Save Me, Santa: A Chirstmas Anthology of Romance & Suspense (2 page)

Doggie style.

Chapter 3

Nick cringed, and cleared his throat. “That’s it, buddy!” he scolded Zenon as the pair broke up. “You are officially on the Naughty List. Get your butt over here.” The terrier trotted over with male triumph all over his I’m-too-sexy-for-my-fur face, followed by the adoring white moppet he’d just nailed.

For a split second, Nick felt a spurt of jealousy, then was horrified at himself. Good grief. It hadn’t been
that
long since he’d had a close encounter of the carnal variety. Just a couple of months. Six at the most. Okay, maybe seven.

He turned to the woman, who was thankfully looking more amused than upset, and grimaced apologetically. “Sorry! Unruly hormones. You’d think being fixed would cure that. I hope she wasn’t too traumatized.”

“Some urges never go away.” The woman giggled behind her fingers. “And your dog’s a hunk. Some girls have all the luck.” Her eyes widened. “Oops. Did I say that out loud?”

Nick’s grimace melted to a grin. But he resisted voicing the instant invitation that sprang to his lips.
Just
. Up close, the woman was a knockout. Not beautiful in the classic sense, but pretty, her face intriguingly full of life and animation, with a guileless openness he seldom saw in his line of work.

He stuck out his hand. “Hi. I’m Detective Nick Palladin. I’m so sorry about all this.”

Her brows went up as she grasped his hand and took in his bright red outfit. “Detective?”

“Volunteering on my day off,” he explained with a smile and a lift of his shoulder.

“What a nice thing for you to do, Detective Palladin,” she said approvingly.

“Nick. Please.”

“And I’m Emily. Emily Milan. But please don’t apologize.” She tipped her head at the two dogs who sat obediently next to each other on the sidewalk. “None of this is your fault.”

“No,” he said wryly, then realized he was still holding her hand, and reluctantly let it go. “It’s my dog’s fault.” He winced at her fancy clothes. They were a real mess. “Naturally, I’ll pay to have your suit cleaned.”

He shot Zenon a stern look. The big con artist was now lifting his paw toward Emily to shake, tail wagging enthusiastically, the very picture of charm and good manners.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she said, smiling down at Mr. Innocent-Me and taking his paw. “It wasn’t your dog’s fault, either. There was a man on the street who tried to kick Pogo, if you can believe that. Before I knew what was happening she’d attacked him and I stumbled and fell.” She made a face.

Nick stared in disbelief. “Someone tried to
kick
her?”

“I know, right? What a jerk.” She knelt down and scratched Pogo behind the ears. “Poor sweetie.” Then she reached over and gently straightened Zenon’s antlers, giving him a rub, too. “Lord, he’s cute. No wonder Pogo has a crush.” Her sparkling eyes rose to meet Nick’s.

He blinked, utterly enchanted.
Hell, Pogo wasn’t the only one
.

Nick knew Emily Milan was patently out of his league—everything about her, from her clothes to her diction, spelled upper class and high maintenance—but that didn’t stop the twist of attraction low in his belly.

He cleared his throat. “In any case, I insist on taking care of the cleaning bill.” He knew he was asking for trouble, but he dug in his pocket for one of his business cards, wrote his cell phone number on the back, and handed it to her. “Call me when you know how much the bill is.” He winked. “Hell, call me anytime.”

He held her gaze while his meaning sank in. A blush swept across her cheeks. “I—That would be—” She swallowed. “I’m only in town for a few more days.” She glanced down at her dirt-streaked business suit. “Job hunting.”

Right. She’d said something about Pogo belonging to a friend. She must be staying with this Cindy person. He felt an irrational twinge of satisfaction that Cindy wasn’t a man.

“What kind of work are you looking for?” he asked, choosing to ignore the warning bells.

Before she answered, they secured the dogs on their leashes and started walking down 22
nd
, back toward his donation stand. Her broken shoe gave her an uneven gait, so he offered her his arm. After a second of surprise, she took it with a grateful smile, and they walked slowly up the street, the dogs sniffing and exploring as they talked.

