Page 45 of My Secret Santa Clayton

I poured three mugs, black, no nonsense, and handed them out before settling down across from them, the chair groaning under my weight. “So what the hell happened?” Kat asked. “You sounded totally freaked out.”

I nodded. “Well…Grace stayed here last night, thanks to that freak snowstorm—and when we went to dig out her car this morning, we found her tires slashed.”

“Slashed?” Gabe repeated, the word coming out sharp.

“Yep. And that wasn't the end of it,” I continued, feeling my jaw tighten as I remembered the struggle. “Some bastard in all black jumped her. We managed to fight him off.”

“Shit,” Kat whispered, her mug halfway to her lips, frozen. “Is she...”

“Hit her in the head pretty good. But she's tough,” I said, a hint of pride sneaking into my voice despite the circumstances. “Took it like a champ. She's resting now.”

“Resting? After a head hit? Are you sure she doesn't need a doctor?” Gabe asked, brows furrowed in concern.

“Trust me, she's okay. Grace needed sleep more than anything else.”

“Shouldn't she be at a hospital?” Kat asked, her eyes darting to the hallway as though she could see through walls to where Grace lay resting.

I shook my head. “Grace was clear about that. No hospitals.”

Gabe frowned. “No hospital? What the hell, Clay?”

“Wasn't exactly in a position to argue.” I shrugged. “And I'm not completely useless. Got enough training from the Marines to patch her up for now.”

“Sure, because field dressing is the same as treating a head wound,” Kat shot back.

“Let the man be, Kat,” Gabe muttered. “I get it. I know you’ll get her checked out when you can.”

We all fell silent as the sound of footsteps reached our ears. I turned toward my bedroom door just as Grace stepped into the room, her brown eyes scanning each of us like she was reading a situation report.

“Clay…” she started.

“I needed to call someone,” I interrupted. “Sorry, but?—”

“I didn't want this,” Grace said, her voice holding a sharp edge. Her gaze settled on me for a moment longer than the rest. “I don't want anyone else involved.”

“Too late for that,” Gabe replied with a dry laugh. “You've got company now, so spill it, Grace. What the hell is going on?”

Grace chewed on her lip, looking for all the world like the girl I fell in love with years ago. “You shouldn’t be in danger because of me,” she said. “None of you deserve this.”

“But we’re taking it on anyway,” Kat said. “So…can you fill us in at least?”

She swallowed hard and I stood up to squeeze her shoulder. “Let me get you some coffee,” I said.

I poured the coffee and handed her a mug, noticing how her hands shook slightly as she took it from me. We all sat down at my rough-hewn kitchen table, the silence hanging heavy between us. She took a sip and then placed the cup on the table with a soft clink.

“Okay,” Grace said, her voice steady. “This is the story.”

She paused, drawing in a deep breath, and I waited.

“I was investigating a city councilor,” she began, looking straight into my eyes. “Thought he was just dabbling in some shady deals, nothing too out of the ordinary for a crooked politician. But the deeper I dug, the more dirt came up. Turns out, he's in bed with organized crime, and I'm not talking small-time thugs. I stumbled on material that ties him to the mob.”

“Jesus, Grace,” I muttered, gripping my coffee mug tighter. Her words weighed on me like a two-ton boulder, and I realized this was bigger than any trouble we had seen in Silver Ridge before.

“I got too close to the truth…and my informants got killed,” Grace said, her eyes not meeting mine. She shifted in her chair, and I saw a shadow of fear cross her face. “I had to get out of Boston.”

“So you came to Silver Ridge?” Gabe asked. He leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table.

“A tiny little town in the middle of nowhere,” she replied. Her gaze found a spot on the wall, and she stared at it as if it held answers. “And I had a place to go here, people who would protect me. Only my editor knew where I was going.”

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