Elf Against the Wall: A Holiday Romantic Comedy (The Wynter Brothers Book 2)
Elf Against the Wall: Chapter 22

No, we weren’t breaking into Preston’s house because he was after my fake girlfriend. That would be crazy.

His name was on Aaron’s list. I’d written it off because the amount was so low. But now it felt personal.

Which was dangerous.

It killed me to think about Braeden and Preston plotting to manipulate my girlfriend.

“Fake girlfriend. She’s fake. She means nothing to you.”

Not even when she was sobbing on the floor?

Right. Absolutely nothing.

Preston’s house was dark when I rode by, kit on my back.

He wasn’t the type of man to cook for his children. They were all at his mother’s house for dinner. I’d ridden by and checked.

Still, I was cautious as I paused down the street, keeping to the shadows as I pulled on a balaclava to hide my face.

The rest of the houses were dark as well, with the exception of a holiday party far down the road.

Preston’s house had haphazard loops of lights strewn along the roofline. I wouldn’t have put those lights up like that. And the inflatable Christmas displays in the weedy yard—a Santa Claus with his reindeer, a sleigh, a Frosty the Snowman, and several oversize ornaments? Trashy. Especially for a neighborhood like this.

No sign of Evie. She probably got cold feet.

It was for the best. I had only offered to let her come to try to cheer her up, to stop that awful crying that made me want to cut my heart out and give it to her.

It was better this way. I needed to get in and get out, especially since, even in the best-case scenario, I wasn’t making much money off this job.

The fans whirred softly in the inflatable decorations as I headed up the walkway. Lawrence had already cut the feed on the Ring camera.

As I passed the snowman, I caught movement in my peripheral vision. I turned, studying the yard. The snowman watched with lifeless, painted eyes.

This job was getting to me. I needed more sleep.

Adjusting my bag, I took two more steps.

Something rustled.

I whirled around.

The snowman was still facing me, but… that couldn’t be right… it seemed somehow closer…

“Did you see that, Lawrence?” I asked softly.

My brother was chewing something.

“You know I hate when you do that.”

He swallowed. “I didn’t see anything. Hurry up. I got shit to do, like paid shit.”

I peered into the dark. “The wind moved it the few feet farther away from Rudolph.”

“Moved what?”

“Nothing.”

Yeah, that was what it was. Nothing.

But I didn’t turn around, just kept walking backward, only putting my back to the yard when I reached the porch stairs.

Plastic rustled against snow. I whirled around to a snowman bearing down on me.

“Shit!” I strangled the curse, scrambling backward, almost losing my balance on the icy steps. In my ear, I heard Lawrence laughing his head off.

“Surprise! Don’t you like my costume?” The snowman waved his stubby arms.

“Evie?”

“Isn’t this a great costume?”

“I told you no disguises.”

“But it was a great disguise. I blended in.”

“She got you, man.”

“Shut up,” I hissed.

“Oh.” The snowman’s shoulders sagged.

“Not you,” I said to her, “my brother.”

“He’s here?” The snowman looked around wildly.

If she wasn’t about to fuck up my plans, it would almost be comical.

“He’s watching.”

“He knows when you are sleeping…” she sang.

I pointed up to the sky, where a drone hovered, blacked out against the night sky.

The snowman squealed, “It really is like a spy movie. Hi!” Evie waved up at the drone. “Hi, Anderson’s brother. Is it the cute one?”

Lawrence guffawed in my ear.

“It absolutely is not.” I grabbed one of the inflatable arms to hoist her up the steps. “Take that off while I pick the lock.”

Evie was still struggling with the inflatable costume when the front door swung open. I scooped her up and deposited her inside the dark house, untangling her from the white nylon.

She stepped out of the snowman feet, balancing her arm on my shoulders for support, then looked around. “It looks like a frat house.”

“Smells like one too.”

We silently made our way through the messy room.

Well, I was silent. Evie kept banging into things.

“Shh!”

“I’m doing the best I can.”

“It’s fucking embarrassing.”

She banged her knee into a table.

I glared at her in the dark then led her to the home office upstairs.

“What do you want me to do?” she whispered.

“Go to the other rooms. See if there are any electronics.”

Preston had left his computer unlocked, and I plugged in the external hard drive. While the files copied, I navigated through his open tabs.

