Free The Sixth Idea by P. J. Tracy Page A

biker leathers, jackboots, and a black beard that obscured his facial expressions, making him seem even more dangerous. And then the whole façade shattered when he crouched down, smacked his legs, and started murmuring ridiculous baby talk to Charlie while he gave him a doggy massage.
    He looked up and winked. “Hey, Gracie. Magozzi just called. They’ve got a job for us.”
    â€œSomething to do with the shooting at the Chatham last night?”
    â€œYep. Sounds pretty interesting, right up our alley. Missing security footage and a disappearing website. Come on, get your waiflike self in here while the cookies are still hot.”
    â€œYou did not make cookies.”
    â€œOh yes I did. Sister Carmella’s famous Christmas spice cookies. I could have eaten two dozen of those things if she would have let me. Took me ten years to get the recipe off that old bat.”
    Grace scolded him with a smile. “You always said you liked Sister Carmella.”
    â€œIn the same way a hostage starts to like their captor. It was Catholic school Stockholm syndrome.”
    Grace stomped the snow off her boots before she entered the marble entry foyer, which had been rearranged to accommodate a breathtaking twenty-foot spruce tree that was wearing more bling than a queen at coronation. This was the showpiece, but it wasn’t the only Christmas tree in the house—he normally had four or five of them set up in various rooms, all decorated with different themes. Harley loved any holiday, probably because he’d never really had one as a kid.
    And that was one of the extraordinary things about him—he’d had it as rough as any of them growing up, and she knew for a fact he’d never had a Christmas tree, had certainly never seen a present waiting for him under one in the multitude of foster homes he’d been shunted to before he was old enough to emancipate himself. And yet, as an adult, he’d never been bitter, had never shunned the things he had never had. On the contrary, he embraced them. In rather dramatic ways.
    Grace suddenly wondered why she’d never put up a Christmas tree. She’d never had one growing up either. Maybe Harley had seen just enough magic at one point in his childhood to set his imagination soaring, and he was making up for lost time. She folded her arms across her chest and let her eyes travel up and down the pageantry. “This is spectacular, Harley. You outdid yourself.”
    He shrugged modestly. “I added a few things this year.”
    â€œLike a .50-caliber handgun?”
    He stomped a boot in disappointment, but very lightly so he wouldn’t scare Charlie. “Oh, dammit, Gracie, you weren’t supposed to see that yet. I hid everybody’s presents in the boughs, and this big bad boy is so thick I figured nobody would find them until the needles started falling off.”
    â€œI have a way of spotting firearms wherever they are. Besides, that’s too big to miss.”
    â€œGood point. Well, I figured a woman living alone shouldn’t be without a savage knockout punch as a fail-safe.”
    A woman living alone.
The phrase hit Grace in a strange way, with no warning whatsoever. She’d always been alone, and had never imagined her life any differently. That was a trait she shared with Harley,Annie, and Roadrunner, which ironically had probably bonded them together as the tight family they were today. Maybe humans weren’t meant to be solitary after all.
    â€œAnd even if you never need it for self-defense, you could still use it to take out a few walls in your house with a couple bullets if you ever want to remodel,” Harley was saying. “Merry Christmas.”
    â€œI love it, Harley. Thank you.” She pecked his cheek.
    â€œI thought it would tickle your fancy.”
    â€œAre the cookies in the kitchen?”
    â€œYou got it. Bring the whole plate.”
    Grace headed for the kitchen while Harley