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  Copyright

  A Killer Christmas

  Copyright © 2018 by Cherry Adair

  All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author, Cherry Adair.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Adair Digital Press.

  ISBN-13: 9781937774745

  www.cherryadair.com

  shop.cherryadair.com

  Backcover

  A KILLER CHRISTMAS

  SURVIVING THE HOLIDAYS CAN BE A REAL KILLER

  Dispatched to an isolated ranch during a fierce Montana blizzard, T-FLAC operative Joe Zorn has been sent to protect a woman who is in impending danger. This isn't an op, but it beats spending the holidays alone at nearby T-FLAC headquarters. Things get complicated fast when the gorgeous, redhead event planner proves to be a dangerous distraction.

  HOLIDAY TRIMMINGS CAN BE DEADLY SEXY

  Kendall Metcalf tries to anticipate every contingency when she's commissioned to decorate a clients home for a large, weekend Christmas party. What she doesn't count on is the raging storm, or her intense attraction to the sexy counterterrorist operative who shows up unannounced. He claims he's there to protect her from the notorious serial killer obsessed with her. The killer who has escaped prison... vowing to finish what he started.

  THE CLOCK IS TICKING

  Stranded by the weather, anticipating the arrival of her worst nightmare, Joe and Kendall’s strong attraction roars like a winter fire. Their white-hot passion is impossible to resist, but their sexual chemistry could prove a fatal distraction.

  Review Snips

  WHIRLPOOL Five Star GOLD. Award-winning Adair has taken readers on thrilling and wild adventures around the globe with an extremely colorful cast of characters. In the sixth and final Cutter Cay novel, she pulls out all the stops with a story that is both emotionally involving and dangerously apocalyptic! Both protagonists, Persephone Case and Finn Gallagher, are immensely engaging and their attraction is a joy to read. Adair also ratchets up the danger and intrigue as an ancient prophecy and those obsessed with it threaten them all. Kudos and thank you for a truly phenomenal ride! ~Jill M. Smith Romantic Times Book Reviews

  ABSOLUTE DOUBT. Action, extreme adventure and romance. So much good stuff in this book. A counter-terrorist organization against a sociopath. A hero and heroine who both are honorable, stubborn and loyal and instantly attracted to each other. Totally loved reading this book. It is part of a series, but absolutely can be read alone. ~Fantasy Books

  GIDEON. Gritty and action-packed from beginning to end, this is a classic Adair tale, so readers can be sure that the sex is sizzling and the danger relentless! ~Jill M. Smith Romantic Times 4 1/2 * top pick

  HUSH Packed with plenty of unexpected plot twists and lots of sexy passion, Cherry's latest testosterone-rich, adrenaline-driven suspense novel is addictively readable. ~Chicago Tribune

  HUSH delivers non-stop action, hair raising adventure, and titillating dialogue that will have readers poised on the edge of their seats waiting for what happens next. Ms. Adair has created a memorable couple whose antics are a pleasure to read about. Emotions run high in HUSH, making for an amazing read full of surprising twist and turns. ~ Fresh Fiction

  Adair's BLUSH . . . sizzling chemistry adds to the heat of Bayou Cheniere, La., in Adair's knockout contemporary romantic thriller. ~Publishers Weekly starred review

  UNDERTOW is full of action and suspense! Cherry Adair did such a great job making the reader feel as if they were part of the experience. I felt like I was right there diving into the water looking for the buried treasure with Zane and Teal. ~Hanging With Bells 4 Bells

  WHITE HEAT “…latest in Ms. Adair's T-FLAC series, roars out of the starting gate at a fast gallop and never breaks stride in a thrilling, no-holes-barred roller coaster ride of heart-pulsing suspense and hot romance featuring a delicious, to-die-for hunk…”

  “Ms. Adair skillfully weaves an exciting tale of explosive action sprinkled with twisty surprises around a sensual love story laced with gobs of fiery desire. A must for readers who like their romantic suspense hot... and the heroes even hotter!” ~Romance Reader At Heart