He had his text messages linked from his phone to his desktop computer. I scrolled through the messages with Braeden. A little suspect but no smoking gun. I looked through the list of who Preston had recently sent messages to: complaints to his mom, passive-aggressive messages to his ex, ham-fisted attempts at flirting with coworkers…

But there was one that showed an unknown number. I clicked it, opening the message thread. It showed a gray box with the word DELETED.

“Did you replace a clue?” Evie was back, chin brushing my shoulder.

“Not sure.” I stared at the message.

“It could be nothing. Could be a spam message,” Evie suggested.

“Then why an outgoing message, not incoming?”

I copied down the number. After all my years of working insurance fraud for Aaron, I had learned to trust my instincts when something seemed off.

“The boys’ room is a dumpster, but I found these tablets,” Evie whispered, handing them to me. “But I don’t know if you can download the information without a password.”

“I’ll run some decryption software.”

“You’re going to hack them?”

“No. No hacking. For fuck’s sake.”

“Sounds a little like hacking to me.”

I blew out a breath and unzipped my backpack.

“You’re going to steal them?”

“I’ll bring them back.”

She pulled out her phone and started punching a number.

Then I realized which number she was calling. “Dammit, Evie.”

One of the tablets lit up with an incoming call. She grabbed it, swiping up.

“Preston was messaging one of those fake virtual numbers. It’s linked to one of the kids’ tablets.”

“Fine.” I tried to grab it back from her. “I will start with unencrypting that one.”

“Won’t that take forever?”

“We don’t have a choice.”

She played keep-away with the tablet while I tried to snatch it back.

“You’ll lock us out, then we’re fucked. Give it.” I grabbed her around the waist.

Her legs kicked while she quickly typed in a number.

ERROR showed on the screen.

“Just let me try one more.”

“Evie—”

She typed in 1-2-3-4.

“That’s not going to—”

“In!” she said triumphantly.

“Who uses one-two-three-four as their password?”

“A ten-year-old boy. You, sir, need more young idiotic cousins.” She navigated to the text message app.

I peered over her shoulder, pulling a piece of her hair out of the way so I could see the screen better.

“Whooo!” she crowed.

I clapped a hand over her mouth. She bit me gently.

“Santa brought a whole hippopotamus for Christmas! Look.” She shoved the tablet in my face triumphantly.

There was a screenshot of a Snapwave message.

“That’s Braeden’s name right there!”

My blood boiled.

“He sent your photo to Preston. I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

“Yes, he did,” Evie stated.

I cupped her face.

“I am so sorry, Evie. I will make him pay.”

“Yeah, we will!” She sounded way too calm about this whole thing. Maybe she was in shock.

“Damn, I’m so glad I sent him that topless photo. Now we have proof!”

“You aren’t…” I fumbled the words. “Upset that he shared a…”

“Photo of my boobs out on full display? Call Grandma Shirley. She’ll keel over dead. Uncle David is waiting on his inheritance.”

“It would be a Christmas miracle.”

“And he can get in the holiday spirit.” Her shoulders sagged as she stared at the tablet. “A teenage boy is jacking off to a photo of me. Guess my dad was right. I am dumb. My parents told me not to sext.”

I rested my hand on the back of her neck then slid it down to squeeze her shoulder. “That kid wouldn’t know what to do with them.”

“I’m the queen of embarrassing events.” Her back straightened. “This is a price I’m willing to pay if it lands Braeden in the doghouse. Quick. Here’s my parents’ number. Send it to them.”

“We can’t send this to them.” I slipped the tablet into my backpack.

“No, don’t burst my happiness bubble.”

“The photo doesn’t even have your name.”

“Or the mole. I know. But this is progress!” She squeezed my hand briefly. “At the very least, we can prove that Braeden was cheating on Felicity with someone.”

“Or that we’re very good at Photoshop. We need more evidence.”

“Negative Noel. Let’s get drinks,” she whispered as I took the stairs two at a time.

“You need a pity cocktail?” I glanced back at her.

“A celebratory drink. I’m taking this as a win.”

We got one of the last free tables at Nick’s Noshery.

“Order whatever you want. My treat,” Evie announced as we slid across from each other in the booth, drinks from the bar in hand.

