Home for Christmas: New Adult Holiday Dark Suspense Romance Read Online Free PDF

forearm, as if she couldn’t care less. “But if you touch me... if you touch anyone I care about... your face will be all over the news, and this time it won’t be because the mayor is pinning a ribbon to your chest.”
    “Bullshit!” He didn’t sound convinced. She felt him hesitating, his breath short and struggling in her ear.
    “No,” Ginny said, surprising herself with the steel edge in her voice. “You’re the bullshit artist, Brody. Me, I tell the truth, and I’m telling you the truth right now. Believe it.”
    The back door swung open and Ginny recognized one of the café workers as he brought out a bag of trash. His eyes widened in surprise and he looked concerned—before he saw Brody’s uniform, anyway. Ginny knew how much power that uniform had, how it could immediately anesthetize.
    “Thank you, Officer,” Ginny gasped, using the moment of surprise to twist out of Brody’s grip and head toward the young man still standing agape in the doorway. “You saved my life.”
    “Hey!” Brody called, but he was too late. She was already disappearing through the busy coffee house and out the front door onto the street.
    She hid, cowering behind the McDonalds dumpster, for a good five minutes. Maybe ten. She was too afraid to even move, sure Brody would come around the corner and find her any moment. Then she remembered Mr. Spencer and her promise to meet him at his car. Had he already driven away?
    Ginny dared to peek out from behind the dumpster and saw his white car in the lot. There was exhaust coming from the back end, so he was in it. Did she dare? It was only the thought that Brody would be looking for her, that he wouldn’t give up, now that he’d sighted her, that finally got her moving. The faster she got away from this town, the better, and Mr. Spencer was her fastest way out at the moment.
    “And I thought I took a long time in the bathroom,” Mr. Spencer said when Ginny pulled open and threw herself into the car. “You don’t have prostate problems, do you?”
    “No,” she panted. “I’ve got ninety-nine other problems, but that’s not one. Step on it, Mr. Spencer.”
    “Why, are the cops after you?”
    “No.” That wasn’t a complete lie. There was just one cop after her.
    Ginny sank low in the passenger seat as Mr. Spencer pulled slowly out onto the street, like any senior citizen driver would. It was far less Fast and Furious than she wanted it to be, but she didn’t see any sign of Brody. Still, she didn’t fully relax until they got out of town and onto the highway. Mr. Spencer was doing a measly fifty-five—and at that rate, it would be three hours before they got into Lewisonville—but the heater was on and with every mile, she got further and further way from Brody.
    That was a blessed relief.
    “What do you think, Virginia?” Mr. Spencer asked, pulling a CD out of a sleeve on his visor. “Creedence or Bruce Springsteen?”
    She wasn’t about to ask him if he had anything more current or, perhaps, in iPod.
    “Creedence,” she decided, taking the CD from him and sliding it into the player. It was full dark already and there was a moon rising. She just hoped it wasn’t a bad one, like the song said.
    “Mr. Spencer, do you mind if I take a nap?” she murmured, but her eyes were already closing as she leaned her head against the window.
    “Not at all, Virginia,” he said, but his voice already sounded far away. “Not at all.”
    * * * *
    Maggie and the boys were already outside when she showed up at the shelter but they boys weren’t on the swings. It had snowed overnight and they were running and playing in the white stuff, throwing snowballs, making snow angels and sliding on the ice. There was a big hill out back that crested into a golf course on the other side—there was a big fence at the top—and Ginny found herself wishing they had a sled.
    “You look tired.” Maggie, always the little mother hen, touched Ginny’s cheek, her hand moving to her