Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

Nick

N oelle thrashes and writhes wildly in my arms, struggling to break free. As I lean forward to tell her she's safe, she suddenly jerks her head up and wedges her upper lip above the top of my palm. She bites down hard on the fleshy, sensitive webbing between my thumb and forefinger. Really hard.

Son of a Blitzen.

I grit my teeth to keep from yelling. Then I press my mouth against her ear and whisper, "It's me—Nick."

She relaxes instantly, going limp in my arms. I pull her further up the hillside where we'll be concealed from view by the scrubby brushes at the edge of the property. Once I'm sure we're out of sight, I ease us both down to the ground. She sags back against my chest. I feel her shoulders shaking and wrap my arms around her in a tight embrace .

"Shh, shh." I press my lips to the crown of her head and soothe her until her quivering stops.

She takes a shuddering breath then wraps her fingers lightly my hand and holds it up to her face to inspect my bite wound. Her touch is warm and gentle.

"I broke the skin. I'm sorry."

"You were scared, and you didn't know it was me. It was a good reaction," I tell her, and I mean it. She started fighting right away, like it was muscle memory. "Where'd you learn that move?"

She twists around to look at me. "Sensai Adam's Sunday morning adult self-defense class. I go with some of the book club crew and then we have a boozy brunch at the Tipsy Turnip."

"Good. Keep going to that self-defense class." I make a note to tell my daughters I'll pay for the three of them to take the class, too.

Her bright green eyes fill with remorse. "But I hurt you."

"Eh." I wave it off. "Not unless you have rabies. You don't have rabies, do you?"

"Not to my knowledge." She giggles.

"Then, it's all good."

Her smile fades and her expression grows serious again. "I think someone was following me."

"Someone was. I watched a man come out of the club a few seconds behind you and trail you back here. So I got out of the car and ran around the other side of the building to intercept you."

"Did you get a look at him? "

I lower my chin and give her a long, serious look. "He was wearing a baseball hat and big sunglasses."

She blanches. "Where did he go?"

"When I pulled you off the trail, he'd nearly caught up to you. He saw me and took off toward the parking lot. I'm sure he's long gone by now."

Maybe I should have chased him instead of grabbing her. But my priority isn't catching this dickhead, it's keeping her safe. When I saw him skulking behind her, I wasn't filled with a white-hot alpha male urge to bash his face in. No, every cell of my body screamed for me to scoop her up and take her to safety. It was a clarion call to protect her. So I did.

"Thank goodness you were here." She rests her cheek on my chest and takes a deep breath. "Why are you here though?"

"Let me see the clue."

She frowns at the nonanswer but digs into the pocket on the side of her yoga pants and pulls it out. I take the clue Farah gave me and hold them side by side. They're similar, but they aren't the same. Noelle's envelope is slightly wider and the ivory color is off by a shade.

"Thanks. Do you have one of the other clues?"

She reaches into her pocket again and takes out Clue No. 3—the one that led us to Xander's jewelry store.

I pluck it from between her fingers and hold it beside the others. "Look. The envelope and paper from Clue No. 3 don't match your Clue No. 4. They match mine."

"Where did you get that?"

"Farah gave it to me when I came to the library looking for you. She said the Stillwater boy found it in one of the bathrooms. "

She shakes her head. "I don't understand."

"He switched the clues, Noelle. The guy in the hat and sunglasses. The one you looked all over the library for."

Her eyes widen with sudden understanding. "That whole scene—knocking over the ball run, pushing Sunny down—that was a distraction to get me away from the desk so he could take the real clue and replace it with this fake one."

"And lure you up here." I say it gently, but she has to hear it. She needs to connect the dots.

She buries her face in my shirt collar. "Why would someone want to lure me anywhere? Does he want to hurt me?"

My pulse thuds, and I suppress the urge to growl at the pain and fear in her voice. I force myself to speak in a measured tone. "I don't know if he wants to hurt you, but he's definitely been following you throughout the scavenger hunt."

She pushes her hands against my chest, leans back, and meets my eyes. "How can you know that?"

I take out the grainy image Xander printed, unfold and smooth it out, then hand it to her. The paper shakes in her hands as she stares down at it.

"Where did you get this?"

"Xander."

She lifts her head and arches an eyebrow. "Xander?"

"He grabbed me when I was on my way to the library. He wanted to show me his security camera footage."

"Why?"

"He was worried about that handprint on his display case. And he was right to worry." I jab the page with my finger. " This guy was messing around with the display case that holds the pocket watch chain and the hair combs."

"He wanted to switch the clues before we got there, but the case was locked," she says, working through the scenario aloud.

