Tangled In Tinsel & Knots (Whispering Grove #5)

Chapter 1

CHRIS

Snow falls in fat, lazy flakes, pretty enough to lie about how cold this place really is.

Main Street is dressed up in picture-perfect Christmas bullshit. Twinkling lights strung between lampposts, wreaths on every storefront, families bundled up like they’re extras in a Hallmark movie.

Too clean. Too soft.

This town forgets that monsters don’t always hide under beds.

Sometimes they’re out on bail.

“Remind me why we’re doing this in the middle of Main Street?

” I lean back in the passenger seat of our F-250, watching a mom wrangle three kids outside a toy store.

The truck is warm, heater blasting, and I’ve got a good view of the bakery across the street.

Flour & Fable Bakery, the sign says in swirly letters.

“Because Dirtbag Declan decided to show his face at the bakery,” Kane says from behind the wheel. He taps the steering wheel with two fingers like he’s keeping time to music only he can hear. “And because you like money.”

“His name is Declan Krail,” Noel says from the back seat.

He’s hunched over his tablet, scrolling through the file for what has to be the dozenth time.

The guy takes homework to another level.

“Two counts of breaking and entering. Attempted theft. Arson. Two cabins burned. One almost killed a family. Battery on the officer who tried to bring him in the first time. Skipped court twice. Bail bondsman is offering a nice chunk of change.”

I pull out my phone, scrolling to the text that came through this morning.

“Fifty grand split three ways.” Kane’s grin is all predator, nothing friendly about it. “That’s new equipment. Maybe finally upgrade the surveillance gear.”

“We don’t need new gear. We need him in cuffs before he burns down half the town.” I crack my knuckles, watching the bakery door. It’s a habit I can’t break, something that happens before every job. The familiar pop-pop-pop of joints settling.

“You think he’s stupid enough to run?” Kane sits up straighter. His whole demeanor shifts, less relaxed, more coiled spring.

“Well, he’s stupid enough to show up in his hometown after skipping bail twice.

” I roll down the window a crack. Cold air rushes in, carrying the smell of fresh snow and something sweet, cinnamon rolls maybe, or those fancy pastries rich people pay too much for.

“So yeah, I think he’s exactly that stupid. ”

Noel is already moving, checking the cuffs on his belt with practiced efficiency. No wasted motion with him. Every action deliberate.

It’s been twenty minutes since we spotted Declan going in, stuffing his face like he’s got nothing better to do than enjoy the holiday season. “We move quietly, no scene. Last thing we need is every phone on Main Street recording us.”

“Too late for that.” Kane nods toward a group of teenagers across the street, phones already out, filming something. Probably each other, but it won’t take much for us to become the main attraction.

“Then we make it fast.”

The bakery door swings open, and out walks Santa Claus.

Or rather, Declan Krail in a Santa suit that looks like it survived several wars and lost all of them.

The red velvet is shiny where the fabric has worn thin, the white fur trim is yellowing like old teeth, and the belt is creating a gut situation that has to be uncomfortable.

He’s got cookie crumbs in his fake beard.

“Ho ho ho!” His voice pitches up to a family with two young kids on the sidewalk, fake-cheerful in a way that makes my skin crawl. “Have you been good this year?”

A little girl, maybe six, nods so hard her whole body moves.

Kane snorts. “Nothing says ‘criminal mastermind’ like clearance-bin Santa.”

“Let’s go.” I’m already opening my door, boots hitting snow-covered pavement. The cold slaps my face. I adjust my coat, which is long enough to hide the equipment on my belt.

We spread out like we’ve done this a hundred times before, because we have.

I approach from behind, keeping my steps light despite my size.

Noel peels left, hands in his jacket pockets, face blank as stone.

Kane moves right, cutting off the street exit with nothing but his presence.

The guy is built like he could flip a car, and people instinctively step back when they see him coming.

Declan is still performing, his back to me. “And what do you want for Christmas, sweetheart?”

“A puppy!”

“Well, we’ll see what Santa can—”

I’m three feet away when he catches my reflection in the bakery window. His whole body locks up, shoulders going rigid. For a heartbeat, everything freezes—me, him, the family watching with confused smiles.

Then he runs.

