The Christmas Clue. Delores Fossen

Ronald verified that she was lying.

      “Dominic,” she mumbled, saying his name as if it were a persistent infection. She thumped a tiny Santa figure dangling from the Christmas plant and sent the Santa swaying. “He sought me out, attending the same parties, the same social functions. He pursued me. At the time, I didn’t realize it was a setup, that he wasn’t interested in me nearly as much as my multimillion-dollar trust fund.”

      “He’s that good an actor?”

      Her sigh was laced with regret. “He’s that good, and I can usually spot a phony. My parents might have been wealthy, but they weren’t born that way. They were streetwise, and before they died they were always warning me about guys like Dominic.”

      “But you missed the signs with him,” he pointed out.

      “Obviously.”

      She quickly looked away after her gaze landed on his bare chest, making him wish he’d taken the time to rebutton his shirt after he’d realized he had an intruder in the house. This was not good. Even with all the unreasonable demands, Cass Harrison was still a woman.

      An attractive woman who had a unique way of reminding him that he was a man.

      “I missed the signs because I was thinking with the wrong part of my body,” she explained. “It took me seven weeks to realize that Dominic wanted to use my money and business contacts to carry out illegal activities.”

      Matt didn’t doubt that part, but he also believed that Cass had loved getting involved with a dangerous man. It was what bored socialites like her did. And he should know. Vanessa had done the same thing to him.

      She’d loved his job. The danger of it. The excitement. It’d gotten her hot. But that heat had fizzled out very quickly when she grew bored with him and his lack of massive amounts of money.

      That was something he had to accept. And it was a realization that still caused Matt to curse himself for ever getting involved with a blue-blood heiress in the first place. At least it was a lesson learned.

      And one he wouldn’t repeat.

       Ever.

      Even if the heiress across from him was causing him to have a few lustful thoughts.

      Cass pulled in a hard breath and stood. “You’re not going to help me, are you?”

      “No.”

      She slipped her hands into the back pockets of her well-worn jeans. It was a little maneuver that had her navy blue sweater tightening across her breasts and hitching up to expose an inch or two of her stomach. No bra. And how did he know that? Because the sides of her jacket were far enough apart that he could see the outline of her erect nipples.

      Oh, man.

      Why didn’t he just hit himself in the head? He shouldn’t be looking at her. She was as off-limits as any woman could possibly be. When this was over, he really did need to take some time and get laid.

      “I can’t recover the evidence on my own,” she said, her voice a little quavery now. More than quavery. Feminine. Not good. That quavery feminine voice teased his protective instincts while her semibare midriff teased a part of him that needed no such teasing. “And if I do nothing, I have to stay on the run. Not exactly how I want to spend the rest of my life.”

      He made a grunt of agreement and forced his attention away from that snug sweater. “You know the old saying about being between a rock and a hard place. Guess that’s where you are right now.”

      She made a mimicking grunt of agreement, and while the sound was still reverberating in her throat, she pulled her right hand from behind her. Not slowly, either. She was fast. Damn fast. And her hand wasn’t empty, either.

      She aimed a gun—a real gun—right at him. “I always carry backup,” she let him know.

      “Hell,” he mumbled, and he silently chastised himself with some much-stronger profanity. How had he let the situation come to this?

      Oh, wait.

      He knew what had caused his lapse in judgment. It was her nipple-showing sweater and that quavery voice. He’d stupidly let them distract him, and now that stupidity might have some serious consequences.

      Matt glanced at her and then took a better look at her weapon. He instantly recognized the model. A Kahr PM9. A trim 9 mm with a tiny three-inch barrel. Heck, the whole gun was only five inches long, so no wonder he hadn’t noticed it in what was no doubt a slide holster tucked in the back waist of her jeans. But Matt knew this was a case where size truly didn’t matter. It was a combat weapon and just as deadly as any gun in the wrong hands could be.

      “This is a mistake,” he insisted. Not his best attempt at reasoning, but Matt was still berating himself for allowing the situation to escalate into this.

      “A mistake? I don’t think so. I have a different saying for you—a woman’s place is behind the trigger. Guess that’s where I am right now.”

      Man, she was as good with the wise comebacks as she was at distracting him. Too bad he’d have to be the one to make sure she was arrested. And it was really too bad that he didn’t like having to do that. It was his job to protect and defend, he reminded himself. But a part of him, a very small part of him, wouldn’t have minded if Cass Harrison had somehow been able to find evidence to clear her name. Especially since that would send Dominic to jail for the rest of his life.

      “So, what now?” Matt asked her. “I’m your hostage?”

      She nodded. “Temporarily. Take off your pants.”

      He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re going to sexually assault me?”

      That earned him one of those glares and a nasty little huff. “You wish. I’ll use them to tie you up. I don’t especially want to go rifling around your place to find something to restrain you.”

      Oh, so she did have a plan.

      Such that it was.

      Matt unzipped his pants, all the while looking for the opportunity to disarm her. It wouldn’t take much. Just a split-second distraction, and then he could launch himself at her. A tackle of sorts. And then he would call the authorities. Her time was up.

      Stripped down to his shirt and boxer briefs, he extended his arm in front of him and dropped his pants on the kitchen floor.

      In the three feet of space that separated them.

      She scowled, probably because she knew it would be a major mistake to try to reach down and pick them up. Instead, she kept her gaze fastened on him and used her foot to drag the pants closer to her. She didn’t stop there. Cass began to back up, moving farther away from him.

      The sound of the phone ringing sliced through the room. It was exactly the distraction he’d been waiting for. She automatically glanced at the phone mounted to the wall, and that glance cost her.

      Matt launched himself at her.

      She didn’t fire. In fact, she didn’t even attempt to shoot him. She turned, as if to run, but Matt latched on to her shoulder. His full weight slammed into her, and the momentum sent them both crashing to the floor. They landed between a pair of bar stools.

      Somewhere amid the sounds of the struggle, he heard his answering machine kick it. “It’s Matt. Leave a message.”

      Matt relied on his training. He turned, maneuvered and adjusted until he had her pinned down, and then he wrenched the small gun from her hand. Because her knee could quickly become a painful weapon, he literally pressed her entire body against the floor so she couldn’t move.

      “Matt, are you there?” Agent Ronald McKenzie said into the answering machine. It was a call that Matt would have liked to answer, but there was no way he would let go of Cass now that he’d subdued her. Well, sort of.

      He might have gotten her physically restrained, but she was hurling