CA 35 Christmas Past Read online

  CHRISTMAS PAST

  Debra Webb

  To the loyal fans of the Colby Agency: Enjoy!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Colby Agency, Chicago

  Four Days before Christmas

  VICTORIA COLBY-CAMP STOOD at her window and admired the snow drifting to the city streets below. She hoped it would stay for Christmas. Her granddaughter was so excited about the coming holiday. A lovely blanket of white for Christmas morning would be perfect.

  “Victoria.”

  Turning at the sound of her personal assistant’s voice, Victoria shifted her thoughts from her granddaughter to the business of running her agency. “Yes, Mildred?”

  “Mr. Harris is here.”

  “Thank you. Send him in.” Victoria moved to her desk and waited for the famed NASCAR team owner to make his entrance. She had met Alonzo Harris for the first time two weeks ago when he came to Chicago looking for her agency’s help with a somewhat personal matter for which he needed the utmost discretion. With a strategy in place, the news that he would visit again this morning had come as somewhat of a surprise.

  Texas born and raised, Alonzo Harris swaggered into Victoria’s office. The corners of his eyes creased as a broad smile stretched across his face. “I don’t know how you folks survive in this cold.” He’d already removed his coat and hat and left both with Mildred.

  “The cold winters forge character, Mr. Harris, much like those scorching West Texas summers give a gentleman grit.” He was every bit the charismatic man he was purported to be by the media. His love of racing ran deep in his bones.

  Harris chuckled. “Touché, ma’am.” He thrust his broad hand across her desk. “I sincerely appreciate you taking the time to see me this morning. I realize my visit was a bit impromptu.”

  Victoria gave his hand a firm shake. “When a man flies all the way from Texas on a snowy winter day, I can always make time. Please, have a seat, Mr. Harris.”

  Being the Southern gentleman he was, he waited until Victoria had settled into her chair before lowering his tall frame into one of the wingback chairs flanking her wide, mahogany desk.

  “As you’re aware—” Victoria cut right to the chase “—I have assigned Molly Clark to your case. She’s an experienced climber and grew up in Colorado. She’ll be right at home in Aspen.”

  Harris nodded. “I’m pleased for the most part with your choice. I read her dossier and she seems quite capable.”

  Something else Victoria liked about the man, he also preferred to get straight to the point. “She is very capable.”

  “My concern,” he said, relaxing into his chair, “I suppose, is more her lack of experience with your agency. She’s new, isn’t she?”

  Victoria smiled. “Brand-new. However, rest assured, no one is brought on board at the Colby Agency without undergoing rigorous reviews. Our hiring guidelines are unmatched in the business of private investigations. Molly Clark met every stringent requirement. And though she has no field experience per se, she has years of experience in mountain rescue and recovery. That makes her an invaluable asset under the circumstances.”

  Harris gave due consideration to her reasoning, then went on with his. “You understand that Jason isn’t your typical celebrity. He closes himself off, particularly since the accident. I fear that Ms. Clark will have a difficult time getting close to him. He won’t make it easy. She’ll need a surprise attack, so to speak, or he’ll cut her off at the pass.”

  Jason Fewell was the team’s celebrated driver. His winning record had put him at the very top of the NASCAR prestigious list of drivers. But a mountain-climbing tragedy three years ago had sent his personal life into a tailspin. Though he managed to perform to his usual standards on the track, according to Mr. Harris, behind closed doors the driver grew more and more withdrawn. Two weeks ago Fewell had announced that he was going back to the scene of the tragedy to face his fears once and for all. Harris, as well as the entire Texas Thunder team, was concerned for his safety, since Fewell refused to allow anyone to accompany him.

  The past was haunting Fewell. No one knew better how painful that could be than Victoria.

  Harris’s fears were legitimate, of course, two weeks ago and now. But he did not know Molly Clark. Once her sights were set on a target, she would not stop until the job was done. She would find the crack in Fewell’s armor of self-exile and find a way in. Ensuring his safety would be her top priority.

  “Trust me, Mr. Harris,” Victoria assured him, “if anyone can get close to Jason Fewell, it’s Molly. She’s the younger sister of four brothers, all extremely competitive young men. Molly learned at a tender age how to hold her own with both difficult and determined men. You needn’t worry about her ability to handle the situation.”

  Harris braced his elbows on the chair arms, laced his fingers and leaned forward. “I didn’t come here to question your judgment, Victoria. Truly I didn’t. But Jason is like a son to me. If anything happened to that boy, I don’t think I could bear it. He’s suffered so.” Harris shook his head. “The counseling didn’t do the trick. I’ll be the first to admit that, just as I can understand he feels he has to do this. He needs to find peace. Soon. But I’m worried sick he’ll get himself hurt…or worse.”

  Victoria knew firsthand that the need to find peace could drive a person to a point well beyond reason. Jason felt responsible for his girlfriend’s death, though the investigation into the tragic accident had clearly shown equipment failure as the cause. His guilt and fear of again failing someone he cared about were eating him alive.

