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Keeping Christmas
B.J. Daniels
CHRISTMAS NEVER MEANT MUCH AT THE BONNER ESTATE…BUT COULD IT BECOME A HOLIDAY TO REMEMBER AT CHANCE WALKER'S MONTANA CABIN?Ten years ago Dixie Bonner was the favorite wild child of a powerful Texas oilman. But after uncovering a dark family secret that cast suspicion on everyone close to her, she took off for a new life and never looked back.Chance Walker was the cool-eyed cowboy hired to bring her home by Christmas. But after catching her, he couldn't decide if she was a blackmailer or a victim. Was he tempted to protect her because she told the truth–or was he falling for her? Holed up in a remote Montana cabin with the bad guys closing in, two stubborn souls needed to trust each other if they hoped to survive the season.
“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
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
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 for breath, fighting the terror that now had a death grip on her. She didn’t stand a chance against two men. Not alone in this garage. With a sabbatical from work and her lousy relationship with her family, it could be weeks before anyone even realized she was missing.
“Stop!” the second man ordered. “For hell’s sake don’t kill her yet. We have to find out where she put the damned journal and the disks before you—”
The second blow was to her head. Pain glittered behind her eyes just before the darkness.
DIXIE WOKE IN blackness, her head throbbing, her body cramped. She shifted position, bumped an elbow and a knee, and started to panic, gasping for breath as she realized she was in a cramped dark space.
She fought not to panic, not to let her mind tell her that her small prison was slowly closing in on her.
Breathe. You’re alive. Temporarily. Breathe.
“Just bring the damned computer and all the disks you can find.” It was the voice of the second man from the parking garage.
“I thought it was supposed to look like a robbery,” the first demanded.
“You let me take care of that. What about her journal? Have you found it yet?”
“It’s not in here.”
She heard the sound of footfalls heavy nearby as if someone was treading up stairs. She held her breath, trying to calm her breathing, her panic.
Her fingers moved slowly, cautiously, along the inside of the space around her. She frowned, feeling cool metal, rough carpet. She could hear the sound of things breaking, larger things being knocked over. She sniffed and caught a familiar scent. Laundry detergent. She’d bought a box at the market earlier and put it—
She was in the trunk of her car!
The realization sent a shot of hope racing through her. Hurriedly, she oriented herself, scrunching her body to get her feet against the rear seat, the one with the broken latch. She could hear voices. The two men arguing.
Bracing her body against the opposite side of the trunk, her feet against the rear seat, she pushed with all her strength.
At the sound of a loud crash, she kicked the seat hard. The latch gave, the seat flopped down.
Through the hole came light. She wiggled around until she could peer out. The car was parked in her garage. The two men were inside her house, the adjoining door open.
She listened, afraid they would come back now. No sound. Had they heard her?
She moved fast, half afraid they would be standing outside her car amused at the futility of what she thought was her great escape. But she had no chance cramped in the trunk. She didn’t have much chance in the back seat. But even a little edge was better than nothing.
Slithering through the space with the seat down, she ducked behind the front seats and looked out. No sign of the men in the garage. The door to the house was still open, but she couldn’t see anything but light coming from the kitchen. Where were the men?
She heard the sounds of more objects breaking, things being knocked over and destroyed. She grabbed the back door handle and, as quietly as possible, popped it open.
Inside the house she heard another crash, then voices. She slipped out of the car, making the decision just as quickly. The keys were in the ignition. She opened the driver’s side door, slid behind the wheel and locked all four doors as she reached for the garage door opener and said a silent prayer.
The garage door began to lift slowly and noisily as she fired up the car’s engine, her eyes on the door leading into the house.
The overhead garage door was too slow. Hurry! She had the car in Reverse, engine revved, ready, her gaze flicking nervously from the slowly rising garage door to the open door to the house. The garage door was a third of the way up. Just a little higher.
The two men came flying out of the house, stumbling down the steps that dropped into the garage. One of them slammed into the side of her car and groped for the door handle.
The garage door was almost up enough. The second man shoved past him, a gun in his hand. The man with the gun started to raise the weapon as she tromped down on the gas. The car shot backward under the rising garage door, the antenna snapping off.
She thought she heard a shot as she swung the car around in the driveway, slammed it into first and took off, tearing across the lawn, jumping the curb, tires squealing as they met pavement, engine screaming.
She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until it came out on a sob. She was shaking so hard, she could hardly hold on to the steering wheel. But she kept going. They would be coming after her. She’d seen the van parked just down the street from her house.
Worse, she’d seen their faces.
She’d known in the parking garage that they’d planned to kill her. But now they had no choice.
She’d recognized one of them—and he knew it.
Chapter One
All Chance Walker wanted was to get to the cabin before the snowstorm and the holiday traffic got any worse.
He’d only stopped in for a minute, but now he couldn’t wait to get home. He glanced around his office, ignoring the dust that had accumulated while he’d been gone. The light was flashing on his antiquated answering machine. For a moment he thought about checking his calls.
But it was only days until Christmas and he told himself he wasn’t in the mood for anything to do with work. Anyone he wanted to talk to knew he hadn’t been in his office for weeks and wouldn’t be for a while longer. The only reason he’d stopped by this evening was to gather up any bills from the floor where the mailman had dropped them through the old-fashioned door slot.
Chance nudged his dog awake with the toe of his boot. From in front of the old radiator, Beauregard lifted his head and blinked at him, the dog not looking any more anxious to go out in the cold than Chance was.
“Come on, boy. Once we get to the cabin I’ll build us a fire and make us both big fat steaks. It’s the holidays. I think we deserve a treat.”
The dog keyed on the word “treat” and jumped to his feet, padding to the door, tail wagging.
Chance glanced around the office one last time to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, not sure when he’d be back. The private investigator business was slow this time of year in Montana and he knew he hadn’t completely recuperated from the bullet Doc had taken out of his shoulder.
