A Suds and Sam Christmas Read online

  A

  Suds and Sam

  Christmas

  By Stella Marie Alden

  Contents

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Christmas Eve

  From The Author

  THE BUSHWICK SERIES

  SLATE

  Copyright (C) 2019 Stella Marie Alden

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

  [email protected]

  This book is dedicated to Rob and Emily, who adopted me into their Italian family when I needed it most.

  A special thanks to my ARC team, my fans, and my personal assistant, Katherine. Thank you for believing in me.

  And what would I do without you, Rich, my best friend, my patient husband, and my editor. I love you always!

  Chapter One

  Sebastian Sutcliff

  Samantha’s pretty brown eyes light up as she speaks into her cellphone. “Really? That’s great! Thanks for the tip. I’ll call him back right away.”

  “Who was it?” I almost hate to ask but full of Thanksgiving cheer, I’m willing to take the risk. While I lean back on her lumpy couch, a spider works some magic above a street-facing window.

  “We got another missing persons case.” Sam does a little dance around the room in her stocking feet and shakes her sexy behind.

  Grinning, I reach out, wrap my arm around her thigh, and pull her close. “As I recall, the first caper was not a lost person. It was a sneaky feline. A cat-napping, to be precise.”

  “Whatever. We have another mystery to solve.” Smiling, she tosses back her shoulder length blond locks and leans over to kiss me.

  Blood flows out of my brain and straight over the Mason-Dixon Line but a few gray cells manage to fire. “Whoa, now little darlin’. You may have work but I have vacation. Not having a day off all year makes a man want some down-time.”

  “What about Sam and Suds Detective Agency?” Her lower lip rolls out but I don’t give in.

  Maybe, just this once, I can convince her to do things by the book. “It’s Suds and Sam. And, it isn’t legal, not yet. We need licenses, a building, business cards…”

  She crawls on top of me, legs across mine, hands on either side of my ears. “Don’t be so negative. I got a website. C’mon. It’ll be fun. Besides, after, we can have we-solved-the-case sex.”

  My cock gives the deciding vote. “Okay, I’m in. Who all is missing?” I figure it’s probably a cheating spouse or similar brand of low-life. Otherwise people call the cops, not us.

  “Jesus.” Her sexy mouth goes up in the corner and brows raise.

  “Come again?” This ought to be good. After kissing her, I slide out from under her and grab my whiskey off the coffee table.

  “The Miraculous Weeping Baby of Brooklyn was stolen. Don’t tell me you never heard of him.” Those lovely lashes lift exposing chocolate brown irises.

  Suddenly, my chest feels like the Grinch whose heart was two sizes too small. Full of pumpkin pie, pasta, and turkey, I’m thankful as hell. I got me a beautiful woman who says she loves me, her Uncle Vinny hasn’t killed me yet and her dad was almost friendly at dinner.

  Life is good. At least it was until about thirty seconds ago. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I grunt which could mean yes or no. “So, ah… this baby Jesus was stolen.”

  “Not any baby Jesus. One that cries real tears. A miracle.”

  While I get a disturbing image of a plastic doll, Sam’s cheeks flush and her eyes light up with the excitement of a new case.

  “My uncle Vinny put out a reward of two thousand dollars! I could pay the rent and my credit cards. This is perfect.”

  “What’s the catch?” I pull her onto my lap, wanting some of her enthusiasm on my lips but she frowns and crosses her arms over her ample chest.

  “Whadda you mean by dat?”

  “Why aren’t the police handling the case?” I kiss my Brooklyn babe, lovin’ how her accent thickens when she’s called out on her bullshit.

  “The priest in charge isn’t cooperating.” She shrugs while I imagine all sorts of reasons, none of them good.

  “I suppose y’all gonna explain.”

  “Apparently, Father O’Connell is waiting for a miracle. And that would be us.” The triumphant smirk means she thinks she won our argument but I’m not finished.

  There’s a lot more to say on the subject but three flights down, the outside door bangs and her cousin Rose calls up. “Youz guys decent?”

  Shit. So much for some alone time with my woman. “Unfortunately…”

  Muttering, Sam slides off my lap, walks across the kitchen, and leans over the railing. “Hey Rose, hey Mia.”

  Her cousins’ high heels click as they climb and as they reach the landing, they hug my girl.

  Rose, an olive-skinned, brunette version of Sam waves at me as she crosses the living room. “We’re not staying, bodyguard. We just came to pick up some things.”

  Sam’s cousin Mia shoots me a shy smile as she follows in the wake of her older sister. “Hi again. Sorry for interrupting.”

  I haven’t had sex for over four weeks. What’s another few minutes? “No worries.”

  Grabbing a throw pillow from the couch’s corner, I cover my bulging hard on and grin amicably. Truly, I am a man of many talents.

  Rose smirks at my move as she enters the bedroom door to the right of Mia’s. “Did you hear about the missing Jesus? Who the heck would steal from the church? People are so horrible.”

