Yuletide Suspect

“Put your hands behind your back.” She stowed her weapon and stepped behind him, where she secured his hands with the leash. “The sheriff is on his way.”

“Good.” Tate tugged on the man’s elbow, took him into the kitchen and deposited the man on a chair. “Don’t move.”

Liberty shut the back door and took off her gloves, so thin they were pointless. She blew on one hand, then the other, switching off the hand holding her gun as she attempted to impart some warmth back in her stiff fingers. Tate frowned and then hit the power icon on the display of his coffee maker. Fancy. She used a four-cup coffeepot, the cheapest she could find, but he’d always been particular about what brand he drank. Liberty didn’t care, so long as it was thick, hot and strong.

The man in the chair glanced between them but didn’t say anything. Under the LED kitchen lights his clothes looked worn, his hair matted to the top of his head.

Liberty disliked silence. She motioned to the man but asked Tate, “Is this the guy from outside the barn?” He could have come back and gotten inside somehow. Though he’d had a gun before.

Tate shook his head. “This is a different guy.” He pushed off the counter and took a step toward the man. “Come here with your partner. Come here to kill me. Why? Who am I to you?”

The guy looked away. Liberty had to wonder where the other man had disappeared to. Two assailants at Tate’s house tonight, within minutes of each other? It seemed impossible they weren’t connected.

Tate slammed both palms on his table. Liberty started and the seated man’s eyes widened. Tate said, “Why did you come here to kill me?”

“I want my lawyer.”

Liberty said, “We’re not cops.”

The minute the words were out of her mouth, Tate glanced at her. What? What had she said? He was being hard on the man. Yes, he had a right to be angry. But it was as though he’d forgotten everything they’d learned about questioning and just gone with what was in his gut: anger.

The last time she’d seen him, Tate had been so angry it had taken two of their fellow agents to pull him back from punching the director. He hadn’t been fired; it’d been more like a mutual decision between both parties that he should move on from the Secret Service. Liberty’s heart had broken even more than it already was that day, as she’d realized it was all her fault. Those tendencies he’d had as a kid to get mad instead of working through his problems had resurfaced through no fault of his own. Only hers.

Liberty strode to the intruder, because if she didn’t she’d start crying, thinking about how everything between her and Tate had gone wrong. She didn’t want to contemplate again how it was all her fault.

She said, “Stand up,” and glanced at Tate. He nodded to indicate he had her back. Liberty stowed her gun, but the man hadn’t moved. She hauled him up by his elbow and patted his pockets.

She found a cell phone, then a knife, and laid both on the table. She kept searching but found nothing else. Liberty grabbed the phone and stepped back. It wasn’t locked, and it had no apps downloaded. There were no contacts listed, and if there were any messages, those had been deleted as well.

“It’s clean.” She tossed the phone on the table.

“Our friend here can talk to the sheriff.”

“And it doesn’t bother you that his friend tried to kill you?” She couldn’t believe he was acting so blasé about this.

Tate shrugged. Was this his default now, when he’d decided he wasn’t mad? The indifference almost hurt more than the anger.

One of the dogs started barking. Tate said, “Sheriff’s here.”

Liberty left him with the intruder and went to the front door.

* * *

Tate waited where he was until Liberty walked back in with the sheriff. He lifted his chin at Dane Winters, a good friend since peewee football. “This guy is all yours.” Tate explained what had happened. The more he talked, the wider Dane’s eyes grew.

“And you have a guest.” Dane smiled. Because, yes, Tate had shared about Liberty. But Dane could fish all he wanted, Tate wasn’t going to spill.

“She was just leaving.” His only guest except Dane in months.

He pushed off the counter and didn’t offer anyone a cup of coffee, even though it was done brewing. He could drink it later and stay up all night brooding about the mess his life was now.

“Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” Liberty asked.

She might think he should be curious about this missing plane. She likely would be if things were reversed and he’d shown up at her house after so long. They’d been engaged. Tate had honestly figured it meant something, but apparently not. It was a good thing she wasn’t here for a reunion, or she would have been sorely disappointed.

