Lone Star Santa Page 13

  He couldn’t think about it.

  He zoomed through Sugar Land on Highway 6 at a speed that would normally have gotten him face time with the local police and he doubted he could declare a lighting emergency. But the good folks of Sugar Land were all in church this holiday season and there weren’t that many bad folks. Which was why the Sloanes were so successful. No one would suspect a generous contributor to community causes. No one would want to suspect a generous contributor to community causes.

  “The Sloane house is a huge showplace,” Kristen said. “Right on the golf course and next to a lake. Mom says they had to get the land rezoned so they could keep people from building in front of them and blocking their view.”

  “Must be nice.”

  “Now, now. Don’t be bitter.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll get wrinkles.”

  Mitch laughed. He couldn’t help it. “I haven’t had time to get bitter.”

  “Well, don’t bother.” The tone of Kristen’s voice changed and she gazed out the window as they passed houses that became more upscale and the exterior Christmas decorations more elaborate. “Bitterness is a backward emotion. You’re stuck in the past instead of living in the present and looking to the future.”

  “People can be bitter in the present.”

  Kristen shook her head. “People can be dissatisfied in the present.”

  “Are you talking about yourself?”

  “Yes and no. I’m in transition, I guess. I need to set new goals, but I’m not sure what they should be.”

  Yes. Let’s discuss her problems for a change. Before he could respond, she pointed to a small, cutesy country-style decorated wooden sign by a private road.

  “I think this is it. ‘Chuck’s Stake.’ Very funny. It must have been a gift.”

  Mitch turned onto the narrow asphalt drive. “I’m going to park around by the garage.”

  “Okay. And then what?” she asked, very reasonably.

  “I’ll give you a voltmeter and you can pretend to take readings. Tell anyone who asks that there were complaints of flickering lights and we’re checking for broken wires and shorts. If they give you any trouble, start throwing around the words ‘fire hazard’ and ‘liability release.’”

  “Ooo. Liability release. That’s a good one.”

  “Thanks. I don’t know if The Electric Santa has such a thing. I just made it up.”

  “Well, what if they want to sign one?”

  Did he have to think of everything? “I don’t know…tell them you don’t have a copy with you because nobody has ever been stupid enough to want to sign one!”

  “You’re very good at this,” Kristen said. “I’m impressed. If things don’t go well for you, you might consider working for my dad.”

  Mitch parked the car. “If things don’t go well for me, I’ll have a felony conviction.”

  “Yeah. Bummer.”

  “Bummer?” He stared at her. “That’s all you can say?”

  “Shh. I’m getting into character. It’s stupid to argue about your possible future hypothetical felony conviction. Now, I’ve got my story. I’ve got my character—what’s my mission?”

  Mitch had really hoped something would occur to him by now. They both stared at the house—mansion—Southern plantation—whatever. There was a pool. A guesthouse. A barbecue pit big enough to roast a steer. There was a garage complex and mechanic’s bay. When Mitch looked to one side, he saw a boat house with a dock and a sleek little cruiser in the slip. On the other side, the yard yielded to the golf course. Two golf carts were parked at the end of the private cart path that merged into the course paths.

  Mitch tried not to think about how much dirty money had paid for this or where it had been to get dirty.

  “I wonder what kind of crime bought this place,” Kristen said.

  “I was trying not to think about it.”

  “You know, after we take the Sloanes down, the government will confiscate this property and sell it at an auction. Wouldn’t it be cool to buy it? The ultimate revenge.”

  “Buy it with what?”

  She blinked at him. “With Jeremy’s half of the business, which you will own because you very cleverly wrote a fraud clause into your partnership agreement.”

  “Nice fantasy.”

  “Oh.” They stared at the house. “I should have known you were the handshake type.”

  “It might surprise you to know that it was Jeremy who didn’t need more than a handshake. Bringing in lawyers after that seemed like a lack of good faith.”

