CA 35 Christmas Past by Debra Webb Page B

Even from across the
room, he appeared taller than she’d gauged by his photographs and video shots.
She’d watched several press coverage videos of his racing triumphs. He charmed
the crowd, as well as the cameras. The man was a natural. Blond hair, blue eyes—though
the latter couldn’t be seen just now behind those designer sunglasses he wore. The all-American heartthrob. Born in West Texas, Jason Fewell had grown up dirt-poor. The proverbial
rags-to-riches story that people from all walks of life loved to embrace.
                But Molly wasn’t
fooled. She knew the type. All sweet talk and smiles for the
public and the paparazzi. Turn off the cameras and close the doors, and he would no doubt turn demanding and
unreasonable.
                Spoiled
by his stardom.
                And that was the thing
that annoyed her about her first field assignment with the Colby Agency. She
had waited five months for it to come and then the assignment was this.
                A
babysitting job.
                No mystery. No nasty
villains to track down.
                Just
a rich guy who couldn’t cope with loss.
                Not fair, Mol. She sighed. Gave herself a mental kick for her lack of
sympathy for Fewell’s tragic loss. His
girlfriend had been killed in that accident. It was a crying shame, no doubt
about that. But a man with the physical and mental capacity to endure the
rigors of his sport, should have the wherewithal to
pull himself back together. That was the part she couldn’t comprehend. Molly
Clark was a survivor, as were the other members of her family.
                When you got knocked
down, you pulled yourself up by the bootstraps and went at it again.
                Maybe dealing with the
loss of her father at such a young age, and then her mother only a couple of
years ago, had made her a bit less than sympathetic on the subject. But she
wasn’t one to wallow and had no patience for those who did.
                Life was unfair
sometimes. But you couldn’t stop living just because it hurt. You sucked it up,
and got on with it.
                Fewell didn’t seem to be able to do that. He continued to be a winner and to give his
fans what they wanted, but according to the owner of his team, he’d grown more
and more withdrawn on a personal level. He kept the world at a distance.
                For Molly that meant
one thing—drastic measures would be required if she was going to accomplish her
goal. She’d also been forewarned about how difficult it would be to get
anywhere near the guy.
                She had a foolproof
plan for that, too.
               
                Fewell accepted his room key from the clerk.
                Time
for her to set phase one of her strategy in motion.
                She couldn’t use the
usual tactics; those took time. Time was a luxury she didn’t have. Molly had
decided to limit Fewell’s options to only one.
                She smiled as she
double-timed it up the stairs.
                No way was this hotshot
going to outmaneuver Molly Clark. Four older brothers had tried repeatedly and
failed.
                Babysitting job or not,
she intended to not only get the job done, but to impress her employer.
                That way maybe the next
case she was assigned would be one she could sink her teeth into.
                JASON CONSIDERED the stairs,
but opted for the elevator. He’d stuffed his clothes and his gear into only two
bags, making for a heavy load. The line at the elevator made him wish he’d gone
for the stairs, but the lack of sleep the past few days had exhausted his usual
endurance level.
                He was dead on his
feet.
                The lobby was
jam-packed. He was damned lucky he’d gotten a reservation at all when