Liberty looked almost sad. “Like I said, I’m here because a small aircraft, a business jet, went down not far from here. On board was a senator from Oklahoma and two White House staffers. Twelve hours ago we lost contact with them. We think the plane might’ve crashed somewhere close to here, and it’s believed there was foul play involved, possibly with the pilot. At least, as much was indicated from the last radio call before communication was cut off.” She paused. “We need to find those people.”

“That should be an FBI investigation, shouldn’t it?”

“They’re on it. But at the top of the list of suspects who might be involved is a certain former Secret Service agent I happen to know personally. So I figured, why not? For old times’ sake I’ll visit this former agent and let him know the Secret Service and the FBI are all on their way here to ask you a whole lot of uncomfortable questions you aren’t going to want to answer.”

She couldn’t seriously think he might be part of it. “You think I have something to hide? Something to do with this?”

“Do you?” She lifted her chin, like there was no history between them and she had every right to suspect him of something heinous. “It’s a valid question.”

“You really think I’ve changed that much?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she said, “The FBI and the Secret Service want to know if you’re involved. But they’re betting on the fact that a disgruntled former Secret Service agent—”

“Disgruntled?” Why would they think he harbored resentment? Tate had moved on. Wasn’t it obvious?

Liberty shrugged. “Despite the cute cabin all decorated for a family Christmas, there is evidence against you. Seems to me from the blog, at least, that in the last few months your attitude has deteriorated. And it’s the basis of their evidence.”

“What blog?”

The sheriff shifted, but Dane couldn’t hide the fact that he was listening to their conversation. They were friends, and Dane was curious. Tate didn’t fault him for it. Even beyond this missing plane, there was a lot to talk about. Too bad there wasn’t time.

And good thing he didn’t want to talk about it anyway. His life now was none of her business.

Except the blog thing. What was that about?

When the sheriff peered at a tattoo on the man’s neck—one Tate hadn’t noticed until now—Tate went over to look as well. They glanced at each other, and Tate said, “Russians.”

“Like the mob?” Liberty asked. “In backwoods Montana?”

The sheriff stepped back and shrugged. “It happens. Not often, but all kinds of people travel through this town on the way to somewhere. Some of them even like it and stay, and not all are law-abiding citizens.” He glanced at Tate. “I got an update about this missing plane an hour ago. We should talk about it.”

Tate didn’t like the look on Dane’s face at all. He’d known, and he stood there and let Liberty give her whole speech about him being a criminal.

“You want to take my badge for being involved, and keep it until I’m out from under suspicion?” The idea of losing the job as well, when he’d already lost so much, sat like a bad burrito in his stomach.

Liberty gasped. “His badge?”

He nearly kicked himself for saying it while she was here.

Dane said, “Tate is a deputy with the county sheriff’s department. He only works shifts occasionally, and I pay him so much less than he’s worth it’s not even funny. But technically he’s an employee. And as a sounding board, he’s been invaluable.”

Tate shook his head and pulled the badge from his drawer. “More like it’s your attempt to make sure I’m not cooped up here all the time. Like it’s a bad thing.”

The sheriff shrugged again, pocketed the badge and then took the now-cuffed intruder out to his car where he’d be secure.

Liberty nodded. “The FBI doesn’t know you’re a deputy sheriff. It will strengthen our argument.”

Tate said, “We don’t have an argument, Liberty. We don’t have anything. You took care of that.” He saw the blow the words inflicted, but couldn’t let himself care about it. She’d ripped him to shreds when she’d given his ring back and started the cascading fall of his life into this pit. A pit he tried to pretty up, just so he didn’t dwell on the fact that it was kind of pathetic.

Now the Secret Service was here investigating a missing plane and three people, and they thought he was involved? He needed to get out in front of this, or he could wind up spending the rest of his life in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.

If he cared enough, he’d ask her about the blog she’d mentioned. But Tate figured he’d find out soon enough. After she left his house.

He opened the hall closet and started to put his coat on.

Liberty had followed. “You’re going out now?”

He looked at her, trying hard to hide everything he was feeling. “Lock the door before you leave.”