  “I can’t guarantee Mr. Fewell will find the peace he’s so desperately seeking,” Victoria allowed. “That part is up to him. But I can guarantee without reservation that Molly Clark will ensure his safety. And, if she can reach past those barriers of fear and guilt, she’ll do all within her power to help him see the truth of what really happened three years ago. Perhaps recognizing the truth will be enough to set him on the right course.”

  Harris gave a thoughtful nod. “I suppose that’s all I can hope for. That or a miracle.”

  Victoria smiled, hoping to reassure him. “It’s almost Christmas, Mr. Harris. Miracles have been known to happen.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Aspen, Colorado

  THE SNOW VALLEY LODGE was packed with ski enthusiasts, but Molly had already spotted her target among the mostly young and remarkably stylish crowd.

  Five o’clock on the dot. Jason Fewell had arrived, surprisingly, without the fanfare she’d fully expected. No starstruck chicks right on his heels. No bodyguards. And only two bags.

  Wow. He traveled pretty light for a celebrity.

  She kept an eye out for a bellhop to show up pushing a cart with the rest of his luggage. But her primary attention remained on the man.

  Even from across the room, he appeared taller than she’d gauged by his photographs and video shots. She’d watched several press coverage videos of his racing triumphs. He charmed the crowd, as well as the cameras. The man was a natural. Blond hair, blue eyes—though the latter couldn’t be seen just now behind those designer sunglasses he wore. The all-American heartthrob. Born in West Texas, Jason Fewell had grown up dirt-poor. The proverbial rags-to-riches story that people from all walks of life loved to embrace.

  But Molly wasn’t fooled. She knew the type. All sweet talk and smiles for the public and the paparazzi. Turn off the cameras and close the doors, and he would no doubt turn demanding and unreasonable.

  Spoiled by his stardom.

  And that was the thing that annoyed her about her first field assignment with the Colby Agency. She had waited five months for it to come and then the assignment was this.

  A babysitting job.

  No mystery. No nasty vi
llains to track down.

  Just a rich guy who couldn’t cope with loss.

  Not fair, Mol. She sighed. Gave herself a mental kick for her lack of sympathy for Fewell’s tragic loss. His girlfriend had been killed in that accident. It was a crying shame, no doubt about that. But a man with the physical and mental capacity to endure the rigors of his sport, should have the wherewithal to pull himself back together. That was the part she couldn’t comprehend. Molly Clark was a survivor, as were the other members of her family.

  When you got knocked down, you pulled yourself up by the bootstraps and went at it again.

  Maybe dealing with the loss of her father at such a young age, and then her mother only a couple of years ago, had made her a bit less than sympathetic on the subject. But she wasn’t one to wallow and had no patience for those who did.

  Life was unfair sometimes. But you couldn’t stop living just because it hurt. You sucked it up, and got on with it.

  Fewell didn’t seem to be able to do that. He continued to be a winner and to give his fans what they wanted, but according to the owner of his team, he’d grown more and more withdrawn on a personal level. He kept the world at a distance.

  For Molly that meant one thing—drastic measures would be required if she was going to accomplish her goal. She’d also been forewarned about how difficult it would be to get anywhere near the guy.

  She had a foolproof plan for that, too.

  Fewell accepted his room key from the clerk.

  Time for her to set phase one of her strategy in motion.

  She couldn’t use the usual tactics; those took time. Time was a luxury she didn’t have. Molly had decided to limit Fewell’s options to only one.

  She smiled as she double-timed it up the stairs.

  No way was this hotshot going to outmaneuver Molly Clark. Four older brothers had tried repeatedly and failed.

  Babysitting job or not, she intended to not only get the job done, but to impress her employer.

  That way maybe the next case she was assigned would be one she could sink her teeth into.

  JASON CONSIDERED the stairs, but opted for the elevator. He’d stuffed his clothes and his gear into only two bags, making for a heavy load. The line at the elevator made him wish he’d gone for the stairs, but the lack of sleep the past few days had exhausted his usual endurance level.

  He was dead on his feet.

  The lobby was jam-packed. He was damned lucky he’d gotten a reservation at all when he’d called just over two weeks ago. A single cancelation, the only one the entire season, the reservation clerk had boasted, came only moments before Jason called. The Snow Valley Lodge was one of the smaller ones in the Aspen area. It pretty much stayed booked from November until July every year. That was the reason he and Cynthia hadn’t stayed here three years ago. She’d seen this lodge on one of their previous visits and insisted they had to stay here one day.

  Only one day had never come…for her.

  He’d stopped experiencing the ache that had once accompanied the mere thought of her name. The shrink had told him that time healed all wounds. But the shrink wasn’t entirely accurate. Part of him wouldn’t be healed. At least not by the traditional methods, and drugs were out of the question. He’d gone through months of therapy sessions, had increased his physical workout to fight off the disabling panic attacks. He’d even attempted to focus on other personal activities, like volunteering in the off-season. But even if he worked himself into the ground each day, the nights were always the same.

  He’d wake up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding, his muscles rigid with tension. Hours of walking the floors was the only way to calm himself enough to sleep.

  His doctor and the therapist had insisted the panic attacks would go away in time. As suddenly as they came, the therapist had suggested.

