I've been working on a short story that I'm planning to have out before the end of the year. (No, it's not listed for preorder.)
BLURB
“I don’t take kindly to ultimatums.”
Nobody gives FBI Supervisory Special Agent Lucas Alexander
ultimatums. His reputation as a hard-ass perfectionist is well-deserved.
There’s a reason he’s the go-to person for agents, the community of Ketchum,
Idaho, and even the Salt Lake City Field Office. For Lucas, the job always
comes first. Always has.
Always will?
Because Lucas does have one
weak spot, and his name is Special Agent Riley Christopher. Two days ago, Riley
delivered his boss an ultimatum: prioritize their relationship or end it. Now
Lucas has a choice. The job or the relationship? Lucas has to decide whether
he’s capable of balancing love and duty before the twelve days of Christmas are
up.
EXCERPT
Nine Days till Christmas
The very long line outside the Pine Cone Café shuffled
forward a few inches.
FBI Supervisory Special Agent Lucas Alexander glanced
automatically at his watch. He was not late. He was never late. In fact, he did
not even register the time.
Nine days left.
This was the thought which
preoccupied Lucas. He hadn’t been worried until last night. Hadn’t taken it
seriously.
The line of chilly would-be customers stepped another
foot-length forward. This freaking Silver Sleigh Mocha sure better be worth it.
Lucas sighed and his breath misted in the 14.6 °F air.
Hell. Day One, he’d forgotten all about Riley’s ultimatum.
Hadn’t done anything, said anything, thought anything about it.
Because it was ridiculous.
R-I-D-C-U-L-O-U-S
Silly. Childish.
Like the premise of some stupid rom-com on the Hallmark
Channel. He could picture the dumbass title credits: The 12 Days Ultimatum
floating in flowy script above snow fields where three minutes in, some
wholesome freckle-faced girl and her adorable mutt got snow-plowed by a
handsome lunkhead on a snowmobile.
They were grown men. They were FBI agents, for god’s sake.
Not… Not whoever watched movies like that, read books like that, thought
like that.
And Lucas had told Special Agent Riley Christopher so. Clearly.
Plainly. In words of one syllable.
Not counting ridiculous, which, yes, was four
syllables.
Anyway. Straight-from-the-shoulder.
The way they always talked to each other.
Or the way they’d always talked to each other up until three
nights ago when Riley, Lucas’s best agent, closest friend, and yes, okay, pretty
much his boyfriend if you had to put a label on it, suddenly, without
warning, decided to throw down.
Which, obviously, Lucas was not having.
Riley had heard Lucas out, quiet and calm, and then he’d
tipped his head to the side, narrowed his eyes the way he did when he was
lining up the sight on a Colt M4 carbine, and stated, “What you’re saying is,
my feelings are ridiculous.”
“I sure am not.” Lucas was vehement. Sure, he thought
Riley was being ridiculous, but he was not ridiculous. Not at
all. Temporarily out of his mind maybe.
“Yeah, you are though. You’re saying my feelings are silly.
And childish.”
Lucas, flustered at the unfamiliar experience of being
challenged, had responded with less discretion than usual. He tried belatedly
to clarify. “I didn’t say you were silly or childish or ridiculous. I
said what you’re feeling is.”
“Oh,” Riley said, and Lucas felt the hair on his
scalp prickle at that dangerously innocent tone. “I see.”
“Ry—”
“It’s okay. I get it.”
Are there any five more ominous words spoken between two
people?
“That is not at all what I meant,” Lucas had said firmly.
“Well, what do you mean?” Ry asked.
All this because Lucas had forgotten that last Christmas,
Riley had asked—in passing—if maybe this year they could take some time off.
Spend some time together during the holidays.
Which, for the record, they always did.
Yes, they were working, but they were together.
Wasn’t that the real point? Being together?
But, fair enough. Lucas had forgotten all about that—made in
passing—request.
If it had mattered so damn much to him, why hadn’t Riley put
in a formal application for time off? He knew how it worked. Was Lucas supposed
to be a mind reader? If anyone knew how busy Lucas was, it should have been
Riley. If anyone should have cut him a little slack over an honest mistake—
Okay. In fairness to Riley, Lucas hadn’t really taken that
request seriously.
Because Riley could not have been serious!