“Where are you even going? You should stay here, help me convince the FBI you had nothing to do with this.”

“Or I could go and find the plane and those missing people instead.”

The sheriff walked back in. “If they think you’re involved with this, it’s going to be messy to unravel. But I’ll do what I can. I’ve got your back, Tate. You know that.”

He held out his hand, and Tate shook it.

Liberty didn’t wait long before she asked, “Where are you going to look? Do you have an idea of where it might be?”

“Maybe.” Tate pulled on a pair of gloves. “I know where I’m going to look first, at least.” He turned away from their huddle toward the door. Yeah, this likely wasn’t turning out the way she’d thought it would, but at least if he was gone looking for the plane, then the Secret Service might be convinced he wasn’t involved.

Dane followed Tate to the door. Liberty walked over, her hand out for the sheriff to shake, but Dane didn’t see it. His attention was on a black duffel leaned against the wall. The sheriff stepped toward the bag. “What is this?”

They worked out together, and Dane had never seen that bag before...because Tate had never seen that bag before. “It’s not mine.”

The bag was partially unzipped. The sheriff pulled the zipper back all the way as Liberty moved closer to them. Inside the duffel were bundles of cash secured by rubber bands, and an orange box the size of a lockbox like the one he kept his gun in. The sheriff lifted it out of the bag.

On the side of the box it said, FLIGHT RECORDER. DO NOT OPEN.

THREE

“That’s not mine.” Tate said the words before he’d even thought them through.

The sheriff glanced over his shoulder at Tate, looking like he wanted to kick him. “Of course I know this isn’t yours, dude. Except now what we have are two Russian intruders—one in my car, one who’s fled—and a bag of money, along with what I’m guessing is the voice recorder for the plane that’s currently missing. Which means any search the FBI has going for this thing—if it’s active—is going to lead them right here. To the home of their lead suspect.”

Liberty paled. “He’s being framed.”

Tate almost thought she might have cared for him just then as he studied her face and heard the soft tone of her words. Too bad he knew that wasn’t the case. He didn’t believe she’d come here because of any lingering feelings for him. She probably just wanted to save her reputation at work by convincing everyone she was prepared to do her job and arrest Tate—who was about to be labeled a traitor to his country.

Liberty looked at him, saw he was staring at her and glanced away.

“You should get your coat on,” he said. Like he was going to hang around here so she could arrest him? She’d said the Secret Service were on their way. “And you should also switch out your shoes for boots.”

Tate didn’t wait around for her to comply. He strode to the closet and pulled out another set of gloves that would actually keep her hands warm, along with a hat, and turned back to her in time to see her plant one hand on her hip.

“What do you mean put my coat on? Why do I need my coat?”

“Because you’re coming with me.” He put all the outerwear in her hands and then turned to the sheriff. “You’re good, right? I can leave?”

“Sure,” Dane said with a distinct smirk on his face. “Just keep your phone on you.”

“Good idea.” Who knew how far away the plane was.

Tate strode to the kitchen and opened the junk drawer, not worried anyone would be able to use the thing to track him. It was almost useless, capable of making calls and sending texts—not that he ever did—and that was all.

He pulled out his cell phone and pressed the power button. Hopefully he’d charged it before he turned it off last time. He only kept it with him when he was on shift as a deputy sheriff. There was no signal on this mountain, so there was no point in having it on up here. One of these days he would switch to the carrier that actually got a tiny signal in this area, but he hadn’t done it yet.

Tate slid the phone into his front pocket and found the keys to the snowmobile. He wasn’t about to hang around and have this whole thing pinned on him. Not when he might be able to find the plane and prove his innocence. He’d have to deal with Liberty being with him—as opposed to somewhere else, probably causing trouble for him.

She wouldn’t be causing him trouble on purpose, but she would have to do her job, and that wouldn’t be good for him. If she was with Tate, he could keep an eye on her. And keep her safe in case that man had been here to hurt her.

The thoughts spun in his head like a tornado.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Liberty asked.