“You don’t have any money, Gingersnap.”

“I have a credit card.”

“I will get up on this table and sing ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ if your card isn’t declined.”

“Meanie. I’m getting the Santa’s Stack-Up pancakes. You should order the Sugar Plum Platter so we can split it.”

“Sounds like diabetes in a gun.”

“It’s not. It has sugar-roasted chestnuts and sugarplum pancakes. I’ve always wanted to try those.”

“Merry Christmas!” A smiling waitress in a reindeer-themed vest arrived with waters.

“Can I just have the Christmas-morning platter but sub bacon for the pancakes?” I asked after Evie ordered.

“That’s not festive,” Evie complained.

“I’ll give him Canadian bacon cut up like Christmas trees. How’s that?”

“Perfect.”

“I need another drink.”

“Coming right up. You want the same thing, or”—she winked at me—“do you want something special?”

Evie grabbed my hand before I could answer.

“He just wants the same. A whiskey.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “I hope you’re not thinking you’re protecting my virtue, Gingersnap.”

“I didn’t like the way she was looking at you.” She turned up her nose.

I snorted. “How do you know I didn’t want to get laid in the storage room tonight?”

She stammered, “I-I guess I didn’t think.”

I savored her shock. “Relax, Gingersnap.” I took another sip of my drink.

“You don’t have a girlfriend, right? I’m not that bad of a person, am I?” She winced.

I reached across the table. “I don’t have a girlfriend, and I never will. I’m not husband material.”

“That’s okay. I’m not wife material.”

“Seriously? You spend all your time in the kitchen. You decorate. You knit… semicompetently.”

She kicked me under the table.

Grinning, I grabbed her ankle.

“I can’t replace a decent man, let alone keep one,” she admitted.

“You’d be a good mom at least.”

“Eh.” She looked over the busy restaurant. “Debatable.”

“You’d be better than your mother.”

“My mom has a lot on her plate. She works, she’s married, and she has seven kids.”

“And my mom had six kids and a pill addiction.”

“Overachiever.” She took a breath. “I always secretly wanted to adopt kids—not fight a bunch of other couples for an infant but adopt the older kids no one wants. The boy with an attitude problem, the girl who bounced around twenty-five foster homes. I’ll have a nice big house. They can have their own rooms. I want to give them a place where they aren’t judged, where they can just be.”

She seemed so sad as she folded her napkin into a snowflake shape.

“That sounds like a dream.” I suddenly wanted to give that to her and make all her wishes come true just to see her smile.

“It’s a dream unless I win the lottery or Santa really does come through for me.”

“I wish I’d had someone in my corner like that.”

“You were in foster care?” Her brown eyes melted as they looked at me.

“Explains a lot, doesn’t it?” I quipped desperately.

Fortunately, the waitress came by, sliding the hot plates in front of us.

“Look at all this Christmas cheer!”

“That thing needs to be killed with a flame thrower.” I scowled at the unholy sculpture of whipped cream over a stack of pancakes shaped to look like a snowman.

“I think it’s cute,” Evie cooed. “Look! It even has a little Twizzler scarf and chocolate chips for the coal eyes and buttons.”

The eggs, bacon, and fried potatoes and onions had been arranged in the shape of Santa Claus’s face.

Evie took a sip of her toxic syrupy-red cocktail then dug into the snowman. I scowled as a glob of whipped cream plopped onto the table.

Evie held out a forkful of pancakes. “He just wants to get to snow you!”

“We are so going to blow up Braeden’s life.” Evie was drunk and giddy next to me as we walked in the cold toward her parents’ oversize Victorian house.

“Shh,” I whispered, not exactly sober myself. “This is supposed to be a secret.”

“Our secret,” she agreed. “What am I going to do when I’m finally free?” She twirled in the snowy night air. “I’ll get so many apologies. I bet my father even apologizes.”

“Apologies are overrated. Get cash.”

“It’s Christmas. We can’t be materialistic.” She swatted me with her hat. “You can’t be Ebenezer Scrooge. I should come over and decorate your house for Christmas.”

“Hard no.”

This was a far cry from my days in the alternative school, sneaking out of class, everyone trying to self-destruct.

Evie was so much more wholesome than any of the done-with-life shitheads I used to hang with.

