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Pushing the thought away, I focus on the now, on my man.
My man.
I’m done questioning how right that feels. He’s mine and that’s all there is to it.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, blinking back a tear as the memory of my mom and dad clings to me. “You can tell me, Nick. You can tell me anything.”
“I know,” he says. “I’ve just never talked about this before, with anyone.”
We wait in silence, our breath fogging the air, as the sound of laughter rises up from the ice rink and reaches us quietly. I can tell we’re both content to wait for a time.
When he finally speaks again, his voice is low, distant, and not at all Santa-like.
“A drug dealer broke into our apartment. We lived in a shitty neighborhood, a real down-and-out sort of place. So I wasn’t even surprised when this prick busted through our door…”
“How old were you?” I ask when he trails off into a brooding dark quiet.
“I was nine. Nine and small for my age.”
“I can’t imagine you being small,” I whisper, trying to inject some lightness into my voice.
“I had a growth spurt when I was in my teens,” he tells me, with the faint shadow of a smirk on his face.
There’s another pause, longer this time. A gust of wind blows by and stings the tears on my cheeks. Nick nods down the slope, toward the mall, a silent question in his eyes.
Shall we get going?
I nod and we begin to descend the slope together, slowly, without needing to speak about it. It’s the sort of silent communication I never would’ve expected to share with a man I only just met, but then that’s nothing new when it comes to Nick.
I never would’ve expected to share so much closeness, so much warmth, so much instant need.
“The junkie shot them both,” Nick whispers as we approach the mall, a light-up reindeer watching us, Rudolph’s red nose seeming somehow sinister in light of Nick’s story. “Then he panicked. He didn’t know what to do and…”
Nick walks past the reindeer, ignoring the entrance to the mall, and leans against the brickwork instead. He places his hands on his knees, letting out heavy breaths.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, stroking my hand up his arm, clasping onto his face because it’s the only thing I can think to do.
“He shot himself, the lunatic,” Nick snarls. “Leaving me in there with them. I didn’t know what to do. I sat there for a while, freaked out beyond belief, and finally, I called the cops. They were so good, so helpful, so efficient. That’s what made me want to become a cop.”
I flinch, letting out a short gasp of surprise.
“You wanted to be a cop?” I ask. “Or are you one now?”
He tries for a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his cold-as-ice eyes. “I’m Saint Nick, remember, jolly old Santa.”
“I knew there was something different about you,” I whisper. “I knew you were more than a mall Santa.”
“I haven’t said anything.” He stands upright and there’s a note of defensiveness in his voice, but I know he can’t maintain it for long, not when his expression falters. “I shouldn’t be discussing any of this.”
“Nick…”
I move closer, wrapping my arms around his waist. I love squeezing onto his sides, feeling how firm he is through the T-shirt like he’s carved out of stone.
“Yes,” he whispers, leaning down and laying his lips softly against my forehead. “I’m a cop, working undercover.”
“But why?” I gasp, as the shock barrels through me. “Why would a cop need to pretend to be Santa?”
“Because Terrence Clarke and his men are morons and routinely meet in food courts,” he snarls. “Because Terrence is a bad man and I need to keep tabs on him. Because I’m pretty sure he’s running a drug-dealing ring from the mall. And now I know he’s murdered two people – your parents. Don’t you see, Natalie, my perfect little elf? Don’t you see how crazy this is?”
I whisper the words before he has a chance to tell me, no longer bothering to question how impossible it should sound, how impossible it should be.
“We’re hunting the same person.”
Chapter Eleven
Nick
“So this is your little hideaway?” Natalie teases as I lead her to the very back of the food court, behind some trees so that we’re almost out of view.
If Terrence and his men had any intelligence, they’d use this spot to conduct their business. But either they’re too stupid or arrogant to care about keeping their dealings on the down-low.
I smirk and gesture to the seat opposite, studying the way my woman looks in Santa’s jacket. It hangs off her body, baggy in the extreme, but that does nothing to quieten the roaring desire I feel every single time I so much as glance at her.
It’s the shapeliness of her breasts, the way her hips sway as though begging to be grabbed and pleased and used by the man she belongs to.