Of all people, Riley, knew it wasn’t easy for Lucas to take
time off around the holidays. That was premium vacation real estate. Everybody
wanted that time off. How fair was it for Lucas to pull rank and give himself
and Riley the time off? How was that going to look to the team?
Not good.
Although, as Riley had pointed out, since Lucas had never
taken vacation days during the holidays, he probably could have taken some time
this year. Riley certainly deserved the time off.
Lucas now realized that it had been unfair to want Riley to
work every holiday season with him. That had been selfish. He’d sort of thought,
assumed, Riley wanted to be with him, was willing to share the misery because
they were sharing it together.
Wrong.
But all Riley had to do was ask. If he’d put in an SF-71,
he’d have had his vacation request approved. Hell, he knew perfectly well Lucas
would absolutely have wrangled that time for him, regardless of whether he
submitted the paperwork, regardless of operational needs. Ry had to know that.
But instead of being his normal, reasonable self, he’d
listened for a minute or two of Lucas trying to explain what he’d meant, and
then said, “You know what, Luc? Either you show me you value this relationship
by prioritizing us this year, or it’s time to call it quits.”
He was not smiling. He was dead serious.
Lucas could not have been more shocked had Ry had hauled off
and punched him.
He’d actually gasped. “Are you serious?”
Ry had stared at him, unblinking, with those glacier-blue
eyes. “I sure am.”
“I-I don’t even know what you’re talking about! Show you I prioritize
this relationship? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Riley had done that thing where he raised his left eyebrow,
and only his left eyebrow, signifying… Skepticism? Cynicism? Anyway, the
expression he only used on a subject of an investigation during interrogation to
indicate that they both knew said subject was full of shit. He had used the
eyebrow on Lucas!
And then he’d said, “There are twelve days until Christmas.
You’ve got till then.”
So yes, of course Lucas had been shocked. Also hurt. And
then mad.
Mad as hell.
He’d said pleasantly, “I don’t take kindly to ultimatums.
Not even from you, amigo.”
Ry had not batted an eye lash. With equal pleasantness, he’d
replied, “And I don’t appreciate being taken for granted, sir.”
Sir?
What the hell? What a thing to say to the guy who not ten
hours earlier had been sucking Ry’s—
Anyway.
What the hell had gotten into him?
Lucas had stood there for a moment, trying to make sense of
what was happening, tempted to call Riley’s bluff then and there, tell him if
that was how he really felt, he might as well grab his gear and hit the road,
but Ry suddenly gave a funny laugh, shrugged, and said like his normal, sane
self, “I’ve got faith in you, chief.”
That seemed to be the end of it.
Like a flicker on a computer monitor. An ominous flash of
blue screen and then everything back to usual.
The rest of the evening was confusingly normal, and when
Lucas tentatively reached for Ry that night, Ry had turned to him without
hesitation, just as warm and willing as ever.
Lucas had been only too glad to let it go, too relieved to
pretend nothing had happened.
The next three days—and nights—had been completely,
reassuringly normal. So much so that Lucas, who, as previously noted, had a lot
on his plate particularly at that time of year, had sort of forgotten—
Well, no. He hadn’t forgotten.
But he’d hoped Ry had.
He’d truly hoped the whole Twelve Days of Christmas Threat
was a momentary aberration brought on by a grueling work schedule and one too
many late-night bourbons.
He did feel bad that he hadn’t made plans in advance to do
something special for Riley this year. This year in particular. He wasn’t good
at that kind of thing though, which Ry knew.
Still.
Every time he remembered the previous March, his heart shuddered,
skipped a beat. He could have, should have, given the holidays some
thought, given that he knew Ry, despite being a bonafide badass, could be a
little sentimental about such things.
Anyway, when Riley didn’t bring up the topic of Christmas
again, Lucas had breathed a sigh of relief and returned his attention to more
serious matters.
But last night, over a late dinner at the Timberline Grill,
Ry had finished his second old fashioned, set the glass down, and smiled at
Lucas.
It was a troubling smile. Sort of wry, sort of…regretful?
Not at all like his normal cocky grin or that funny little quirk of his lips
when he privately thought something was funny, but was too professional to
laugh.
“Nine days till Christmas,” he’d said.
Lucas nodded absently, but then the words sank in and his heart
felt like it lost its footing and plunged down an icy embankment.
He’d done his best to cover, drawling, “That’s right. Have
you finished writing your letter to Santa Claus?”
