. Noel knew his nerves wouldn’t last another day. He already missed Tinsel so much it was like the physical ache of an icy band of steel around his heart. All his life, he’d cut himself off from loving anyone, too afraid to repeat all the mistakes his mother had made. In a few short hours, Tinsel had melted the frost covering his heart and started it beating again. He couldn’t loose her now, not before he discovered if he loved her as truly and deeply as he suspected he did. The phone rang, and Noel grabbed it. “Sully?” “No, Noel. We’ll just say this is an old friend of your mother’s.” Noel smiled grimly when he recognized the man’s voice. “What did you do with Tinsel?” “You’re not going to ask about dear old mom?” “Mom? What have you done to her?” He wanted to crawl through the phone line and beat the pulp out of the owner of the smooth voice on
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the other end. It was important to stay calm and cooperative. It was the only hope he had of getting the victims back. His heart clutched a little, thinking of Tinsel. She must be so frightened. “What you should be asking is what I am going to do to you. All of you.” “What?” At that moment, the doorbell chimed. Still gripping the receiver, Noel strode over to the door and opened it. “Merry Christmas, Noel,” Dr. Snow greeted him with a smile and a snub‐nosed .38 revolver. Dr. Snow pushed the two women with him into the apartment and closed the door behind him. With a wave of the gun, he motioned everyone over to the couch. The women clung to each other as they walked, not out of emotion but out of need. The older woman limped and cast a dirty look toward their captor as they walked by. Tinsel walked with her head down, and Noel could tell she’d been crying. He hoped she suspected how he felt about her. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too late to tell her. “Now, I think it’s time I finished the party I started all those years ago.” Dr. Snow pulled up a chair and turned it around, straddling it and resting his arms on the back, the lethal gun still pointed in their direction. His blue eyes sparkled, and Noel knew things were going to go from bad to worse when the man smiled. “Yes, I think it is.” Noel exchanged an inscrutable look with the older woman. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I want to know why.” “Ah yes, the ever famous criminal dialogue used in fictional movies to delay the killer until the cavalry comes to the rescue. Well, I have twenty‐four long and luscious hours to fill with your deaths.” Dr. Snow glanced at his watch. “I don’t want to waste a minute of it talking.” He heaved himself up out of the chair. “I’m sorry to have to use such crude methods to restrain you while I entertain myself at your expense.” Still holding the gun on them all, Dr. Snow instructed Tinsel to bind Noel’s hands and feet with duct tape. Her hands were gentle, and Dr. Snow had to order her to bind Noel tightly.
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Noel was only able to exchange one long glance with Tinsel. When her terrified gaze finally caught his, he hoped she derived some comfort from the calm assurance in his. Tinsel then bound up the older woman. Noel was proud of both of them. Even in the face of death, they stayed calm instead of dissolving in tears and hysteria. Emotional outbursts would only feed the killer’s feeling of power. Finally, Dr. Snow took the tape from Tinsel’s hands. He tore off two pieces. One he placed firmly over the older woman’s mouth. He paused, with the length of tape poised over Noel’s mouth. “Would you like to say good‐bye to Mummy and Tina?” Noel resisted the urge to grin in triumph. “I would say good‐bye if she were my mother.” Dr. Snow pulled back the tape. He glared at Noel before looking over at the woman. “That is your mother. She’s Holly Holiday.” “My mother died in 2001.” “No!” Dr. Snow roared. “No, no, no. She’s still listed in the phone book.” Noel shrugged, “It’s a different Holly Holiday. I can assure you, she isn’t my mother.” “You lie!” Dr. Snow paced back and forth, waving the gun at them with one hand and pulling at his hair with the other. “She even lived at the same address.” The gun was pointed at the woman, and Dr. Snow narrowed his eyes at her. “What is your name?” “Lieutenant Mildred Duffy, NYPD,” the woman replied. The doors to the bedroom burst open, and six or seven officers spilled into the room, their guns trained on the white‐haired man. Dr. Snow stared daggers at Noel. “How did you know?” “Your artistic vanity gave you away.” “What?” “You had the Santa Slayer picture in your office made into Christmas cards. You used to be a very good artist until 1989. You had an accident on Christmas Eve 1989 and cut several tendons in your hands. It
