The 12 Days Ultimatum

Chapter 1 5 Days till Christmas

The very long line outside the Pine Cone Café shuffled forward a few inches.

FBI Supervisory Special Agent Lucas Alexander glanced automatically at his watch. He was not late. He was never late. In fact, he did not even register the time.

This was the thought which preoccupied Lucas. He hadn’t been worried until last night. Hadn’t taken it seriously.

Hell. Day One, he’d forgotten all about Riley’s ultimatum. Hadn’t done anything, said anything, thought anything about it.

Because it was ridiculous.

R-I-D-I-C-U-L-O-U-S

Silly. Childish.

Like the premise of some stupid rom-com on the Hallmark Channel.

He could picture the dumbass title credits: The 12 Days Ultimatum floating in flowy script above snowy fields where, three minutes in, some wholesome freckle-faced girl and her adorable mutt get snow-plowed by a handsome lunkhead on a snowmobile.

They were grown men. They were FBI agents, for god’s sake. Not… Not whoever watched movies like that, read books like that, thought like that.

And Lucas had told Special Agent Riley Christopher so. Clearly. Plainly. In words of one syllable.

Not counting ridiculous, which, yes, was four syllables.

Anyway. Straight-from-the-shoulder.

The way they always talked to each other.

Or the way they’d always talked to each other up until a week ago when Riley, Lucas’ best agent, closest friend—and yes, okay, pretty much his boyfriend if you had to put a label on it—suddenly, without warning, decided to throw down.

Which, obviously, Lucas was not having.

Riley had heard Lucas out, quiet and calm, and then he’d tipped his head to the side, narrowed his eyes the way he did when he was lining up the sight on a Colt M4 carbine, and stated, “What you’re saying is, my feelings are ridiculous.”

“I sure am not.” Lucas was vehement. Sure, he thought Riley was being ridiculous, but he was not ridiculous. Not at all. Temporarily out of his mind, maybe.

“Yeah, you are, though. You’re saying my feelings are silly. And childish.”

Lucas, flustered at the unfamiliar experience of being challenged, had responded with less discretion than usual. He tried belatedly to clarify. “I didn’t say you were silly or childish or ridiculous. I said what you’re feeling is.”

“Oh,” Riley said, and Lucas felt the hair on his scalp prickle at that dangerously innocent tone. “I see.”

“Ry—”

“It’s okay. I get it.”

Are there any five more ominous words spoken between two people?

“That is not at all what I meant,” Lucas had said firmly.

“Well, what do you mean?” Riley asked.

All this because Lucas had forgotten that, last Christmas, Riley had asked—in passing—if maybe this year they could take some time off. Spend some time together during the holidays.

Which, for the record, they always did.

Yes, they were working, but they were together. Wasn’t that the real point? Being together?

But, fair enough. Lucas had forgotten all about that—made in passing—request.

If it had mattered so damned much to him, why hadn’t Riley put in a formal application for time off? He knew how it worked. Was Lucas supposed to be a mind reader? If anyone knew how busy Lucas was, it should have been Riley. If anyone should have cut him a little slack over an honest mistake—

Okay. In fairness to Riley, Lucas hadn’t really taken that request seriously.

Because Riley could not have been serious!

Of all people, Riley knew it wasn’t easy for Lucas to take time off around the holidays. That was premium vacation real estate. Everybody wanted that time off. How fair was it for Lucas to pull rank and give himself and Riley the time off? How was that going to look to the team?

Not good.

Although, as Riley had pointed out, since Lucas had never taken vacation days during the holidays, he probably could have taken some time this year. Riley certainly deserved the time off.

Lucas now realized that it had been unfair to want Riley to work every holiday season with him. That had been selfish. He’d sort of thought, assumed, Riley wanted to be with him, was willing to share the misery because they were sharing it together.

Wrong.

But all Riley had to do was ask. If he’d put in an SF-71, he’d have had his vacation request approved. Hell, he knew perfectly well Lucas would absolutely have wrangled that time for him, regardless of whether he submitted the paperwork, regardless of operational needs. Riley had to know that.

But instead of being his normal, reasonable self, he’d listened for a minute or two of Lucas trying to explain what he’d meant, and then said, “You know what, Luc? Either you show me you value this relationship by prioritizing us this year, or—”

“Or?”

“It’s time to call it quits.”

He was not smiling. He was dead serious.

Lucas could not have been more shocked had Riley hauled off and punched him.

He’d actually gasped. “Are you serious?”