Instead of smiling or joking back, Riley gave the ice in his
glass a little shake, commented briefly, “Santa knows,” and tossed off the last
of his cocktail.
Lucas couldn’t help retorting, “Santa’s not a mind reader.”
Riley still wasn’t meeting his eyes as he answered, “Santa
doesn’t need to be a mind reader.”
Which sounded pretty uncompromising.
Lucas chewed that over for a moment, before asking in an
equally curt tone, “Did you want another drink?”
“Thanks, no.” Riley met his eyes then. “I’m heading into the
office early tomorrow.”
Lucas said nothing, signaling to the waiter, and pretending
to devote his full attention to the bill. But once again, he was unpleasantly
startled. Tomorrow was Saturday, so technically the RA was closed. The agent on
duty was Riley—Riley was almost always the designated agent on call because
Lucas typically monitored—well, no, monitored sounded like he was
micromanaging—but he did like to keep an eye on things over the weekends, just to
offer additional support if required. So, really, it was logical that Riley
take on that role because he’d be performing those duties anyway.
Why ruin another agent’s weekend?
Besides, it wasn’t like anyone’s weekend was ruined.
Usually. Because most of the time nothing came in over the weekend that
couldn’t wait till Monday.
There was no reason for Riley to go into the office, let
alone charge in there early. Here he was bitching about Lucas not prioritizing
their relationship, and then he turned right around and blew off one of their
Saturday mornings.
What sense did that make?
But Lucas refrained from comment.
He paid their bill, they shrugged into their jackets, and
headed home. Home being Lucas’s hillside chalet with its scenic mountain views,
despite being located within walking distance of the village.
They spent a companionable evening watching TV and having
another drink. All their evenings were companionable; they were very
compatible. Maybe Riley was quieter than usual—which was saying something,
since he was not exactly a blabbermouth—and maybe a little reserved?
He wasn’t distant, certainly wasn’t sulking. It was nothing
Lucas could really put his finger on.
But there was something…
Something that, after waking an hour ago to find Riley had
indeed already left for the office, compelled Lucas to drag his ass out of bed
and hightail it over to the Pine Cone Café where he’d been waiting for fifteen
minutes in near-subzero temps to get this frou-frou coffee.
Special Agent Christopher, inexplicably, had a taste for
such things.
Mission accomplished. Eventually.
The Silver Sleigh Mocha turned out to be a decadent iced coffee
with a swirl of caramel and dusting of cocoa—the finishing touch was silver
edible glitter. Lucas felt queasy just looking at it. It was too pretty (and
way too sweet) to actually drink, but Lucas had seen Riley down an Iced
Sugarplum Bliss, which was iced coffee infused with a hint of plum syrup and
vanilla, topped with whipped cream and purple sugar crystals, with no apparent
ill effects.
(Although, come to think of it, that was the very night was Riley
had come up with his 12-Days-Or-Else, so who could say?)
His precious cargo stowed in the dash cupholder, Lucas made
the short drive to the office.
Riley’s SUV was in the parking lot but there was no other
sign of life.
Lucas parked next to Riley’s vehicle. He carried his coffee
and Riley’s liquid dessert to the back door, typed his code into the keypad,
and let himself inside the small, single-story building beneath the wall of
towering Ponderosa pines.
The tidal rush of wind through the pines snapped off as the
security door settled silently into place. The overhead lights were still off.
The soft glow of emergency exit signs illuminated the empty desks. A modest
string of Christmas lights stretched over the bullpen. A few Christmas cards
and holiday mugs littered otherwise tidy desks with pushed in chairs.
He headed down the hallway, absently registering the faint
buzz from powered-down computers and the softly whirring HVAC system, the smell
of industrial cleaning supplies, the subtle scents of paper, ink, and printer
toner…and the faint but familiar fragrance of Dove Men+ soap and Proraso
aftershave.
Lucas’s mouth curved as he picked up the faint sound of
music. SafetySuit. One of Riley’s favorite bands.
They did not share similar musical tastes. His own taste
leaned toward Springsteen or Chris Stapleton, but he’d developed a tolerance
for pop-pop rock alternative rock or alternative rock-pop-rock or whatever you
called that peppy emotional breakdown in musical form, because Riley’s music
meant Riley was nearby.
Whoa oh, whoa oh,
whoa oh
I want you to
notice me
Cause I'm already
lonely
And I don't know
what to do
Yeah. No chance of that. Riley was a guy everyone noticed.
