Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover #2) - Stina Lindenblatt Page 0,27
should be shocked that Landon is standing there holding a gun. I hate guns, especially given their criminal links to my family. But after what I just went through, I couldn’t care less that he’s packing heat. I’m just thrilled he showed up when he did.
Landon continues talking to the man. I can’t hear anything he says over the engine’s purr and the heat blasting through the vent.
After what feels like a lifetime, a black SUV and a cop car pull up. A man and woman climb out of the SUV and walk to where Landon’s standing, guarding the downed man.
They look like plainclothes police or detectives. All three individuals have what appears to be a discussion with Landon. He does most of the talking and points to where I hid the gun.
I continue watching them, trying to process everything that happened since I left the school. I especially pay attention to Landon. He seems more at ease with everything going on than I would expect from a teacher.
Like this is an everyday occurrence for him.
Like he was a cop in another lifetime.
Eventually, their discussion ends. The cop removes a pair of handcuffs and clicks it onto the bad man’s wrist. The entire time he talks to him, possibly telling him his rights. The bad guy doesn’t say anything, his expression blank.
The cop and the male plainclothes officer drag the criminal off the ground and shove him into the back seat of the cruiser.
The woman walks to where I hid the gun and bags it as evidence.
Landon returns to the vehicle and climbs into the driver’s side. “How are you doing?” His brow crinkles with concern.
“I’ve been better.”
He puts the jeep into reverse.
“Aren’t the cops going to interview me about what happened?” I ask.
“I’ve told them everything I witnessed. But they might be over later to talk to you if necessary. Do you have any idea who the man was?”
I shake my head. “I’ve never seen him before.” And I’d be more than happy to never see him again.
“Okay. Let’s get out of here.”
“I can’t,” I say, coming to my senses. “I need my car, and I’m expected at the seniors’ home.”
“You can let them know you won’t be in today. One of my colleagues can fix your tire and bring your car to my place.”
“Colleagues?” My state of shock must have addled my brain. Nothing he’s saying makes sense.
11
Chloe
Landon parks his jeep in his garage and helps me down. Even with the heater blasting on our way here, a chill penetrates deep in my bones.
He scoops me up in his big strong arms—a sweet caveman to the core.
“I can walk,” I tell him. Not that I mind being in his arms. Maybe I can borrow some of his heat to banish the chill.
“I know you can.” He carries me to the door leading to the house.
It’s probably just as well, even if it’s a short distance. I’m not sure my legs are on speaking terms with me yet.
He lowers me to my feet. I quickly miss his heat.
He unlocks the door, steps inside, and turns off his security alarm. He’s five steps above me in that department. The closest thing my building has to security is the buzzer for a tenant to let you inside the front door.
And even that isn’t a deterrent for anyone who wants in. Mrs. Rayne is hard-of-hearing and has a tendency to open the door for anyone who presses the buzzer.
A little bark comes from the laundry room.
Just what I need.
I kick off my shoes, and without saying anything to Landon, I head that way. As expected, Whiskey is in his crate. “Hey, little fella. I could use some cuddle time from the sweetest guy around.”
“Are you referring to the dog or me?” Landon says behind me.
I laugh. “The dog. Definitely the dog. Is it okay if I remove him from his crate?”
Whiskey answers for Landon with a little woof and touches the metal door with his good paw.
Landon chuckles. “There’s your answer.”
I open the door and remove the puppy, so he doesn’t try walking with his injured leg. I cuddle him to my chest. He reaches up and licks my chin.
I smile at him. “Thanks, I needed that.”
“I should probably take him out to do his business.”
Looking around for Whiskey’s leash, I say, “I can take him.” It’s not like I have anything better to do. Watching the puppy poop might be a great distraction.