Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover #2) - Stina Lindenblatt Page 0,88

me in the gown. And for a second, Nikolai is forgotten.

I grin at her. “You look gorgeous. You have to get that dress. It’ll be perfect for the ball.”

And it will be. With her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders in light waves, she looks breathtaking.

“In that dress, I’m positive you’ll have a magical night.”

“I could definitely use magic to get through it.” Her gaze flicks to Nikolai. “What do you say, Santa? Can you spare me some magic for the night of the ball?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He places his hand on his belly, which has obviously been augmented with pillows. “Ho ho ho.”

“You’re getting the dress, right?” I ask Kiera, ignoring him.

“You don’t think it’ll be too much? I mean, it is only for one night. And it’s not like I have a date to impress.”

Her gaze returns to Nikolai, and a puzzled frown forms between her eyes. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

He shakes his head. “You’re probably confusing me for someone else.”

“Maybe.” The word is drawn-out, uncertain. “All right, I’ll buy this dress,” she says to me and returns to the change rooms.

I turn to Nikolai.

The boyish look is back on his white-bearded face. Only it’s the sad smile I remember from when his father told him he couldn’t be a cop when he grew up. “I’ve missed you, Chloe. I miss how we used to talk about our dreams for the future. I guess neither of us pursued them in the end.”

“Well, given eight-year-old me dreamed of being a princess, that’s not too surprising. I haven’t exactly had too many princes cross my path.”

“Have you tried kissing a frog? I’ve heard that’s the best way to land yourself a prince these days.”

“Darn it,” I say, snapping my fingers. “The last frog that crossed my path was stretched out on a dissection tray. And I don’t think kissing a dead frog works quite the same way.”

Something moves in the corner of my eye. I don’t have to turn my head to know it’s Adam. The question is, why did Nikolai take the risk of being discovered when he knows damn well I’m not here on my own?

Did he really believe the Santa costume would make a difference?

“I really am sorry, Chloe,” he says. “About everything. Just remember the star. It has the answer to everything.”

Before I can respond, and ask what the heck he’s talking about, he pulls a gun from his sack and whirls around. This is followed by a series of gunshots from every angle.

Screams fill the air, muffled by the loud pounding of my pulse in my ears.

On instinct, I dive to the ground, praying Kiera does the same in the change room. Praying that stray bullets don’t hit her or anyone else.

Nikolai steps forward, still shooting at the unseen target.

And then he’s no longer walking.

His body sags to the floor.

I scream…because despite the man he’s become, he once meant the world to me.

Even though deep down I know it’s a dumb move, I wiggle over to him, still clutching the shooting star. I’m vaguely aware of tears staining my face and dripping on the gray carpet.

“Nikolai? Oh, God, Nikolai, say something.” I check his pulse. Even before the confirmation, I know he’s dead.

A sob escapes me, and I look up, only to spot something even more chilling through the racks of clothes. It propels me to my feet.

My ears are ringing from the shooting. Muffled sounds of someone yelling reaches out to me, but I don’t stop to see who it is. With my wish slipping softly from my lips, I half stumble, half lunge at the two injured men on the floor: Landon and Adam.

Landon is gripping his shoulder. Blood seeps between his fingers. Adam looks dazed, blood dripping along the side of his face.

“We need an ambulance,” I scream to anyone who can hear me.

Adrenaline courses through me. It’s the only thing pasting me together.

I drop beside Landon, mentally going through what I learned in the first aid course I took last year. They didn’t cover gunshot wounds, but the instructor taught enough for me to know that I have to stop the bleeding. Now.

“Hold this.” I tuck the star in his free hand—hoping it’ll bring us both luck—and yank at a bright-pink ski jacket on the nearby rack. It tumbles free of the hanger.

“You know, pink isn’t really my color.” Somehow, he manages to chuckle.

Ignoring his smartass comment, I lay it on the floor behind him