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made it impossible for you to draw anymore. In fact, you have trouble writing, too.” “So? That doesn’t prove anything,” Dr. Snow said. “No, but your medical records do,” Noel answered. “What?” “Back in 1989, it was obvious everyone had some connection with the hospital. All the patient records were subpoenaed to search for someone who came in with wounds to their hands and wrists.” “And there was none.” Dr. Snow smirked. “No, because you were a doctor on staff at the hospital, your files weren’t in the patient file room. We had the hospital administrator pull up your medical records....” Noel grinned and shrugged. “Well, surprise, surprise. You were treated for horrendous injuries to your wrists and hands on Christmas Eve 1989. And…” Noel paused dramatically, “the nursing assistant was Mary Christmas.” “You can’t prove any of this,” Dr. Snow said. Then before the officers could rush him, he put the gun to his head and fired. * * * * * After Dr. Snow’s death, they’d all been ushered out into the hallway. A tall, blond officer took Tinsel’s statement while they waited for an ambulance, the coroner, and a forensics team. Afterwards, she couldn’t even remember what she’d said. She wanted to talk to Noel and, at the same time, was desperately afraid he’d never forgive her. Luckily, she hadn’t been forced to say anything to him yet. He was in the middle of recounting his deductions to break the case to Lieutenant Duffy. However, Tinsel wasn’t sure what she’d say. It didn’t sound right to just come out and say, Hey Noel, I know we got naked twice today, and it seemed as if things were going good. So I need to apologize for thinking you were a serial killer. She felt so stupid. Her heart had been telling her Noel was a man to be trusted. But, with all the memories flooding back about her mother and
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the life she’d left behind, she realized trust was something she didn’t give easily. Now it was too late. She’d need to get the reindeer and sleigh back to the North Pole so Santa could start his deliveries on time. She didn’t think there would be much call for her to come back to New York. The tall, blond officer touched her on the shoulder. “You’re free to go, miss. I’ll escort you out of the building.” “Thank you,” Tinsel replied. She took one last look over her shoulder toward Noel before following the officer down the stairs. He opened the front door for her, waiting to lock it again behind her. Once she stepped over the threshold, she had to gulp back a sob as the tragedy from the past and the present merged. She climbed into the sleigh and picked up the reins. Delaying wasn’t going to make leaving any easier. It was important to get home and to get on with her life. As the sleigh rose up into the sky, she realized she didn’t want to go home. Her heart was firmly lodged here, in New York, with Noel. Now she’d never have the chance to tell him she loved him…. * * * * * She’d left without saying good‐bye. Noel thought his heart would break, but he wasn’t going to let it. No, he’d just keep busy. Lord knows, there was enough to do. He had to dispose of all the blood‐ and brain‐spattered furniture, clean the walls and floor. Once that was done, he hadn’t wanted to stop. So he’d cleaned the kitchen and his bedroom. The only thing left to clean was his office. He gathered up his files and neatly placed them into several boxes. They’d been a part of his life for so long that it was like saying good‐bye to old friends. He looked at the clock. It was just about time for parents around the city to start reading The Night Before Christmas to their kids. Had he ever believed in Santa?
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With a sad shake of his head, he took one last look around his empty, but very clean, living room. His partner, and his boss, had been worried about him sleeping in the apartment after Dr. Snow’s death. They didn’t understand. He’d had trouble sleeping because he knew that monster was out there somewhere. Now, the streets were just a little safer. He would sleep—and sleep well. “Merry Christmas, New York,” he whispered, feeling a bit silly. He woke several hours later and lay still, listening. He’d heard something clattering in the apartment. He heard it again. A swish, a thud and then bells? Noel shot out of bed and pulled on his jeans. It was bad enough he had to face a potential burglar with no gun; he definitely wasn’t going to face one naked. He grabbed the baseball bat he kept by his bed and crept to the door. There was someone out there. He paused before he opened the bedroom door as he planned out his actions. Slide down the hall, flick on the light switch, swing, and hope to the gods the burglar didn’t have a gun. The first thing he noticed when he opened the door was there were soft lights twinkling in the front windows. What the hell? As he moved farther down the hallway, he could see a fully decorated Christmas tree sitting off to one side of the fireplace. And under the tree… Noel resisted the urge to rub his eyes. This had to be one of his hallucinations but, if it were, it was the best one ever. “Merry Christmas, Noel.” Tinsel grinned at him from where she reclined under the tree. She wore a fur‐trimmed, red baby doll negligee. “Um.” Noel cleared his throat. Gee, was that all he could say when the woman he’d come to love more than life itself was lying under his Christmas tree? “Tinsel, I—” he said, his voice hoarse and croaky. “Oh, Noel, I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you. When I saw the card and it matched the pictures and…” Tinsel’s eyes filled with tears, and she struggled to compose herself. “I wanted to trust you but—”