  “I’m not surprised. But Jeremy will be.” She smiled at him. “This is Texas, after all. A handshake has serious clout. You’ll be better off.”

  “Especially if I prove I shook hands with a snake.”

  “Uh—”

  “Just go with it.” They were wasting time. “Okay. This is where the kickoff party will be, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So we’ll just poke around for now. Let’s look for power outlets at the edge of the house and pretend to trace the light strings. Look in the windows and maybe we’ll get lucky and see something.”

  “Like a sign that says ‘money-laundering operation world headquarters’?”

  “Yeah, like that,” Mitch said.

  Kristen made a face and got out of the car. “In your dreams.”

  Mitch slammed the door. “You have yours and I’ll have mine.”

  Kristen took the meter he handed her and jogged up to the house. “I should have an iPOD,” he thought he heard her say.

  He stared at the house and wondered if any staff were on the premises. If he could get inside, then…then what? Sneak into the office and download the contents of the computer? Right. Except records of their laundering had to be kept somewhere. Would Chuck Sloane keep it on his home computer? Office computer? Jeremy’s computer? No computer at all?

  Kristen came jogging back. “There are lights outlining the windows. Why don’t you get the ladder out of the truck?” She bounced from side to side.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Teenagers have lots of energy.”

  He liked the way her ponytail flipped around. “You’re short.”

  “Five-five is not short. Five-five is average. I was wearing heels before.”

  “Oh.” He continued to watch her. The bouncing was quite nice.

  “Mitch?”

  “Huh?”

  “I am only pretending to be a teenager, therefore I do not have a teenager’s energy. Please get the ladder!”

  They carried the ladder to the front of the house. Mitch climbed it to check out the upper windows and Kristen prowled around beneath him and spied into the lower ones.

  “See if it looks as though they’re getting ready to leave. Maybe packing boxes or something,” Mitch called down to her.

  “They can’t really pull up chuck stakes now—ha ha. Get it?”

  “Yeees.”

  “Well, they can’t pack before the party. It would look funny and people would ask questions.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Mitch’s frustration mounted. The problem with living life on the straight and narrow was that he had no experience with the crooked and wide. “See if you can find the office.”

  They’d moved around to the side of the house before Kristen located the ground floor office. Mitch had climbed down the ladder and was looking inside when they heard the purr of a car engine coming from the golf course side.

  “They can’t be back already!” Kristen turned a panicked face toward him.

  “Worse.” Mitch stared at the approaching car. The lapis metallic blue car. “That’s a Porsche 911 Carrera S Cabriolet. Jeremy’s car.” He drew a long, fortifying breath. “I wonder what kind of damage a plastic Santa can do to a Porsche 911 Carrera S Cabriolet.”

  “It depends on whether it’s attached to a truck at the time.” Kristen clamped both hands around his arm. “Get back up on the ladder,” she ordered. “Keep y
our face turned away and make some noise with the staple gun. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Don’t talk to him!” Mitch climbed the ladder. “Ignore him. You’re checking for wiring problems. You’ll be invisible to him.”

  She put one hand on her hip. “Oh, honey, I am never invisible to men.”

  “You’re supposed to be in high school!”

  “I wasn’t invisible then, either.”

  This was not going to go well.

  Jeremy drove the car toward the garage with an impressive waste of power. He screeched to a pinpoint stop. Gravel pinged Mitch’s ladder.

  What was Jeremy doing here now? It was over a week until Christmas—who was running the company? Other than tax-time, this was their busiest time of the year. Who was looking after their clients? Did they have any clients left? Real ones?

  Mitch had a horrible thought. Had they ever had real clients?

  The thought made him queasy, which wasn’t good since he was on a ladder.

  A door slammed. In the reflection on the window glass, Mitch watched Jeremy’s progress. He withdrew an overnighter, hanging bag and a duffel.

  He was obviously home for Christmas.

  “Hey, there.” It was the friendly opener Jeremy used with women. And he was using it on Kristen.

