Page 43 of Never Sleigh Never
“Hear me out.” I clap my hands together. “Recon. We’re going across enemy lines to peek at his arsenal. Since Logan bought all the good trees like the Christmas cartel, we’re going to scout his carnival to see what he’s working with. I need to know his game plan so I can be a step ahead of him. That’s the only way I’m going to win.”
Willa plants a hand on her hip. “So we’re not going there to steal trees?”
Tilting my head, I press a finger to my lips. That’s a really good idea. I hadn’t considered that. “I do have a sled. And rope.”
“We’re not stealing any trees. You know what happens to people who go across enemy lines? They don’t get served charcuterie in a penthouse. You know this is trespassing, right?”
“Don’t think of it as trespassing, but as recon.”
“I highly doubt Vana will think like that when she captures us and throws us in jail.” Willa crosses her arms over her chest.
“Perhaps we can bribe her.” I shrug.
“Let’s add bribing a police officer to our list of felonies tonight. Sounds like an excellent idea. Much like this trespassing one.”
“Fine.” I blow out a breath. “I need to see what he’s working with, so I can one-up him.”
“Sounds more like an in-the-bedroom situation than a carnival one.”
“I’m much less concerned about the bedroom and more concerned about the carnival.”
“By the way, are we talking about the same Logan?” She lifts a brow. “I don’t think that man has ever been one-upped in his life.”
“Maybe it’s time someone,” I point to myself, “brings him down a peg or two.”
Willa sighs and tugs the mask back on, the elastic snapping around her head. “Okay. I’m here. In disguise. Ready to commit medium crimes. What’s the plan?” She plops down on the couch, crossing her arms over her chest and leg over her knee. Her foot bounces as she waits for instructions. If this weren’t important, I’d laugh at how ridiculous she looks.
“Jump in my SUV, and I’ll fill you in.”
She groans. “But I just sat down.” Her foot thumps to the floor, and she peels herself off the cushion. “What’s your disguise, anyway?”
Reaching behind the armchair, I grab a mask and tug it on. “This.” I vogue pose as the mask flops around on my face.
“Betty White! Our Golden Girls party was so much fun!”
“I never thought I’d get to wear it again, but here we are.” I pull open the front door, and Willa passes through.
“Betty and Jason. The dynamic duo,” she says over her shoulder.
Down the road from Logan’s carnival, I park my SUV in a partially plowed field entrance. I turn off the engine, and we both step out into the dark, snowy night. We creep down the desolate road with nothing but the moon reflecting off the snow to light our path. Willa comes to a halt when we reach the chained entrance.
“Follow me. We’ll go along the ditch until we reach the tree line, there’s a gap near the fence line we can crawl through.”
“Great plan, but you know they’ll be able to see our footprints in the snow.”
“I’m going to start the path. You follow in my footprints. Then on our way out, we’ll take the same path and brush snow into the holes.” I wave a hand in a come-here motion. “Follow me.” On my first step, my boot sinks down to my ankle. With all my weight, the snowy ground gives, and I sink to my shin. Well, this is deeper than I was expecting. With another step, I sink past my knee. After a few more high steps, I glance over my shoulder, and Willa has disappeared. Jason Vorhees is a terrible wingman.
“Or,” Willa says cheerfully, standing in the wide-open gate, “we could use this thing called an entrance. It wasn’t even locked.”
On wobbly legs, I backtrack my steps while stopping to shovel snow into the hole with my mitten-covered hand. Once I reach clear ground, I brush the snow off my pants, boots, and mittens. Rising to my full height, I stroll past Willa. “Gate it is. Let’s do some recon.”
We tiptoe along rows of vendor huts in various states of almost finished. We pass a trio of firepits circled with log stools.
“He has a s’mores lodge,” I hiss. “With log seating.”
Willa squints. “And logs are bad because…?”
“Because they’re charming,” I snap, and dammit, why didn’t I think to use logs? They’re so much more rustic than my benches.
