Ho Ho Homicidal Maniac (Murder and Mistletoe #2)

The Mistake Blake

The Mistake

Blake

IT’S A RELIEF THAT the past few days have been frosty but dry, which means the wheels of the old truck I’m driving won’t leave clear imprints even if the driveway to the lone house in the woods wasn’t asphalted. I keep my face, and the registration number, covered, in case there are hidden cameras on the property, but when I park in front of the old farmhouse and grab the large bag of supplies all I can think of is Nico. I take my time to put on a disposable protective suit, because one can never be too cautious when it comes to leaving behind traces of DNA, but I knock on the door right after.

Nico opens it quickly, since he’s been expecting me. Despite the cold, he’s shirtless. His hoodie is tied around his waist with a belt. The scent of blood doesn’t generally bother me, but knowing it’s his sends my senses into overdrive.

This is one of those moments when I wish Nico didn’t have a side gig as the Christmas Killer. But I will be there for him regardless.

“I’m sorry for calling you so late, but I’ll need some help,” Nico says as I enter the empty house.

“You don’t say,” I tell him grimly, nervous about the damage I’m going to see. “How bad is it? Where did he get you? Are you sure you don’t need me to drive you to the hospital?” My gaze settles on the plastic sheets covering one of the rooms within sight, which surely served as Nico’s work space for the night.

“No, it’s just a scratch. But… needs stitches.”

By the slow way he’s moving and holding his side, I’m guessing it’s definitely not just a scratch. I hate to see him in pain so much all my hair bristles, but I’ve got the first aid kit, and I’ll assess the damage myself. After the last time he came home injured, I took an extensive first aid course for situations like this one.

The room is dimly lit, cluttered with yellowed newspapers and trinkets, but the toothless head of Christmas Killer’s latest victim is prominent on the kitchen counter, already wrapped in a vintage red ribbon and it has… tiny red baubles for eyes?

“That’s new,” I say, pointing to it with eyebrows raised.

Nico perks up despite surely being in pain. “Tradition’s great, but I thought, why not spruce it up a little, you know? My own, personal touch.”

“But why red baubles in particular?” I ask and lead him to the plastic-wrapped room, because we can’t afford to risk leaving behind any traces of his blood. There are film posters on the walls, and I’m once again struck by how deceptively normal this house seems, even though I know it belonged to a person blackmailing others into making incredibly humiliating videos for him.

Ugh. Nico really is a hero removing vermin like this from society.

“I just think they go well with the ribbon. I guess because his thing was watching people, taking his eyes was poetic justice. Too dramatic?”

“No, I like that. In that sense, the red stands for ill intentions,” I say and make him sit on a plastic-covered chair, close to the pool of blood originating from the rest of the mark’s body. It’s only then that I get to see the long, if shallow, cut in Nico’s hip. I have to close my eyes when I see the bare meat, but this isn’t a time to be squeamish, so I kneel next to Nico and open the first aid kit. “What happened? Did he surprise you?”

He groans and tilts his body to the side to give me access to the wound. Seeing Nico this hurt awakes my own need for revenge. But I guess the guy is already dead, so I have to calm down.

I love this man so much.

“Ah, it was so stupid. I sneaked in, but he was watching TV, and I got distracted by an ad about an ice cream maker. I thought… you might like one for Christmas.” His blue eyes meet mine with so much sincerity I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. “And then, this is the dumb part, at the end of the ad, they had a bit of song from ‘All I want for Christmas is you’, and I fucking whistled along with it. What is wrong with me, Blake?” He sighs and shakes his head.

“You’re... in love?” I suggest as a silly smile spreads on my face. I spray disinfectant on his wound and press a kiss to his cheek, while still wearing the surgical mask I insist on whenever I need to assist the Christmas Killer, because I’m not taking any risks.

Nico snorts and strokes my head despite my outfit covering any hair that might drop out and be used as evidence. “I guess I am. I wasn’t fast enough with the needle, so we ended up in a fight, and got the cut in, as he actually had a knife in his hand. He was fucking peeling potatoes. On the sofa. Who does that?”

