Saving Santa

  Saving Santa

  By Velvet Vaughn

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2015 Velvet Vaughn

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Visit Velvet's website at: www.velvetvaughn.com and her Facebook Fanpage HERE.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Karen J. Thank you so much for your continued support!

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Maggie Addison: Ninja for Hire.

  Maggie chuckled at her idea for a new business card. Like that would go over well with her bosses at COBRA Securities, the hottest security firm in the country. Maybe ninja wasn't the most politically correct term since they were contract killers after all, but it sure was catchy.

  She rolled her shoulders and stretched the muscles in her neck. Her body ached, but it was a good pain. The long hours she put in honing her body were paying off. Dante Costa was teaching her deadly combat training moves. She was literally becoming a weapon. Her goal was to get out from behind the desk and out into the field. She wanted to be a kick-ass COBRA agent like Hillary Billings or Kayla Hepburn. Those two could take down a man twice their size. Maggie was determined to be just as good as any agent, male or female.

  Okay, so she was a little on the short side. Barely hitting 5 foot two and weighing in at 115, she wasn't anyone's idea of a threat. But she'd added ten pounds of muscle and she was learning moves that didn't require strength as much as technique, and yes, sometimes fighting dirty. Many involved attacking the body's most vulnerable parts: eyes, neck, throat, groin. To protect a client or herself, Maggie wouldn't hesitate to use any move in her arsenal.

  She took a swig of the bottle of water she carried everywhere and mopped her face with a towel. She needed a shower but had to stop by the grocery store first. Her fridge was empty and her tummy was growling.

  She secured her long blond ponytail into a haphazard bun and zipped her parka. Christmas was only a few days away and it looked like they were going to have a white one. Fat flakes drifted down in a lazy, meandering pattern to coat the streets and sidewalks.

  Maggie filled her cart with lean proteins and vegetables, adding a bag of M&M's as a reward for a hard week of work. She'd earned it. She paid for her groceries and exited the store. A man dressed as Santa Claus leaned against the side of the store, barely lifting his arm to ring a bell in front of the red kettle. Not the poster child for holiday spirit. She dug into her purse and dropped a few coins in the bucket. Santa thanked her with a "ho, ho, ho." She smiled and pushed the cart to her car. She'd just unloaded the last bag and closed the trunk when she felt something sharp poke into her back.

  "Don't move, don't make a sound," a voice whispered in her ear. "You're going to casually get in the car and we're going to take a ride."

  "I don't think so," she sputtered.

  "You misunderstand," the voice growled. A strong hand covered in a dirty white glove wrapped around her back, locking her arms against her sides. She found herself guided to the passenger side of the car. "That wasn't a request."

  He opened the door and urged her inside. He could have shoved her but instead he eased her in so that she didn't hit her head. As far as kidnappers went, she was at least thankful hers was courteous.

  "Climb over and drive," he ordered. "And don't even think of trying to escape."

  She settled in the driver's seat and made her move, hoping for the element of surprise. She lunged for his eye but he blocked her move and counter-move as easily as if she were a pesky gnat. Then she saw the gun.

  "Impressive," he drawled. "Krav Maga?"

  She nodded absently, her eyes glued to the gun. Her first chance to test her martial arts skills and she'd failed miserably. Then she looked up and gasped. "Santa?"

  #

  "So, Mr. Claus," the petite beauty questioned, "where am I headed? The North Pole?"

  Smartass. As if things could not get any worse for Carter McQueen, he hooked up with a freaking comedienne. Just what he needed when his life was going to hell in a handbasket. Speaking of hands, his were so cold in the threadbare gloves—probably a combination of shock and chilly temps—he didn't think he could pull the trigger if he had to. But the blond angel next to him didn't need to know that.

  "Your place," he answered, scanning the parking lot for any sign of the Floyd gang. He didn't see any menacing figures nor hear the throaty rumble of their bikes. And they certainly wouldn't be looking for him dressed as Father Christmas. The last time they saw him, he was covered head to toe in leather and blood thanks to Rebel Floyd.

  "Ha! I don't think so," she said with a huff.

  "Huh?" He looked at her and noted that she really was adorable with her brows puckered, her mouth in an adorable moue. But she was starting to turn fuzzy around the edges. Not good. He needed to get somewhere safe: the sooner, the better.

  "Need a hearing aid, old man?" She tapped an ear to emphasize her question. "I'm not taking you to my place," she snorted. "I'll drop you off at the bus station and you can catch the Greyhound back to Mrs. Claus."

  "Drive," he growled, waving the gun for good measure.

  She gulped, faced forward and shifted the car in gear. She punched the gas too hard and he had to brace himself against the dash. He swallowed the moan that threatened to burst forth. God his ribs hurt. She looked pleased with herself, glancing over to gloat. Then her eyes widened and she swerved.

  "Oh my God, you're bleeding!"

