Choosing Christmas (A Piper Anderson Novella) (Piper Anderson Series) Read online

  Choosing Christmas

  A Piper Anderson Series

  Novella

  Danielle Stewart

  Copyright Page

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locals, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  An Original work of Danielle Stewart.

  Choosing Christmas Copyright 2013 by Danielle Stewart

  Piper Anderson Series:

  Book 1: Chasing Justice

  Book 2: Cutting Ties

  Book 3: Changing Fate

  A Novella: Choosing Christmas

  Betty’s Journal (available January 2014)

  Author Contact:

  Website: AuthorDanielleStewart.com

  Email: [email protected]

  Facebook: Author Danielle Stewart

  Twitter: @DStewartAuthor

  Dedication

  To Memere and Pepere Toupin & Memere and Pepere Labrecque. I can write all these love stories because you have lived one. Thank you for supporting my dreams and setting such a wonderful example.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Sydney

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Sydney

  I make terrible choices. My judgment is flawed. No, it’s defective. If people had to maintain a card on their decision-making abilities, like they do a driver’s license, mine would have been revoked by now. No, I’m not talking about wearing white after Labor Day, or skipping oil changes, though I probably do those things more frequently than I like to admit. I’m talking more about my uncanny ability to look right at something and not be able to see how toxic it might be. I have dated men with no ambition to even get out of bed in the morning or hold down a job. I’ve loved men who talked about monogamy like it was a disease. There was the guy who I later discovered was married, and, of course, the man I dated for months who turned out to be gay. And then the biggest mistake of all—Caleb.

  It’s actually harder than you think to determine which mistake is your worst when they pile up and become so gnarled and intertwined that you can’t pry them apart long enough to take stock. As the years go by, the mistakes bleed into each other, and the choices that felt so right in the moment look ridiculous in hindsight. Did I really quit my job to follow around that musician? Did I go four months without talking to my own parents because they questioned my choice in the out-of-work construction laborer who decided unemployment checks and my refrigerator could sustain him forever?

  But even when the missteps look disastrous, they don’t seem to be enough to deter me from making different, but equally dumb, decisions. Even now as I sit in the living room of a practical stranger, thumbing mindlessly through a magazine while a little boy I’ve never met before today stares at me, I ignore the urge to run away. I can feel my toes curled over the edge of yet another catastrophic choice and still I don’t back up. This is it. I’ve pinpointed it finally. This is the feeling I get when I know I’m making the wrong move. This is the sensation I ignore. This is the fork in the road where I inevitably choose the thorny, overgrown path that can barely be distinguished from the rest of the forest. I turn my back on the paved, well-lit avenue with all the signs directing, “Hey, moron, it’s clearly this way.”

  I see now how climbing your way out of one conundrum doesn’t always get you to steady ground. Sometimes it’s just a gateway to another problem.

  Chapter One

   27 Days Until Christmas 

  As Chris made his way through the entrance of the university’s admissions office, he knew he was in for it. The good deed he had just finished wasn’t going to earn him any points with the banshee of a boss he was about to face. Calling in for two sick days with next to no notice a few weeks into your new job didn’t really bode well for a long career. Not to mention Sydney already couldn’t stand him. She’d been forced to hire him by the dean of the university. It was part of his relocation he’d be provided with a cover identity and employment. The move from Edenville, North Carolina to Jolliet, Illinois, through witness protection, had been a whirlwind. They had assumed he couldn’t get himself into much trouble at a Catholic university. The idea of that, in contrast to what he had just done back in Edenville, made him laugh. He had just returned from killing a killer. In doing so, he’d evened up the life for a life debt he had. Moving to Illinois with witness protection was supposed to be a new start for him, and it was. He had just needed to tie up loose ends. Now it was time to face the music with his boss.

  “Feeling better, Mr. King?” Sydney asked sarcastically. She was a nerd, a pretty one, but a nerd all the same. That was blatantly clear to Chris as he looked at her: she was studious-looking with her rectangular, brown-framed glasses, her hair half up in a clumsily placed clip, and her constantly pursed lips. She was a tight ass, which always made Chris smirk, because even in her loose, frumpy slacks he could tell she actually did have a tight ass. Sydney was everything he had despised in a woman when he was younger. She was strong-willed, opinionated, and in power. His father had taught him that these qualities were unattractive and dangerous in a woman. Even still, as he took a seat across from her, ready for a lecture on attendance, he found himself half excited.

  “I’d like to apologize for calling in sick so soon after starting my position. I know we got off on the wrong foot, and my absence hasn’t helped that. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Chris hung his head submissively. This was a new role for him. When his father died he took over as the boss of a powerful crime family in North Carolina. He’d held many lives in his hands, and now he was taking marching orders from some twenty-something geek, and part of him loved it. It was a true testament to how different his life was now. It was proof that things had changed.

