Sex, Lies and Mistletoe (17 page)

“Caleb isn’t a do-nothing, Mrs. Vincent,” Pandora defended, seeing the trap an instant too late.

“Guess that answers our question, then, doesn’t it,” Mrs. Vincent said with a wicked smile on her benign old-lady face. She and Mrs. Sellers hooked arms and sashayed out of the store, whispering and tossing dire looks back over their shoulders.

Another customer, one who Pandora didn’t know personally, gave a judgmental sort of tut-tut, then went back to her shopping.

Panic gripped a tight fist in Pandora’s stomach. What had she done? She should have kept things with Caleb quiet. The mess with Sean had been horrible, but the whispers and snide innuendo from everyone who knew them, everyone she’d worked with, that’d almost been worse.

“Pandora, I love what you’ve done here,” a pretty blonde interrupted as she carried a large statue of Eros, the god of love to the counter. She patted his naked ceramic butt before pointing to the tower of boxed aphrodisiac pepper cookies, the day’s special. “Can you throw in a box of extraspicy cookies, too? I think they’ll be a perfect gift for my Jazzercise instructor.”

“She likes cookies?” Kathy asked, apparently not in such a hurry that she didn’t have time to be social. She leaned forward on the counter, trying to peek up Eros’s flowing strip of fabric to see how he was hanging.

“Sure. But mostly it’s because she’s got this new boyfriend and wants to make sure this relationship has a chance,” the woman said, adding an astrology book, two CDs and a woven celestial shawl to the counter. “I guess she was dating this guy last month who was all about a little chemical enhancement, if you know what I mean. He claimed it’d boost their sex lives and make her look and feel gorgeous.”

Starting to ring up the fabulous sale, Pandora exchanged a confused look with Kathy. Before she could ask, though, the woman continued. “She wasn’t having anything to do with that fake stuff, though. But now she’s paranoid that her new guy thinks she’s ugly and that she sucks in bed. So I figured some cookie encouragement, along with a spa gift certificate, might help boost her confidence a little.”

“Cookie courage,” Pandora intoned with a wise nod.

The three of them joked their way through the rest of the transaction, but as soon as the door bells rang behind the blonde, Pandora frowned at Kathy.

“What do you think she’s talking about? Chemical enhancements? Like…” She trailed off, then shrugged. “What do you think she meant?”

Kathy gave her a long, knowing look that clearly said she realized this was a pathetic topic change and she was allowing it for now. But there would be a price to pay. Pandora figured she’d better bring chocolate.

“Well, chemical usually means drugs,” Kathy pointed out finally. Pandora nodded. “But the looking-good part? Maybe that means hallucinogens or something? Who knows?”

The two women shared a puzzled look.

“Pandora, did you want to open the café early today?” Fifi asked as she hurried from the back where she’d been prepping the cash register for lunch.

“We don’t start serving until eleven,” Pandora said, glancing at the clock shaped like a cat wearing a wizard hat. Most of the food was already prepped and ready in the kitchen, but she still needed to put the finishing touches on the asparagus salad and whip a fresh bowl of cream. “That’s an hour away.”

“I know, but I’ve had three people ask if we’d consider it. They need to be other places but really want your saffron chicken special.”

“It’d be cool to bump up our income with an extra hour of lunch,” Pandora mused, glancing at the beaded doorway leading to the café. “But I don’t think we can. The store is too busy, I can’t afford for one of us off the floor that much longer.”

“Maybe we should hire holiday help?” Fifi said, her voice lifting in excitement. “I mean, even if it’s only for the holidays. Things are so busy now, we could use another set of hands. I have a friend who’d be great. Russ. You’ve met him, right? He could come in during café hours. Maybe just until the new year when things slow down again?”

Hire help? Pandora bit her lip. What did she know about choosing employees? Fifi had worked at the store off and on for years, so it hadn’t been as if Pandora had hired her so much as rehired her. But someone totally new? With her lousy judgment in people? She shuddered.

