Page 98 of Chasing Kaylee Kringle

“I knew it,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m definitely ruined.”

Kaylee laughed. “Well, it’s a good thing it’s our last night on earth.”

Rick groaned, rolling off her and onto his back next to her. He reached for her hand and squeezed it.

“You need to stop saying that.”

“I’m only being realistic,” she said, scooting closer to him. “We are about to walk into a dangerous situation, and we might not make it out alive.”

“No, we’re both gonna make it out of this.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because we’ve got your list to finish, and there’s no way I’m not doing this,” he said, waving his free hand over their naked bodies, “again.”

“I guess that’s as good a reason to live as any,” she said, snuggling into him.

“Kaylee?”

“Yeah?”

Rick didn’t say anything for several moments, and finally, she felt his lips brush her temple. “Nothing. It can wait.”

Chapter Forty-Eight

Ansel

Ansel sat shotgun while Harlan drove. Three more SUVs followed in line behind them, carrying a total of thirty-three men ready to raze an entire town to the ground. When he was a kid, Ansel dreamed about being in charge, of having people follow his orders blindly, and now, here he was, the boss of a small army.

And yet one woman continued to defy him.

They passed the city sign that read holiday, Christmas lights wrapped around the edges.

“Who the hell wants to live in sleepy little towns like this, where everything is cookie-cutter perfect all the time?” Ansel muttered.

“The sign back there said fifteen hundred people, sir, so I assume—”

“Rocky, shut up,” he snapped, turning in the front seat to level him with a lethal glare. “It was a rhetorical question.”

“What does rhetorical mean?” someone else asked quietly.

Ansel rubbed his forehead. “It means I don’t need anyone talking right now.”

The car was silent again, and Ansel went back to staring out the window, anticipation coursing through him as they pulled onto Main Street. All the little shops looked closed. Maybe that was because it was three o’clock in the morning the Monday before Christmas.

’Twas the Monday before Christmas, and all through the town not a person was stirring, not even the girl that didn’t wanna be found.

His mother had loved that story and would read it every Christmas Eve until he was twelve and his father killed her. Later, he’d gone to the school counselor once at the recommendation of his English teacher, who thought he developed unhealthy attachments to women.

Maybe his teacher had been onto something because he spent so much time wanting to keep Kaylee alive, it hadn’t even occurred to him what a danger she could be.

Now here they were rolling into this tiny town with, yep, sure enough, a giant decorated potato in the town square, and he still wanted to take her alive.

They parked the SUVs, and Ansel hopped out.