  “I’ve worked here for six years,” Sydney scoffed, “and I’ve missed only two days after recovering from surgery.”

  “Nose job?” Chris quipped, feeling like this moment needed some humor. He felt good, and he wanted to laugh. More than that, he wanted to make this prude laugh, too.

  “Excuse me?” Sydney slammed her hand down on her desk. “I have no idea why they twisted my arm to hire you. You are crude and barely qualified to be part of this department. If it were in my control, I’d have you packing up your desk this afternoon.” Sydney’s face was crimson, her eyes were boring holes through him, and all he could think was, Bring it on. Let’s see those fireworks. Give me all you’ve got.

  Before she could continue, the door to Sydney’s office swung open so hard the knob slammed into the wall behind it. Chris spun around in his chair as a tall blond-haired man stormed in. He had the body of a jock and a vacant dull-eyed look to match. Judging by the reaction on Sydney’s face, a mixture of anger and fear, Chris could tell the man was looking for her, and things were about to get ugly.

  “I can see you’re still being a ball-busting bitch, Sydney. Some things never change.” The man walked with purpose past Chris an
d around the desk toward Sydney, who stood up and gestured for the door.

  “Caleb, you need to leave. You know I have a restraining order and you are not allowed on school property. I’m asking you nicely to go, but if you don’t I will call the police.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her up against his body, jerking her forward violently. At that, Chris rose and cleared his throat calmly.

  That drew the man’s attention and he shouted at Chris, “Get the hell out of here. This has nothing to do with you.”

  “Actually, I was in the middle of a meeting. So why don’t you go? It sounds like, of the two of us, I’m the one without a legal obligation to leave.” Chris didn’t make a move for the man, he did nothing but stand his ground confidently. Over the years he’d learned a calm expression in the face of danger made more impact than anything else.

  The man reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a kitchen knife, and waved it in Chris’s direction. Sydney let out a shrill yelp, and he jerked her forward again. “How about I cut off your damn head and mail it to your mother? Get the hell out of here.”

  Chris smirked wryly at the man. Sydney’s eyes were wild and wet with tears, but as she caught a glimpse of Chris’s rebellious indifference to the danger, she quieted her whimpering.

  “First of all, you couldn’t cut someone’s head off with that blade. It’s dull and too short. It would take a whole day to hack through the spinal cord. You don’t have that kind of time. Second, my mother, God rest her soul,” Chris said, making the sign of the cross as he spoke, “died five years ago alongside my father. She wouldn’t be there to receive the package. Not to mention the US Postal Service has numerous check points to ensure body parts and other illegal items aren’t shipped. I learned that the hard way.” He paused for effect.

  “And finally, the likelihood that you’d even have the stomach to handle a severed head long enough to package it in bubble wrap is slim. Long story short, your plan doesn’t seem very plausible. Do you have another idea? Maybe you should have given this more thought.” Chris had been in countless scenarios like this before. He had earned a notorious reputation for being a smart ass when everyone else was shitting his pants in fear.

  “I could just stab you,” the man shouted, jabbing the knife closer to Chris, “and then I’ll kill her. This bitch deserves it for what she did to me.” He pointed the knife back toward Sydney, and Chris knew the situation was reaching a climax. He had expected campus security to be on the scene by now, but he heard no sign of them.

  “I was hoping you weren’t going to say that.” Chris reached down slowly and pulled his concealed Walther P99 pistol from the holster on his ankle. He knew the kid with the knife was not a professional. He’d probably never stared down a gun before, and he certainly wasn’t expecting Chris to be carrying one. “If you stab me, I’m going to shoot you. Do you know how many men I’ve shot in my life? Quite a few. How many people have you stabbed with your steak knife?” Chris asked, furrowing his brows and raising his arm to point the gun at the man’s head. “Why don’t you let her go? Otherwise, there’ll be a cleaning crew in here tonight scraping your brain matter off the walls.”

  The man shifted Sydney in front of himself and put the blade up to her neck. Her eyes met Chris’s and he could see her fighting to stay composed as the steel pressed into the soft skin of her neck.

  “I don’t really mind shooting her,” Chris said flatly. “I’m pretty sure she was about to fire me. So if you want to use her as a human shield and think that’s going to stop me, you have me confused with some do-gooder cop or something. I’m not a cop. I’m the opposite of a cop. I’m the guy who shoots you right in the face, just to see your teeth fly out of your mouth. I’m the guy who gets off watching you gasp for your last breath, knowing I’m the one who took it from you. You and your steak knife, you’re not that guy. So, because I’d like to make it home for dinner tonight instead of dealing with all the bullshit that will come from killing you, this is your last chance. Let her go, put the knife down, and go sit in that chair until the cops come to haul your ass away. Or you can die. Take a good look around this room. Is this the last place you want to see before I kill you?” Chris could see beads of sweat gathering on the man’s forehead. His hand was shaking now, his knuckles white where they gripped the black handle of his knife. Slowly he loosened his hold on Sydney and shoved her down onto her office chair. He backed up slowly, dropping the knife to the floor and moving to the chair in the corner of the room. He was crying now, sobbing incoherent apologies.

