Page 113 of Noel Secrets
Deadly Christmas Defender
Virginia Vaughan
Chapter One
Clay Walker pushed open the doors of Ernie’s Bar and Grill and stepped inside, momentarily blinded from walking from the bright sunlight of the December afternoon into the windowless room. A few overhanging florescent lamps and Christmas lights strung from the ceiling provided the only light. A waft of beer and fried foods greeted him, as did the bartender, who looked happy to have something to do.
This was the time of day he liked to come here, before the rush of the after-work crowd. Ernie’s had become his go-to place after his last job had gone sideways and the higher-ups had sidelined him. It sure beat sitting alone in his apartment, feeling sorry for himself. Here, the drinks were cheap and people left you alone. Usually, he liked that. Today was different. Today, he was waiting on an old friend who’d contacted him about a potential job.
A group of about eight men at the end of the bar seemed only a few minutes away from rowdiness, but otherwise the place was empty of customers. He ordered a bottle and some wings then found a table in the back away from the chatter of the group atthe bar and the blaring jukebox cranking out country songs of woe and heartbreak intermingled with Christmas jingles.
He slipped out of his coat and slung it over the back of the chair. Minutes later, the waitress—Kim according to her nametag and his previous visits—wore a Santa hat as she delivered his wings with a warning.
“Careful, Hon. They’re hot,” she said before hurrying away. He dug into his food, which was hot and tasty.
Clay had just finished eating when the door opened. Light spilled into the room as the man arrived. Tall, lanky Cooper Lang’s crumpled suit, pale skin, and glasses affirmed he worked inside behind computers all day, but Clay knew it as a façade. The incredibly smart computer genius could be incredibly lethal, given the right circumstances. After a moment to let his eyes adjust, Cooper scanned the room, spotted Clay, then headed over.
“Could you have found a more remote place?” Cooper slid out a chair and settled in.
Clay gave him a wry smile. “You wanted privacy. No one will bother us here.” He called Kim over to clear his plate and get Cooper a beer.
“Anything else for you fellas?” Kim placed the bottle in front of Cooper.
“We’re fine here.” As she walked away, Clay leaned forward, turning the conversation to the business at hand. “You said something about a job?”
Cooper nodded then pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. “That’s ten grand. The buyer offered another fifteen once the job is done.”
He picked up the envelope and opened it, fingering the cash before acknowledging the payment. But something nagged at him. He had to know the answer. “Why me? After Denton?—”
Cooper held out his hand to stop him. “I don’t know anything about Denton, Clay. You’re good at what you do, plus you’re available on short notice. That’s why I called you. Time is of the essence in this matter, as I believe the client has offered this job to others. Besides, I cleared it with the boss. This assignment is yours if you want it. If you act quickly.”
He fingered the cash again. Someone really wanted this job done if they’d offered cash in advance and made multiple offers. And he couldn’t deny it felt good to know the boss wanted him, after the way Clay had botched the Denton job. Better if Mason had phoned him personally, but his recommendation to Cooper gave Clay a sense of renewed confidence.
“Who’s the mark?”
Cooper smiled at the acceptance in his tone. He pulled a few folded pages from his pocket and slid them across the table. “Here’s the details, including the initial offer. Obviously, the buyer wishes to remain anonymous. He tried to cloak his digital footprint, but it shouldn’t take me long to trace it back to a source.”
Cooper didn’t care for people who preferred to remain anonymous. In their line of work, it was vital they knew the identity of all the players involved.
“Keep me posted,” he told Clay before he stood and walked out of the bar.
Clay unfolded the papers and spotted a printed copy of dark-web messages seeking someone to do the job. The next paper was a flyer for a home-cleaning business—Happy Housecleaning Services—and a photo of its owner, Darby Foster, a dark-haired beauty with fair skin, green eyes, and a killer smile. On the flyer, Cooper had written an address. Sheraton, Mississippi, a small town north of here, near the Alabama border.
Clay could run home, grab his guns, and arrive in less than two hours. Cooper was right. Time was of the essence, if he wanted to get to Sheraton before someone else finished the job.
He pocketed the cash, folded the flyer, and stuffed both into his pocket. Left a generous tip for the waitress then hit the road, wondering what this pretty lady had done that was so bad that someone would hire a perfect stranger—multiple strangers, actually—to kill her.
Chapter Two
Darby Foster dragged the plastic crate from the outdoor shed to the front of the house. She’d already pulled out the ladder and leaned it against the house as she prepped to hang Christmas lights along the eaves. It was a bigger project than she’d imagined. But eleven-year-old David’s eyes would light up when he returned from camp and saw the house all aglow. Seeing his happiness would make the work worth it. He’d come home in a week, which gave her plenty of time to finish decorating.
While she was grateful to the church for sponsoring the winter camp for kids going through difficult times around the holidays, she missed her son. Being away from him was heart- wrenching, especially with all they were going through. But their circumstances made it better for him to spend his school break at camp than at home.
Darby opened the crate and pulled out a string of tangled lights. If she’d dragged them into the house instead, she could have tackled the job with the warmth of a cup of hot tea. Brent had always handled the house lights and, if she called and asked him to do it for David’s sake, he’d probably agree. He’d beentrying to cozy up to her in recent weeks, hoping for some kind of reconciliation.
That wouldn’t happen. Too much had occurred over the past year for her to fully trust her husband … ex-husband … ever again. After years of too much drinking, too many gambling debts and affairs, and too much neglect of their son, she’d had enough. The divorce had gone through eight months ago, and Darby now did her best to pick up the pieces of her life and start over. She didn’t need to muddy the waters by asking him for a favor.
Darby stood and placed her hands on her hips. The mild December day felt chilly with forty-five-degree temperatures and an overcast sky. Untangling these lights would take her a while, so inside work sounded like the right choice. The locked front door stood only feet away, but she didn’t have her keys. She dragged the crate to the side of the house to enter through the garage door.
