The Christmas Target. Charlotte Douglas

      Seeing the room through her eyes, as if for the first time, Ross agreed. A fire burned cheerfully in the fireplace with comfortable chairs grouped in front of it. Piles of pillows edged with lace were heaped at the head of the four-poster mahogany bed. “Fiona uses all her favorite antiques in here. I hope you’ll be comfortable.”

      “Do you always call your grandmother Fiona?” Jessica asked.

      Ross nodded. “She never liked to be called grandma. Said it made her feel old and dowdy.”

      “She’s definitely neither,” Jessica noted. “She’s an impressive woman.”

      He placed Jessica’s bag on an eighteenth-century blanket chest at the foot of the bed. “Bathroom’s through the door on the left. Closet’s on the right. Join us downstairs when you’re ready.”

      “Thank you. I won’t be long.” Looking only slightly dazed, especially in light of all she’d been through, Jessica closed the door behind him when he left.

      Ross hurried down the stairs and found Fiona in the living room in her favorite chair by the fire.

      “Where’s Courtney?” he asked.

      “She’s asleep,” Fiona said. “I fed her early. She was completely tired out.”

      Ross gazed at his grandmother with concern. “I wish you’d let me hire someone to look after her. I’m afraid she’s too much for you.”

      “The day a two-year-old is too much,” Fiona said with a grimace, “you’ll have to hire someone to look after me.”

      He’d had this argument and lost many times before, so he went on to the subject weighing most heavily on his mind.

      “You didn’t tell me Rinehart and Associates were sending a woman,” he said in an accusing tone, one he’d seldom used with his grandmother.

      “Jessica Landon is the best at what she does, according to Max Rinehart,” Fiona replied easily, apparently unperturbed by his disapproval. She reached for the novel on the table beside her chair, her usual signal that the current discussion was closed.

      “It’s not her accounting skills that concern me.” He paused, reluctant to report bad news. “It’s happening again.”

      Her hand froze in midair at the grimness in his tone, and the color left her face. “You’re certain?”

      Ross shrugged. “Not a hundred percent, but a man would be better able to take care of himself.”

      Fiona closed her eyes as if gathering strength, then opened them again. “Another accident?”

      “She was run off the road. Said a pickup slammed into her car twice and kept going. Didn’t sound like an accident. And she’d have frozen to death if I hadn’t come along.”

      “You have to tell her. Warn her.”

      Ross nodded. “But not tonight. She’s been through enough already today. And she’s perfectly safe here.”

      Fiona compressed her lips and shook her head. “When is this going to stop?”

      Ross sank into the seat across from her, weariness seeping through his bones. “Not until I catch the killer.”