Page 181 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

He lets out a short laugh. “What do you think you can do to me?”

He puffs out his chest and stands taller, obviously trying to intimidate her.

I take a step closer, ready to intervene. There’s no way in hell I’m letting this man lay a hand on her.

“Oh,” she says calmly, as though he asked about her favorite coffee shop, “I can think of a number of things. Where to start? How about the fact that you’re behind on child support? Or that there’s a warrant out for your arrest for a reckless driving charge? And then there’s your previous arrests for dog fighting.” Her voice turns hard, and she holds up her phone. “Youwillhand over that cat within the next five seconds, or I’ll have the police out here within less than a minute to pick you up for that outstanding warrantandarrest you for felony theft.”

“Felony?” he shouts, his face turning red. “That cat ain’t worth no felony.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Sylvan. That cat is a Majestic Neapolitan worth twenty-five hundred dollars. My client has all the necessary paperwork to prove her worth and a chip to prove her ownership. Are you willing to risk your freedom over acat?”

Hugo Sylvan looks like he wants to strangle Mary.

“One,” Mary says in a calm voice. “Two. Time is ticking, Mr. Sylvan. Three.”

The man opens the door, and Cleo darts out of the opening and straight into my arms.

Mary looks the man over as though she finds him lacking. “If I hear about you kidnapping another cat, I will be back, and I will tear you and your dog-fighting operation to the ground.”

Then she turns on her heels and walks away like she’s the fucking Queen of England.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

MARY

On the way back to Roger’s apartment, I fill our street team in on the situation (i.e., I both thank and dismiss them) and send a group text to Molly and Maisie to confirm that Cleo has been found. Molly texts back:There’s more to this story, and you’re going to tell us. Hell, even CAL wants to know what’s going on with you and hunka-hunka burning love, and his gossip button isn’t screwed on right. YOU NEED TO TELL US TONIGHT. Unless you’re getting laid. If you’re getting laid, it can wait. Just know that if you flake on our plans, we’re going to assume you’re getting laid.

There’s a text from Nicole too, but I’ll check it later. I’m sure she’s just touching base about her latest challenge, or giving me another one. From what I understand, the original Bad Luck Club has a very defined schedule—meetings every other week, one challenge per meeting—but Nicole’s version has proved to be the opposite of organized.

Actually, on second thought, that could be something she’s doing to torture me into being less predictable. The messed-up thing is that it’s sort of working.

I stuff my phone back into my pocket so quickly that Jace’s eyes immediately gravitate toward it—or maybe he’s just looking at my butt.

Roger is waiting at his small kitchen table, right by the door, and the way he lights up at the sight of Cleo…

This is why I became a lawyer. Sometimes I get to do good things. Sometimes I get to fight for people who have been wronged, or unfairly maligned, or manipulated because of their ignorance of the legal system.

Sometimes I get to add some balance to the ledger.

One of the things I love about Hilde is her insistence that each of the lawyers at the firm do ten hours a month of pro bono work. It’s my favorite part of my job.

But it’s not Roger who’s making me feel like a superhero. The way Jace stood back at that house, letting me deal with the situation but making it very clear that he would step in if that man was foolish enough to lay hands on me—no one’s ever shown that much faith in me. Although I don’t lack confidence when it comes to my ability to put wrongdoers in their place, I’ve never felt likethis.

Jace is doing something to me. He’s helping me tap into the parts of myself I’ve lost along the path of life. It’s a foolish thought, but I can’t quite quell it—or maybe I don’t want to.

Earlier, in his apartment, I had half a minute to look around while he got changed. In spite of what his sister did, there’s a picture of her and Ben on the fridge. I know it’s her because of her eyes—that same ocean-water blue as Jace’s. Her little boy is staring at something off camera, not smiling, but she is looking at the photographer.

How could someone like that, someone who looks so nice, do something so terrible? SheknewJace’s crime was more than ten years in the past, yet she cut him off anyway.

Then again, everyone who knew my father thought he was the nicest man alive.The Blarney Stone, if it were a man, someone said in a comment on his obituary.Everyone thought that he was the beautiful one, the standout, and that my mother was lucky to have caught a man like him.

And it turns out he was cheating on her.

She didn’t know that, of course—they both died before the truth came out—but she knew something wasn’t right.Iwas the one she confided in.

She’d seen the way women flirted with him, and the way he flirted back, and it made her feel a bone-deep inadequacy.

I shake those thoughts away, though, because they have no place in this happy moment.

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