"Right. So he moved on to Plan B. He caused an uproar at the library and then switched them while you were helping Sunny."

"We need to go inside," she says forcefully.

I eye the strip club skeptically. "I don't know, Noelle. I doubt anyone in there knows this dude and?—"

"No, Delphina's in there."

"Really?"

She ignores my surprise. "When I went to the coffee shop to get the first clue, I thought it was empty. I was there during the afternoon lull and I didn't see anyone. But somebody was there. I heard the bell when they left. Delphina said it was a guy wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses and a baseball hat pulled down low over his forehead, covering his face. She joked about him being a movie star hiding from the paparazzi."

My skin heats. This guy's been following her from the beginning. My expression must speak volumes because she swallows hard and stares at me.

"You think it's the same guy, don't you? He was probably the person who we heard in the woods."

"Do you have Delphina's phone number?" I say. "It's better if she comes out here. If we go in there, the Lords are going to want to get involved."

Our local motorcycle club, made up of accountants, family men, and grocery story clerks cosplaying as Sons of Anarchy, likes to step in and fill the role that a police department fills in other towns.

She nods and pulls out her phone. Her thumbs fly over the keyboard as she types out a quick message. After she stows the phone back in her pocket, I take her hand and lead her down to the parking lot. When we reach the gravel parking pad, I loosen my grasp to release her hand, but she laces her fingers tightly between mine instead.

She cocks her head when she sees Farah's little white sedan parked next to her car. "You borrowed Farah's car?"

"My truck's up at the cabin, remember?"

"Right." She shakes her head like she's disappointed in herself for forgetting a minor detail in the middle of this scat storm. "How'd you find me, though?"

I'm explaining that I ran into Sage and Thyme when the club's metal door opens, and Delphina marches out. She swivels her head toward us, and Noelle lifts her hand in a small wave.

Delphina jogs over. "Hey, Mr. Jolly!"

I give my oldest daughter's lifelong best friend a probing look. "Holly doesn't come out here, does she?"

She snorts. "Could you imagine Holly here? Especially with Anderson ?"

She laces the name with disdain. Noelle wrinkles her nose at the mention of Holly's fiancé.

They aren't wrong. Anderson Wilson Carson, Esquire, is a gigantic pain in the tinsel, and, while he might be the right match for some poor soul, he and Holly go together like eggnog and ketchup. But we all know one immutable fact about Holly—the more you push, the more she pulls. So we're following the game plan Carol devised when young Anderson slipped that oversized rock on our daughter's finger: be entirely, infuriatingly neutral about him and wait for Holly to snap to her senses. Then pick up the pieces.

This war of attrition doesn't prohibit us from indulging in some light snark about the guy. "Actually, I'd love to see Anderson here. The Lords would have a field day with him."

Delphina chuckles.

Noelle brings us back to the task at hand. "Listen, you two, as much as I'd love to engage in a speed round of ‘Anderson Sucks Eggs,' we do have a more pressing issue."

"Right, sorry. What's up?" Delphina snaps to attention.

"Do you remember the man who was in the coffee shop yesterday when I came in looking for the clue?" Noelle asks.

"Oh, sure, Mr. Incognito. For a guy trying to go unnoticed, he sure is memorable."

Noelle hands her the image. "This isn't a great picture, but is this him?"

She squints at it for a long moment. "I think so." After a beat, she says, "Yeah, it's him."

"Thanks," I tell her.

She hands the paper back and asks, "Is this part of your scavenger hunt? Did you find the next clue?"

"Maybe," Noelle says weakly.

I chime in, "Thanks for your help, Delphina. We won't keep you from your friends any longer."

She gives Noelle a searching look, then shrugs. "Okay. Have fun with your scavenger hunt."

As Delphina heads back to the strip club, I call after her, " And if you don't have a designated driver, call the Sober Sleigh for a ride home!"

Without turning around, she waves her hand over her head in acknowledgment.

I shift my attention to Noelle, who's staring down at the real, unopened clue. "This is your party, so you get to pick. We can head out to the sheriff's department and report this guy or we can continue the scavenger hunt with the understanding that you do not take off on your own again. That means if we have to put it aside until I take care of Santa-related business, you wait."

She exhales, long and slow. "This guy, whoever he is, is a creep and a jerk. But as far as I know, it's not against the law to sabotage a scavenger hunt."

"So you're choosing Option B?"

"Option B," she confirms.

"And no freelancing."

"No freelancing," she parrots dutifully.

I give her a grin and gesture toward the envelope. "What are you waiting for, then? Open it."