Christmas Con Read online

  Christmas Con

  Jingle Belles #3

  Rachelle Ayala

  http://rachelleayala.net

  Contents

  Description

  Jingle Belles Christmas Series

  Welcome

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Excerpt for A Bride for Breakfast

  Excerpt for Kitty, It’s Cold Outside

  Acknowledgments

  Reading List with Heat Levels

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2019 by Rachelle Ayala

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real events or real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All trademarks belong to their respective holders and are used without permission under trademark fair use.

  Contact Rachelle at:

  http://smarturl.it/ContactRachelle

  Description

  Two ex-cons pose as stellar success stories to swindle a grandfather to change his will for Christmas.

  * * *

  Ex-con Samantha Reed spent the last three Christmases in prison eating jail food and exchanging candy canes with her cellmate.

  She’s finally released, and she gladly accepts when a mysterious stranger invites her to a White Christmas celebration at his family’s Wyoming ranch.

  Braden Powers hasn’t spent a Christmas at home since his mother died one Christmas Eve long ago. Now, his grandfather is dying, and Braden is asked to spend one last Christmas with his family.

  Braden’s grandfather offers to change his will in exchange for a healthy dose of Yuletide cheer, and Samantha jumps to help Braden put on the perfect act.

  When disaster strikes on Christmas Day, Samantha and Braden are conned into discovering the truth about themselves.

  * * *

  Jingle Belles Series of Christmas hotties: dramatic, humorous, with a bit of steam and lots of holiday cheer.

  Christmas Flirt, #1 - Bad girl Lacy Reed gets more than she bargained for when her naked selfies turn up on her boss’s phone.

  Santa’s Pet, #2 - Girl genius Brittney Reed plays elf to a substitute Santa and turns both their lives upside down.

  Christmas Con, #3 - Two ex-cons, Sammie and Braden, pose as stellar success stories to swindle a grandfather to change his will for Christmas.

  Jingle Belles Christmas Series

  Christmas Flirt, Lacy & Brandon, Book 1

  Santa’s Pet, Brittney & Ben, Book 2

  Christmas Con, Sammie & Braden, Book 3

  Welcome

  I invite you to explore my world of over fifty romances, from dangerous suspense to sweet family drama, featuring hot, steamy flirts, brainy, strong heroines, and hunky men with big, gigantic hearts and melty, warm hugs.

  For book descriptions, go to the Reading List with Heat Levels section or check out my Reader’s Guide at:

  http://rachelleayala.net/books/

  * * *

  Don’t forget to download my Free Books from your favorite bookstore:

  Christmas Lovebirds (sweet)

  A Father for Christmas (sweet)

  Going Haywire: Sapphire Falls (steamy)

  Bad Boys for Hire - Ryker (steamy)

  Playing Without Rules (steamy)

  Broken Build (romantic suspense)

  Intercepted by Love: Part 1 (steamy)

  Hidden Under Her Heart (sweet)

  * * *

  For updates and two more free books, sign up for my newsletter at:

  http://smarturl.it/RachAyala

  To chat and read new works in progress, join my Reader’s Club at:

  http://www.facebook.com/groups/ClubRachelleAyala/

  * * *

  Thanks for coming into my story world and letting me take you on an unforgettable excursion. Turn the page to begin.

  Bon voyage!

  Chapter 1

  ~ Sammie ~

  The prison bus wheezes to a stop, stirring up a small dust storm with its ancient brakes. I choke back a cough and wipe my overlong bangs from my eyes, as new women inmates are herded down the steps to line up in front of the intake area.

  “Get a load of the fresh meat.” An elderly prison guard chuckles while rifling through my backpack. “No Merry Christmas for them.”

  “Have yourselves an effing Merry Christmas, make the Yuletide stink,” the other guard croons as if she’s an opera singer.

  Her slate-gray eyes narrow with amusement as a newbie trips and lands flat on her face, unable to break her fall because of the handcuffs.

  I wince, because three long years ago, I made that horrid trip on the prison bus, and I know exactly how lonely each of the women would be. On visiting day, the women’s side is eerily empty while the men, no matter what heinous crimes they committed, are flooded with wives, girlfriends, and children.

  Christmas is the worst. The guards would allow us an extra cookie, and we could have a second helping of what passed for a holiday dinner—mushed turkey with gravy over reconstituted mashed potatoes and canned yams.

  They’d show a silly Christmas movie, usually a stupid romantic comedy about a secret Santa and an unsuspecting young woman falling in love with him, only to find out in his day job he’s her boss or the mean professor who flunked her.

  Can’t have any slasher Christmas movies with serial killer Santas or zombie reindeer scarfing up the elves, now, can we?

