A Little Christmas Jingle by Michele Dunaway

Author:Michele Dunaway
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2014-07-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

As St. Louis’s only designated task force detective, Jack didn’t keep regular hours. However, he did work a forty-hour week, often much more. He’d left Kat’s clinic around midnight, and after watching a documentary on DVR because he’d been too wired to sleep, he’d finally crawled into bed around two a.m.

He’d turned off his alarm, letting himself sleep until noon, a ten-hour rarity. As the sheet slid low on his hips, he figured he’d be far more rested if he hadn’t had erotic dreams of Kat.

That damn dress she’d worn the night before had been torture, and his imagination had peeled it off her and then filled in the blanks. He’d thus tossed and turned all night long.

He threw his legs over the bed, reached for his cell phone, and grimaced when he saw five missed calls—all from his mother. Sharon must have called her as soon as she woke up.

His phone buzzed and he turned on the ringer, and then slid his finger to the right, answering, “Mom.” He paused, half listening as he padded into his kitchen. “Yes, I know. I slept in. No, Mom. Alone.”

One-handed he uncapped the orange juice and sipped directly from the bottle. The phone slipped slightly and he jostled it back to his ear. “What? Repeat that.”

“I said”—this time her voice came through loud and clear—“that Sharon seemed to like her. Anyway, I have her jewelry and book here.”

He set the OJ aside, rummaged for one of those microwave breakfast sandwiches, and tossed it on the counter. “That was fast.”

“Your father and Matt had a nine a.m. tee time. So tell me all about the ball.”

He took another swig of juice, replaced the cap, and put it back. “Mom …”

“Better yet, bring her to dinner tomorrow night. I’m making pot roast.”

“Mom.” He sighed. No point in arguing with the human tornado. “I’ll ask her.”

“Great.” His phone beeped, indicating another call. “Mom, gotta go. It’s the precinct.” He switched over, listened to the report. “Thanks.”

He shoved the sandwich back in the freezer and headed for the bathroom. All the digital evidence had been confirmed, so warrants for the aunt and her boyfriend had been issued. Justice for Jingle could be served; Jack would make the arrests.

He called Kat from the car en route. She picked up on the third ring. “Hey, no time to talk, but head’s up that you’ll be getting media later.”

“What for?”

“I’m going now to make the arrests in Jingle’s case. I’d expect a media circus around four.”

He heard her sigh. “Right when we close.”

“I know. It’s not ideal. My plan is to be there.”

She sighed again, reminding him of the similar noises she’d made in his dreams. “Okay. Good luck. I’m glad they’re getting what they deserve.”

“Me, too,” Jack said. Contrary to what many people believed, arresting someone was a mixed bag. On one hand, he liked the sound of the handcuffs—that satisfying metal click as they locked onto the perpetrator’s wrists.

However, the flip side was that he had

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