Page 17 of The Santas Who Stole Me

I grumble in agreement. Zee is right, as always. We don’t go off half-cocked with murder unless we know every last detail about the target down to the number of shits they take a day.

Eventually, Zeke left for his time with Georgie, and I shoved my jealousy down, hoping he didn’t recognize it. I spend the next few hours going over every case we have that Chad has worked on. The best way to get away with murder is pinning it on someone else, after all. The cases gave me a few leads on who we could set up to take the fall. I’m dreading talking with her about everything in her past. An unfamiliar ring goes off, and I turn my head to the guitar case. Pulling the zipper open I rummage through things that fall out to find a flip phone and see Marge flash across the screen.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Who the fuck is this? Where is Georgie?” the person on the other line yells. Before I can get a word in response she keeps going. “I will find you. If you hurt her, you’re dead. I don’t give a shit about who you work for, fucker. Give her the phone, you have no idea who you are dealing with. I will cut out your eyes and shove your balls in the sockets.”

Ugh, I shudder at the thought and her voice, which drips with that bloody promise. Georgie did mention she was working somewhere, and I’m sure she made friends. This must be one. I don’t know if her line is secure, and I can’t risk anyone catching onto us so I hang up. Before I turn the phone off, I scroll to the messages Marge has left. Seventeen. Mostly consisting of where are you and do you need help. Then I see another number. It’s not saved under a contact name, and I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop. I open the message feed and see a number I recognized in the files.

Unknown: It won’t happen again

Unknown: I’ll be better for you.

Unknown: I miss you, please come back to me. I love you.

Georgie: Ok

There’s an outgoing call right after, then nothing. Checking the date before I turn off the phone, I throw it across the room. It bounces off the wall but doesn’t break as it hits the ground. It was from last week, before the Santa Half-Marathon.

Chapter Fifteen

ZEKE

Georgia has me out of sorts in a way that is new to me. The guys have jumped at the chance for any excuse to be with her. I have been hesitant and haven’t pushed our alone time. All together we spent some time watching TV and swimming, and for the most part I watched her. I should have read all of Georgia’s files to give myself an advantage over the others. It’s my strength after all. But I couldn’t do it. I told her I would fix the situation with the FBI agent, and I will. I found myself more interested in her than killing which was new. It was additionally new for me to be interested in someone. I believe it started seeing her all curled up in Keeper’s bed after her panic attack. I can’t even name the way I should have felt. I’m not sure what she’s doing to me.

I’m a fool though, because she’s going to figure out my secrets and run. Losing my courage, I start putting the baking shit back up in the cabinet at the same time as she walks in with Calum. They’re laughing. The tone signals a lighthearted nature and she’s smiling at him. I knew she would take to him the quickest. He’s the easiest to be around.

Georgia scans the kitchen.

I probably went overboard.

“Ahh that kitchen mixer! I’ve wanted one like this forever.” She runs her hand over it and her eyes lighten expressing she’s excited. I blow out a breath of relief.

“I thought you might want to bake. Some Christmas cookies maybe?”

Calum narrows his gaze at me and I flip my middle finger up at him behind her back.

Georgia claps her hands together and looks over everything on the counter. “You want me to bake for you?”

“No, with me,” I say quickly, flashing her my nicest grin.

“Okay, let’s do this. Calum, are you baking too?”

He looks at me for permission, and I give him an icy stare met by a roll of his eyes. He pulls Georgia into him and kisses her temple before whispering, “No, but I’ll definitely be back for a taste of your cookie, cookie.”

She blushes and starts rummaging through the baking supplies.

Calum whistles a Christmas tune on his way out.

“What’s your favorite kind, Zeke?”

“I’m not sure, the sugar kind.” I’m a grown ass man who kills for a living, I have no recollection when I last ate a cookie. I need my body to be ready in case of a fight. I don’t give it sugar and processed foods.

“They all have sugar.” She giggles, then pauses, studying my face and tapping her finger to her chin like she’s thinking.

“I know the cookie you need. Flour me, Zeke, we got this.”

I hand her the flour, and she goes about telling me what to measure and add. It’s surprisingly comfortable, which is interesting considering her situation. She seems to have found strength somewhere along the way. Instead of being fearful of us like any sane person, Georgia is baking with me. I assume it’s because of her treatment from Chad, and that makes me fucking furious. She shouldn’t be brave because of what he did to her or the trauma he forced her to endure. I want to make things better for her.