Yuletide Suspect. Lisa Phillips

frequently, but it seemed Tate no longer cared. He wore the mountain man uniform of jeans and a checkered shirt under a padded denim jacket. No gloves. Wasn’t he cold?

      “Bubblegum is a command. If the person attacking you doesn’t know what you just asked your dog to do, they’ll think twice.” Tate’s jaw was hard again. “He shot at them, saw me and then ran off.”

      “Are you going to give me my gun back?”

      * * *

      Tate stood stunned for a second before he forced himself to snap out of it. He motioned for her to back up. “You have one, and mine are all in the house. I’ll be keeping this until I know for sure he’s gone.”

      He had to focus on the intruder who’d just tried to kill him. Otherwise he’d stare at her blond hair. Those blue-green eyes. Focus.

      “That is against policy and you know it.” She used her most snooty voice, and it almost made him smile. Almost. “I can’t lend out my duty weapon.”

      “I’ll be sure to write that on the form I fill out explaining why you’re dead.” Tate swept past her and moved toward the door again. Liberty huffed behind him, but he figured she didn’t argue because she knew he wasn’t wrong.

      Tate cracked open the door, peered out into the night and tried to tamp down the boiling rage. Shoot at him? Whatever. Shoot at his dogs? Unacceptable. Tate adjusted his grip on the gun, though using it would deny him the fight he was itching for. He’d always had a temper problem. He’d learned in the army how to channel it into discipline, and during his time with the Secret Service, Tate had rarely lost his cool. It never went well when he did.

      He sucked in a breath of icy air and counted to ten in his head. One of the dog’s muzzles touched his leg, and he reached down to pet Joey. His Airedale boy loved life and thought everything was a game. The German shepherd, Gem, was more task oriented. Wake up. Eat. Work. Sleep. Repeat.

      “Looks clear.”

      He shoved the door wider and walked out. Snow was thick on the ground and falling fast. They’d have another two feet by tomorrow, but that wasn’t what had his attention. He pointed at the far end of his front yard where the dense trees began. They blocked his view of the land, but he much preferred being in a cocoon of privacy.

      Tate pointed. “That’s where he ran off to.”

      “And you shoved me in the barn so you could take care of it?”

      She was still stuck on that? “Guess it was a reflex. All those years of protection duty for the Secret Service ingrained in me. I’m the one who faces the danger.”

      “And the dogs.”

      She really was intent on arguing, wasn’t she? Tate sighed. “They’re trained.”

      “And I’m not? I’m still a Secret Service agent, Tate.”

      He turned to her. “That’s not what I meant.” Not that he’d have heard from out here if she’d quit or not.

      He didn’t know how to get himself out of this one, and why did he even feel like he needed to? He didn’t owe her anything, and he didn’t want her to owe him anything back. Whatever they’d had was done now. She’d killed it when she gave him his ring back and sent him packing.

      Tate had lost it a couple of days later and gotten pushed into early retirement from the Secret Service over it, but this life was better. Simpler. He knew who he was out here, with the dogs.

      Tate scanned the area but couldn’t see any sign of the gunman. The man might return. He could scout out the area and see if the guy was still here, but he’d have to do it after Liberty left.

      The dogs trotted along. Gem scanned the area, but Joey ran in circles, ready to play. Tate motioned with his hand and gave them the command to head for the porch and wait for him there. He used it mostly when the UPS guy delivered packages, but it came in handy at other times as well.

      Tate didn’t even want to contemplate what it meant that Liberty was here. He’d do so later, when he was alone again. The way he preferred it.

      Liar.

      Okay, so it wasn’t his choice, but life was life. She’d broken up with him. Called off the whole thing, and he didn’t even know why, so he’d simply concluded it was him. He’d always known there was something defective in him, and she’d tried to make it work. Until she realized it never would.

      Tate stopped beside her car and opened the driver’s-side door. Waited. She didn’t move, just stood there looking like she had so much to say. He really didn’t want to hear any of it. What was the point? He took her in. All her blond hair, even softer than it looked, was secured back in a business ponytail. Dress slacks. Completely the wrong shoes to be traipsing around in snow. The bottom few inches of her pants were wet, but it wasn’t his problem, now was it? Not anymore.

      Liberty’s eyebrows pinched together. She wore makeup, but not much. The top curve of her lip had a bump he’d always thought was adorable, as she’d been born with a cleft palate. The scar where it had been repaired was barely visible now. Still cute, though.

      “We should call the police and report that man. He tried to kill you.”

      Tate said, “Maybe he was here to kill you.”

      Liberty blinked. “I... No, I don’t think so.” Still, there was a question in her eyes as she considered it.

      Tate didn’t want to think about her being in danger. It was a reality of being a Secret Service agent, but not one he was going to dwell on. “He can’t have known you’d be here, unless he followed you, and how could he do it through this terrain, on foot?” Only her car was out here. His truck was under the carport.

      Liberty pulled out her phone. “I’ll call emergency services. Get a sheriff, or whoever is the law around here, to come over.”

      “Give me your phone. I’ll call him.” Even if her cell actually worked up here, she shouldn’t do the talking. That was more involvement than she needed to have in this situation.

      Then again, if she left now, he could make the report to the sheriff and perhaps pretend she’d never even been here. It wasn’t exactly honest, but tell that to his heart.

      Liberty clutched the phone. “I’ve given you enough already.”

      She had no idea. “I don’t have a signal, and I don’t have a landline either.”

      “So how do you communicate with people?”

      Tate said, “Shortwave radio.”

      Liberty glanced up from her phone. Evidently she had the one carrier that actually got a signal up here. “There’s no reason to be rude.”

      She thought he was lying? Tate just enjoyed his privacy.

      She said, “I know you want me to leave, but there’s a reason I’m here, so I’m not going to go. I came to tell you the Secret Service is on their way here to talk with you.”

      “About what?” He had even less to say to his former employer than he did to his former fiancée.

      “A plane went missing a hundred miles from here. Two White House staffers and a senator were on board.”

      “I haven’t heard anything about it.” Not that he watched the news much. His aerial only got half a dozen channels, and he didn’t listen to the police band all the time on his scanner.

      She kept talking. “It happened in the early hours of this morning. They lost contact right after the pilot sent out a distress call. We don’t know if the plane went down or if they were hijacked. Everyone is out looking for it.”

      “I’m sure I can lend some assistance with the search,” he said. “For old times’ sake.”

      “That isn’t why the Secret Service wants to talk with you.”

      Tate