“You remember Russ? Kinda geeky guy who’s been hanging around the store the last few weeks. He’s a nice guy. Sweet and great at math,” Fifi prodded. “Want me to give him a call?”

Pandora took a deep breath, looking around again. Her stomach was churning and she wanted to go hide in the office, make a list of pros and cons and debate the idea for a few hours.

But Fifi and Kathy were giving her expectant looks, and she had a store to run.

“Sure,” she decided. Then realizing that she needed to be a businesswoman, not a wimp, she added, “I’ll talk to him and see if I think he’d fit in well here at Moonspun Dreams.”

“Oh, I think he will. He’s fascinated by all things mystical and really wants to learn,” Fifi said with an excited clap of her hands. “And he knows a lot of people. So I’m sure he’ll be talking up the store and how great you’re doing here, too.”

Great, Pandora thought. Someone else talking about her. Just what she needed.

CALEB STRETCHED OUT on his hotel bed, staring in satisfaction at his stockinged feet. When the hell was the last time he’d taken a nap, let alone lounged around without his boots on?

Always being properly shod was a necessary component of always being ready to run. And he’d spent the past eight years, hell, his entire life, actually, ready to hit the road at a moment’s notice.

A job gone wrong. A drugged-out dealer breaking in to kill him. A fight with one of his siblings. One of his dad’s cons turning sour. All required footwear.

Wasn’t it just a little ironic that the first taste he’d had of the ultimate deliciousness that was Pandora, he’d had his boots on? Or maybe it was some kind of cosmic payback for all his years of running.

He was still grinning a sappy, dork-ass grin when his cell rang.

“Black,” he answered.

“Report?”

“Happy holidays, Hunter. How’s the shopping coming along? Do you feebies do the secret Santa thing? Or do you buy for the entire task force? If so, don’t forget my favorite color is gray.”

“Not black?”

“Too obvious.”

“Something you never are.”

“Exactly.”

“Are we finished?”

Caleb considered the white cotton of his stocking-clad toes for a few seconds, then nodded.

“Yep, sure. We’re finished. What’s up?”

“I’m calling for your status report.”

“Is this how you handle your minions? Formal report requests? This businesslike tone that says, ‘Dude, I’m in charge!’?”

“Is this how you talk to your superiors? With total disregard for authority? Your smart-ass mouth running on fast-forward?”

Caleb wiggled his toes, then nodded. “Yep. Guess that’s why they aren’t crying too hard over me retiring, huh?”

“I have trouble believing you actually think you can retire,” Hunter said, now sounding more like Caleb’s old roommate and beer buddy than an uptight FBI agent. “You’re an adrenaline junky. You might be sick of the streets, but you’re not going to be able to give up the job. Not totally.”

Caleb’s toes weren’t looking so appealing anymore. Tension, as familiar as his own face, shot through his shoulders as he swung his feet to the floor.

“I could get used to not having people shoot at me. I’m thinking I’d like a life spent not dealing with strung-out hookers and South American drug lords with their zombie army of addicts.”

“You’d just let them all go free?”

“I’m not the only guy out there, Hunter. There’re plenty of DEA agents who can bring them down.”

“As good as you?”

“Of course not.”

Neither of them were kidding, Caleb knew. Hunter, because he didn’t know how. And himself, because, well, he
was
damn good. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t finished.

“What’d you call for?” he asked, not willing to keep circling the same useless point he’d already discussed with his boss four times since he’d hit Black Oak for his fake vacation.

“Just what I said. I’m calling for your report.”

“No, you’re not. You’re not a micromanager. If I had something to report, I’d have called you myself. And you know that. So what’s the deal?”

The other man’s hesitation was a physical thing. If he’d been in the room, Caleb knew he’d see the calculation in his old friend’s eyes as he decided the best way to handle the situation. Good ole Hunter, always strategizing.

