Crossfire Christmas

“Nash—”

He shushed her with a finger over her lips. “You have the most beautiful mouth I’ve ever seen on a woman. When I’m alone in this room with you, and the rest of the world is some distant nightmare outside that door, all I can think about is that kiss we shared yesterday.”

“You were delirious with fever. You probably aren’t remembering it accurately.”

At last those firm lips crooked up with a dangerous grin. “How’s my temperature now, Nurse Rodriguez?”

“Normal. Your fever hasn’t come back.” Was that hushed quiver of anticipation really coming from her throat?

Nash brushed the calloused pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, sparking a dozen different nerve endings. “My eyes are focused? My thoughts are sane? No delusions?”

Her mouth was parched with anticipation. “As far as I can tell, you’re … healthy.”

“Good. I just wanted to make sure we’re clear on this.” Then he leaned in, replacing his thumb with his mouth.

Crossfire Christmas

Julie Miller

USA TODAY bestselling author JULIE MILLER attributes her passion for writing romance to all those books she read growing up. When shyness and asthma kept her from becoming the action-adventure heroine she longed to be, Julie created stories in her head to keep herself entertained. Encouragement from her family to write down the feelings and ideas she couldn’t express became a love for the written word. She gets continued support from her fellow members of the Prairieland Romance Writers, where this teacher serves as the resident “grammar goddess.” Inspired by the likes of Agatha Christie and Encyclopedia Brown, Julie believes the only thing better than a good mystery is a good romance.

Born and raised in Missouri, this award-winning author now lives in Nebraska with her husband, son and an assortment of spoiled pets. To contact Julie or to learn more about her books, write to PO Box 5162, Grand Island, NE 68802-5162, USA or check out her website and monthly newsletter at www.juliemiller.org.

For the cast and crew of Grand Island Little Theater’s production of Twelve Angry Men.

I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of a show I’ve directed.

With particular thanks to Jeremy Johnson and Liz Boyle for the title idea for this book!

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“You’re a dead man, Nash!”

DEA agent Charlie Nash slammed his back against the metal shelves that had blocked the spray of bullets and saved his life. One step slower and he’d be bleeding out on the floor like the young man lying in the open aisle beside Thug One.

“Kid?” He wasn’t really expecting a response.

He didn’t get one. Check one more black mark in the loss column of his soul.

Yet there was no time for guilt or regret or even grief. He’d spotted the trap the moment he’d pulled into the parking garage and would have backed out then, evading the threat that had trailed him seven hundred miles from Texas to Kansas City, Missouri. But with the rookie handler climbing out of his car without a clue, Nash had been left with no choice but to stay put and warn the young agent back into his vehicle.

Revealing himself to the three goons lying in wait hadn’t made a damn bit of difference.

The kid was still dead.

And he was still the Graciela cartel’s most wanted man.

The cop who’d put together the plan to stop them.

Nash pulled a bandanna from the back pocket of his jeans and tied it around his left thigh, trying to slow down the blood seeping from the wound there. As he tightened the makeshift bandage, he listened to the clomp of running feet, pinpointing the locations of the two remaining assailants as they tried to flank him. He ignored the throbbing burn in his leg and fought to calm his labored breathing so the clouds of stress and exertion in the open warehouse’s wintry air wouldn’t give his position away. He figured he had about two minutes—three if he was lucky—to find a way out of this mess.

The desk agent who’d met him in this run-down auto-parts warehouse near the Missouri River to try to help him reestablish his undercover persona hadn’t been so lucky. He’d wager most of the car parts in this place weren’t legal, and that Tommy Delvecchio had never been in the middle of a real firefight before. Stupid kid must not have been wearing his flak vest, judging by the size of that puddle of blood pooling beneath him.

If Delvecchio had been one of Nash’s operatives, he’d have trained him better than that. Hell. If he’d been one of Nash’s undercover operatives, he’d probably still be dead. Just like the other embedded agents whose covers had been blown.

Glancing over at the still figure crumpled on the floor between storage racks, Nash felt his gut twist with anger and remorse. “Damn it, Tommy. Told you I didn’t need backup.” All he’d asked for was cash and a new ID to be sent to a PO box. He hadn’t needed a personal delivery. He hadn’t wanted the kid to come all the way to K.C. “You should have stayed at the office.”