  Had he recognized her? Mitch let loose with a couple of staples.

  “Hey,” she responded. “Nice car.”

  No! Hadn’t he told her not to talk to Jeremy?

  “Thanks. I haven’t had it long. It was my twenty-fifth birthday present to myself.”

  Liar. And shaving years off his age?

  “Sweet.” Kristen moved closer.

  Jeremy dumped his luggage off to the side. “Want to go for a ride?”

  Mitch abused the windowsill with a flurry of staples.

  “Can’t. I’m working.” She bounced a little.

  No bouncing.

  Jeremy leaned against his car in “the pose.” Mitch had taken pictures of him in “the pose.” There was a framed one in Jeremy’s office.

  “So what are you working on?”

  “Oh—” she flung an arm toward the house “—some of the lights are messin’ up so we’re fixing them.”

  Jeremy glanced up at Mitch, who pretended to be checking bulbs. If there had been a real problem, it would have been far more cost effective to replace the string and be done with it. He hoped Jeremy didn’t think of that.

  “What are you doing after you fix the lights?”

  “Writing a paper.” Kristen’s unenthusiastic voice brought back memories.

  “College?”

  “No, silly.” She giggled. “High school. I’m a senior.”

  She should have gone with college, Mitch grumbled to himself. He let loose with another barrage of staples. He could only stay up here so long. It was just a string of icicle Christmas lights. He looked at the line of staples. When the lights came down, they’d probably bring the windowsill with them.

  In the sudden silence, he caught the last of what Kristen was saying.

  “…cheerleader.”

  What? What?

  “Ready? O-kay!” She positioned herself, hands on hips, feet together. “We’re the sweetest, you’re so sour…”

  She was doing a cheer. A cheer. For Jeremy. Mitch risked looking down.

  “…you’ve got nothing, we’ve got power!”

  Now she was jumping up and down squealing, “Yea, Sugar Land!”

  Jeremy was lapping it up.

  And Mitch? Mitch was flashing back to Friday night’s outfit. Someday…

  But back to Jeremy, who did not know about Friday night’s outfit and should not be lapping up anything of high school age.

  “Good ole Sugar Land,” Jeremy was saying. “Hey, I don’t know your name. I’m Jeremy.”

  Mitch tried to drown out Kristen with the staple gun, but the thing quit working.

  “Krissie.”

  Krissie was too close to Kristen. She was going to give him heart failure.

  “Well, Krissie, I’m staying with my parents this week. There’s supposed to be some party here.”

  No. He wouldn’t. Actually, Jeremy would. But Kristen—no. No, she wouldn’t dare. Mitch smacked the staple gun against the side of the house. Why wouldn’t the stupid thing work?

  “Oh, yeah! It’s for the Light Parade volunteers. Everybody will be here.”

  “Including you?” Jeremy’s voice was low and sexy. Not sexy to Mitch, but no doubt appealing to a high school girl who didn’t know any better.

  “Well, duh!” chirped Kristen.

  Mitch snickered under his breath.

  “Maybe I can take you for a ride then,” Jeremy said. “We can see all the lights. You can fill me in on what’s happening at Sugar Land High these days.”

  Incredible. The man was hitting on a high school girl.

  “I can’t.” She sounded convincingly disappointed. “I’ll be working the parade and there’s no way Mom and Dad will let me go out that late.”

  Good girl.

  She looked down and fiddled with the voltmeter. “I’ve got finals this week, but we could get together after the party.” She bit her lip and gazed at him from beneath her cap.

  Bad girl.

  Mitch really hoped she saw the smug I’ve-got-you-and-I-know-it expression on Jeremy’s face before he inhaled and unfolded his arms. “The ’rents and I are going skiing right after the party.” Bending down, he retrieved his luggage. “Unless you’re up for a study break, it looks like you’ll miss out.”

  Skiing? During the last trading days of the year? No. No no no.