“To find the plane,” Tate said. Like that wasn’t perfectly obvious. “If the Russian mob, or whoever is sitting in the back of the sheriff’s car, is trying to frame me for this, then I’m not about to stay here and try to convince the feds and the Secret Service that I’m not involved.” He’d burned those bridges to the ground when he’d tried to punch Locke his last day on the job. “There’s no way I’m going to trust them to believe me when I can prove I’m innocent myself.”

Locke had known exactly why Tate lost his cool and hadn’t blamed him one bit. Which only made the whole situation all the more infuriating. His anger needed an outlet. It wasn’t good if he bottled it up, so he had to channel it somewhere. There wasn’t much to get mad about on this mountain, so he’d been fine.

Until Liberty showed up.

Now he wanted to kick a wall, because prison would not be good for him.

He trailed to his bedroom and got his Beretta from the safe. Two extra clips. He dropped them in a backpack as he walked to the entryway, where he handed it to Liberty. She’d need to carry it.

She raised her brows at his offering. “Is there a reason I have to come?”

Tate figured it was probably a valid question. Apparently Liberty was all about questions these days. The truth was he’d kind of missed her, which was totally messed up. But he had loved her, and she’d thrown it away. Maybe he didn’t want to pass up this opportunity to hang out with her, even under the circumstances.

Instead of actually telling her, Tate waved toward the window. “Have you seen the weather out here? You don’t go out in that alone. You take a buddy.”

Tate thought he might have heard the sheriff snort, but he ignored it. Dane had figured out what it was about even if Liberty hadn’t. She would eventually, and then he would be done for. She’d never liked being tricked.

Tate opened the door, stepped outside and headed for the shed. Joey barked and raced out into the snow behind him, ready for whatever adventure they were going on.

Tate turned to the house and called for Joey to follow him back inside. The dog bounded up the porch steps where Liberty stood, while Tate stayed at the bottom. Liberty jumped aside at the last minute, a nervous look on her face. Was she scared of dogs? He hadn’t thought so. Hadn’t she had a dog once? It was possible something had happened recently that he didn’t know about. Tate figured it was just another indication of their incompatibility.

“You still have that ugly cat?”

Liberty’s mouth dropped open. “Yes. You’ve already asked me that, Tate.”

The sheriff stepped out with them and shut the door, almost choking in an attempt to hide his laughter. “I’ll wait for the Secret Service and then take that guy in.” He motioned to his car, where the intruder sat.

Liberty walked down the porch steps after Tate. “Just answer one question before we go find the plane.”

Tate waited.

“What is up with the Christmas decorations? Your house looks like a postcard.”

“It was a wreck, so I fixed it up. The Realtor’s coming by first thing tomorrow morning for a showing.”

She looked like he’d kicked her ugly bald cat.

Tate flicked two fingers toward the sheriff, who drove away with the intruder, and then stepped into the dark of the shed. He fired up the snowmobile and drove it out. Liberty walked over on black boots. She gaped. Tate just ignored it and said, “Get on. We’ve got a plane to find.”

That got her moving. She jumped on behind him and set her hands on his shoulders. Tate reached back and pulled her arms around him. Before the feeling of her being so close could take root, he set off. Liberty squealed and held on tighter. She would get the hang of it pretty soon, and until then he would ignore the fact that she was holding on to him for dear life.

Tate found the path through the trees and headed up the mountain, toward the valley to the west of town. The snow was a thick covering, but the temperature wasn’t too bad. He’d been out in colder weather than this, when the wind beat against him and he’d felt like he was frozen down to his bones.

As he drove, he prayed they would find the plane and the missing people—and that when this was done and Liberty went home, his heart would still be intact.

Four miles later her grip on his waist began to loosen. Half a mile after that she started to slide to the side. Tate shook his head. She’d fallen asleep, probably exhausted from a day of travel and then showing up at his house only to face intruders. Tate slowed the snowmobile to a stop and left it to idle while he reached back and shifted Liberty so she was sitting upright.