  I try to pay attention while the older guard goes through the checklist of items taken from me when I was arrested. She counts the money, forty-two dollars and fifty-one cents, dangles the Ziplock bag of makeup, well past their expiration dates, a few vials of medication, definitely expired, and lets me check the contents of my wallet.

  “It’s all here, I guess,” I reply to her questioning eyes.

  “Don’t get into the opioids again.” She jabs a finger at the syringes and the bottles of antidote to prevent overdosing.

  “They’re for a friend.” I feel lame explaining, because she gives me the side-eye with equal doses of mockery and pity.

  She takes a pen tucked under her gray bun and slaps a form on the metal counter. “Sign here. All your belongings are accounted for. We can only take you as far as the Greyhound station. You got any relatives to call?”

  Her tone is snide, because she knows that in my entire three years, I hardly had any visitors.

  Be that as it is, it’s my release day.

  Yay me!

  I can’t wait a second to get away from this dump.

  “I’ll need a ride back to San Francisco County,” I demand. “That’s where I was arrested.”

  Both guards widen their eyes before belly laughing.

  “You think we run a limo service here?” the Viking matron hoots.

  “You don’t got enough cash for a bus ticket,” Geezer Guard wheezes. “Those credit cards in your wallet are all expired.”

  “Fancy
little hacker like you should have no trouble scoring money,” Brunhilda says, wiggling her stout fingers as if she’s in front of a keyboard. “Oops, I forgot. You haven’t been on the internet for years. Bet all that techie stuff leapfrogged you while you rotted in here.”

  “Look how old her cell phone is,” the old witch cackles. “Still has a keypad.”

  “Oh, wow, let me take a selfie with it, not!” Dirty-blond Helga snorts.

  Ignoring them, I shove my stuff into the backpack and sign my name, Samantha Reed, on the form, pressing hard enough to get through all the triplicates.

  Idiots.

  Let them laugh.

  My debt to society is paid in full. I’m nonviolent and pled guilty to a technicality. Unlike others who cut a deal for early release, I served my entire term and am free and clear without needing a parole officer.

  I can go wherever I want—so there.

  I plug the phone into an outlet to charge it and whistle under my breath, not in the least bit of a hurry to skedaddle like a stray dog with my tail between my legs.

  There’s one phone call I can make.

  It’s not a relative.

  God knows they all hate me. Dysfunctional family and all. When your crime is hacking into your cousin’s online business, dumping all her data onto the internet, and enabling your criminal buddies to steal money and technology from Brilliant Brittney, the sweet, smart, favorite cousin who’s the most popular millennial of the family …

  Let’s just say no one missed me.

  They don’t know and don’t care that I’m being released. There won’t be any welcome home party and not a single invitation to go Christmas shopping, attend a gift exchange, or have a Christmas Eve drink.

  I slouch in the hard chair in the waiting area while Guard One and Guard Two sneak sidelong glances at me and smirk every time I catch their gazes.

  They think I have nobody.

  They’re almost right.

  There’s one guy who owes me a favor.

  He’s the CEO of what used to be an online photo-sharing site, TrophyShots, which morphed into one of the seediest online hookup sites.

  I was involved with a nest of hackers, members of the Scrappers motorcycle gang, and I let the press and the entire world believe I slept with all of them. Most of them were arrested and charged with stealing data and money from Brittney’s company, but because of me, Mitch Slack, the CEO of TrophyShots, was never implicated.

  The truth was, the only man I slept with was Mitch, but every time he came to my apartment, he was wearing a different motorcycle vest with patches embroidered with the nicknames of the guys in the hacker club.

  Since I still have one of those old flip phones, I don’t need much charge on the battery to make a call. I’m surprised I still have service, but then it belongs to the company I used to work in. It’s probably on some cheap voice plan that no one remembers and grandfathered into whatever reorganized plan they’re still paying for.

  I deleted my address book before I was arrested, but I know Mitch’s number by heart.

  Thought we had something going, but since he never visited me either, I have to admit I was only being used—for password cracks, honeypots, privileged backdoors, and spyware installation.

  That’s all history now. Like the plump Valkyrie says, I haven’t seen or touched a keyboard in three years, and in hacking circles, I might as well be a nun in a medieval cloister still reading old English.

  The call goes through, and Mitch picks up on the third ring.

  “Who’s this?” he growls.

  Funny. He never used to be this rude. But then, a jailbird like me gets no respect or consideration.

  “Sammie the Snake. You owe me one.”

  “Huh,” Mitch snorts. “Let me guess. You hooked up with a loser, and you want a refund.”

