Mistletoe Justice. Carol J. Post

in jail. The problem was, she had no idea where to start.

      The last one did. The words circled through her mind, as disturbing as when she’d first heard them. And her next step became clear—she needed to talk to the prior accounting manager.

      She logged on to the payroll program and brought up terminated employees. Claire Blackburn was near the beginning of the list. After pulling a Post-it from the dispenser, she jotted down the address and phone number. She would try to contact her tonight.

      And maybe she should check out Jimmy Fuller. She logged on to the Division of Corporations website and did a search for his company name. Nothing strange there. The business address matched what she used for billing. James Fuller was listed as the president. The vice president was...Lori Fuller? Her eyes shot back up to the president information. Same address. Not only was Jimmy Fuller a sleazy womanizer, he was married.

      Without warning, Wiggins’s doughy figure filled her doorway. She jumped and clicked off the site. His eyes darkened with suspicion as he stared down at her, eyebrows dipping toward the bridge of his nose, the edges of his mouth turned downward. When he crossed his arms, the gesture wasn’t playful, as when Fuller had assumed the same position a short time earlier. And it wasn’t done to show off rippling biceps, as she always suspected with the younger man. No, Wiggins’s pose was meant to intimidate. It was working.

      “Goofing off, are we?”

      “No. You startled me.” She held up the small stack of paper. “I just finished printing the financials.”

      Wiggins shook his head, his eyes scolding. “I know what you’re doing. You’d best let sleeping dogs lie, or you’ll get bit.” Without giving her an opportunity to respond, he stalked down the hall toward his office. Except Wiggins didn’t stalk. More like swaggered—the cocky gait of a man who thought too much of himself.

      What was he, psychic? How did he know she was snooping?

      She reached for the mouse and moved her report to the proper location. Wiggins had never been her favorite person. When she’d applied for her job, she’d interviewed with Peter Turlong, the owner, who divided his time between their Florida and Georgia mines. But since acquiring a mine in South Carolina four months ago, he’d left the Florida location in Wiggins’s hands. He might live to regret that decision.

      Meanwhile, everyone was forced to put up with Wiggins. He didn’t just run a tight ship. He micromanaged every employee there. And she was no exception. Every report she did, he went over with a fine-tooth comb.

      But when he’d stood in her doorway glaring down at her, he hadn’t been concerned about her work performance. He’d been afraid she was snooping. A man with secrets had every reason to be afraid.

      Wiggins was making a big mistake. She had her hands too full with her own issues to worry about the business of other people. But now that he had involved her, he’d left her with no choice.

      First she would try to talk to Claire Blackburn. Then she would go to Cedar Key police officer Hunter Kingston, not in an official capacity, but as a friend.

      And she would pray like crazy that she could find a way to escape the noose that was tightening around her neck.

       TWO

      Darci’s eyes shot open, and she lay tense and alert, the remnants of a nightmare still holding her in its grasp. In her dream, she’d discovered something important, although she couldn’t remember now what it was. She had looked up to see Wiggins watching her and she had run. She was still running when she awoke.

      But it wasn’t the nightmare that had awoken her. It was something else. Every instinct she possessed seemed to warn her of impending danger.

      She waited in the darkness, but there was nothing. Just a lingering sense of unrest, as if somewhere beyond her awareness, something evil had penetrated the security of her world.

      Then a soft shhh pierced the silence, and her senses shot to full alert. Had the sliding glass door just moved back in its track? Muffled footsteps sounded on the vinyl tile floor, confirming her fears.

      She thrust the covers back and sprang from the bed, ignoring the panic showering down on her. Her son lay sleeping in the next room, twenty feet from whatever menace had just entered their haven. She snatched her phone from the nightstand and paused at the doorway to peer down the hall. A flashlight beam made wide sweeps of her living and dining area. As long as he didn’t shine it down the hall... God, please protect us.

      As she crept toward Jayden’s room, her heart pounded against her ribs, and her breath came in shallow gasps. Once inside, she silently closed the door and turned the lock. A night-light cast its dim glow through the room, over the sleeping form of her precious little boy. She needed to call 911 without alerting the intruder or awakening Jayden. Maybe from inside the closet.

      Nestled between his clothes and a stack of toy-filled crates, she touched the three numbers. Moments later, a soothing voice came through the phone, and the panic she had managed to hold at bay broke through its bounds. Her words tumbled out in a harsh whisper, and she began to shake.

      “Help me, please. Someone’s in my house.”

      After verifying the address and promising that help was on the way, the dispatcher stayed on the line offering words of encouragement. They did nothing to still her pounding heart or calm her frayed nerves.

      When she emerged from the closet, Jayden stirred, and she moved to the side of his bed. If he woke up, she would have to keep him quiet. He didn’t talk unless prompted, but he sometimes cried. As she watched, he drew in a deep breath and let out a sigh, then returned to the rhythmic breathing of sleep.

      “Are you still there?” The dispatcher’s question cut across her thoughts.

      “Yes.” She spoke in the softest whisper.

      “The police should be there any minute.”

      She swallowed past the lump of fear that had congealed in her throat and mentally ticked through the items in Jayden’s room. If only she had something she could use to defend them.

      Jayden had a bat and a baseball. Unfortunately, they were made of plastic. And he had a pistol, but it shot foam Nerf balls. Her best bet was to pray that the intruder didn’t kick down the door before the police arrived.

      Sirens sounded in the distance, and she sagged against the wall. A few more minutes. Actually, the intruder had likely already run out the back door.

      The squeal grew louder then died. Law enforcement was out front. She released a pent-up breath. Once the officers were inside and she knew for sure the intruder was gone, she would open the bedroom door.

      Jayden sat up suddenly and climbed from the bed. She circled around and caught him before he reached the door.

      “Sweetheart?”

      He turned toward her, his eyes wide in the dim glow of the night-light.

      “Mommy’s right here.” She picked him up and held him against her chest. Little arms went around her neck, and she pressed a kiss to the top of his head, breathing in the berry scent of his shampoo.

      In another part of the house, the sliding glass door slid back farther in its track and footsteps sounded against the vinyl floor, multiple sets this time.

      The last of the tension fled. She thanked the dispatcher and ended the call. A few minutes later, a knock on Jayden’s door accompanied a deep male voice.

      “Levy County Sheriff’s. Everything’s clear. It’s all right to come out.”

      When she emerged from the room, two deputies stood in the hall. The older one smiled down at her. “Are you all right?”

      “A bit shaken up, but fine otherwise.” She squeezed Jayden more tightly.

      “And the