  Sydney didn’t move, she locked eyes with Chris and sat completely still. He had expected her to be shaking, wailing, maybe even running into his arms. Instead she seemed almost as frightened of him as she had been of the man with the knife.

  “Put the gun down,” a man shouted as he entered the room. Chris lowered his gun to the floor and raised his arms over his head. The officer approached him and secured the gun then proceeded to forcefully cuff him.

  “Wait,” cried Sydney, “he didn’t do anything wrong. He saved my life. That man, Caleb, he came in here with a knife and threatened to kill me. Chris stopped him.” It was the first time Sydney had called him anything other than Mr. King, and he loved how his name sounded on her lips, in spite of the circumstances. The officer told Chris to take a seat but didn’t make a move to remove the handcuffs. It didn’t matter though. He’d perfected sitting comfortably while restrained. It was a regular event in his old life.

  Two more officers entered the room, bringing with them an enormous amount of commotion and chatter as Sydney frantically tried to explain the situation. She grew more and more upset as the officers began to read Chris his rights. “What has he done? He saved my life, you can’t arrest him.”

  The oldest of the officers in the room approached Sydney, trying to calm her. “Ma’am I completely understand how upsetting this is, and the courage Mr. King showed here today is admirable. But firearms are banned from campus. Illinois does not allow concealed carry, and on top of that he does not have a Firearm Owner Identification card. He’s violated a significant number of laws here today by carrying that weapon. We don’t have a choice but to arrest him. I’ve got a supervisor en route now. He’ll hopefully be able to advise us on the best way to handle this very unique situation. In the meantime, Officer Krito will stay here with both of you while my partner and I book Caleb. I’m very sorry, Mr. King, and I do hope this works out well for you. I believe you saved lives today.” The man tipped his head apologetically at both of them as he led Caleb, still sobbing, out of the room.

  Sydney sat down next to Chris and put her hand on his leg, immediately realizing that was far too intimate. It was too late though, pulling it away suddenly would look far more inappropriate than letting it linger there. “I am so sorry. Caleb is my ex-boyfriend. I’ve been dealing with him for so long, but I never thought it would come to this. I promise I’ll do everything I can to keep you from getting in trouble. My uncle is a skip tracer. He works with these guys all the time. Maybe he can pull some strings.” Sydney was talking so quickly that she wasn’t catching enough breath to keep from getting lightheaded.

  “Sydney, calm down,” Chris said, wishing his hands were free and he could caress her soft, tear-stained cheek. “I need you to do me two favors. In my pants pocket there is a business card, can you reach in and get it for me?” He leaned himself over and she stared at him skeptically.

  An hour ago he was asking if she had plastic surgery, forty minutes ago he was saving her life, now he wanted her to go fishing around his pants pocket. It was obvious this was the oddest progression of a work relationship that she had ever experienced. He couldn’t say the same. Finally, she reached her hand in and he tensed the rock hard muscle of his thigh. Chris fought a smile as she hesitantly moved her fingers, exploring his pocket. Her look of concentration told him she was desperately trying not to touch anything that might make her blush. With a slight wince, she must have caught the sharp edge of the business c
ard, and sighed with relief as she pulled it out.

  “I need you to call that number and speak with Jason. Tell him who you are and everything that happened here today. Tell him we’re in the red and he needs to come here now. If he doesn’t get here before they take me to the police station then he’ll have to meet me there. That’s where the second favor comes in. My son, Little Chris, will be getting off the bus at three-fifteen. I need you to meet him, let him into the house and stay with him until I get home. In my wallet you’ll find my address and a picture of my son. When you see him say, ‘Cherry Coke,’ then he’ll know it’s safe to go with you. He’ll know how to set all the alarms when you get in the house. With any luck I’ll be out by dinner time and this will all be over.”

  “All of this is a little overwhelming,” Sydney trembled. “Who are you? All those things you said to Caleb, you don’t sound like a normal person.” She leaned back again, appearing slightly frightened of who she might be dealing with.

  “It’s a very long story. I don’t have anyone I can trust with my son. He’s my whole world, Sydney. I need to know you’ll take care of him until Jason can get the rest of this squared away.” Chris could understand her hesitation. She clearly hadn’t had much luck with men, and he’d certainly laid it on thick while trying to get Caleb to lower his gun.

  “Of course,” Sydney gulped, reacting out of a debt owed rather than a good deed. The least she could do was care for his son while he dealt with the legal ramifications of intervening. “Where’s your wallet?” she asked, ready to follow his instructions.

  Chris had a mischievous smile and winked at her as he spoke, “It’s in the other pocket.”