  But they hadn’t.

  They’d only gotten worse.

  Jason had to do something radical.

  For several weeks he’d been mulling over the idea of taking action. Finally, he’d realized what he had to do.

  He had to come back here and face the fears eating away at his insides like a cancer.

  A couple waiting on the fringes of the elevator crowd whispered to each other and glanced at Jason.

  Not good.

  The last thing he wanted was to be recognized.

  He considered doing an about-face and heading for the stairs when the elevator doors slid open to admit the next group. His group, thankfully.

  He selected floor four on the control panel and moved to the back of the car. Closing his eyes, he attempted to block the chatter of the other passengers.

  Didn’t work.

  One couple was taking their first ski vacation. Another was in Aspen on a long-awaited honeymoon. The other man who had appeared to be alone announced that he and three of his friends were here on a professional challenge. As executives on an advertising team, they wanted to strengthen their cohesiveness with a physical challenge—mountain climbing.

  Jason would bet his all-time best test-drive time that he was the only tourist in this town who’d come alone. No significant other…no friends.

  Not exactly the best way to spend Christmas, but that was the way he had to do this. Alone. He’d figured out that no one could help him with this thing. No therapy, no encouraging friends. He had to overcome this himself.

  There was only one way to accomplish his goal.

  Climb back up on that damned mountain. Sit up high where the air was thin and the cold was a lethal enemy. And come to terms with why she had died and he hadn’t.

  Easy enough.

  Yeah, right. He’d had to fight off a panic attack just boarding the plane to come here.

  The elevator glided to a stop on four, the top floor of the lodge, and he was the only one left to exit. Funny, he hadn’t even noticed the others getting off on the previous floors.

  Room 403 was one of four luxury suites on the top floor. Fortunately the suite was located on the west side, which would allow for plenty of good light in the room. The dark was another thing he was having trouble with lately. He hadn’t been afraid of the dark since he was a kid.

  He shook his head as he slid the key into the lock. If he didn’t get a handle on this out-of-control anxiety, he was going to lose the ability to walk out the door at all. He couldn’t let that happen.

  The green light blinked and he opened the door and stepped into the suite.

  Two things struck him as odd the moment the door closed behind him.

  The fruity scent of shampoo was in the air, and the television was set to some reality show he wouldn’t watch in a million years.

  Moving cautiously, he crossed the sitting room and entered the generous bedroom.

  An open suitcase sat in the chair by the window, its contents hanging out as if there had been an explosion of silk and cashmere.

  He dropped his bags on the floor and walked over to the chair. A pair of silky panties lay on top of the bag. He picked up the scrap of silk and lace and turned it around and around. Not much to it other than a little frilly lace with a tiny pink bow. The matching bra hung from the chair arm.

  What the…?

  He dropped the panties, turned around to survey the rest of the room more closely and noted other signs of occupancy. A shoulder bag sitting on the floor by the bed. Discarded jeans and sweater. Unlaced boots.

  Another bag, this one stationed in the corner near the armoire, held climbing gear.

  Had the check-in clerk made a mistake? Given him the wrong room.

  He should just leave.

  Go back down to the front desk and let them know that there was a mistake.

  A lull in the sound on the television channel allowed him to hear the water running in the shower.

  Definitely, he had to get out of here. The lady was in the shower. Having her come out naked and find him loitering about was as appealing as a blowout on the final lap.

  He was halfway across the room when the
bathroom door opened. Amid a billow of sweet-scented steam, a woman emerged wrapped in a towel. Outside of breaking into a full-throttle run, he wasn’t getting away before she laid eyes on him.

  She screamed.

  Jason held up both hands, stop-sign fashion. “It’s not what you think. There’s been a mistake.”

  For a single second she stood there staring at him, big brown eyes wide with surprise or maybe fear, dark hair dripping, sending rivulets of water down her bare shoulders. Then she launched into action.

  “Damn straight there’s been a mistake.” She grabbed a bottle of wine from the table next to the bed and held it up like a weapon. “And it was yours. Now get out of here before I call security!”

  Jason backed up a step. “Look, I just came to the room the clerk gave me.” He waved the key in his hand. “This is 403.”

  “That’s right.” She glared at him, lifted her chin defiantly. “And it’s my room.”

  “I’m sure a quick call to the desk will straighten this out.” Great. This was all he needed. If the woman recognized who he was, she could blow the whole thing out of proportion just to get some hush money. The team’s attorneys warned him all the time about situations exactly like this.

  “There’s nothing to straighten out,” she argued, tugging at her slipping towel with her free hand. “This is my room.” She sent a narrowed glance at her purse on the floor. “Did you touch any of my stuff?”

  There it came. “I did not touch any of your stuff.” Except the panties. He swallowed hard. But she didn’t have to know that.

  She reached behind her for the phone. The towel slipped another inch. She quickly jerked the towel back up the inch or so it had slipped and glared at him for daring to look.

  Still clutching the bottle of wine by the neck, she swiped a damp tendril of dark hair from her forehead. “I need a member of management in 403, please.” She sent a suspicious glare back at him. “There’s an intruder in my room.”