  HOT ICE is a sure thing! Ms. Adair’s characters are well supported by the secondary T-FLAC operatives that assist in the mission. The villain is equally well developed as you come to learn how a man like Jose’ Morales became so twisted, that you almost feel sorry for him…almost! Ms. Adair weaves in clever tools and ingenious methods to solve this assignment. There has also been great detail given to the locations/settings, which span many continents. And the ability to bring it all together in a pulse-pounding climax will leave the reader breathless and well satisfied by the time you close this book. ~All About Romance

  ICE COLD. Adair continues her wonderfully addictive series featuring the sexy men of T-FLAC with this fast paced and intricately plotted tale of danger, deception, and desire that is perfect for readers who like their romantic suspense adrenaline-rich and sizzlingly sexy. ~ Booklist

  WHITE HEAT. “Your mission, should you decide to read it, is to have a few hours adrenaline pumped excitement and sizzling romance with the new T-FLAC suspense by Cherry Adair.”

  “You’ll not want to put this book down as the plot twists come together and explode into a fantastic ending. With the spine-tingling danger, stomach churning suspense, bullets flying from every corner and red-hot romance you get White Heat. Cherry Adair has once again created a heart pounding read with extraordinary characters in extraordinary circumstances that will leave the reader hungering for more. White Heat is an excellent novel and one that I recommend as a keeper.” ~ Night Owl Romance

  T-FLAC Series

  T-FLAC Series Titles by Cherry Adair

  T-FLAC/PSI

  Edge of Danger Enhanced

  Edge of Fear Enhanced

  Edge of Darkness Enhanced

  Night Fall Enhanced

  Night Secrets Enhanced

  Night Shadow Enhanced

  T-FLAC/WRIGHT FAMILY

  Kiss and Tell Enhanced

  Hide and Seek Enhanced

  In Too Deep Enhanced

  Out of Sight Enhanced

  On Thin Ice Enhanced

  T-FLAC/BLACK ROSE

  Hot Ice Enhanced

  White Heat Enhanced

  Ice Cold

  ONE

  December 20th

  2135 hours

  Cameron Ranch

  Montana

  Joe Zorn leaned into the blustery, subfreezing wind as graupel, hail-like frozen snow, slashed diagonally at his exposed skin like tiny ice darts. By any measure, nine-thirty-five on the Thursday night before Christmas, in the worst storm seen in this part of Montana in thirty years, was a massive goatfuck. The blizzard was a beast, even for a man like Joe who'd hunted terrorists in both the warmest and coldest climates on earth.

  Mag light in hand, aided by the light of strings of twinkling, white ‘icicles’ blowing precariously from the eves, Joe did a perimeter check. Even though he'd never lived in it, he knew the house like the back of his hand. He’d built it for his wife, now ex-wife, Denise, a decade ago.

  He found the roof of the small outbuilding housing the main generator crushed by the unusually heavy snowfall, and felled by a split-in-half Po
nderosa pine, brought down by the snow and high winds. Shit. There was an outside chance the generator might still work, but he didn’t hold out much hope.

  Fortunately, there were three generators dedicated to the house. The main, trashed one, out back, another that powered the security systems, and the third Denise had insisted was an absolute necessity, dedicated to her Christmas lights. Systems could be rerouted as necessary.

  Stamping caked snow off his booted feet on the wide, bright red sisal doormat in front of the massive double front doors, he jiggled the iced front door handle.

  As far as he knew the Camerons weren't home, and Joe didn't have a key. The wood-clad steel doors were locked, a damn good thing considering a nationwide manhunt was underway. According to his intel, a serial killer was even now finding his way, like a heat-seeking missile, through the storm to the isolated ranch, located East of Billings.

  It wasn’t a question of if Dwight Gus Treadwell aka Doctor Death, would show up to give killing event planner Kendall Metcalf another shot, it was a question of when.