“I had an interview scheduled at an advertising agency for a position as a production scout for photo shoots,” she answered, “but it was ten minutes ago. I guess I can kiss that job goodbye.” Her disappointment was clear in the downcast expression that swept over her.

Ah, well. He was disappointed, too. He’d been right about her being out of his league. Hell, an everyday Joe like him belonged with a secretary, or a dental assistant, or something more… normal. What the hell was a production scout, anyway?
Trouble
, that’s what, an inner voice told him. And number one on Nick’s to-do list was to
un
complicate his life. Get out of Vice. Find a nice girl and settle down. Raise a few babies and train a few dogs. Barbecues on Friday nights with the neighbors, Sunday afternoons with football and the guys. Simple. Normal.
Stress free
.

Emily was not a woman who fit into that picture.

But he understood all about dreams. Who was he to judge hers?

He pulled out his cell phone. “What’s the name of the agency?”

She looked alarmed, but he reassured her and got the name, then called the person who was supposed to interview her.

“This is NYPD Detective Palladin out of the 10
th
Precinct. I have a Ms. Emily Milan with me. She witnessed an incident earlier and has been delayed, so she missed her appointment with you. She wanted to let you know she’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve finished with her here.”

He made nice, then hung up. “There. That should fix things.”

Emily’s mouth had dropped open. “Wow. That was really nice of you. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. Just kick ass at that interview. You can tell him from me, if he doesn’t give you the job I’ll call in all his outstanding parking tickets.”

It was a safe bet. Everyone in New York City had outstanding parking tickets. Especially big shot ad agency types. Not that he was profiling, or anything.

They approached a typical Chelsea midrise building, and she stopped in front of the entry. “This is me,” she said, extracted her arm from his, and held out her hand. “Thanks again, Nick. I really appreciate all your help.”

He took her hand in both of his, noticing how soft her skin was.
High maintenance
. “Be sure and call me with that cleaning bill. I mean it.”

She nodded. “I will.” But he got the distinct feeling she had no intention of calling.

Ah, well. Just as well. Emily Milan was a complication he didn’t need right now. Besides, in a few days she’d be gone from the city. Why start something that could never go anywhere, anyway?

#

Nick spent the afternoon the same way he’d spent the morning—ringing a bell on the street—and when Frank Kraznov’s veterinarian practice closed for the night, Nick folded up his donation stand and whistled for Zenon to follow, heading the few blocks to the precinct. After a quick shower in the locker room, and turning in his Santa suit and donations, he downloaded the photos from his tiny GoPro camera and spent a couple of hours on Photoshop enlarging the images, then running them through the department’s facial recognition software.

He wasn’t particularly surprised when nothing hit. Honestly, it would be nothing short of a miracle if the person that connected Kraznov to the human trafficking ring just happened to show up on one of the few days Nick was able to do surveillance. Especially since the bastard had noticed him and had no doubt warned all his scuzzbucket compatriots to keep a wide berth. But Nick
was
disheartened.

Not that it would stop him from repeating the process tomorrow. He simply didn’t know what else to do. No one believed him about the connection for a very good reason—there wasn’t any tangible evidence to support his theory. Just a dead certainty in his gut based on the dying confession of a junkie prostitute… but mostly on pure instinct.

With a sigh, he slashed a hand through his hair and leaned back in his squeaky metal chair. Once again, a slim feminine wallet sitting on the edge of his desk drew his attention like a siren song. It had been distracting him for most of the day, first burning a hole in his pocket as he rang his bell for donations, then flirting with him from the side of his desk blotter.

Emily’s wallet.

One of the onlookers had found it on the street after the dog incident, and returned it to him since he was a cop and had been part of the ruckus with the dogs.

He’d been debating with himself ever since. Should he return it in person? Or send it back to her via messenger…

The problem was, he only knew the building she was staying in, not the exact apartment. Like an idiot he hadn’t asked for her phone number. He’d been hoping she’d call about the dry cleaning bill so he could remedy that. But she hadn’t.

Should he, or shouldn’t he
… His head was telling him one thing, his body definitely the other.

He checked the wall clock. Eight-thirty pm. Still within the acceptable range for a social call. Just barely.