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“I know.” Noel knelt down and gathered her into his arms before she could finish. “I do know.” He kissed her, gently at first, then with mounting urgency. She gasped when his tongue stabbed into her mouth. Her tongue answered his with a passion that made his cock throb. He didn’t want her to slip away again before she knew. Before he went any further, he had to tell her he loved her. “I love you, Noel,” Tinsel said. “I realized it when I was lying in that apartment downstairs looking at the pictures of you and your mother.” “Shh,” Noel pulled her tight against him. “I love you, too.” He wished she’d be quiet so he could show her how much. Tinsel was not to be deterred. She pulled away from him and put a hand on his chest to keep him at a distance. “That may be, but please let me finish. Looking at those pictures, I realized we started out about the same, but you…you really made something with your life by becoming a cop. I knew that you were out there doing everything you could to find me. Not only because it was me—you would have done it for any victim. But I, well, I got off easy. I escaped that night and, before we can even try to have a relationship, I need to tell you something.” Noel inched closer. “Tell me anything, but it’s not going to change the way I feel about you.” “The night my mother was killed, a man rescued me, took me home. I figure he pulled lots of strings to adopt me. I’m sure all his methods were legal and his heart was in the right place, but it probably hampered the police investigation. So I don’t want there to be any legal ramifications because of this.” Noel shrugged. “I figured something like that had to have happened. How is this important to us?” “The man who rescued me was Santa Claus.” Tinsel peered at him, probably trying to gauge his reaction. To his surprise, it wasn’t a surprise. Hadn’t he been thinking it all along? “So I’m not crazy?”
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Tinsel grinned and shook her head. “Well, not unless you count crazy in love.” Noel pulled her back in close and kissed her. Her hands fluttered for a second before she sighed and leaned into him. He noticed the large red bag under the tree. “What’s in there?” “Toys,” she smiled. “There’s a shelter over near St. Vincent’s hospital. The kids, well, they don’t believe in Santa anymore. So I thought you and I could deliver the gifts together.” “Now?” Noel asked in alarm. “Oh no, much, much later,” Tinsel suppressed a grin her eyes couldn’t hide. Noel smiled and began kissing her, first her neck, then the hollow of her throat, her collarbone, and her shoulders. With his mouth, he pushed a satin strap off her shoulder, chasing it down her arm with his lips. “Noel?” Tinsel’s voice was husky with desire. “Hmm?” “Are you going to stop this time? Because if you are, I think I’d rather—” Noel put his fingers over her lips, his brown eyes serious. “No, I love you, Tinsel.” And love her he did. His lips were feather light as he kissed down to her exposed breast. He plucked at the ribbon tied between her breasts, and she heard his breath catch when the teddy fell open. “You are so beautiful,” he said. His head lowered, and he captured first one nipple, then the other, sucking her deep into his mouth. While he sucked, his fingers brushed down her belly. She arched beneath him, moaning when his fingers trailed lower to pluck at the lace of her panties. He chuckled low in his throat when he realized that they, too, were only fastened with a ribbon. His fingers brushed through the thatch of curls at the top of her thighs.
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She spread her legs a little and watched his eyes darken with desire. With gentle touches, he traced her slit, brushing back and forth, up and down, until she was thrashing from side to side. He brushed his thumb against her clit, and she cried out with pleasure. She gasped when he pulled away but then sighed when she realized he was just kneeling to take off his pants. His cock was as gorgeous as the rest of his body. Tinsel ran her fingers over his cock. The skin on the bulbous head was like silk on steel, so soft and yet so hard. A small pearl of liquid formed in the hole on the top and sparkled like a diamond under the lights on the tree. “Oh, Noel,” she whispered. “One minute.” Noel stood and padded naked to his bedroom. She watched his tight ass depart, and her hands itched to hold them. When he came back, she could hear the rip of cellophane. He knelt between her legs and braced his hands on either side of her head. The tip of his penis teased her nether lips. She reached down to cup his ass, and he thrust slow and deep into her. His cock filled her, and she lay still, savoring the perfection of the way they fit together. Deep inside her, desire began to build. She wiggled her hips, savoring the way his cock slid in and out in time to the pull of her pussy. He began to thrust, gentle at first, and then, when she wrapped her legs around him, he pounded into her. He moaned, thrusting deeper and deeper. In an instant, her orgasm shattered like frozen ice and plunged her deep into its depths. All she could hear was her own voice calling his name. He drove into her one last time, holding her hips still as his cock throbbed deep within her. He collapsed on top of her. She relished the weight of his body upon hers while running her fingers down his back in a soft caress. He rolled off and snuggled beside her, wrapping her in his arms. It was so quiet she could hear the bells of a church somewhere in the city, chiming a Christmas carol to commemorate the culmination of midnight mass. “Merry Christmas, Noel,” Tinsel whispered, but he didn’t hear her; he was already asleep.
