Secret Christmas Twins

“You’re naming the dog?”

“We have to call him something,” she said reasonably. “You work on him. I’ll be right back.”

He puzzled over Erica as he carefully examined the dog’s leg. She seemed kind and helpful and well-spoken. So how had Kimmie connected with her? Had Kimmie gotten her life together, started running with a better crowd? Was Erica some kind of emissary from his sister?

He breathed in and out and tried to focus on the present moment. This homey room, the quiet, the dog’s warm brown eyes. Letting his thoughts run away with him was dangerous, was what had made him okay with administrative leave. The only crime he’d committed was trusting his partner, who’d turned out to be corrupt, taking bribes. With time, Jason knew he’d be exonerated of wrongdoing.

But still, he was all too aware that he’d lost perspective. He’d been working too hard and getting angrier and angrier, partly because of worrying about his sister’s situation and wondering where she was. He’d had no life. Coming here, taking a break, was the right thing to do, especially given his grandmother’s death earlier this year.

He should have come home more. He’d made so many mistakes as a brother, a son, a grandson. And a fiancé, according to what Renea had screamed as she’d stormed out for the last time. Funny how that was the weakness that bothered him the least.

Erica came back into the room and set a tray down on the end table beside the couch.

A familiar, delicious smell wafted toward him. Déjà vu. “You made hot chocolate?”

She looked worried. “Papa Andy showed me where to find everything before he went to bed. I hope it’s okay. You just looked so cold.”

He took one of the two mugs and sipped, then drank. “Almost as good as Gran’s.”

Her face broke into a relieved smile, and if she’d been pretty before, her smile made her absolutely gorgeous. Wow.

“How’s Mistletoe?” She set down the other mug and knelt by the dog.

He snorted out a laugh at the name. “He let me look at his leg. Whether he’ll let me wash it remains to be seen.” He put down the hot chocolate and dipped a rag into the warm water.

“Want me to hold his head?”

“No.” Was she crazy? “If he bites anybody, it’s going to be me, not you.”

“I’m not afraid.” She scooted over, gently lifted the dog’s large head and crossed her legs beneath. “It’s okay, boy,” she said, stroking his face and ears. “Jason’s going to fix it.”

Jason parted the dog’s fur. “Don’t look—it’s not pretty.”

She ignored his instruction, leaning over to see. “Aw, ouch. Wonder what happened?”

“A fight, or clipped by a car. He’s limping pretty bad, so I’m worried the bone is involved.” As gently as possible, he squeezed water onto the wound and then wiped away as much dirt as he could. Once, the dog yelped, but Erica soothed him immediately and he relaxed back into her lap.

Smart dog.

Jason ripped strips of towel and wrapped the leg, aiming for gentle compression. “There you go, fella. We’ll call the vet in the morning.”

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Erica eased out from under the dog’s head, gave him a few more ear scratches and then moved to the couch, picking up her mug on the way. “I love hot chocolate, but in Phoenix, we didn’t have much occasion to drink it.”

Jason picked up his half-full cup and sat in the adjacent armchair. “How did you know Kimmie?”

The question was abrupt, and he meant it to be. People answered more honestly when they hadn’t had a chance to relax and figure out what their interrogator wanted to hear.

She drew in a deep breath and blew it out. “Fair question. I met her at Canyon Lodge.” She looked at him, but when he didn’t react, she clarified. “It’s a drug rehab center.”

“You’re an addict, too?”

“Noooo.” She lifted an eyebrow at his assumption. “My mom was. I met Kimmie, wow, ten years ago, on visits to Mom. When they both got out, we stayed in touch.”

And yet she hadn’t turned to her mom when she’d needed a place to stay. “How’s your mom doing?” he asked.

She looked away. “She didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” She slid down off the couch to sit beside the dog again, petting him in long, gentle strokes.

“Where’s Kimmie now? Is she in Phoenix?”

Erica hesitated.

“Look, we’ve been out of touch for years. But if she’s sober now...” He saw Erica’s expression change. “Is she sober now?”

Erica looked down at the dog, into the fire, anywhere but at him.

Hope leaked out of him like air from a deflating tire. “She’s not.”

Finally, she blew out a breath and met his eyes. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

“What do you mean? She’s straight or she’s not.”

Erica’s face went tense, and he realized he’d spoken harshly. Not the way to gain trust and information. “Sorry. Let’s start over. Why did she send you to Holly Creek Farm?”

Simple enough question, he’d thought. Apparently not.

“It’s complicated,” she said.

He ground his teeth to maintain patience. His superiors had been right; he was too much on the edge to be working the streets right now. For a fleeting, fearful moment, he wondered if he could ever do it again.

But interviewing someone about your own kin was different, obviously, than asking questions about a stranger.

“Kimmie isn’t...well,” she said finally.

Jason jerked to attention at her tone. “What’s wrong?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but his cell phone buzzed. Wretched thing. And as a cop, even one on leave, he had to take it.

“It’s late for a phone call.” Then she waved a hand, looking embarrassed. “Not my business. Sorry.”

A feeling of foreboding came over Jason as he looked at the unfamiliar number. “Area code 602. Phoenix, isn’t it?”

She gasped, her hand going to her mouth. “Yes.”

He clicked to answer. “Jason Stephanidis.”