  My partner grabs another beer from the fridge, freshens my drink, and plops down next to me. “I don’t know but Sam and Suds Detective Agency is going to find out.”

  I remind her. “It’s Suds and Sam.” The other way sounds like salmon suds which is just plain disgusting.

  Mia pops her head out. “I heard Father O’Connell isn’t talking. He says God will provide.”

  Sam snuggles under my arm with her head turned toward her cousin. “I think I may need to go to confession…”

  “Been sinnin’ a lot?” I tickle the first rib on the right side and she slaps my hand away.

  “You’re kidding right?” A giggle comes from Rose’s room but Sam purses her lips and I shudder. No doubt, she’s concocting some zany plan.

  After a bit, she shoots me a sneaky smile. “I suppose I could save my soul and, ah… perhaps get the priest to talk. The thing is, I don’t remember how the prayers go.”

  Mia, the youngest and holiest of the three, jumps into the living room. “It’s simple. You start with, Bless me Father, for I have sinned, it has been… say how long… like two weeks…. since my last confession. Then, you list all your sins.”

  Groaning, Sam rolls her eyes. “Shit. I could be in there for days.”

  Rose, carrying an overstuffed bag on her shoulder, exits her bedroom into the kitchen. “Don’t be silly. Just call the rectory and make an appointment. Once you get Father O’Connell alone, confess to a few sins and bring the conversation around to the missing statue.”

  “You make it soun
d easy. Confessions scare the living b’jezus out of me.” Sam squirms in my lap, cups my cheek, and stares into my eyes. “You’ve probably never gone through the trauma. What religion are you, anyhow, tough guy?”

  “Brought up Baptist.” Turning my head into her hand, I stick my tongue between the web of her fingers until the centers of her eyes grow wide.

  She bites her lower lip. “What happens if you sin? Do you recite all your wrong doings in front of a priest?”

  Oh hell no. “It’s different. Not so formal.”

  Sam pulls her hand away from my busy mouth and squeezes my thigh. “Wish I could dispense with the mumbo-jumbo.”

  “Sam! That’s blasphemy.”

  Mia’s voice sounds from deep within her room while my sexy lover blows in my ear. “She thinks I’m going to hell.”

  Rose, still in the kitchen, grabs a few beers from the refrigerator and stuffs them into her knapsack. “Okay, you two, be good. We’re off to my mom’s. Good luck with finding Jesus.”

  Mia, knapsack in hand, departs from her room and stands in front of my forgotten football game. “Don’t fool around with religious shit, you guys. The statue is miraculous. I’ve seen it cry.”

  Groaning in unison, the other two cousins roll their eyes and Sam explains. “The manger scene is kept in the basement of the church almost all year long. The humidity is what? A hundred percent.”

  The oldest cousin nods as she stands at the landing and tugs her knapsack over her shoulder.

  “Well, smarty-pants, why don’t Mary and Joseph shed tears?” Mia puts her hands on her hips with dark brows raised.

  On the couch beside me, Sam slips her lovely long legs beneath her, leans back, and stares up at the tin ceiling trying not to laugh. “They probably ooze from somewhere, just not their eyes.”

  Huffing. Mia stomps to the only closet, moves aside a broom, and dons a coat that could be mistaken for a small sheep. “You guys are jaded. I, for one, am going to believe it’s a miracle.”

  Rose follows her down the steps and at the bottom shouts up. “Have fun, you two.”

  “You better not.” As always, Sam’s cousin Joey adds his two cents from his apartment on the ground floor.

  Once they’re gone, I pull Sam into my lap and kiss her until she squirms. “How about you and me do a little sinnin’, sugar?”

  Laughing, she takes my hand, pulls me off the couch, and leads me into the bedroom. “I thought they’d never leave.”

  “I asked you to make love before dinner but y’all declined.”

  “Sebastian. Sex in my parent’s bathroom, with my whole family gathered outside? You think it might’ve been a tad awkward?”

  “It could’ve been a thing.” I tug her into my arms, press my painful need into her abs, and groan. “Damn, I’ve missed you, sugar.”

  “Missed you, too.” She slips her red, sparkly party dress over her head.

  My mouth goes dry at her see-through bra, garter belt, stockings and no undies. Sliding the side of my hand between her legs, I lick her cream from my hand, and purr into her ear. “You are definitely going on Santa’s naughty list.”

  “Think so?” She grasps the hem of my cotton shirt and drags it over my head.

  “I’m damn near certain.”

  Her fingertip slips across my tip as she releases my top button and frees me.

  Breathing heavily, I kick off my boots, slide off my pants, and step out with my length reaching for her. She curls her fingers around my shaft and hell if I don’t almost cum.

  My mouth clamps down on hers and when she opens, I thrust in my tongue. While kissing her into oblivion, I lower the straps of her sexy bra, step between her legs, and walk her backwards until her legs hit the bed.

  On the mattress with our lips connected, I pop out one glorious breast and pinch the tip while she squirms against my raised knee.

