Christmas Cover-up

She wriggled out of Danny’s embrace and came back toward Cody. “If I could get Chez Mona to serve some of my pastries, my business would take off.”

“I can’t make any promises,” he said. “We’ll talk to the chef.”

“Hey,” Danny interrupted. Like all politicians, he hated being ignored. “This isn’t a dating service.”

“I know,” Rue said crisply. “I was almost killed.”

“That’s not the way I heard the story,” Danny said. “You chased after the shooter. Damn it, Rue. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I did what I thought was right.” She stood up straighter, stretching her height to maybe five feet, four inches. “It’s like you always used to tell me. Sometimes you have to use your weapon to fight the bad guys.”

She must have touched a nerve because Danny looked surprised. “Did I say that?”

“Frequently,” she assured him. “You always told me to aim at the midsection. The largest target.”

Though she looked as innocent as a newborn fawn, she didn’t seem to have any trouble standing up for herself. Cody was beginning to be intrigued by this sweet little cake-baker with a backbone of tempered steel.

A second ambulance parked at the end of the driveway as the first team finished loading Carlos the bodyguard into the rear and pulled away.

“Will Carlos be all right?” she asked.

“Should be.” Danny squinted after the ambulance. “One bullet to the thigh.”

“And Mr. Lindahl? Is he…”

“Dead,” Danny said. “It was fast. There was nothing you could have done to save him.”

“Three bullets in the chest,” Cody said. “Sounds like a professional hit.”

“Let’s leave the investigating up to the police,” Danny said coldly. “Thanks for keeping an eye on my stepdaughter. I’ll take it from here.”

Cody wouldn’t allow himself to be so easily brushed aside. Rue was his ticket to the inner circle, and he wasn’t going to let her get away. “It’s no problem,” he said as he took her arm. “I’ll be happy to escort you over to the ambulance so the EMTs can take a look at you.”

“Really,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“You’re shivering like a leaf in the wind.” He turned up the charm. With a smile calculated to melt butter, he leaned close and whispered, “Let me take care of you.”

Though he recognized suspicion in her gaze, she was too disoriented to object. She trusted him to walk toward the ambulance. Later, she might trust him enough to tell him the family secrets.

TWO HOURS LATER Rue stood alone at the window of a professionally decorated parlor and looked out at the cul-de-sac in front of Bob Lindahl’s house. It was almost five o’clock, and the sun had begun its descent behind the mountains. Streaks of gold colored the sky and glimmered on the faded lawn and shrubs. The bare branches of a honey locust danced in the winter breeze. If there hadn’t been five police cars and a television van parked farther down the street, this view might have been serene.

Most of the other cars were gone. The guests had been interviewed and sent home. The caterer and his crew had packed up and left. She hadn’t seen Cody Berringer leave, and she found herself hoping that he was still here.

Though she had no explanation for why he was so concerned about her, she liked his attention. Who wouldn’t? With his black hair and blue eyes, he was every woman’s dream date. Protecting her seemed to come naturally to him.

With her fingers, she twirled a long curl. Her hair hung loose past her shoulders. After the paramedics had checked her out, she’d run a brush through her hair and splashed water on her face. Though she’d taken off her burgundy apron, she still wore the bloodstained white blouse and black slacks.

Repeatedly, Rue had spoken to various homicide detectives and given her story so many times that the sequence of events was permanently imprinted in her brain. The image that stuck with her was Uncle Bob on his knees with his chest covered in blood.

Danny told her that one of the bullets had punctured his heart. A direct hit. He also told her that the gunman had gotten away without a trace—except for the murder weapon, which he so thoughtfully had left behind.

The door to the parlor opened and Danny stepped inside. He had his campaign manager with him. Jerome Samuels was an athletic-looking blond guy in his thirties whom she’d known since childhood. Politically savvy and ambitious, Jerome was looking forward to being appointed to an important position when Danny took the oath of office.

He gave her a calculated but friendly grin. “You ought to be able to leave in just a few minutes.”

“Good.”

“Here’s the deal,” Danny said. “I want you to come home with me, Rue.”

“Why?”

“Bob Lindahl’s murder looks like a professional hit, and you’re a witness.” Danny never sugarcoated the truth. “Somebody might come after you.”

“I can’t identify him. He wore sunglasses and the hood of his sweatshirt was pulled up. I didn’t even see his hair color.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Danny said. “I have plenty of security at my house.”

There was also a new wife and her young children from a previous marriage who wouldn’t be thrilled to have Rue as a guest. “I have to work,” she said.

“Someone else can do it.”

“No way. I make custom cakes. They’re unique.” Her business was brand-new, and she had a reputation to build. “I have to decorate these cakes myself.”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“Nothing new about that,” Jerome added.

Usually, she didn’t mind Jerome’s teasing, but he’d changed, taken on an air of self-importance that matched his designer suit and solid-gold wristwatch. Plus she was in no mood to be pushed around. “I’m going home to my house. And that’s final.”

“Think again,” Jerome advised.

“My mind is made up, Jerry.”

He hated being called Jerry. His full name—Jerome—had dignity. Jerry was a cartoon character. His upper lip curled in disgust. “You sound like your mother, Ruth Ann.”

Low blow. Her mother had called three times and was on her way here. “Not even close, Jerry. But you might want to brace yourself.”

“Why?”

“She’s on her way. Ought to be here any minute.”

She turned toward the window again and looked out as a familiar car pulled up and parked. The driver’s-side door flung open and a well-dressed woman burst out. “Speak of the devil. It’s Mom.”

“Your mother?” Danny’s voice sounded as if his lungs were being squeezed in a vise. He turned to Jerome. “See if you can stop her.”

Attempting to control Rue’s mother was like commanding a hurricane to turn the other way. She didn’t envy Jerome.

“She’s not going to listen to me,” he said.