Riley had stared at him, unblinking, with those glacier-blue eyes. “I sure am.”

“I-I don’t even know what you’re talking about! Show you I prioritize this relationship? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Riley had done that thing where he raised his left eyebrow, and only his left eyebrow, signifying…

Skepticism? Cynicism? Anyway, the expression he used on the subject of an investigation during interrogation to indicate that they both knew said subject was full of shit. He had used the eyebrow on Lucas!

And then he’d said, “There are twelve days until Christmas. You’ve got till then.”

So, yes. Of course Lucas had been shocked. Also hurt, frankly. And then mad.

Mad as hell.

He’d said pleasantly, “I don’t take kindly to ultimatums. Not even from you, amigo.”

Riley had not batted an eyelash. With equal pleasantness, he’d replied, “And I don’t appreciate being taken for granted, sir.”

Taken for granted?!

Sir?

What the hell? What a thing to say to the guy who not ten hours earlier had been sucking Riley’s—

Anyway.

What the hell had gotten into him?

Lucas had stood there for a moment, trying to make sense of what was happening, tempted to call Riley’s bluff then and there, tell him if that was how he really felt, he might as well grab his gear and hit the road, but Riley suddenly gave a funny laugh, shrugged, and said like his normal, sane self, “I’ve got faith in you, chief. ”

That seemed to be the end of it.

Like a flicker on a computer monitor. An ominous flash of blue screen and then everything back to usual.

The rest of the evening was confusingly normal, and when Lucas tentatively reached for Riley that night, Riley had turned to him without hesitation, just as warm and willing as ever.

Lucas had been only too glad to let it go, too relieved to pretend nothing had happened.

The next week had been completely, reassuringly normal. So much so that Lucas, who, as previously noted, had a lot on his plate particularly at that time of year, had sort of forgotten—

Well, no. He hadn’t forgotten.

But he’d hoped Riley had.

He’d truly hoped the whole Twelve Days of Christmas Threat was a momentary aberration brought on by a grueling work schedule and one too many late-night bourbons.

He did feel bad that he hadn’t made plans in advance to do something special for Riley this year. This year in particular. He wasn’t good at that kind of thing, though, which Riley knew.

Still.

Every time he remembered the previous March, he experienced a kind of emotional shiver, as though he could feel his heart icing over. He could have—should have—given the holidays some thought, given that he knew Riley, despite being a bona fide badass, could sometimes be, well, sentimental.

Anyway, when Riley didn’t bring up the topic of Christmas again, Lucas had breathed a sigh of relief and returned his attention to more serious matters.

But last night—a week to the day—over a late dinner at the Timberline Grill, Riley had finished his second old fashioned, set the glass down, and smiled at Lucas.

It was a troubling smile. Sort of wry, sort of…regretful? Not at all like his normal cocky grin or that funny little quirk of his lips when he privately thought something was humorous, but was too professional to laugh.

“Six days till Christmas,” he’d said.

Lucas nodded absently, but then the words sank in and his heart felt like it lost its footing and plunged down an icy embankment.

He’d done his best to cover, drawling, “That’s right. Have you finished writing your letter to Santa Claus?”

Instead of smiling or joking back, Riley gave the ice in his glass a little shake, commented briefly, “Santa knows,” and tossed off the last of his cocktail.

Lucas couldn’t help retorting, “Santa’s not a mind reader.”

Riley still wasn’t meeting his eyes as he answered, “Santa doesn’t need to be a mind reader.”

Which sounded pretty uncompromising.

Lucas chewed that over for a moment, before asking in an equally curt tone, “Did you want another drink?”

“Thanks, no.” Riley met his eyes then. “I’m heading into the office early tomorrow.”

Lucas said nothing, signaling to the waiter, and pretending to devote his full attention to the bill.

But once again, he was unpleasantly startled.

Tomorrow was Saturday, so technically the Resident Agency was closed.

The agent on duty was Riley—Riley was almost always the designated agent on call because Lucas typically monitored—well, no, monitored sounded like he was micromanaging—but he did like to keep an eye on things over the weekends, just to offer additional support if required.

So, really, it was logical that Riley take on that role because he’d be performing those duties anyway.

Why ruin another agent’s weekend?

Besides, it wasn’t like anyone’s weekend was ruined. Usually. Because, most of the time, nothing came in over the weekend that couldn’t wait till Monday.

There was no reason for Riley to go into the office, let alone charge in there early. Here he was bitching about Lucas not prioritizing their relationship, and then he turned right around and blew off one of their Saturday mornings.