  The faint whoop-whooooop-whoooooop sound of the chopper's blades winding down followed Joe up the back steps and around to the front door. He'd landed on the snow-covered back lawn, as close as possible to the house. The chopper would’ve added too much weight to the snow already ten feet deep on the helipad above the garage.

  A wide, covered wraparound porch circled the six-thousand-square-foot log house. Damn it, nothing like making the house a beacon for the serial killer with god-knows how many Christmas lights. It looked like the fucking Las Vegas strip squatting in the middle of remote Montana.

  The wooden deck was strewn with assorted red, green and gold. Flotsam and jetsam of Christmas blew about in the fierce wind. Holding onto his fur-lined cap, Joe stepped over a still lit metal framework reindeer tethered by an electrical cord, and a sad looking Christmas tree shoved pointy end first through the spindles of the porch. The rest of the decor flew around at the whims of the raging wind. The moment he unplugged the thing, it went ass over teakettle over the railing.

  While the exterior of the house was lit up, not a sliver of light escaped the tightly drawn drapes at the windows. The glass was bulletproof. Exit and interior doors were wood-clad Tungsten steel, pretty much making every room in the house a "safe room," although there were a couple of those, too.

  Safety precautions or not, one open window, one unlatched door, could prove fatal to the occupants of the house.

  The howling wind whipped snow flurries down Joe’s collar and snuck under the hem of his coat as it flapped around his ankles, making him shudder. The cold didn’t bother him nearly as much as finding the place lit up like a fucking carnival.

  He thumped his fist on the door again.

  His assignment, the event planner, had already been here a week, decorating the house ahead of Denise and Adam Cameron's sixth annual Christmas party this weekend. She must’ve bought out every Christmas and craft store between Bozeman and Billings.

  There was Christmas crap everywhere. Pillows had blown off the chairs that had toppled over. Area rugs- outside for God’s sake- were flipped over. Scattered dirt from broken red pots that still held lit trees, decked out in twisted tinsel, made the deck gritty underfoot.

  The white twinkle lights flashed on the eves, rimmed the window frames, the roofline, the doors, and every other available surface and nook and cranny, reflecting off the snow in the front yard. The lights almost blinded him.

  Three hundred feet beyond the Christmas glitz, the world was pitch black. They hadn’t turned on the perimeter lights. The set up was damn well perfect for anyone watching the house with a sniper rifle trained on one of the occupants inside.

  Might as well have a flashing red neon arrow for Treadwell pointing to the house. Here I am. Come and get me!

  Damn it to hell.

  First up, douse the fairy lights, then turn on the powerful, motion activated halogen floods to illuminate all the way up to the treeline, fifteen hundred feet in all directions.

  Joe kept one hand in his left pocket, fingers loosely clasping the grip of his custom-made HK Mark 23. Better to shoot a hole through his favorite coat than have someone open the door to find a large, armed man standing on the other side.

  It worried him only marginally that he hadn’t been able to contact the Camerons before he left T-FLAC headquarters fifty miles north. High winds and snowstorms frequently messed with the cell towers way the hell and gone out here.

  For all he knew Denise, Adam and the kids had returned home, and were inside, safe and warm and in the company of a serial killer's primary target. Fuck.

  He’d tried calling the satellite phone, located in both saferooms. No response. Either they hadn’t heard the sat phone ringing, or they weren’t home. He’d gotten no response from Denise’s mother in San Francisco either, but he’d left a message before lifting off.

  Hunching into his coat, Joe jabbed at the doorbell. No corresponding ring inside indicated what he believed was the case, the main generator was down. That answered the question about its viability. "Get the lead out, people."

  He had no idea how many people the woman from Fait Accompli had brought with her. Probably half a dozen assistants for him to corral and keep safe.

  Not an op, but still, this was better than anticipating a frozen Christmas dinner, alone, back at headquarters.