“Fuck.” I lunge forward, catching the back of his Santa coat. The cheap fabric tears, stitching giving way, but I’ve got enough to yank him backward. He stumbles, arms windmilling, and I use his momentum against him.

Kane slams into him from the side, and between the two of us, we take him down. We hit the sidewalk hard, snow cushioning the impact but not by much. I feel the concrete under the slush, unforgiving, and adjust my weight so his skull doesn’t crack against it. Last thing we need is a lawsuit.

“Get off me!” Declan thrashes like a caught fish, the Santa hat flying off into a snowbank. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Sure you didn’t.” I pin his shoulders, knees on either side of him. “That’s why you ran the second you saw us.”

“This is police brutality!”

Kane laughs, low and dark and flashes him his bounty hunter identification badge. “We’re not cops. We’re something much worse for you.” He’s got Declan’s legs now, controlling the thrashing. “Cops have rules. We just have a contract.”

The little girl who wanted a puppy is crying now, full-on wailing into her mother’s coat. The mom is staring at us with an expression that promises tomorrow’s Nextdoor post will be titled something like “Violent Thugs Attack Innocent Man on Main Street.”

“Keep moving, folks.” Noel has appeared, using his considerable frame to block the view while I get Declan’s wrists behind his back. His voice is flat, bored even, like this is the least interesting thing he’ll do today. “Just removing a wanted fugitive. Everyone can go back to their shopping.”

“SANTA!” Some kid in the growing crowd is screaming. “WHY ARE THEY HURTING SANTA?”

The cuffs click closed with a satisfying finality. I haul Declan to his feet, and Noel is already there, brushing snow off the guy’s shoulders with mock courtesy that’s somehow more threatening than if he’d left him covered.

“Declan Krail, you missed your court date. Twice.” Noel is reciting facts, voice steady as a metronome.

“We’re here to escort you back so you can face the consequences of burning down two cabins, nearly killing a family, and assaulting an officer.

You have the right to remain silent, which I strongly suggest you exercise before you say something that makes this worse. ”

“I’m innocent!” Declan’s voice cracks, and real tears start streaming down his face, mixing with the fake beard. The guy is going for an Oscar here. “This is a mistake! I didn’t burn those cabins! I was framed!”

“The evidence says otherwise.” Noel pulls out his tablet, swipes through screens with one hand while keeping Declan steady with the other.

“You were identified at the scene by three witnesses. Your fingerprints were on the gas can. The Smyth family, they remember you just fine. Gave a positive ID from their hospital beds.”

“That was—I can explain—”

“Save it for the judge.” I grab his other arm, and together Noel and I march him toward the truck. Kane is trailing behind, running interference, keeping the crowd at bay with nothing but his size and a smile. He’s good at looking friendly while radiating don’t-fuck-with-me energy.

“We’ll have him back in custody within the hour,” Noel calls over his shoulder, probably for anyone filming this on their phone. “Everyone can continue enjoying their afternoon.”

We’re almost to the truck when the bakery door slams open hard enough to make the bells jangle violently.

“STOP!”

I turn, and there’s a woman charging toward us.

She’s small, maybe five five, curves packed into dark jeans and a flour-dusted apron, dark brown curls with caramel highlights escaping from a bun in about fifteen different directions.

Her eyes are golden brown, bright with determination, and they’re locked on Declan.

She skids to a stop right in front of us, breathing hard, and I notice flour on her cheek, powdered sugar dusting her forearms. She smells like vanilla and butter.

“What are you doing?” Her voice is sharp, accusatory. “You can’t take him!”

“Ma’am—” Noel starts.

“We NEED him!” She’s talking fast, words tumbling over each other in a rush. “He’s supposed to be Santa today for the Winter Party. The whole town is coming. My sister planned this for months. You can’t just drag him away!”

“We can, actually.” I shift my grip on Declan and hand him over to Noel. “We’re bounty hunters. He’s a fugitive who skipped bail. This is our job.”

“Lily!” Declan twists toward her. His lower lip trembles. “Lily, please, tell them I’m innocent! I shouldn’t be dragged away like this! I help people! I volunteer at the shelter! This is all a misunderstanding! Tell them!”

“You burned down two cabins,” Kane barks.

“LIES!” Declan shouts. “All lies! The media, they twist everything!”

Noel’s jaw tightens, which is his version of wanting to throttle someone.