Christmas Confidential by Marilyn Pappano; Linda Conrad Read Free Book Online Page B

yell, ‘Dean, watch out!’”
    Again he stared at her. For a moment she couldn’t think why, then she realized: she’d said his name. A meaningless thing, but somehow, in a musty motel room with the television on Mute and the wind howling outside, it seemed intimate.
    Awkwardly she shifted on the bed, tossing aside the burger she was finished with, fingering a lukewarm onion ring, gathering her defenses close again. “Besides,” she muttered, “it isn’t going to happen again.”
    “From your lips to God’s and Santa’s ears.” He stood, held out his hand for her trash, then headed toward the wastebasket in the corner. Glancing back with a devilish grin, he added, “I’m too handsome to get a black eye for Christmas.”
    “Aw, doesn’t it get you sympathy from the girls?”
    “You wouldn’t be sympathetic if my whole face was pounded into ground beef, and you’re the only girl around right now.” He yawned, stretching his arms high above his head, then picked up his duffel. “I’m gonna take a shower, then go to bed. I suppose you’ve already got the alarm set for presunrise.”
    “I don’t need an alarm. The call to wake up in prison is not subtle. I’ll never be able to sleep in again in my life.”
    He closed the door behind him, then the water came on. Swinging her feet to the floor, she sat on the bed and savored the last drops of the cocoa, which stirred way too many memories that she couldn’t handle right now. After tossing the cup into the trash, she turned off the TV and the lights on her side of the room and slid into bed, facing the wall, covers heaped over until she was sure only a spot of her hair showed. Arms around Boo, she closed her eyes, slowed her breathing and slowly drifted off to sleep.
    * * *
    Dean knew the instant he reentered the room that Miri was asleep. That was how strong her personality, or their connection or whatever it was, was. Her breathing was steady where she curled around the bear, one hand holding tightly to him, the other cupped to her cheek. Hell, she looked about ten years old. When she really was ten, had she ever been allowed the freedom of childhood? How long had she been nursing a mother who didn’t want to be nursed?
    So far he’d learned that her mother had been ailing, she had at least two siblings, they’d had no car and had lived where snow and buses were common, and she’d made zero mention of a father. Had he never been around, or were there different dads for the kids? Or had her father been a rat-bastard who abandoned them because the responsibility was more than he’d wanted?
    Dean had worked his share of deadbeat dad cases. He despised men who could live in new houses, buy new vehicles, take vacations and help support their current girlfriend’s kids but couldn’t spare a dime for their own children. If Miri’s father was like that, no wonder she’d never mentioned him. And had trust issues. And a less-than-happy childhood.
    He watched her a moment longer before the idea that he was violating her privacy made him turn away, stuffing clothes into a laundry bag, turning off lights and crawling into the other bed.
    He was out cold in seconds, sleeping through the night and awakening to the country tune of a reindeer hit-and-run coming through the window, audible even over the sound of the big diesel engine warming up. Sliding out of bed, he walked to the window, lifting one corner of the blackout curtains to find a big white truck, not just a pickup but a monster-size dually, lights on, doors open, two men carrying bags from room to truck. They were dressed in camo-patterned jackets and hats with earflaps, and black scarves hid everything exposed but their eyes. Even through the scarves, puffs of air formed when they spoke, and the truck’s exhaust was billowing out clouds of white.
    “Damn, it looks cold,” he muttered.
    “Twenty-eight degrees with wind out of the west gusting to twenty-five miles per hour.”
    He let the flap fall