  He thumped his fist on the door a couple more times, making the oversized Christmas wreath dance. "Open the damn door!"

  After a few moments he heard faint beeps from inside as the security alarm was deactivated. At least that was operational. The door swung open, spilling golden light, a rush of warmth, and the unmistakable fragrance of cookies baking onto the icy front porch. Joe’s heart did a hard thump-thump as he got his first look at the Amazon in his charge.

  Kendall Metcalf was luscious. Every curvy, magnificent inch of her. Her hair, the honey red of a good English orange marmalade, spilled over her shoulders like the inside of a flame. Her feet were bare, and black leggings clung like a second skin, accenting every incredible inch of her long, long, long legs.

  A red sweater, proclaimed, in cursive white script across a mouth-watering chest; HO HO HO Y’ALL.

  Subtly, she tucked the small gun he wasn't supposed to see in the back of her pants under her sweater, then grabbed him by the hand, practically dragging him inside.

  Letting go as if remembering he was a complete stranger, she said brightly, "Yikes. You actually braved this?"

  Her bone structure was elegant, the skin on her face, flawless and sprinkled lightly with tiny dots of cinnamon freckles. Scars on her hands and wrists disappeared under the sleeves of her sweater. The scars, he knew, started at her clavicle and covered seventy-five percent of her body.

  For crap sake. Get a grip, Zorn.

  Those scars would remind him that she was off limits. Knowing she was marked by a madman beneath her clothes would keep his hands off her. Nothing was going to get rid of his lusty thoughts, but since he wouldn't act on them, they were his problem, not hers.

  "When you didn't show up at eight I thought you'd decided not to come, and who would blame you? Did you try calling? Of course, you did. There's no service."

  Her voice was naturally husky, low and unintentionally sexy. Her lips were full, and a pale, peachy pink. She seemed to smile easily as she turned to talk to him over her shoulder. Long dark lashes framed large, remarkably beautiful hazel eyes, more green than brown.

  "Sorry about the atmospheric lighting, the generator conked out yesterday. Although, oddly, some of the lights work, and I’ve got all the oil lamps to see by, and the stove is gas, so I’m okay."

  She’d managed to say all that in pretty much one breath. Joe took in the strategically placed oil lamps and the fire in the enormous rock-faced fireplace in the great room off to his right. There were enough pools of golden light to see by, but it left deep pockets of shadows.

  She shivered hard as he paused in t
he still open doorway with the wind howling behind him. The garlands on the banister nearby whipped from the strong draft.

  Stepping into the warmth, booted the door shut, locked it, and pressed the reactivate button on the alarm before turning around to face her. The perfumed scent of female overlaid the smell of pine, vanilla candles, and cinnamon cookies. His temperature shot up in response, heating him faster, and more efficiently, than a hot shower.

  "You must be a popsicle," she said cheerfully, oblivious to his stony look. Despite the saying on the front of her sweater, her husky voice said city, not country. Her event planning business was located in Seattle.

  "Let’s get you defrosted." Reaching for the alarm's control panel, her hand hovered. She frowned on seeing the activation light already back on.

  "Hmm.” Without turning to see if he was following, she headed across the vast entry hall toward the kitchen. "Coffee."

  A twelve-foot tall fir tree, covered in a mass of shiny gold ornaments was lit with tiny, flickering amber lights. It hugged the curve of the stairs beside the narrow, ten-footlong, black oak table. The surface was covered with glossy, sparkling gold and red gift-wrapped boxes, topped by an artfully arranged three-foot-high, gilded, antlered stag, and doe standing in what looked like real snow.

  "I just put my millionth pot of coffee on." She didn't pause, but somehow managed to adjust one of the bows on a fake gift package in passing. "I’m always addicted when it’s this cold, aren’t you? I appreciate you coming out in this. As you can see, I'm up. Too much coffee, and a lot to do. Here, can I take your co - No, you’re right. Keep it on until you thaw. This way."