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Epilogue Noel cursed under his breath, batted at the small pink cherubs flying around his desk lamp, and hoped no one noticed his annoyance. He’d been back to work a whole week and, up until today, everything was fine. Why in the hell couldn’t Valentine’s Day have fallen on his day off? Oh well, it was almost time for him to go off‐shift. One of the tiny flying cherubs took careful aim with its bow and fired a small glittering arrow into Noel’s arm. “Ah.” Noel grimaced and rubbed at his bicep. “You okay?” Sully, Noel’s partner looked up from his computer. “Yeah, just writer’s cramp,” Noel lied. “I didn’t realize you’d saved all the paperwork on the Snow case for me.” “Wouldn’t have wanted to steal any of your glory, my man.” Sullivan snickered and went back to his two‐fingered typing. “Hey, I shared the glory,” Noel protested. “I think a few of you could share the paperwork.” Everyone studiously ignored him. Noel sighed and chewed on the end of his pen. How could he succinctly say he hadn’t been sure of anything? He’d only had some really big hunches. He’d fingerprinted his apartment, the hallway, the Christmas card, and, on a hunch, the elevator. He had to know if Dr. Snow had been in the building. While Sully ran hundreds of prints through the database, Noel called in another favor and resurrected his dead mother. Well, in cyberspace anyway. A friend, who shall forever
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remain nameless, hacked into the city directory and added Holly Holiday’s name back in. That same somebody created an archive of her data, so it appeared she had never died. Lieutenant Mildred Duffy was a harder sell. Noel was at his wits end until he remembered overhearing her Christmas shopping woes. It seemed there was a doll her granddaughter wanted that had been out of stock for months. Noel promised her the doll and kept his fingers crossed, hoping he really did have an inside source to fulfilling a tyke’s Christmas wish. Once she was swayed, the Lieutenant easily convinced the current residents to go out to the movies at taxpayer’s expense. She then sat in the apartment watching television. It had all paid off. Even the doll had been duly delivered by Santa himself. Once the case broke wide open, Noel’s medical problems took a back seat. He was reassigned to a different, competent psychologist who seemed to adopt a ”don’t ask, don’t tell” policy about Noel’s hallucinations. Most of Noel’s coworkers believed he’d just been following a hunch born of years of research. He wasn’t about to disillusion any of them. Although he was still plagued with seeing imaginary beings, he’d begun to take them in stride. Up until now, anyway. One of the damn pink cherubs smiled, waved, and shot another arrow in his direction. Noel leaned out of the arrow’s trajectory. Someone walking behind him gasped. For a moment, Noel thought the officer had been hit by the arrow, but then he noticed the whole room was silent. He turned around and saw a vision with long red hair, a porcelain complexion, and mischievous green eyes. The sleek black dress clung to her curves. A wet dream come to life. And she was all his. “Isn’t she the woman from—” Sully began. “Yep.” Noel nodded. “I didn’t think she lived in New York. Wasn’t she from some exotic place in the Arctic?”
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“She was, but she decided it was time to spread her wings and transferred to New York. She’s a marketing consultant now for her family business.” Noel patted his pocket, feeling the small square box under his palm. Inside was a one‐carat, heart‐shaped, pink diamond ring. “I’ll finish this paperwork tomorrow.” “What should I tell the boss you’re doing?” Sully asked, giving Noel a knowing look. “Tell him to use his imagination.” The End
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Author Bio Ericka Scott wrote her first novel in junior high school. It wouldn’t have won her any literary awards, but it did garner her an A in English. She’s been a reader of romance and romantic suspense since her college days, where reading anything but a textbook was a guilty pleasure. Now, when she’s not reading, she’s spinning her own web of fantasy and penning tales of seduction and suspense. She currently lives in Southern California with her husband and three children. You can find out more about her at www.erickascott.com.
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