I sometimes do, but I don’t feel like pointing that out. “Well, from now on you’ll know better, I guess,” I say and get to work, convincing myself it’s fake skin I’m putting stitches in, not my lover’s hip. “You have to be more careful. What would I do if something bad happened to you?” I ask, unsuccessfully trying to keep a tremor out of my voice.

Nico chuckles. “You have millions. You’d be fine. And you could publish a tell-all book about how living with me was like while never knowing about my double life.”

I know he’s teasing, but my heart aches just thinking about it, so I give him a gentle slap on the chin. "Don’t ever talk like that again!” I mumble and finish the stitches while he rests one hand on my back and gently rubs it with his fingers.

Once his wound is dealt with and dressed, it’s time to get rid of the evidence that might be left beyond the plastic-covered room. After all, even a single drop of blood might end up leading the cops to my man, and I cannot have that.

“You do your usual thing here,” I say, gesturing at the plastic sheets, “and I’ll check the other rooms with luminol.”

“Thanks.” Nico grabs my gloved hand in his. Red leather against yellow rubber. I’m on the verge of laughing when he kisses me. “For being there for me.”

We’ve been together for two years now, but he still manages to make me shy, and I flush under the mask. “Um... of course. Just like you’re there for me,” I tell him, but it’s late, and I need to work fast if I want us in bed at a sensible hour.

Nico did miss some spots during his basic cleanup earlier, but by the time I’m done, I’m fairly certain I’ve gotten them all. It is then that a strange noise leads my gaze to a closed door.

“Um… Nico?” I call out as my muscles tense. Could it be that there's another person in this house? Did they see Nico’s face? Would we need to… no, we would not kill an innocent person. And… maybe it’s one of this bastard’s victims?

“What is it?” he asks, but soon joins me, limping a little. I might just stab the dead body a few more times.

I gesture toward the closed room. “Have you been in there?” I whisper, leaning closer while my heart starts beating staccato. “I think there might be someone inside.”

Nico shakes his head and opens the door without worry. “No, no, it’s fine. Look.”

He smiles as he leads me in and I smell wood chips. I’m faced with a massive cage set up where not one but three rats are running around. As soon as we walk in, they all rush to the front, as if to greet us.

Tension drains from my body, and I drop to my knees in front of the critters. “Awww, they’re adorable! It’s always so weird when a psycho like this guy cares for pets.”

Nico shakes his head and strokes my shoulder. “Guess he only hated people. Unless he was planning some gruesome torture-by-rats, but then I doubt he’d keep them in such nice cages.”

Anxiety enters my heart again, and I glance over my shoulder. “What if no one comes here tomorrow or the day after? They’re gonna starve.”

“I could… cut off the guy’s arm and leave it for them?”

I frown. “It will start rotting in a while and could make them sick.”

Nico raises his hands. “Okay, okay, I was just throwing out ideas.”

My glove-clad hand gravitates toward the rodents curiously pushing their muzzles through the bars, and my heart gets ever softer. “Or we could take them home.”

Nico grumbles. “A man with three rats is murdered and then suddenly we have three rats the next day? Don’t you think that’s a little suspicious, sweetie?”

“It’s not a cat or dog. People don’t see caged pets unless they’re invited into your home,” I try, already very much on board with my idea. I haven’t had a pet since my old dog died, and maybe it’s time. Is it not fate that I found them here?

“And you’d be the one taking care of them?” Nico asks.

“Yes,” I say instantly.

He takes a deep breath. “I’ll only allow it if we keep them in the basement. No one will see them there.”

I shoot up and put my arms around his sturdy form. “And then, after a few months, we can move them into our apartment.”

“Tentatively, yes,” Nico says, already smiling as he hugs me. “You deserve it for tonight’s efforts.”

It’s so easy to melt into him, even when there’s a bauble-eyed head staring at us through the door. I’ve entered this relationship so fearful, but now I can confidently say it was the best decision I’ve ever made. He’s perfect for me. For Nico, I can scrub floors with bleach whenever necessary.

The end