Yuletide Suspect. Lisa Phillips

more than the anger.

      One of the dogs started barking. Tate said, “Sheriff’s here.”

      Liberty left him with the intruder and went to the front door.

      * * *

      Tate waited where he was until Liberty walked back in with the sheriff. He lifted his chin at Dane Winters, a good friend since peewee football. “This guy is all yours.” Tate explained what had happened. The more he talked, the wider Dane’s eyes grew.

      “And you have a guest.” Dane smiled. Because, yes, Tate had shared about Liberty. But Dane could fish all he wanted, Tate wasn’t going to spill.

      “She was just leaving.” His only guest except Dane in months.

      He pushed off the counter and didn’t offer anyone a cup of coffee, even though it was done brewing. He could drink it later and stay up all night brooding about the mess his life was now.

      “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” Liberty asked.

      She might think he should be curious about this missing plane. She likely would be if things were reversed and he’d shown up at her house after so long. They’d been engaged. Tate had honestly figured it meant something, but apparently not. It was a good thing she wasn’t here for a reunion, or she would have been sorely disappointed.

      Liberty looked almost sad. “Like I said, I’m here because a small aircraft, a business jet, went down not far from here. On board was a senator from Oklahoma and two White House staffers. Twelve hours ago we lost contact with them. We think the plane might’ve crashed somewhere close to here, and it’s believed there was foul play involved, possibly with the pilot. At least, as much was indicated from the last radio call before communication was cut off.” She paused. “We need to find those people.”

      “That should be an FBI investigation, shouldn’t it?”

      “They’re on it. But at the top of the list of suspects who might be involved is a certain former Secret Service agent I happen to know personally. So I figured, why not? For old times’ sake I’ll visit this former agent and let him know the Secret Service and the FBI are all on their way here to ask you a whole lot of uncomfortable questions you aren’t going to want to answer.”

      She couldn’t seriously think he might be part of it. “You think I have something to hide? Something to do with this?”

      “Do you?” She lifted her chin, like there was no history between them and she had every right to suspect him of something heinous. “It’s a valid question.”

      “You really think I’ve changed that much?”

      She didn’t answer. Instead, she said, “The FBI and the Secret Service want to know if you’re involved. But they’re betting on the fact that a disgruntled former Secret Service agent—”

      “Disgruntled?” Why would they think he harbored resentment? Tate had moved on. Wasn’t it obvious?

      Liberty shrugged. “Despite the cute cabin all decorated for a family Christmas, there is evidence against you. Seems to me from the blog, at least, that in the last few months your attitude has deteriorated. And it’s the basis of their evidence.”

      “What blog?”

      The sheriff shifted, but Dane couldn’t hide the fact that he was listening to their conversation. They were friends, and Dane was curious. Tate didn’t fault him for it. Even beyond this missing plane, there was a lot to talk about. Too bad there wasn’t time.

      And good thing he didn’t want to talk about it anyway. His life now was none of her business.

      Except the blog thing. What was that about?

      When the sheriff peered at a tattoo on the man’s neck—one Tate hadn’t noticed until now—Tate went over to look as well. They glanced at each other, and Tate said, “Russians.”

      “Like the mob?” Liberty asked. “In backwoods Montana?”

      The sheriff stepped back and shrugged. “It happens. Not often, but all kinds of people travel through this town on the way to somewhere. Some of them even like it and stay, and not all are law-abiding citizens.” He glanced at Tate. “I got an update about this missing plane an hour ago. We should talk about it.”

      Tate didn’t like the look on Dane’s face at all. He’d known, and he stood there and let Liberty give her whole speech about him being a criminal.

      “You want to take my badge for being involved, and keep it until I’m out from under suspicion?” The idea of losing the job as well, when he’d already lost so much, sat like a bad burrito in his stomach.

      Liberty gasped. “His badge?”

      He nearly kicked himself for saying it while she was here.

      Dane said, “Tate is a deputy with the county sheriff’s department. He only works shifts occasionally, and I pay him so much less than he’s worth it’s not even funny. But technically he’s an employee. And as a sounding board, he’s been invaluable.”

      Tate shook his head and pulled the badge from his drawer. “More like it’s your attempt to make sure I’m not cooped up here all the time. Like it’s a bad thing.”

      The sheriff shrugged again, pocketed the badge and then took the now-cuffed intruder out to his car where he’d be secure.

      Liberty nodded. “The FBI doesn’t know you’re a deputy sheriff. It will strengthen our argument.”

      Tate said, “We don’t have an argument, Liberty. We don’t have anything. You took care of that.” He saw the blow the words inflicted, but couldn’t let himself care about it. She’d ripped him to shreds when she’d given his ring back and started the cascading fall of his life into this pit. A pit he tried to pretty up, just so he didn’t dwell on the fact that it was kind of pathetic.

      Now the Secret Service was here investigating a missing plane and three people, and they thought he was involved? He needed to get out in front of this, or he could wind up spending the rest of his life in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.

      If he cared enough, he’d ask her about the blog she’d mentioned. But Tate figured he’d find out soon enough. After she left his house.

      He opened the hall closet and started to put his coat on.

      Liberty had followed. “You’re going out now?”

      He looked at her, trying hard to hide everything he was feeling. “Lock the door before you leave.”

      “Where are you even going? You should stay here, help me convince the FBI you had nothing to do with this.”

      “Or I could go and find the plane and those missing people instead.”

      The sheriff walked back in. “If they think you’re involved with this, it’s going to be messy to unravel. But I’ll do what I can. I’ve got your back, Tate. You know that.”

      He held out his hand, and Tate shook it.

      Liberty didn’t wait long before she asked, “Where are you going to look? Do you have an idea of where it might be?”

      “Maybe.” Tate pulled on a pair of gloves. “I know where I’m going to look first, at least.” He turned away from their huddle toward the door. Yeah, this likely wasn’t turning out the way she’d thought it would, but at least if he was gone looking for the plane, then the Secret Service might be convinced he wasn’t involved.

      Dane followed Tate to the door. Liberty walked over, her hand out for the sheriff to shake, but Dane didn’t see it. His attention was on a black duffel leaned against the wall. The sheriff stepped toward the bag. “What is this?”

      They worked out together, and Dane had never seen that bag before...because Tate had never seen that bag before. “It’s not mine.”

      The