The Christmas Thief (11 page)

“What do you think?”

She nodded, surprised by how happy she felt for him. “Marc, it’s lovely. Beautiful.”

He chuckled. “Haven’t built it yet.”

She turned, taking in the pleased look on his face. She breathed him in, not sure where the smell of earth and pine began and ended. “Well,” she said, “it will be gorgeous. I just know it.”

“There’s more.”

She felt her brows raise. The night was coming, but she didn’t want to wait to see what else Marc had in store for his home. “Tell me.”

With care, he turned her around until she was nearly facing the canyon. She gasped, and swiveled a look at him. “I don’t understand.”

“My Christmas present to you.”

Her gaze took in the beloved pine that skirted the newly set foundation. An over-sized red bow was affixed to one of its feathery branches. Tears gathered quickly, making their way out in record time. The lump in her throat made it difficult to release the words she longed to say.

His arm found her waist and he pulled her closer. “It’s not going anywhere,” he said, kissing her temple. “And there are more surprises on the horizon.”

Still unable to speak, Tasha turned to him, allowing her body to fold into his embrace. And then she told him what his gift meant to her ... without ever saying a word.

~~~

After Marc had kissed her goodnight, Tasha wandered into her cabin with Wolfy in tow. She went about shucking her jacket and kicking off her boots, her lips still warmed by Marc’s. She slipped her stocking feet into a pair of furry slippers, filled up Wolfy’s food and water dishes, and was about to curl up on her couch for a good bit of reliving and dreaming, when she noticed the wine bottle, a decanter filled with dark cherry-colored wine, and a note on the kitchen table.

The elegant bottle of aged Cabernet had come from one of her favorite California vineyards. She read the note:

Dear Tasha,

I hope you will have a glass of wine tonight and relax, thinking of us.

My love,

Marc

She swung a look at the door and smiled. He’d said there would be more surprises.
That man thinks of everything.
She didn’t have to be told twice.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The first thing she remembered when she awoke from the most heinous dream of her life was the headache. An incessant throb started at the base of her head and wrapped its way up the curve of her skull until settling at the peak. Pressure rained down on her eyes and to her cheek bones. She attempted to reach up and massage away the pain, but couldn’t, her hands wound together in front of her with strong, woven strips of nylon. A cry ripped from her throat, its sound warbly, terrified. She forced her lids open, her eyes assaulted by cold, early morning air. They burned until tears formed and she would have to let them close again.

Dear God
, she prayed,
what happened
?

Something rustled in nearby fauna. She snapped her eyes open, allowing them to burn as she investigated. Dense vegetation surrounded her, the air eerily quiet. She saw no one. Heard no one.

How in the world did she get here?

Spotting the trunk of a tree, Tasha inched her way toward it on her back. Any movement was laborious, intense, so much that she might as well have been dragging a fully-loaded trailer behind her. When she reached the base of the tree, she laid there, her breathing heavy and jagged. She fought the tears, but they forced their way through anyway. With all the force she could gather, she poised her tied hands in front of her, grunting as she pulled herself into a sitting position. Although she’d neglected her upper body for months now, years of yoga had prepared her ab muscles for this moment.

With her back against that tree, she gazed into the wooded land, taking in its beauty, both foreboding and comforting. Foreboding because of the secrets it held, but otherwise green and lush, although terribly cold. It would warm up, she knew. She hung on to that promise.

Certain that she’d been left there alone, for whatever reason she couldn’t fathom, Tasha allowed her eyes to flop shut again. She knew she should try to stand, to get out of there, but fatigue had wrapped its suffocating arms around her and she drifted into them. Her mind played a voice. She couldn’t make it out, though it sounded familiar. The words ... what were the words?

You thought you could trust me ...

You didn’t mean what you said, did you?

You know you drive me crazy, don’t you?

Wait ... Marc had left her something. What was it? What! She tried to stay awake, stretching her brows upward, but her eyes would not open. Could not open. Oh, the pain in her head. It pounded with a ferocity, sucking away at her memory, her senses. Why would he say those things to her? She thought she could trust him, but now ... oh her head ...

She felt herself fading, struggling with those last moments of consciousness. A garbled voice coaxed her to sleep, its voice harsh and unforgiving.
I thought I could trust you, but all you’ve done is gotten in my way ...

~~~

She awoke for the second time, tired and dehydrated, but she rallied. The netting tied around her feet was no match for the sharp, rugged rock not far from where she’d laid her head. The nylon around her hands was another story. She couldn’t find a way to saw the tightly wrapped nylon off without severely cutting up her aching hands. They had already turned blue from lack of blood flow, and several scrapes had bled and clotted.

But her legs were free, and she could walk. When adrenaline kicked in, she also discovered that she could jog. Unfamiliar with this area of the woods, she followed the sun. When she’d awakened earlier for the second time, that ball of gold had been overhead, but since then, it had moved westward. She followed it, hopeful to either find the road toward home—or the ocean.

Minutes stretched into the afternoon, but she cautiously walked on, that menacing voice now faded to a whisper. No matter how hard she strained, grabbing onto the identity of that voice was like trying to pull a speck of shell out of a gooey raw egg. The words, though, she could not get out of her head. They continued to swirl in and out of her consciousness like a pinwheel. How had she allowed this to happen?

An aching hole in her gut caused her to slow more than once, including a stop to vomit. With each wretch, she felt grief over her predicament ebbing away only to be replaced with a loathing she had never felt. Not even when Roger had left her before the wedding.

