Mistletoe Justice

FRAME-UP

Someone has framed Darci Tucker for embezzlement—and she’s pretty sure it’s her boss. The real criminal will do anything to make sure she doesn’t talk, from breaking into her home to hacking her computer. Her only hope for regaining control, and protecting her young son from danger, is Conner Stevenson. Desperate for answers about his sister’s sudden disappearance, Conner is determined to uncover why the bookkeeper was named a target. Now Darci and her son have become pawns in a deadly game, and as Conner races to protect them, he finds he wants more than justice. He may want a family for Christmas after all…if they live that long.

Fear overtook her face.

“As much as I don’t want to go back there alone, I have no choice.”

“You’re not alone.”

Conner mentally shook away the crazy thoughts. When Darci decided to let a man back into her life, it would be someone who had what it took to be a father and husband. That someone wasn’t him.

Darci shook her head. “I won’t put you in danger. This is my fight, not yours.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Just who are you?”

“The missing woman is my sister. The night she disappeared she called me. Said she was scared and on her way over.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. If only…

No. Second-guessing himself was wasted energy. All the regrets in the world wouldn’t change anything.

“And?”

He met Darci’s eyes. “She never made it. Your boss apparently got to her first. And from the look of things, he’ll get you next.”

CAROL J. POST writes fun and fast-paced inspirational romantic suspense and lives in sunshiny central Florida. She sings and plays the piano for her church and also enjoys sailing, hiking, camping—almost anything outdoors. Her daughters and grandkids live too far away for her liking, so she now pours all that nurturing into taking care of two fat and sassy cats and one highly spoiled dachshund.

Mistletoe Justice

Carol J. Post

Enter His gates with thanksgiving and His courts with praise; give thanks to Him and praise His name. For the Lord is good and His love endures forever; His faithfulness continues through all generations.

—Psalms 100:4–5

As always, I want to thank my family for your encouragement and support. And special thanks to Mom Roberts and Mom Post for promoting me to all your friends!

Thank you to my critique partners, Karen, Dixie and Sabrina. You have a great eye for seeing the things I’ve missed. Your input is invaluable.

Thank you to my editor, Rachel Burkot, and my agent, Nalini Akolekar. I’m so blessed to be working with both of you.

And thank you to my husband, Chris. If I had it to do over again, I’d do it all over again.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Gravel crunched beneath the tires of the old Corolla. Beyond the reaches of its headlights, the darkness was thick. A full moon had begun its ascent, but hidden behind the acres of pine forest, it wasn’t much help. The mine was an eerie place at night.

Darci Tucker rounded the final bend, and the view opened up. The office building stood to the left. Ahead and to the right, mounds of dirt rose in the slanted moonlight, a mini-mountain range against a dimly lit sky.

She turned into the parking lot and tightened her grip on the wheel. Two cars sat in front, a white Mercedes and a silver Lexus. The Lexus wasn’t familiar. The Mercedes was. When she’d left work forty minutes earlier, the place had been deserted. Now her boss was back. Mr. Wiggins wouldn’t appreciate her interrupting his after-hours meeting. But she’d left her phone on her desk and wouldn’t return until Monday.

She circled around the building and stopped at an unmarked door. Maybe she could slip in through the employee break room without bothering anyone. Rupert Wiggins was the chief financial officer of P. T. Aggregates and her direct supervisor. But he had his hands in all the operations. And he was a tyrant. During her five and a half months of employment, she’d never been the recipient of his wrath, but she’d seen him ream out enough others to know she’d rather avoid that temper.

When she stepped from the car, a cool breeze swept her hair into her face. She tucked the strands behind her ear and pulled her jacket more tightly around her. In mid-November, some parts of the country were bracing for a long winter. Not Florida. Its first cold front of the year had lost its bluster before reaching the Georgia-Florida line.

She crept toward the building, key in hand, and peered through the window. The break room was dark, but dim light came from elsewhere, probably the hall that led to six of the offices, hers and Wiggins’s included.

As she stepped inside, murmured words drifted to her. Wiggins and his guest. She tiptoed closer, and when she rounded the last corner, the muscles in her neck and shoulders tightened. Her boss’s office door was open, his light on.