Holiday Heroes (Wingmen Warriors 13)

They’d almost made it to the safe house. Hank couldn’t believe that, after all his worries about gunmen and traitorous moles, they’d been stopped by a simple flat tire and a worn-out spare.

Hank figured the best way to hide today would be to lose themselves in a crowd of shoppers while waiting for the Mercedes’s tire to be patched. He’d considered renting another car and hoping they made it to the safe house before the credit card could be traced, but the small village only had one rental place and it had been sold out for the holidays.

And to think the safe house was just a few more miles down the icy road.

His and Ginger’s day driving through small towns had been long and tense, but December twenty-third was close to over. He hoped this would be their last stop. No more nights alone together.

He couldn’t let himself think about how damn good—how right—it had felt to spend the night with her tucked against him. He hadn’t been able to give up the chance even once she’d settled. Instead, he’d simply retrieved his BlackBerry and done his research while holding her.

A bittersweet pleasure he’d thought never to repeat—except then she’d kissed him and now he didn’t know what to think, except that they had to get through this day.

The tiny town overflowed with last-minute holiday shoppers clutching bags and the hands of small children. Old-fashioned cast-iron streetlamps adorned with wreaths and ribbons lined the street, ready to flicker to light when the sun went down in the next couple of hours.

With his overcoat covering his uniform, he and Ginger could be locals even—as long as they kept their mouths closed. They actually blended in with the Christmas mayhem as snow flecked from the sky.

He searched the press of bodies around them, suspicious of each bump and jostle of every passerby. He focused on all the details on all the open-air stalls lining the thoroughfare. “Come on. Let’s duck out for the next half hour until the tire is ready.”

He steered her past a stall selling mugs of warm gluhwein—mulled spiced wine. Pushing wide a jingling door, he nudged her inside a tiny shop, away from the crowd.

Ginger stomped the snow off her feet, then glanced around, sighing. “A children’s store. This sure brings back memories.” She strolled past a display of toy dump trucks, her gaze lingering. “Of course, it’s different shopping now since they’re all grown up.”

“Not that different for me now. I have a granddaughter, remember?”

“Alicia’s daughter.” Ginger smiled, the day’s worry almost sliding from her features. “Yes, we should find something for her. And does Darcy know the gender of her baby yet?”

His daughter had called just last week with the news. He’d been meaning to tell Ginger, but the grind of this tour had never given them time alone. How strange it had taken an attempt on her life to give them a moment to themselves. “Darcy and Max are expecting a boy.”

“So you have one of each to shop for. Definitely fun. Congratulations!”

“Thank you.” He’d been thinking of Jessica a lot lately, and how she’d missed out on seeing their grandchildren. Sharing these firsts with Ginger helped ease something inside him.

Then a hint of guilt pinched, surprising him. It had been a long time since his wife’s death, twenty-four years. Must be the holidays making him sentimental, reminding him of holidays past.

Damn it, Ginger was an important person in his life and he owed her better than half his attention. “What are you thinking about?”

She nodded toward the back corner where a Santa in traditional long robes passed out chocolates to children. “Of the history of Santa Claus.”

“Saint Nicholas?”

“Yes.” She pulled her gaze away with a nostalgic smile, trailing her hand over a wooden train set. “I was thinking of when Jonah heard my Dutch grandmother refer to Santa as Sinter Klaus. He thought she’d said Senator Klaus, because his dad was a senator, the word made sense.”

She’d always had a soft spot for her youngest, Jonah. Hank understood well how tough it was to let the youngest leave the nest. His daughter Darcy reminded him often enough that he needed to quit looking over her shoulder. She was a totally qualified and safe aviator.

Seemed like just yesterday he’d been shopping in toy stores for Santa Claus—or Senator Klaus—gifts for his children. “Kids make the holiday, no question. Mine were always very particular about having their own nativity set.”

“I didn’t know that.” She glanced up at him in surprise. “Now that I think back, I don’t believe I’ve seen your house decorated for Christmas after Jessica…”

“Right.” He shrugged past that guilt pinch again. “When they went shopping to pick out a crèche, it took them forever. Somebody didn’t like the sheep in one or the angel in another.” He paused by a shelf of toy planes. “I was TDY, and they about drove their nanny crazy searching. Then Alicia figured it out. Why buy a matching set? They each put together an eclectic nativity.”

“I like that.”

“We were never a family for the coordinated decorated tree. Alicia, my child of the unmatched flair, would have painted all the glass decorations different colors anyway.”

“Then she definitely won’t want this little dirndl dress for her daughter. How about a polka dot fur jacket?”

“Perfect.” He glanced at his watch and out the shop window. “Time to go.”

“Of course.” Her face sobered as she passed the tiny coat to the cashier to wrap.