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“What if I’m in the middle of an undercover op?”
“You’re not. We already covered that,” she says.
Oh. Right.
She catches my arm but drops it just as quickly. “I know it’s a tough time of year.”
She’s being polite. I hate Christmas. Despise it. Call me the Grinch, call me Scrooge. I’ve heard it all, and I don’t care. Christmas is terrible in every way. But I’m not the only one who thinks so.
“Oh, like you’re some Buddy the Elf. You don’t like Christmas either,” I remind her.
She brightens. “I’m trying it on, thank you very much.”
“If you think it’s worth pursuing, I have no doubt it’s credible. I just…” I try to be careful with my words here. “I’m not in a good headspace.” Haven’t been for a while.
Scarlett nods, thinking she understands, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t know the full story. “I wish this threat wasn’t a thing—in fact, I’m missing yet another family trip because of it—but it is,” she says. “I’m throwing you a softball here. A snowball, if you will. Do this, get this win. Seems like you need it. So do I.” Before I can ask what that means, she adds, “It’ll only be a few days, and you’ll be back by New Year’s.”
“Yay,” I say woodenly.
“Right, you’re not a New Year’s person, either, which is fair,” she recalls. “Look, you can literally save Christmas, Lambros. You love saving things.”
“I’m sure Christmas will be just fine without me.”
She sucks in a long breath. “Okay, well, I’m not really asking. I didn’t want to have to do this, but…” She grabs my hand and puts a small silver square in it.
I blink. “Seriously? You’re using this… on the Santa Claus Con?”
“It’s your blood-oath marker,” she says unnecessarily. “Don’t you remember?”
I press my eyes shut. Of course I remember. “It’s that important to you that I do this?”
She clasps her hands together and holds them against her chest. “It really, really is.”
“You’re going to regret this.”
Her eyes glimmer. “Ooh, is that a threat?”
“That’s a promise.” I clench my jaw. When I gave her a piece of confetti, I didn’t think that she would ever give it back to me. Or that she’d even keep it. We weren’t supposed to cross paths again. But Scarlett’s that way. She sees something in an action or thriller movie—in this case John Wick—and weaves it into reality.
“I hate to stick you between a piece of coal and a hard place,” she says, chuckling to herself, “but you owe me.”
She’s got me there. I do owe her. No question. When a blood-oath-like promise is made, a blood-oath-like promise is kept. She’s pulled the one card I can’t refuse. For her, I’ll have to go undercover one last time.
“After the Con we’ll be even?” I ask, sliding the confetti square in my pocket. This whole time, I never had a choice. When it comes to Scarlett Payne, I don’t know if I ever did.
She nods.
“Fine, I’ll be your Santa,” I agree. “But I’m not wearing the costume.”
“Santa’s suit?” she asks with a laugh. “Yeah, that’s nonnegotiable.”
As we walk toward the main building, a memory surfaces from the depths of my mind, and I have to ask, “This is payback for Los Angeles, isn’t it?”
“You seriously think I’m looking for revenge?” she asks with an eye roll.
When it comes to us? Hell yeah.
“Punishment for Maui?” I try again. “I said it then, and I’ll say it now, but it wasn’t my idea to make you play the girlfriend.”
