Blame It On Christmas

For years he had tried to make up for his youthful mistakes. Becoming a respected member of the Charleston business community was important to him. The fact that he had to deal with Mazie and a very inconvenient attraction that wouldn’t die was a complication he didn’t need. He’d learned the hard way that sexual attraction could blind a man to the truth.

“Look at the tin ceiling,” he said. “This place used to be a bank. We’re standing where the customers would have come to speak to tellers.”

Mazie put her hands on her hips. Slowly she turned around, taking in every angle, occasionally pausing to use her smartphone to snap a picture. “It’s lovely,” she said.

The comment was grudging. He knew that much. But at least she was honest.

“Thanks. I was lucky to get it. Had to scare off a guy who wanted to use it for an indoor miniature golf range.”

“Surely you’re joking.”

“Not really. I’d like to think he’d never have been able to get the permits, but who knows?”

“You mentioned storage?”

“Ah, yes. There’s a finished basement below us, small but nice. And more of the same above. The best part for you, though? There’s a safe. We’ll have to bring in an expert to get it working again. But you should be able to secure your high ticket items overnight, and thus eliminate any concerns about theft when you’re not open.”

When he showed her the ten-foot-square safe—stepping aside for her to enter—she lifted an eyebrow. “Kind of overkill, don’t you think? My jewelry is small. I don’t need nearly this much room.”

He followed her in. “Not the way you do it now. But you’ve been removing every item and putting it all back each morning. If you use the shelves in this safe, you can carry entire trays in here at night and save yourself a ton of hassle.”

Mazie pursed her lips. “True.”

Her lips were red today, cherry red. It was impossible not to think about those lips wrapped around his—

“Tell me, J.B.,” she said, interrupting his heated train of thought. “Is a bank safe this old really secure?”

He swallowed against a dry throat. “Well, it hasn’t been used in some time but...”

Mazie pushed on the door. “It’s crazy heavy. I suppose it would make a good hurricane shelter, too.”

The door was weighted more efficiently than it seemed. Before J.B. could intervene, it slipped out of her grasp and slammed shut with a loud thunk.

The sudden pitch-black dark was disorienting.

Mazie’s voice was small. “Oops. Guess I should have asked if you have the keys.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “They told me this thing isn’t operational.” He stepped forward cautiously. “Stand back. I’ll grab the handle.” That part was easy. Unfortunately, when he threw all his weight into it, nothing moved. “Damn.”

He heard a rustle as Mazie shifted closer. “Isn’t there a light?”

“Yeah.” Reaching blindly, he slid his hand along the wall until he found the switch. The fluorescent bulb flickered, but came on.

Mazie stared at him, eyes huge. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to close it.”

“I know you didn’t.” His heart raced. Aside from the uncomfortable situation, he didn’t want to get too close to Mazie. The two of them. In the dark. Very bad idea. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll be fine.” He tried the handle a second time. Nothing budged. He pulled out his phone. “I’ll call somebody.”

He stared at the ominous words on the screen.

No service.

Of course there was no service. The vault was constructed of steel-reinforced concrete, designed to keep out intruders. And the building itself was of an era when walls were built several feet thick. The nearby coffee shop he frequented had terrible cell service because it also was housed in a historic structure.

“So you really don’t have keys?” Mazie gnawed her lower lip, her arms wrapped around her waist.

“I have keys to the building. Not the safe.”

“Someone will notice we’re missing,” she said. “Gina, anyway. She and I text twenty times a day. What about you? Did you tell anyone you were coming here?”

“I called your brother.”

Mazie frowned. “Jonathan? Why?”

J.B. grimaced. “Because he knew I was having a hard time convincing you to sell. I told him you had agreed to at least consider this Queen Street property as an alternative.”

“I see.” She stared at him. “How often do you and my brother talk about me?”

“Almost never. Why would we?”

Mazie shrugged. “Maybe Jonathan will want to know whether or not you convinced me.”

“If he calls, it will just go to voice mail. He’ll assume I’m busy and leave a message.”

“Well, that sucks.” She exhaled sharply and kicked the wall. “You realize that if we die here, I’m going to haunt you for eternity.”

“How can you haunt me if I’m dead, too?” He swiped a hand across his forehead, feeling the cold sweat. Her nonsense was a welcome distraction. He would focus on the woman in touching distance.

“Please don’t ruin my fantasy,” she said. “It’s all I’ve got at the moment.” She wrinkled her nose. “We don’t even have a chair.”

J.B. felt the walls move inward. He dragged in a lungful of air, but it was strangely devoid of oxygen. “Fine,” he stuttered. “Feel free to haunt me.”

Three (#ua4061c73-9f49-5e7a-a9ca-9313ce16030a)

For the first time, Mazie noticed that J.B. seemed decidedly tense.

“Are you okay?” she asked, moving closer and putting a hand on his forehead.

She almost expected to find him burning up with fever, but he was cool as the proverbial cucumber. To her alarm, he didn’t move away from her touch or offer even a token protest, and he didn’t make some smart-ass remark.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You’re definitely not fine.”

She got in front of him and put both hands on his face. “Tell me what’s wrong. You’re scaring me.”

His entire body was rigid.

He swallowed, the muscles in his throat rippling visibly. “I’m a tad claustrophobic. I might need you to hold me.”