  Carter's vision was narrowing to two pinpricks. He really didn't want to pass out now. He shook his head to clear it but all that managed to do was make his wounds ache more, especially the one on the back of his head where Rebel snuck up on him and bashed him in the skull. He never would've gotten the jump on Carter otherwise. He groaned and focused on breathing.

  "What happened to you? One of the elves get a little too reckless? Rudolph get frisky?"

  All the women in the world and he had to hook up with Lucille freaking Ball.

  Despite the frigid temps, a bead of sweat trickled down his cheek. He really wasn't going to be vertical for long. "Just. Drive," he gritted out. He hoped the white spots he was seeing were snow. Otherwise, his vision was fading fast.

  "You really don’t look good, Kris," she stated.

  "Kris?"

  "As in Kringle…get it?"

  Yeah, he got it. "Har, har."

  She smiled, obviously pleased with herself.

  Chapter Two

  Maggie thought about activating her distress alarm to alert someone at COBRA Securities of her situation. They could track her with GPS and someone would be there to help her immediately, but for some reason, she really didn’t feel threatened. Yes, he was very large—well over six feet. She couldn't tell how much of him was fat and how much was the suit. And okay, he held her at gunpoint, but the safety was firmly on and his hand shook so bad, she didn't think he could hit the broad side of a sleigh. He did have some impressive moves, blocking her jab
s easily, even injured. And his face looked pretty battered beneath the bushy white beard. But she just didn't get a threatening vibe from him.

  She chanced a look at him. Except for a couple of nasty looking bruises, including one around his left eye, his face was as pale as the white beard covering his jaw. His piercing blue eyes were glazed and half-lidded. Sweat dotted his brow below the fur of his hat. She debated where she should take him. It was a toss-up between the hospital or the police department. So why was she turning down the street that would take her home?

  "I'm not going to hurt you, Magnolia Blossom."

  She gasped. "How did you—"

  He dangled her driver's license between two white-gloved fingers. She thought he might be grinning under all that fake hair. She didn't even see him rummaging in her purse. He must not be as bad off as she thought.

  "Nobody calls me that," she grumbled.

  "Blossom, then?"

  "Maggie," she stated firmly. "So do I just keep calling you Kris?" She hoped to steer the conversation away from her unfortunate moniker. She glanced at her captor as his eyes closed and he swayed. He really had lost a lot of blood, judging from the large stain darkening his suit. "That's it. I'm taking you to the hospital."

  His lids flew open and his hand clutched her arm, his grip surprisingly strong. "No. No hospital."

  "You can barely keep your eyes open. You need medical help," she insisted.

  "Just resting," he assured her, relaxing against the seat. "If you would be so kind as to let me crash on your couch, I'll be fine with a little shut-eye."

  "You think my husband will let me bring some random guy home?"

  "You're not married."

  "How do you know?" she sputtered.

  He nodded at her hands. "No ring."

  "I'm wearing gloves."

  "I looked when you were dropping money in the kettle."

  "How do you know I just don't wear a ring?"

  "I don't."

  "Bruiser, my boyfriend, will be upset," she tried.

  "Bruiser will get over it."

  "My dog Killer doesn't like strangers," she grasped.

  "I'll win him over. Dogs love me."

  She gave up. She didn't think he was much more than conscious anyway. She pulled into her driveway and pressed the button on the garage door. Now would be a good time for either of her obnoxious brothers to show up begging for dinner. Of course the house was dark. She pulled into the garage and waited for the door to close them in. She turned to her captor. "Now wh—"

  He was out like a light, the gun hanging limply from his hand. She snatched it away so he couldn't use it to threaten her. A Glock 22. Sweet weapon. A couple of the COBRA agents preferred that model. She released the clip and slid it in a pocket.

  She shook his shoulder. "Kris? Can you hear me?"

  He mumbled something incoherent. That wasn't good.

  "I'm going to help you inside," she told him. She got out and hurried around to the passenger side. He hadn't moved. She opened the door and wedged a shoulder under his arm. "Come-on old jolly one, you've got to help me out here." He grumbled again but shifted so his heavy black boots hit the concrete. "Up on three," she instructed. "One, two…"

  Kris grunted and then pushed to his feet. She took a couple of bracing steps. "That's it. Nice and slow." More of his weight settled on her and she realized that while he might be wearing padding for the suit, he was solid muscle beneath. It was all she could do to guide him up the step and into the kitchen. His knees were giving out. Hers, too. She coaxed, and coerced and threatened him past the towering Christmas tree into the bedroom where he unceremoniously crashed head-first into the mattress.

  "Kris?"

  He was out again. With a sigh, she pushed at his shoulder to roll him over. She needed to check the wound. Blood. And lots of it. Her poor suede coverlet would never be the same.

