Page 67 of Ice Cold Christmas

“I’m not getting a promise from you, either,” Amaya huffed into the silence. “You two are not being dream clients right now.” Another shiver. “Whatever. I did my due diligence. I’m going home and wrapping some presents for my kids. Please, please don’t antagonize the cops. I would like to have a merry holiday with my family.”

With that, she cautiously made her way down the steps and toward a black Range Rover parked near the front of the police station.

Melody shivered as she watched Amaya walk away. At her shiver, Victor cursed. He shouldered out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders. It was warm. Huge, but warm, and she hunched into it. I’m wearing two coats. Granted, one was too thin but…now he had nothing.

“Come on, baby,” he said, “we’re going home.” He’d driven them to the station in his BMW. One that he’d parked around the side of the station when they’d arrived.

They made it to the bottom of the steps. Amaya was already in her vehicle. Her lights flashed as she pulled away.

Victor turned to the side of the police station. His BMW waited about twenty feet away and?—

“What the fuck?” Victor snarled. He let her go and surged forward.

She hurried forward, too, and saw what had caused his flare of anger. The BMW’s two passenger side tires were completely flat. The vehicle sank down, twisted to the side.

The BMW was the only car left on the side of the station. She figured it had to be nearing midnight. The streetlamp near the BMW kept flickering, on and off, on and off…

And she heard a faint rustle from the surrounding darkness.

Instantly, her head whipped to the left. Then to the right. More buildings. But they were all closed. Shuttered for the night.

“Slashed,” Victor said as he bent near one of the tires.

Okay, that was bad.

Victor rose, quickly. “Melody, I want you going back inside. Now.”

“Not without you.” They’d both go back inside the police station. She held out her hand toward him. “Come on Victor, let’s—Victor!”

A man jumped from the darkness. Jumped to stand between her and Victor, and he gripped a knife in his hand. The same knife he’d used to slash the tires? Even as she screamed, he was coming at her, slashing at her. The blade sliced toward her chest, and she leapt back. Her boots lost purchase on the icy ground, and they slipped from beneath her. She slammed down on her ass, and that timely fall saved her from getting cut with the knife.

“Melody!” A roar. But not one that came from Victor.

She looked over her shoulder. That roar had come from Detective Angus Clinton. He’d followed them. He yanked out his weapon.

Frantic, her head swung back toward her attacker. Only as she watched, Victor launched his body at the attacker, and they both slammed into the cement near her.

There was a thud. A grunt. Then Victor rose. The attacker groaned but didn’t get up.

“You sonofabitch,” Victor snarled. “You don’t hurt her.”

She scrambled back, her hands freezing as they slapped against the icy cement.

Victor flipped over the attacker. The man’s big, black coat had fallen open.

Oh, God.

The knife was in the guy’s chest. Lodged in him. For a moment, she thought he was dead.

“Victor,” she whispered.

Then the attacker lunged up. A wild scream broke from him as he yanked the knife out of his chest. Blood dripped onto the ground, and he twisted the knife in his gloved grip as he drove it at Victor.

“Victor!” Not a whisper this time. A scream.

Victor knocked the knife out of the attacker’s hand. It clattered to the ground. Then Victor drew back his fist and slammed it into the other man’s face, a face covered by a ski mask. Victor hit him once, twice, again. Again.

A hand clamped around Melody’s shoulder.