She looked even paler in the moonlight. He held her with one arm and then put his free hand on her face. When her eyebrows twitched, he took off his glove and touched the cool of her skin with his warm fingers. This would turn out to be a mistake, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from hugging her. It had been too long since he’d received any kind of affection from anyone. Dog slobber didn’t count.

Liberty roused. Tate shifted her so he could see her face and said, “Are you okay?”

She nodded, but couldn’t quite hide the wince. “Headache, but that’s all.”

“Aside from the fact that you’re exhausted.” She always downplayed it when she was hurting. “Can you hang on some more? It’s not much farther.”

She looked up at him as though he’d paid her the nicest of compliments. Tate had seriously missed that look in the last year but didn’t want to dwell too much on the fact that he was soaking it up now. It wasn’t going to help him when she left if all he could do was remember what she looked like. What she felt like. How she smelled. He had to get this woman out of his head if he was going to survive alone for the rest of his life.

Liberty straightened. “I’m good.”

“Okay then.” Tate turned back around to face forward and set off again.

* * *

For the first time since she’d shown up at his house, Liberty had seen the man she’d fallen in love with. She hugged his middle again, and felt the prick of tears in her eyes. Everything good they’d ever had between them...she’d ruined it all when she gave him back his ring and said she’d realized it wasn’t going to work.

Which was true. Considering what she’d learned, there was no way a relationship between them would’ve worked. There was just so much unsaid now. She’d seen the question in his eyes, the pain of their relationship being torn apart when there was nothing either of them could do about it.

And nothing had changed since.

They’d both found some semblance of peace. Liberty could hardly believe that their lives now were what God had wanted for them, but what else were they supposed to have done? This was what God had given them, and it simply didn’t work for them to share their lives.

Liberty wanted to ask Tate if he’d moved on, if he’d found someone to care about, but she couldn’t voice the words out in the cold, dark night, silent except for the rumble of the snowmobile’s engine. She hoped he’d found someone else.

Because she never could.

Tate revved the engine. Liberty saw something out of the corner of her eye and glanced over. Her whole body solidified as she spotted a man dressed in dark clothes, a weapon pointed at them.

“Gun!”

Tate shot forward even faster as the man opened fire. They both ducked and the shots rang out, each one as loud as a firework.

Blast after blast flashed in the dark, illuminating his position. His aim chased the snowmobile’s path as Tate flew across the terrain. Liberty pulled her own gun out and fired back two shots, but the ride was too bumpy. She would never be able to hit him. Still, she gripped Tate tighter with her other arm and both knees and tried not to fall off.

Unless...

The shots continued. Liberty shifted back and launched herself off the snowmobile. She landed on her back in a berm of snow and heard Tate yell. He gunned the snowmobile, then turned it in a wide arc, coming back for her.

Liberty ran for the nearest tree so that at least there’d be some cover from the shots. While Tate raced back to her, she returned fire at the man who now sent bullets at both her and Tate in turn. Then he swung his arm back and fired at her.

Liberty ducked and the bullet took out a chunk of bark. She raced for the next tree, moving closer to the man.

The roar of the snowmobile engine raced up behind her. She glanced over, but Tate wasn’t coming for her. He drove the snowmobile past her, toward the man trying to kill them. What was he doing? His weapon was in the backpack on her back.

Liberty shifted for a better position and fired to give him the cover he needed. Over and over. One shot managed to clip the gunman in the shoulder, and then Tate was in her line of fire and right on top of the man. He launched himself from the snowmobile and tackled the guy to the snow.

The vehicle they’d been riding continued on, but the engine lost power fast and careened into a tree.

Liberty raced over while they fought. The gun went off. She ducked and went to one knee. Tate had the man on the ground. He shifted, put his knee on the guy’s elbow and grabbed the weapon.

Liberty relaxed one tiny notch.

Gun at the ready, she made her way to them. “You good?”

Tate didn’t look at her. The man on the ground was bleeding, but Tate hauled him to his feet. Liberty pulled out her phone.

“Won’t get any signal out here.”

“So what do we do with him then?”

Tate shifted the man’s collar. “Same tattoo. Russian as well, I’m guessing. Maybe the first guy from my house. He’s wearing the right clothes.”