Love, Lies and Mistletoe. Jennifer Snow

at the sound of the oven timer.

      “No, you won’t,” he mumbled, heading back outside.

      As he returned to the squad car, his glucose monitor beeped. Great, he was low. He could have had a muffin. He sighed as he checked the numbers. Three point four and dropping. This stupid disease was responsible for all of this, he thought, the memory of his last day undercover never too far from his mind.

      His blood glucose monitor had been beeping that day, too, revealing that his sugar levels were dropping steadily for almost an hour. He’d searched his vehicle for a juice box or a granola bar...an old doughnut or candy...

      But found nothing.

      He hadn’t expected to be waiting that long for Leo Gonzales to emerge from the warehouse. Most exchanges happened quickly, so as not to draw attention. All Jacob had needed was visual confirmation that Gonzales was dealing with Mario Lorenzo, the drug lord they’d been chasing, and he’d have everything necessary to put the man away for a long time. His two-year undercover stint would be over and he could resume some semblance of a life after debriefing and resocialization.

      The longer he’d been under, the harder it had been to remember who he really was. He tried to visit his family—his sister and nephew—a weekend every month or a few stolen days over the holidays, but it had been getting tougher to leave the cartel unnoticed. Tougher to leave the persona behind and become Uncle Jacob again. Then to go back to being a drug-pushing thug.

      Deciding to work undercover hadn’t been easy for him, knowing he’d have to leave his family for long periods of time, but he’d gone into policing to make a difference, and despite the extreme living conditions and having to pretend to be something he despised, he was so close...he was making a difference...

      The door to the warehouse opened, and he sat straighter, but Gonzales exited alone, scanned the area, then went back inside. It wasn’t enough. He needed to see Gonzales and Lorenzo together.

      The monitor had beeped.

      Crap. He needed to eat. But he’d waited two years for this opportunity; he couldn’t leave now. Three SWAT team vehicles were parked two blocks away, awaiting his signal. He couldn’t sacrifice two years of weight gain, drug use and hurting people when they were so close.

      Searching his duffel bag in the backseat, he found half a chocolate bar. Who knew how long it had been in there, but he didn’t care—he needed to get his sugars up.

      He scarfed it down, but twenty minutes later, his blood sugar continued to drop again.

      Two point one. Stress often had this effect on his body.

      Sweat collected on his back beneath the bulletproof vest he wore and ran down his forehead. His mouth was dry and his hands unsteady.

      Come on. Come out.

      Fifteen minutes passed. The monitor continued to beep relentlessly, and his vision started to blur. He glanced at the reading. Under one. Even if they did come out, there was nothing he could do now except signal. He would be completely useless in helping to arrest these guys.

      He prayed he wouldn’t lose consciousness before he could at least do that much.

      His head swayed, and he fought to focus as the warehouse lights went off.

      What? That wasn’t right. Where were they? Was there another entrance into the building? He’d scoped the place out the night before. He reached for his radio, but it fell to the floor on the passenger side of the car.

      When he reached for it, his vest pressed against the steering wheel and sounded the horn.

      Oh, no.

      The warehouse door opened, and Gonzales and Lorenzo exited, Gonzales’s gaze landing directly on Jacob, as if he knew he’d be there. Jacob grabbed the radio and hit the button for the signal as gunfire rang out and his world went black.

      That day, four months ago, would have put an end to Mario Lorenzo and his cartel if the drug lord hadn’t escaped before the SWAT teams arrived. Now all that would put the man behind bars was Jacob’s statement, which was still under evaluation because he’d lost consciousness immediately after the visual confirmation, making his observations questionable. While Gonzales had been caught with enough evidence to put him away, the head of the operation was still a free man until a court case could be scheduled, and Jacob had his day on the witness stand.

      Shutting off the vehicle, Jacob jogged across the street to Joey’s. The diner’s fifties-style décor, complete with red leather bar stools and a jukebox in the corner, was seriously something out of the movie Grease, but he had to admit the food was better than anything he’d ever tasted.

      The place was packed. Every table and booth was occupied, and even the stools at the counter were all taken. The plates piled with eggs, pancakes, sausages and toast passing by him, as Tina and her daughter, April, delivered the meals, made his stomach growl and his mouth water. His monitor beeped again. He could get something to go. Sit in the car and eat until his blood sugar returned to normal.

      Going to the register, he waited. He knew what he wanted. Eggs Benedict and a side order of bacon. Two side orders of bacon.

      Tina moved past him and rang in an order.

      “Hi, can I place an order to go?” he asked.

      She didn’t glance up as she said, “You’ll have to give me like ten minutes, we’re backed up in the kitchen.”

      Once his blood sugar level started to drop, it went down quickly. He didn’t want to pass out in the busy diner. So far, he’d been successful in keeping his diabetes to himself...except for Mrs. Kelly who’d found one of his needles in his bathroom when she’d been cleaning. He cringed at the memory. She had accused him of being a drug addict and had refused to give him back his insulin until he’d explained everything to her and then reassured her, he could clean his own apartment. “Can I at least order now?”

      “I told you, you’re going to have to wait. Tables get priority over takeout,” Tina said.

      He sighed and turned to lean against the counter. He’d leave and go someplace else, but the fact was there was nowhere else. No pizza places within a ten-mile radius, no sub sandwich chain stores, no familiar coffee shops...just Joey’s Diner. God, he missed the city.

      He spotted Heather sitting alone at the corner booth near the window, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then headed toward her.

      She had a laptop open on the table and was typing furiously with one hand, while eating—eggs Benedict, of course—with the other.

      “That’s quite the talent,” he said.

      “Lucky for me, I’m ambidextrous,” she said with a quick glance in his direction.

      “Well, I can see that you’re busy, but if I promise to be quiet, can I share your table?”

      She looked surprised when she finally gave him her attention. “You always eat alone.”

      “And I would today, but all the tables are full, including the bar stools.”

      “So you only want to eat with me because there’s nowhere else to sit?”

      “Exactly.”

      “Charming.”

      “Honest.”

      She laughed and gestured for him to be her guest. “Go ahead.”

      He slid into the booth. “Look, if it makes you feel better—if I have to sit with someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

      Heather’s expression was one of amusement as she said, “Am I supposed to be flattered?”

      “Yes. You’re probably the only person in Brookhollow that I can actually tolerate.” He shrugged out of his jacket and tucked it next to him on the seat.

      “Tolerate? Wow. Anyway, you promised not to talk, so shhh, I have five