Lucas passed the case board, the gallery of pinned-up
photos, maps, and notes of ongoing investigations with barely a glance, making straight
for Riley’s office with his peace offering.
From the angle of the doorway, he was able to see Riley—well,
Riley’s boots, which were propped on the edge of the tidy desk—before Riley saw
him.
And as always, the sight of Riley—or apparently even Riley’s
boots—was enough to warm his heart. And if that was a cliché, so what? Like a
lot of clichés, it was also the truth.
It was hard to say what it was about Riley that made him so
damned attractive. Well, no. He was a good-looking guy, no question, but his
kind of good looks were not the kind trending on TikTok. He looked like he’d
stepped out of a black-and-white war film—maybe the kind where the hero didn’t
come back. Square-jawed, clear-eyed, with the kind of bone structure that used
to grace cigarette ads and military recruiting posters.
His hair was the color of brown that looked red in certain
light. Chestnut? His eyes were blue. He was just over medium height and wiry,
but he had a presence that conveyed authority. Authority, stoicism, and
reliability. He was all of those things. Looking at him, you’d never think he
had a sense of humor. But he did. He laughed easily, saw the humor in most
situations.
Lucas found his quiet laugh one of the most pleasant sounds
in the world.
He also had a terrific smile. In fact, Lucas had been a
goner from the first time Special Agent Riley Christopher turned those baby
blue eyes on him and that offered that rueful, boyish grin.
Ry wasn’t smiling at the moment, however. He was leaning
back in his chair, long legs comfortably crossed. It looked like he’d been
reading through a stack of old case files, though he was now gazing attentively
toward the doorway. He’d have heard the security door, of course; sometimes
Lucas suspected Riley had infrasound hearing, like an elephant. To match that
inconvenient memory.
“Hey,” Riley said as Luc came into view. He did not seem
particularly surprised to see him.
Lucas held up the plastic cup. “I brought you coffee.”
“That was nice of you.”
“I’m a nice guy.”
“No argument here.”
No? Because Lucas couldn’t help feeling like there was some
ongoing argument.
He said, “The Silver Sleigh Mocha as recommended by the Silver
Pine Sentinel.”
Riley took the
coffee, examined it and laughed. The laugh seemed genuine. His light eyes
crinkled at the corners. “Thank you.”
That sounded genuine too, and Lucas relaxed a little.
Lucas took the chair in front of Riley’s desk. “What are you
doing?”
Riley was one of the few men on the planet who could suck a
mound of whip cream through a straw and still look like a badass. He released
the straw and said, “Going through the cold case files.”
“Why?”
They were a small RA. They didn’t have a ton of cold cases,
though there were a few file folders containing the details on the handful of unsolved
bank robberies, kidnappings, and murders that had occurred in their
jurisdiction over the last half century.
Riley shrugged. “Why not? Since I’m here anyway. Might as
well.”
Lucas couldn’t help observing, “It’s not like you have to be
here.”
Instead of answering, Riley took another long suck of his
overpriced coffee.
He had a very sexy mouth. When he wasn’t delivering
ultimatums.
“I can’t help feeling like your coming in here this morning
is pointed,” Lucas said. He was careful to keep his tone neutral. He did not
want an argument. He wanted to fix this thing between them.
Riley dislodged the straw and said, “Of course it is.”
“Well, whatever the point is, I’m not getting it. You were
saying I need to prioritize our relationship, but you just blew off our
weekend.”
“Did you have plans for the weekend?” Riley inquired with
interest.
Lucas frowned. “What does that mean? Yes. I had plans that
we would spend a little quality time together without having to be in the
office at the crack of dawn.”
Riley didn’t smile, but his mouth took on a sardonic curve.
“Sure.”
“Sure? What’s that mean?” Despite his best effort,
exasperation crept into Lucas’s tone. “I don’t understand what’s got into you,
Ry.”
Ry started to answer, but seemed to rethink. He said,
matching Lucas’s even tone, “Okay. I understand. It’s disappointing when you
were looking forward to something and it doesn’t happen.”
Not subtle. Lucas started to respond, but Riley was still
talking.
“But the fact is, I’m on call this weekend.”
Lucas said shortly, “Okay. Got it. You don’t like being
agent on duty—”
Ry said evenly, “I don’t like being agent on duty every
single fucking weekend. No. I’ve got no problem taking my turn, but I’ve been
the agent on duty nearly every weekend for the past three years. There are
people in this office who believe I must have done something to seriously piss
you off.”