“Your father has some odd activity going on. A lot of major part orders, hiring a couple guys with dealing records, parties in the shop after hours.”

Stonefaced, Caleb analyzed that info as objectively as possible. Then he shrugged. “It’s the holidays—from what I’ve heard, he has a lot of big holiday orders. He probably needs mechanics to meet them, and isn’t that picky about their backgrounds.”

“He’s dating some hottie in town. She was in your sister’s graduating class.”

Wincing, Caleb hunched his shoulders. Just when he thought his father couldn’t embarrass him anymore…

“So my old man is snacking on a Twinkie. So what?”

“You know sex is one of the prime motivators. Have you checked this woman out?”

“I’m not checking out my father’s old lady.”

In the first place, the idea was gross. In the second, it would up the chances that he’d actually have to speak with his father. In the week he’d been in town, he’d managed to duck the guy’s calls and avoid actually being in the same breathing space. He was calling it deep undercover. So deep, he wasn’t even coming into contact with the suspect.

“She’s the stepdaughter of a known South American dealer. She’s reputed to be estranged from her family, but the connection can’t be ignored.”

“Lilah Gomez?”

God, this was like some twisted soap opera. Striding over to the window, Caleb shoved his hand through his hair. This day had started out so nice. Incredible sex, a woman who filled his head with crazy thoughts of tomorrow and, dammit, relaxing in his stocking feet.

“You know her?”

He wasn’t about to admit that after that first day when he hadn’t recognized her, she’d gone on to hit on him three more times since he’d come to town. He grimaced. Especially since that he didn’t know if her thing with his father was new or not.

“She and my sister were tight growing up. They hung out, had sleepovers, that kind of thing. Then Lilah went over to the wild side, and she and Maya went their separate ways.”

Caleb waited, but Hunter didn’t say anything about Lilah’s current sleepover choices. And that, friends, was why he was still Caleb’s best buddy.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Hunter said instead.

Staring out the window at the frosty cold coating the bare tree branches, Caleb grunted.

“I’d hoped you’d find someone else. Another suspect or connection.”

“Even if my old man’s acting like a hound dog, there’s still nothing to tie him to this,” Caleb argued.

“There’s nothing to point the finger in any other direction,” Hunter rebutted. “Is there?”

Caleb sighed. “The case is moving slow. I’ve been connecting my way up the food chain. I’m cozying up to one of the midlevel dealers. He knows names, clearly has the inside track. But he’s not sharing. Yet.”

“Any hint about who’s on top?”

Caleb grimaced. “These guys are cocky, sure they are untouchable. So it’s someone with pull. Someone who can influence the law.”

He waited, but again, Hunter didn’t take the obvious opening. Gotta love the guy.

“I saw one of the couriers last night from a distance. He’s familiar. As soon as I figure out where I’ve seen him before, I’ll have the break we need.”

“You’ve seen him on another case?”

Caleb thought back to the brown shaggy hair, all he’d been able to identify from two blocks away. “No, he’s local. I’ll do the rounds again, figure it out.”

“Good job,” Hunter said. “In the meantime, I have a remote, wildly impossible thread that if tugged could disintegrate instantly.”

“Sounds promising.”

He could handle delicate. Hell, if it meant keeping his old man out of jail, he could handle delicate while juggling porcelain and wearing roller skates.

“Intel shows that a new citizen to Black Oak has some connections. A relationship with a pharmacist busted for a prescription scam. She was implicated but skated.”

“So why are you grudging after my old man? Why aren’t you pounding on her door instead?”

“In the first place, it’s not a grudge. Your old man has a record longer than I am tall.”

“A record of suspicions. No convictions.”

“Minor detail.”

“Major legality.”

“Whatever,” Hunter dismissed. “And in the second place, while there is enough here to warrant a first glance, it’s pretty much a waste of a second look. Other than this one relationship, the woman has a spotless rep. No record, no connections, no history to support drug suspicions.”