  Carefully unbuttoning the front of the Santa suit, she peeled back the sides to find padding, accounting for the girth. She removed the pads, revealing a white t-shirt covered in red. She sucked in a breath. The shirt molded to the bumps and ridges of his washboard abs. No Santa fat on him. His biceps were huge. He was heavily muscled. Good thing the sight of blood didn't make her nauseous. She'd been a lifeguard every summer growing up and had taken several first aid classes. She hurried to the kitchen for a pair of scissors. No way to save the shirt. When she returned, she murmured to him in a low voice as she forced his arm through the jacket. She didn't want to have to cut it off unless absolutely necessary. Santa suits weren't cheap. He winced but his eyes didn't open. Grasping the hem of the shirt, she slid the shears in place and sliced the tee in two. Carefully peeling the side with the most blood back, she gasped at the round hole below his shoulder and the smattering of bruises covering his torso. Someone had used Kris as a punching bag. What if he had internal injuries? As carefully as she could manage, she rolled him and felt around his back. A matching hole. Definitely from a bullet. Thank goodness it was a through-and-through, otherwise, she'd have to dig the bullet out and though she was tough, she wasn't that tough.

  The bleeding had pretty much stopped, but there was some wicked redness around the wound. She hoped infection hadn't set in already. Wearing the flea-bitten suit probably hadn't helped. She hurried to the bathroom for peroxide and bandages. She cranked the water to hot and then dowsed a couple of washrags and wrung them out. Grabbing a stack of plush towels, she hurried back to her patient, who still hadn't moved. She wiped away as much dried blood as she could, trying not to jostle him. Easing him up, she slid one of the towels under the wound. It was too late for the comforter, but she could save the mattress. She whispered how much this might hurt, then she took a quick breath of sympathy and poured peroxide in the wound.

  "Ahh!" He shot bolt upright and fixed her with a glare. "What the hell are you trying to do, kill me?" His hand gingerly cupped the wound.

  "Glad to see you're awake," she huffed. "And no, I'm not trying to kill you. I'm trying to keep you alive. Now quit being a sissy and let me clean the exit wound."

  "Sissy," he grumbled, then swayed. "Gotta lay back down."

  He cooperated when Maggie rolled him to dab peroxide on the exit wound and then bandage it. "While you're conscious," she said, shaking some ibuprofen into her hand, "take these." She handed him a glass of water. He obediently swallowed the pills and handed the glass back.

  "Thank you for taking care of me, Magnolia Blossom," he murmured before sinking to the bed and closing his eyes. His even breathing told her that he was fast asleep.

  Usually she detested anyone calling her by her full name, but it sounded so musical coming from his lips. Except for a pair of piercing blue eyes, she didn't even know what he looked like. Reaching up, she tugged the hat from his head. Shaggy blond hair tumbled out. It looked nice and thick. She gave into temptation and ran her fingers through, pausing when she encountered a nasty bump. He could have a concussion. Another injury to add to the ever-growing list. Easing the elastic strap of the curly white mustache and beard over his head, she winced at the damage to his face. Still, covered in blood and bruises, he was male perfection.

  One lid popped open as if he realized she was drooling over him and those firm lips quirked. "Thanks," he said. "It itched."

  "Stinks, too."

  He winced. "Yeah, I wasn't too crazy about putting it on."

  "Why did you?"

  He looked like he was measuring his words carefully. He opened his mouth to speak and then drifted asleep again.

  Maggie stood and grasped one of the black boots, tugging it free. She did the same with the other, then she went to work on the pants. He was out for the count. A thick black belt secured the pants that were way too big for him. She unhooked the buckle and was able to slide them off easily. She stood and stared at him, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs that left little to the imagination and a bandage on his shoulder. He was magnificent. There were other scars on his body. Kris was apparentl
y no stranger to violence.

  With a sigh, she gathered the Santa suit, her nose wrinkling at the malodorous garment, and carried it to the washing machine. She sprayed the stain with remover, let it set for a few minutes, and then tossed it in and poured in the detergent. It probably hadn't seen the inside of a washer in ages. Once the machine kicked on, she padded back to gather the boots and ruined t-shirt. There was no saving the tee. She dumped it in the trash and carried the boots to the garage.

  It was chilly outside so she cranked the heater a little higher and then grabbed a blanket. It was a shame to cover all that male beauty. His brow furrowed in sleep and she dropped down beside him to smooth her fingers over it. The wrinkle disappeared and he smiled at her touch.

  Chapter Three

  Maggie unpacked the groceries from her car and checked her email, letting Kris rest. A noise alerted her and she went to check on him. He was moaning and thrashing in his sleep. She checked his temperature, worried to find it had spiked. She chewed a nail and contemplated what to do. She still didn't know if he was a good guy or bad, but she trusted her instincts. She couldn't call 911…a gunshot had to be reported and he'd been adamant about not going to the hospital. There was only one thing left to do.

  Picking up her cell, she dialed her college roommate Amelia. Ame was a physician and through their friendship, had become COBRA's unofficial doctor. Maggie was pushing to make it official. She glanced at her watch and winced at the time. Amelia picked up on the second ring sounding alert.

  "What's up Mags?"

  "How can you sound chipper at this hour?"

  "I'm just about to head home. I had an emergency call tonight."

  "I hate to ask this because I know you need to rest, but, do you mind stopping by here on your way home?"