  “Many times. You ought to know.” The wiseass in me can’t resist digging one on him. “How come you never visited me? Oh, wait. Don’t answer. Being around a prison makes you sweat, and thanks to me, you’re cool as an iceberg.”

  “What do you need?”

  “You have a cold or something? Because you sound hoarse.”

  “I’m just wondering what I owe you.” His voice is rough, and not at all like the slightly effeminate Silicon Valley intelligentsia tone he used to have.

  “Don’t you dare back out on me, Mitch. I spent three years in prison, and I pled guilty to everything. Your nose stayed clean as a whistle.” I pause to catch my breath, pissed off that he’d so swiftly moved on without a whiff of appreciation for my sacrifice.

  “And?” He takes on the innocent act.

  “And what?” I catch Guard One and Guard Two giving me the “having-trouble” faux-sympathetic look, so I sweeten my voice. “It’s my release day from the correctional facility, and I’d like you to come pick me up on your Harley. I want to ride out of here in a roar and never look back.”

  “Afraid I can’t do that,” the gruff voice that’s become Mitch says.

  I suppress a nasty “why, you jerk,” because the warden approaches and speaks to me. “If you need a ride to the bus station, get off the phone. Van’s leaving.”

  The two guards presiding over inmate release titter and whisper to each other.

  “I already have a ride,” I say to the warden. “You guys go ahead.”

  He nods as if to say, suit yourself, I know you’re bluffing, but I don’t care, and waddles off with the other released inmates.

  “Mitch, don’t be a bitch,” I say, using his Silicon Valley nickname. “I’d rather take my chances with a perjury charge than let you slide off scot-free again.”

  “Okay, fine,” he says. “Give me the directions.”

  I recite the address of the prison and ask, “When can you get here?”

  Maybe I should have factored in traffic before calling him. It would be embarrassing to be found waiting here hours later.

  “I’m actually not far,” he says.

  “Great.” I give the guards a smug look. “Bring an extra helmet for me. You still have your Harley?”

  “No Harley,” he says. “But I’m betting you won’t object to a Benz.”

  “Why, Mitch, you surprise me. I can’t wait to see it.”

  “You’ll be waiting a long time,” he says. “Because I’m not Mitch. New phone, who dis?”

  He hangs up.

  Chapter 2

  ~ Braden ~

  Yes!

  After years of waiting for her call, I finally got her—Sammie the Snake, the slickest, trickiest, and most slippery hacker who stupidly sacrificed herself for “lurve.”

  Why do I care?

  Let me introduce myself.

  I’m Braden Powers, a hacker’s worst nightmare. I get paid big money, anonymously, to trap hackers and take them down. You might say I’m an online vigilante, scouring the nether regions of the dark web for my prey.

  I’ve been on the trail of Mitch the Bitch Slack, former CEO of TrophyShots, an online photo and video-sharing site that is a front for blackmail and sextortion schemes. On the surface, he runs a quasi-legitimate dating or hookup site, but that’s how he collects information.

  The man disappeared a year ago, and I managed to pay off the phone company to let me have his cell number.

  I can’t believe the number of irate women Mitch left high and dry, and yeah, it’s always funny to pretend to be Mitch the Bitch, although maybe I should use a falsetto voice since everyone’s always asking whether I have a cold or not.

  Sammie might have thought she was special, but unlike the other women calling Mitch, she’s the only one who is a convicted hacker. I doubt she would have been caught had Mitch not set her up for the fall.

  Anyway, it behooves me to check her out. My clients are paying me big bucks to take Mitch down, wherever he is.

  The prison isn’t far from where I’m hiding out, but I’ll let Miss Sammie wait. It’ll get her nice and riled up, and I do love it when a female is emotional and upse
t.

  Makes her hotter when she spits fire at me.

  Sure enough, she’s texting me, but I ignore the barrage of text chimes on my phone while I finish up with the website I’m investigating.

  After combing my hair and spritzing on a sexy aftershave, I pull the Mercedes Benz out of the secluded location’s garage and set the navigation app for the prison.

  I take a few seconds to scroll through Sammie’s irate messages.

  You can’t shut me off like a spigot.

  Don’t think I’m hooking up with you again. I just need a ride and to let you know where I stand.

  You want me to keep quiet, you’d better text back.

  My phone’s still chiming with an onslaught of messages, each more threatening than the next.

  I’ve had it, so I text her.

  You ever wonder if your chattiness is a liability?

  Keep quiet, for bleep’s sake.

  Expect me in a silver sedan, and shut up, for once.

  That gets her to stop and consider where she stands. Besides, I want her as off guard as possible.

  It turns out, I’m the one caught off guard.