Keeping Christmas. B.J. Daniels
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“Your father believes that the only place you’ll be safe is Texas…”
“Then you should listen to my father,” Dixie said, eyes blazing with anger before she spun around and headed out the deck door, slamming it behind her.
Chance swore as he watched her walk to the edge of the railing, her back to him. The light breeze stirred her hair. He could see her breath coming out in small white puffs. Forty-eight hours. Hadn’t Bonner told him not to let Dixie get to him? Just find her and take her to the plane. Period. Bonner had said it was a family matter. Let them work it out. It had nothing to do with him. Hell, what were the chances that anyone was really trying to kill her anyway…?
Keeping Christmas
B.J. Daniels
This one is for my Uncle Jack Johnson,
whom we lost this year. Jack will be greatly missed,
especially his big heart, his laugh and his Texas barbecue.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A former award-winning journalist, B.J. Daniels had thirty-six short stories published before her first romantic suspense, Odd Man Out, came out in 1995. Her book Premeditated Marriage won the Romantic Times BOOKclub Best Intrigue award for 2002, and in the same year she received the magazine’s Career Achievement Award for Romantic Suspense. B.J. lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, two springer spaniels—Scout and Spot—and a temperamental tomcat named Jeff. She is a member of Kiss of Death, the Bozeman Writers’ Group and Romance Writers of America. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards in the winters and camps, water-skis and plays tennis in the summers. To contact her, write P.O. Box 183, Bozeman, MT 59771 or look for her online at www.bjdaniels.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Chance Walker—Tracking down Southern spitfire Dixie Bonner before Christmas should have been easy for the private investigator.
Dixie Bonner—When she found some old snapshots hidden in her mother’s jewelry box, Dixie had no idea of the danger—or that the trail would lead her to Montana to the man she’d always loved.
Beauregard Bonner—He’d kept the truth from his daughters all these years. But now not only was the secret out, it had unleashed a killer and an even bigger secret.
Rebecca Lancaster Bonner—All she ever wanted was to shed her family’s white-trash past and be one of Houston’s high society. How far would she go, though, to make sure no one ever found out the truth about her?
Oliver Lancaster—There were only two things in the world that got his blue blood going: money and power. Unfortunately, he stood to lose both unless his luck changed.
Carl Bonner—He’d always lived in his younger brother’s shadow. Everyone thought Carl had reason to resent Beauregard. Others thought he was just biding his time until he could get even.
Ace Bonner—It was hell being the poor, looked-down-upon cousin of Beauregard Bonner.
Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Prologue
The rain had stopped, but the parking garage seemed unusually cold and dark as Dixie Bonner started to step from the elevator.
One booted foot poised on the edge of the concrete, she hesitated, sensing something was wrong. She stood listening for whatever sound had alerted her, only now aware of how late it was. The library had closed for the night as had all the other businesses around it except the coffee shop back up the street where she’d been the past few hours.
She hadn’t realized the time or noticed how dark and empty the streets were. All the holiday shoppers had gone home for the night. She’d foolishly paid no attention because she’d had other things on her mind.
Now she felt vulnerable. Not that she wasn’t used to taking chances. It went with her job. But taking chances was one thing. Just being plain dumb was another.
She let one hand drop to her shoulder bag as she eased back, but kept her free hand holding the elevator doors open as she scanned the parking garage.
Her fingers found the purse’s zipper and began to slowly glide it open, speeding up as she heard the scrape of a shoe sole on the concrete floor of the garage.
She was in danger, but then she’d suspected that the moment the elevator doors had opened. She’d been on edge all night, at one point almost certain someone had been watching her beyond the rain-streaked window of the coffee shop.
There were two vehicles left in the unattended garage. A tan cargo van and her fire-engine-red Mustang. The van was parked right next to the Mustang.
Her hand closed over the can of pepper spray in her purse as she debated making a run for her car or returning to the upper level of the parking garage. Neither seemed prudent.
The decision was made for her as a man wearing a black stocking mask suddenly appeared in the open elevator doorway. A gun glinted in his right hand. She hit the door close button at the same time she brought up the can of pepper spray and pointed it at the man’s face.
He let out a howl and stumbled back as the full force of the pepper spray hit him in the eyes and soaked into the mask.
She shoved past him through the closing elevator doors, her eyes tearing from being in close counters with the spray. Running, near blind, tears streaming down her face, she sprinted toward the red blur of her car.
Too late she sensed movement out of the corner of her eye. A second masked man tackled her and took her down hard, knocking the air from her lungs. She landed on her stomach, gasping for breath even before he jammed his knee into her back to hold her down.
She still had the pepper spray can in one hand, a tight grip on her purse in the other. But she had a bad feeling that these men weren’t after her purse.
She tried to yell for help, knowing it was senseless. There was no one around. No one would hear her cries even if she had enough breath to scream.
Strong fingers twisted the pepper spray from her hand. She heard the can land where the man threw it, the can rolling away into the silence of the vacuous parking garage.
With her face pushed into the gritty cold-damp concrete, she could see nothing but the tires of her car next to her. She’d almost made it to safety.
She heard the first man come running up.
“Bitch.” He cursed. “My face is friggin’ on fire.”
She heard the anger in his voice and knew things were about to get a whole lot worse. The kick caught her in the ribs. The pain was excruciating, her cry pitiful, as the air was knocked out of her again.
She gasped