  “I love to ski,” gushed Kristen.

  What was she doing, angling for an invitation?

  “Where are you going?”

  “Engleberg.” He started toward the house. “It’s in Switzerland.”

  Land of the anonymous bank accounts.

  “Wow. How long are you gonna be there?”

  “As long as the skiing is good.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  Jeremy unlocked the door. “Luck is nothing more than taking advantage of an opportunity.”

  Was that what Mitch was? An opportunity? He squeezed the staple gun so tightly his hand went numb.

  “Well…if you feel like taking advantage of an opportunity, I might need a ride home from school.” Kristen tilted her head and toyed with the meter she held.

  Jeremy flashed his perfectly bleached and bonded teeth. “You know what my car looks like.” And he went into the house.

  Chapter Ten

  The door had barely closed before Mitch climbed down the ladder and folded it. “Let’s go, Lolita.” He took off toward the truck.

  “Shouldn’t we—”

  Mitch stopped walking and glared at her before continuing toward the truck. She could follow or not. If she needed a ride, Jeremy could give her one.

  “Mitch.”

  He didn’t trust himself to answer. He wanted to toss the metal ladder into the truck bed, but, because he was Mitch the thoughtful, Mitch the good guy, Mitch the dependable, he carefully loaded the ladder so it wouldn’t scratch the paint.

  But he slammed the tailgate.

  He stalked around to the driver’s side and got in.

  Kristen was already inside, seatbelt fastened. “Let’s hope Jeremy isn’t watching your little tantrum.”

  Mitch started the truck and shifted gears as though he’d never driven a stick before. “He’ll just think I’m jealous.”

  Kristen mulled that over. “Are you jealous?”

  “No!”

  “Because you don’t need to be.”

  “I am not jealous.”

  “You’re something, and you can’t be mad at me because I rocked.” She counted off on her fingers. “We now know he and his parents are leaving the country, and I can show up at the party—”

  “You were going anyway.”

  “And I set it up so I can see him before then in case you need a dis
traction.”

  “I don’t need that kind of distraction. What were you thinking?” They’d made it down the back drive to the “Chuck’s Stake” sign without Mitch running into anything and he’d really, really wanted to clip the bumper of a certain metallic lapis blue Porsche 911 Carrera S Cabriolet.

  “I was thinking that we were there to get information. I was thinking that we weren’t doing so well until Jeremy drove up.”

  “He could have recognized you.”

  “Not a chance.”

  How could she be so calmly certain when he still couldn’t breathe normally? “Kristen…your face was on a billboard in Sugar Land when you were Miss Sweetest.”

  “I was wearing a crown and make up.” She slid him a glance that he saw out of the corner of his eye as he turned onto the main road. “You didn’t recognize me that first day at Noir Blanc.”

  True.

  “You were in more danger of being recognized. But Jeremy saw what he wanted to see. He wanted to impress a high school girl.”

  “That’s sick.”

  Kristen drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. It was a youthful gesture and she looked like a high school girl.

  “You shouldn’t have talked to him for so long.”

  “Mitch, you weren’t the only one I checked out. I know Jeremy’s type. I met enough of them in Hollywood. He’s compensating.”

  “For what?” From Mitch’s point of view, Jeremy had it all.

  “For being overlooked. Not taken seriously. Dismissed. For not being admired or popular. I remembered a couple of things about him from school and I looked him up in my sophomore yearbook—when you guys were seniors. I think he’s one of those people who desperately wants to be popular, so he lets people use him in hopes that they’ll like him and then he’ll be popular, too. Only it never works out that way. They’ll take what he gives, but they’ll never give back.”

  Mitch considered that while he negotiated the increasingly heavy traffic. “High school was a long time ago.”

  “It shapes us.”

  “Then Jeremy was warped,” Mitch grumbled.

  “Here’s the thing. Jeremy believes that he’s better than everyone else and he wants it acknowledged.”