Roger. He had been here only yesterday. Or was it the day before? She swallowed bile, too weak to fully grasp the bombardment of panic. Roger had brought her wine ... or wait, maybe it was Marc. She stopped and massaged her right temple, listening to the whoosh of her own breath in her ears.

She reached the roadway with myriad questions, an empty stomach, and a silent whoop of relief. Tentatively, she stepped onto the road, stealing glances over her shoulder. Several silent minutes passed before she heard tires on pavement. Her throat closed and she hurled herself behind a tree, watching. Her heart thrummed in her chest. A truck approached, heading in the direction she needed to go, and it was green. A vibrant, obnoxious green.

She stumbled out to the roadway and waved her tied hands into the air.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

At her cabin, Tasha let herself out of Katie’s father’s truck and stumbled into Lorena’s waiting arms. Marylu stood right behind her with Wolfy in her arms.

Lorena’s tears were hot and fat. “Oh, Tasha, oh! Everybody’s out looking for you! Marc, his crew ... everybody.”

Katie came around the infamous green truck. She put a hand on Tasha’s shoulder, her pale gray eyes peering up at her. “Found her by the side of the road with this around her hands.” The girl held up the nylon restraints. “Thank God I had my dad’s tools in there.”

Marylu gasped. “Oh, you poor thing! What happened? Are you hurt?”

A squad car pulled up before Tasha could find the words to relay the details of the entire terrifying event. Truthfully, she didn’t know when she would ever be able to assemble all the pieces of last night’s puzzle.

Officer Wesley approached. “Ma’am. I’d like to take a statement, and then we should probably get you to a hospital.”

Tasha shook her head of curls vigorously. “I’ll answer your questions, but no hospital. Please. I need a shower and sleep.” She glanced over at Marc’s property, her heart pained at his absence.

Marylu put her hand on Tasha’s arm. “I sent him a text,” she whispered. “It doesn’t look like his phone is on.”

Lorena cut in, guiding Tasha with her good arm around her shoulder. “Honey, let’s get you sitting down and some nourishment in you and then we’ll talk about finding you some medical attention.” She glanced at the officer. “Wes, please.”

He flapped his book shut. “Let’s make it fast, Lorena.”

The entourage made their way along the side of Tasha’s house to the entry door, which stood open. Tasha halted, sucking in a breath, fresh memories assaulting her.

“Investigator’s already been through here,” the officer said. “You’re free to go inside.”

When she wavered, Marylu asked, “What is it? Do you remember something?”

“He ... I answered the door.”

Officer Wesley reopened his writing pad.

Lorena rubbed her shoulder again. “Who was there, sweetheart?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, searching her mind for more than just bits of the past night. She remembered the kiss ... and the bottle of wine. And the note. She had relaxed on the couch with a glass, content, maybe a little tipsy. A knock on the door, and she got up to answer it ...

Tasha turned to the three of them. She swallowed a painful lump in her throat. “I’m not sure. No matter how hard I try, the details are shadowy at best. Maybe it was the thief ...”

One of the officer’s brows shot up like a torpedo. “Thief?”

The folds in Lorena’s forehead deepened and she exchanged a glance with Marylu. “Come inside,” Lorena said. “I’ll whip us all up something quick, and then we’ll talk this through.”

The officer bore a hard look at Lorena, but said nothing. Instead, he walked through the cabin and onto the back deck, scribbling onto his pad. He made a phone call, his voice muffled by the picture window between them. When Lorena had served them all some tea and re-entered the small kitchen, Officer Wesley wandered back inside. He sat down on a loveseat in the living room across from Tasha and removed his hat. “Tell me about this thief,” he said.

Tasha slid a glance at Lorena, who nodded cautiously from her place at the kitchen counter. “Well,” Tasha began, “right about the time that Marc began working on the lot next door, things started to disappear. Do you know Marc Shepherd?”

The officer sniffed. “’Course. I know everybody around here. Especially him—always trying to take things into his own hands. Some of those kids he spends time with, well, let’s just say I’ve had my suspicions.” He sighed. “What kind of things disappeared?”

She blew out a breath, remembering back to when she’d met Marc. His young pal Andy was suspicious of her from the start. “First it was some survey flags, and after that, a tool box disappeared.”

“Did you file a police report?”

“Me? No, of course not. None of those things were mine.”

He nodded, but shot her a look. “This is the first I’m hearing of it, and chances are, if a report had been filed, I’d know.”

She swallowed.

“Anything else missing?”

“N-no. Well, except for my apron.”

He pursed his lips, his smile both quizzical and condescending.

She pointed toward the hook by her front door. “I usually leave it hanging there but noticed it gone one day. Didn’t really think much about it, though. Not until the night that ...”

Lorena hustled into the living room with a platter of simple ham and cheese sandwiches balanced on one hand. Her sling was gone, but her wrist was still heavily wrapped. “I came over here the night of the storm and helped Tasha with a roof leak. The next day, Marc stopped by and noticed that someone had dug up his lot next door.”

Officer Wesley furrowed his brow. “Had you seen anybody?”

“That’s the thing,” Lorena said. “Tasha and I spent most of the night in the ER, so no, we didn’t hear or see anything.”

“And the next day, one of Marc’s crew found my apron,” Tasha cut in. “It had been shoved into one of the grooves dug into the property.”

The officer scratched his chin. He crossed his arms and sat back. “Seems somebody’s been trying to keep these crimes a secret from the authorities.”

Tasha frowned. Her head still swam with a cocktail of drugs and fuzzy memories, but she couldn’t think of any person she knew who would want to keep the goings on of the past few weeks from the police.