“You saved my life,” Mallory said.
“I want to help save yours by helping you catch this guy. You know, return the favor.”
Shamus took Mallory’s elbow and moved her to a corner away from everyone else. “I have a couple of ways you can return the favor,” he said slowly. “They are really important to me.”
Her eyebrows raised in question. He continued, “Promise me you will not get involved in this bombing investigation. And that you won’t invite me to join the other probation officers at lunches and after work anymore. I don’t want to be a part of things.”
Her reaction was the same as if he’d taken a rose and crushed it under his heel. His heart thumped painfully. He had to be this way.
“You are such a hard man to like,” Mallory told him. “But I’m not giving up on you.”
FLORENCE CASE
is a New Jersey native who expected to stay in the Northeast to work, and so earned a bachelor of arts degree in German from Montclair State College (now University). Then she met and married her fantastic husband and moved to the Deep South, where she has run into only one person who spoke German. But her college education was not wasted—she had several novels published before coming to Steeple Hill to write; she homeschooled her beloved son, born with autism and developmental delays, for several years; and she’s trying hard to get another B.A. in speaking Southern. Because she loves to knit sweaters, crochet for babies in need, and teach adult Sunday School, most never suspect Florence dives right into danger—she once went after a really big snake in her front yard with her really little car. All kidding aside, the only danger she dives into is in the stories she makes up in her head and the ones she reads in other romantic suspense novels, which she loves. You can catch up with her latest news on www.shoutlife.com/FlorenceCase.
Mistletoe and Murder
Florence Case
Let all bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, and evil speaking be put away from you, with all malice.
And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you.
—Ephesians 4:31–32
My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience.
—James 1:2–3
To Jessica Miller and Jack Phillips, the kids of my heart, for keeping me laughing all the time, but especially in October. And thanks to Eric—any mistakes are mine.
Special thanks to Melissa Jeglinski and Tina Colombo, for their understanding and kindness.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EPILOGUE
LETTER TO READER
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
ONE
Finished with her pre-sentence report, Mallory Larsen picked up a box wrapped in shiny red and silver Christmas paper and turned a speculative gaze on the only other probation officer left in the office past closing time on a Friday—Shamus Burke. She’d give making friends with him one last stab, and if a present given from the heart didn’t work, she was done trying.
Shamus rarely spoke unless he had to, and his stare was so intimidating their coworkers avoided him whenever possible. No one had minded when he’d skipped out on the Christmas party earlier that afternoon. No one except her. Because he hadn’t used to be so mean.
On the contrary. A couple years back, the former police detective had really enjoyed the Christmas season—at least from what she’d seen while he and his wife participated in the church’s Christmas cantata along with her. He’d always been friendly with other church members and happy to visit with residents at the nursing and assisted-living homes where they’d sung. His love for the Lord had radiated from him.
As had his love for his wife. They’d had the kind of relationship Mallory had always yearned for. She’d admired him from afar, and wished for a man like Shamus to come into her life.
But then he’d dropped out of church—and out of sight—to catch his wife’s murderer. When he’d resurfaced again as Mallory’s coworker at the Shepherd Falls County Probation Office a month ago, all traces of the old Shamus were gone. He’d acknowledged remembering her but then had been tense and uncommunicative and a royal pain to all of them, and she wanted to see the old Shamus back. This new one was just too hard to live with.
Gift in hand, she rose and walked right by the sparkly Christmas cards edging the desk of her best friend, Ginny Keane, but couldn’t resist stopping at Mosey Burnham’s workspace to press the top of his cherry-cheeked, tabletop Santa’s head.
“Ho, ho, ho!” the Santa called out, which made her grin and got Shamus’s bent, black-eyed gaze pointed in her direction, one eyebrow lifted.
Oops. So much for ambushing him so he wouldn’t have a chance to think of an excuse to refuse her gift. His eyes narrowed as she reached his desk, which was the only one in the room that didn’t have anything Christmasy on it. Sad, considering this was the same man who once sang in the cantata performance wearing a small Santa pin. Shamus needed help. Giving him her most cheerful smile, she held out the present.
“Merry Christmas,” she said.
He didn’t reach out or nod his head. He just stared. Which wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily. With his black, wavy hair, thick eyebrows and the crinkled corners of his black-velvet eyes, he was awfully easy to look at.
Too bad he wasn’t as easy to deal with.
No matter. He was getting the gift whether he wanted it or not. She could be stubborn, too, if it were for someone’s own good.
“You missed the Christmas party earlier. I brought a handmade gift for everyone, and this one’s yours.” The silver, scissor-curled ribbons on top bounced