Lucas felt himself turn color at the idea his team was discussing,
speculating on his relationship with Riley. Not just that, though that was bad
enough. The idea that people believed he was that unfair, that petty? So petty
that he’d punish Riley—anyone, really, but especially an agent as able and
hardworking as Riley—with shitty assignments?
He had his faults, no question, but he was not petty or mean
spirited, and the idea that anybody who worked for him thought he was,
stung.
Ry added, “The only weekends I haven’t been the agent on
duty was when I was on sick leave.”
The reminder of last March caught Lucas off-guard, shook him
a little, left him feeling off-balance as if he’d hit a sudden patch of black
ice—which was what had happened to Ry. He’d been accompanying a county
sheriff’s deputy attempting to serve a search warrant on a suspect living off-grid
in the forested area surrounding Silver Pine. Their vehicle hit a patch of
black ice and the SUV had skidded and gone over the embankment. Between the
wooded terrain and snow cover, the SUV hadn’t been found for ten very long hours.
Deputy Fudali had been killed instantly. Ry, securely buckled in the passenger
seat, had sustained mostly superficial injuries, but he’d been pinned for hours
in freezing temperatures with the dead deputy. By the time he’d been airlifted
to safety he was suffering from shock, hypothermia, and a mild concussion.
The psychological toll…
Hard to say, because other than that first night in the
hospital, he’d said very little about it. To Lucas anyway. He’d gone through a
CISM debriefing, of course, and he’d been offered and accepted peer support.
He’d been cleared for duty without any problem. Unsurprisingly, he’d dealt with
what had surely been a traumatic ordeal with maturity and, sure, his usual
stoicism.
More patiently, Lucas said, “Is that what this is about? The
accident?”
“Yeah. Probably. I can’t deny that nearly dying makes you
think.”
“Sure. What are you thinking?”
Ry’s brows shot up. “You mean about us?”
Lucas nodded tersely.
“Just… What I said. I want to know—I want to feel—” He
stopped there.
Great. If he couldn’t put it into words, how the hell
was Lucas supposed to figure out what he wanted?
“You want me to prove that I prioritize you.”
“Us.”
“Okay. Us. But I don’t know what that means or how I
do that. What do you want from me?” The whole conversation was baffling,
frustrating. Lucas rarely lost his temper, but he didn’t like feeling he was
being presented with a test he was guaranteed to fail. “I don’t want to play
games. Just tell me what you want.”
Ry’s eyes flickered at his tone. He removed his feet from
his desk, sat up straight, said shortly, “I want to feel like this matters to
you.”
“Of course this matters.” And now Lucas was completely out
of patience. “For God’s sake! What do you think I’m doing here? I want a
relationship with you. I’m happy to have a relationship with you. I’m happy
with you. Okay?”
Riley actually did a doubletake like he’d only now got a
good look at Lucas. He said, “Oh.”
It wasn’t a happily surprised oh. It was an oh-now-I-get-it,
and it further aggravated Lucas who suddenly realized he was being an
asshole—and he wasn’t even sure why. He didn’t like feeling forced into…making
a commitment? Was that what Riley wanted?
Because… Lucas had sort of thought they were
committed. In the ways that actually mattered.
“You’re a priority. I love you. You know that,” Lucas
clipped out.
It wasn’t the first time he’d told Riley he loved him. He’d
told him that night in the hospital. He’d held Riley’s hand all night, though
neither of them were the hand-holding type—and he’d told Riley he loved him.
Told him more than once. Told him other things too, things he’d never said to
anyone else and never would because, for him, there was only Riley.
“Yeah, I know,” Riley was equally terse. “I love you too.”
Not satisfied with knowing he was an asshole—and that Ry also
knew he was an asshole—Lucas opted to go full monster.
He rose. “Great. So can we dispense with the games and the
doom countdown and get back to work?”
The look on Riley’s face—that instant of naked, unguarded
hurt—Lucas did not expect that. Had not intended that. Did not know what to do
about it.
But the next moment the look was gone.
“You got it.” Riley turned back to the cold case files.
The uneasy suspicion that he’d won the battle but lost the
war, followed Lucas out of Riley’s office and all the way down the hall to his
own.
.
COMING SOON
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