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Chapter Two
“Reporting live withSanta Claus, from the Christmas celebration in Chelsea, this is Noelle Upton. Back to you, Janet.”
Her smile faded, she pulled her earpiece from her ear, and turned to glare at Santa. He’d rested his hand on her back during the interview. It steadily slipped lower until it rested just above her butt. “Take your hand off my back before I lay you out flat on yours. You’re lucky there are kids here.”
The a-little-too-jolly Santa huffed off, shaking his head and his fake snowy beard. Jeremy, Noelle’s cameraman, shook his head and lifted the heavy camera off his shoulder.
“Do you have any plans for tonight?”
“Yes,” she told him. “Pizza and bed.”
“It’s Friday night. Live dangerously. Come out with me and Alison. We’re going to Fargo’s Pub.”
“I’ve been up since 5am, Jer. Thanks, but I’ll have to take a rain check.” She wanted to go home, take a hot shower, do a little more research on phantom horses and their riders, and then go to bed.
“Okay,” he said, disassembling his camera equipment. “Hop in the van and I’ll take you home.”
“No, thanks. I love it down here at Christmastime. I’m going to walk, maybe pick up a pretzel and a mocha on the way.”
“That stuff’ll kill you, Elle.”
“Something’s got to.”
They laughed and said goodnight and, for the millionth time, she tried to forget that he denied seeing the horses and their riders. She’d almost lost her job, ruined her career insisting to the higher ups at the station what she saw. Without footage or even Jeremy’s statement, she had nothing.
Two months. That’s how long it had been since she’d seen them riding their snorting black mounts appearing from the air. She’d told herself in the following weeks that they’d ridden out of the shadows, from some alleyway (which would have been weird enough) but there hadn’t been a sound until they were upon her and…the thief from the store. She’d contemplated handing the video footage over to the cops. She’d even told Jeremy and the station that she had. But nothing in the store had been taken—just as the man had claimed, and they would hold it as evidence because of the vandalism. If they held it, she couldn’t watch it. And she had watched it. Many times. She’d been reporting on one of the demonstrations going on over another school shooting. She and Jeremy heard the glass breaking and caught the strange guy, wearing a period costume of knee-high pants and a long coat, stepping out of an electronics store, leaving by way of the window.
It was like watching a black stallion being born of glass.
Instead of running when he saw the camera, he boldly walked toward them and claimed he was lost. In the footage, he did appear lost and confused. Drugs. Maybe he was mentally ill. He started asking strange questions like what a store was, was she a witch, and what year was it. He was the missing puzzle to the horsemen. They’d been after him. Had they caught him?
He’d kissed her. She lifted her fingertips to her lips, remembering. She hadn’t forgotten. His lips were warm, cushiony, masterful, even for the few seconds he’d taken. She’d slapped him, of course. Gave him a good crack across the face. He had smiled.
She’d never seen a man in her life who looked like him. Maybe in magazines, after they’d been touched up. This guy was raw. Arrogant yet innocent. He was tall, roughly 6’ 4”. Wide shoulders in his embroidered, tapered, long coat, which she later found out from a web site on eighteenth century fashion, was called a justaucorps. His hair fell around his face in inky waves reaching his shoulders. He had a strong jaw and a shadow of dark facial hair covering it and his upper lip.
She’d searched for him. She’d even used the resources from the station to check precincts and hospitals. But she couldn’t find him.
She looked around for a hot pretzel stand and found one. She paid for one and sang along withI Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clausplaying from the radio of a guy who was selling Christmas trees close by.
“Miss Upton?”
She was digging around in her purse, but she recognized his voice. She’d listened to it enough times on the footage. Her heart stopped for a moment and then pounded hard and fast. She spun around and looked up. Oh. It. Was. Him.
“You!” she croaked out like a fool.
He smiled and her kneecaps hurt.
“’Tis good to see you again.”
“I’ve been searching for you.”
“Oh?” His raven eyebrows rose over dancing green eyes. “Was it our kiss?”
Wow, he positively dripped with charisma and what her mother would call male magnetism. She had to keep her head clear. She had questions. Hundreds of them!
“I try not to dwell on unpleasantries,” she said, squaring her shoulders and ignoring his widening smile. “What happened to you? You fell off the face of the earth.”
He knit his brows, casting shadows over his eyes. “I don’t think that is possible, Miss Upton.” He cut his gaze to the Christmas trees and inhaled. “Do you smell that? It smells like the forests of Surrey.”