Though this
wasn’t
a social call. It would be strictly business. To return her wallet and reimburse her for the cleaning.

Sure it was
.

What the hell. You only live once, right?

He shut down his computer, put on his jacket, and called Zenon out from under his desk where he’d been dozing. “Come on, boy. Let’s go see your girlfriend.”

Zenon gave an excited whole-body wiggle, as though he understood perfectly. Nick rolled his eyes. “You’re not helping, you know?”

On the way over, he swung by The Dish on Eighth and ordered takeout—rigatone and linguine, a couple of salads, and a bottle of wine. He was a regular customer, so they threw in a couple of nice steak bones for the dogs.

Someone was just coming out of her building as he walked up, so he slipped in before the door shut completely. One hurdle down.

“All right, boy, do your thing,” he told Zenon. “Find Pogo. Find!”

At first the airehead looked confused. At Nick’s repeated command, he sniffed the air, then the floor, and his ears perked right up.
Bingo
.

“Good boy. Find Pogo!”

The Airedale bounded up three flights, and stopped in front of apartment 4C, pawing the bottom of the door and whining.

Nick praised him some more, scratched his ears, and gave him a biscuit. “Good job, buddy.”

Last chance to turn around and bail.

Hell, no
.

Nick straightened, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

Chapter 4

Emily glanced up from her book in surprise, thinking she must be imagining things. Who could be knocking at this hour?

Pogo bounced up from where she’d been curled by the toasty fire, and was yapping excitedly at the door. No mistake, then. Someone was there. Must be one of Cindy’s friends or neighbors who didn’t know she was out of town for the holidays.

Emily set aside the book and padded to the door. She wasn’t too worried, there were three separate deadbolt locks and one of those slidey hotel latches, and all four were securely fastened.

She shushed Pogo, and called, “Who’s there?”

A deep bark answered, followed by some masculine muttering, and then, “Hi Emily. It’s me, Nick.”

She froze, her eyes going big. “Oh!”
Oh, damn
.

Her gaze shot down to her clothing—or rather, her lack thereof—and instantly she felt her face flame.

After her suit was ruined, she’d swallowed her guilty feelings and looked through Cindy’s closet for something she might borrow for her rescheduled interview, despite the fact that her friend was a size smaller than Emily was. She hadn’t found a suit, but she
had
found a killer Christmas babydoll nightie and matching panties hanging in the closet with the tags still on. Cindy must have forgotten to pack them for her trip.

After her disastrous day, Emily had decided they were just the thing to lift her Christmas spirits. She’d reimburse Cindy later, once she’d gotten a job. So after her shower, she’d slipped on the luxurious lingerie, lit a roaring fire so she wouldn’t freeze, and poured herself a glass of wine… which had turned into two glasses as the evening progressed.

It had worked. She was definitely feeling much more cheerful.

And now, just a little mortified.

“Emily?”

“Oh! Yes. Hi, Nick. I just—If you’ll—”

She glanced down at herself again.

Ho-boy
.

Then she remembered how unbelievably sexy the detective was, and how attracted she’d been to him this morning. Lord, she’d fought with herself all afternoon about phoning him. She’d wanted to—Oh! How she’d wanted to!—but had forced herself not to dial his number. He was a cop, a detective, a steady kind of guy who’d want a stable, unadventurous kind of relationship to balance his dangerous, unpredictable job. Which was exactly the opposite of what Emily was looking for. She’d had enough of humdrum and boring in her small town upstate. She wanted some excitement in her uneventful life. Moving to Manhattan was the gateway to that change.

Well
, a little voice in her head tempted,
wasn’t the man on the other side of the door about as exciting as a mortal man could get?

Nick Palladin was handsome, heroic, funny, thoughtful… and, being a cop, safe. Not to mention sexy enough to curl any woman’s toes.

So, here was her chance. A perfect opportunity to do something totally crazy and exciting. With a ridiculously attractive man.

All she had to do was open that door. Her outfit would surely do the rest.

Okay, then.

Before she could change her mind, she twisted the three deadbolts, unhooked the hotel latch, and threw the door wide open.

She cocked her head and gave him a seductive smile. “Hullo, Detective.”