“We’re the dream team! Team Save Christmas!” Evie stumbled and tipped over in a snow drift, her red drink spilling onto the white snow.

“I can’t walk,” she gasped through the giggles. “These things are strong.” She downed the remainder of the drink she’d stolen from the bar, sitting back in the snow.

“Honestly, Gingersnap, you couldn’t walk straight when you were sober. I can’t count how many times you’ve banged into stuff or fallen down.”

“I am not that clumsy.” She reached up for me.

I took her hands, swinging her upright.

She wavered on her feet, staring at me with this happy, dopey smile like I was everything she wanted for Christmas.

“You’re not going to make it.” I grabbed her and tossed her over my shoulder.

“You can’t carry me.”

“I’ve done it before. In the snow. Backward.”

“Uphill both ways.” She giggled as I wrapped my arm around her ankles, keeping her in place on my shoulder.

The Murphy house was dark when I stamped up the wooden steps.

“My key’s in my pocket,” she whisper-shouted.

There was more giggling as I fumbled around her waist, her ass curving under my hand.

“Not there. My pocket.” She snorted, trying to contain her laughter.

My hand slid under her skirt. “There?”

She slapped my back.

My lip caught in my teeth, then I fished the house key out of her skirt pocket. It scraped in the lock.

“Ow!” she yelped as her head thumped the doorframe.

“Told you you’re always banging into stuff.”

“That was you,” she hissed, sliding off my shoulder to stand in front of me.

“Evie.” I was too drunk for this. It was too late for this. There was too much hurt for this. “Evie.” I cupped her face.

“Shh!” she whispered loudly as the front door slammed shut behind us. “My parents will hear.”

“That’s what I’m counting on. I’m your boyfriend, remember?”

“Yeah.” She sounded a little breathless and not just from the cold. “You’re my boyfriend.” She said it like it was the most wonderful thing in the world.

The ice on my heart threatened to crack. I rested my forehead on hers, wanting to give in and drown myself in her.

“We hate each other, remember?” she whispered to me in the dark.

“Yeah, and I’ve never hated anyone the way I hate you.”

Our noses brushed together. My hands drifted down the collar of her jacket.

The sconces flipped on. I winced at the bright light.

“I told you it wasn’t a robber!” Granny Doyle hollered. “Honestly, Brian, why do you have to cockblock people?”

Evie tried to duck from under my arms.

I wasn’t ready to let her go. I turned, my arms still wrapped around her, her hands grasping my forearms.

Footsteps thumped up from the basement rec room.

“Damn.” One of Evie’s sisters’ little friends whistled. “If I’d known you could get a man like that by dropping out, I wouldn’t have tried so hard in college.”

“You cannot come stumbling home at all hours of the night, Evie. If you live here, there is a curfew.” Melissa drew her robe tighter around her.

“She’s a grown-ass woman,” Granny Doyle argued.

“She’s not an adult if she’s living under my roof.” Dr. Murphy frowned.

One of my hands slid up Evie’s legs under her skirt.

“No, sir,” I drawled to her father’s angry face. “I can guaran-fucking-tee you that she is a grown adult woman.” I slapped her ass then shoved her toward her father.

Evie tugged at her skirt.

I grabbed her jaw, turning her to face me.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You’re awfully satisfied for someone who still owes me half a million dollars.”

Aaron didn’t sound angry. In fact, he sounded almost pleasant.

That wasn’t good.

“I’m working on it. Have some leads.”

“Leads on my job or the one you’re working on for your latest charity case?”

“Preston is on the list.” I hated being on the defensive. “I have proof. Last night was fruitful.” Sort of.

“Preston… Preston… ah yes, the man who, let me consult my notes, was in receipt of a certain photo.”

“You don’t have any right to look at that,” I said tersely, trying to keep the anger out of my voice.

“You are so transparent.” Aaron laughed.

“You’re an asshole.”

Be calm.

“I don’t need you to question my methods.” I modulated my tone.

Aaron was silent for a minute.

Had I gone too far?

I had only seen him angry once and had vowed to never let it get to that point again.

I steeled myself.

I could practically see him leaning back in his high-end leather desk chair.

“I’m starting to wonder if you’re even cut out for this line of work anymore, Anderson.”

“Of course I am.”

Wasn’t I?