  “Damn, girl.” Tugging her bra to her waist, I suck until her nipples are taut and her nails dig into my back.

  Then, I kiss down her body, past her sexy garter belt and taste of her honey.

  “Sebastian…” Brown eyes, almost black with want, stare down at me between her knees and as the room sparkles from the Christmas lights shining through the window, I lick her lovely nub.

  “Fuck, Sebastian.” With her eyes closed, she pulls on my hair. “Inside, now.”

  “Yes ma’am.” I climb up her body and as I slide my cock across her nub to place it at her opening, she goes off.

  Only then do I thrust into her shuddering orgasm and it is so fucking amazing, I lose it.

  Years of male evolution takes over as I plunge repeatedly into her honey. Sweet agony drives me mad with want. Some part of my brain wants her high so I grit my teeth and work her body into a sweat.

  Her ankles clamp around my thighs, her arms wrap under my arms, and she meets my every thrust with a sexy groan. When she starts to scream, I cover her mouth in a kiss, my tongue emulating what’s going on between us below the waist.

  Suddenly she stops, grows all tight, and pants.

  “Damn, girl” My balls prime for action, my inner spring coils, and I let go just as she cums again.

  “Holy shit.” I fall back and roll her onto my chest, still connected.

  Chapter Two

  Samantha Russo

  Palms sweaty, I open the small door of the confessional, kneel down in the dark, and my heart thumps like it did when I was seven or eight.

  Someone enters behind the wall in front of me, a screen scrapes, and my stupid mind goes blank.

  After a while Father O’Connell sighs and asks, “Are you ready?”

  I almost get up and leave but a couple neurons fire and I remember what I’m supposed to say. “Bless me Father, for I have sinned, it has been… a long time since my last confession.”

  “Go on…”

  This is the part where I’m supposed to list all my sins but I still haven’t figured out how to explain ten years’ worth in just a few minutes.

  “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to start with the Ten Commandments. So, the first two are about false Gods and idols, which I don’t mess with. So we’re good. The third, I may need some clarification. I mean, I swear. A lot. I say hell and damn, and drop the f-bomb… but those aren’t the Lord’s name in vain so I’m not breaking the third commandment, right?”

  “Technically but-“

  “Okay, so here’s the question. If I say Jesus H. Christ, is that really blasphemy? Because in truth, he didn’t have a middle initial.”

  The old priest clears his throat. “I’m afraid those count.”

  “Wow… There’s three hundred sixty five days in a year times ten and it’s well above seven thousand if you include the goddammits, which I don’t say nearly as often but still-”

  “I get the picture. I think we can move on.”

  “Good idea. I got no problem remembering the Sabbath. It’s Sunday, right? Who could forget one whole day out of the week? There’s only seven. So I think, that’s fine. I do honor my mother and father, although my father can be a sonofabitch at times and has broken a hell of a lot more commandments more serious than me.”

  Father O’Connell shifts and his old bones crack and I feel guilty keeping him on his knees.

  “Sorry. Let me speed this up. I never killed anyone. I’m assuming almost doesn’t count. I don’t steal, unless you count taxes, and I don’t covet. I mean it would be nice to have my own apartment and my own business but I’m getting there. And I’ve never been married so adultery is out, right? I think I’m done. We good?”

  Father O’Connell sighs, no doubt thrilled I’m finished. “You should say fifteen Hail Marys, ten Our Fathers, and –”

  “There is one more thing, Father. It’s not a commandment, but I sort of remember something from catechism. We’re not supposed to tempt God, right? I mean, if a statue went missing, and someone was to offer to find it, you shouldn’t wait for God to miraculously make it appear, right? Doing so would be a sin
and priests shouldn’t sin on purpose. You guys are like holy rollers.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Samantha Russo, from Sam and Suds Detective Agency.” I slip my card through the crack in the little sliding door. “I’m going to find Jesus. Um… the statue, not the actual person.”

  There’s a long sigh. “You can call my office in the morning.”

  When the screen slams shut, I almost call him back. He didn’t finish handing out my penance or absolving me of my sins. Oh well, if I find Jesus, it’ll probably even my scorecard with God, especially if I promise to stop using his name in vain because that shit adds up.

  Like my nonna taught me, I light a candle, and say a few prayers in front of the Virgin Mary. Her and me don’t have a lot in common, so I make it quick and ask her for a little help before heading out into the dim afternoon light of November.

  Suds is waiting for me and probably hungry so I as I walk home, I stop at the local pizzeria. While I’m waiting for Pete to get my order, I call the rectory and Mrs. O’Shay answers.

  “Hi. This is Samantha Russo. I just spoke with Father O’Connell and he agreed to let my detective agency investigate the theft from the church. I’d like to set up an appointment to visit the scene of the crime. This afternoon, if I could.”

  “This is highly irregular. I can’t imagine…” Her brogue is thicker now than I remember growing up.

  “No, no. He took my card. Ask him to show it to you.” I worry the dear old man may forget our meeting. From what I’ve heard, he’s not all there.

  “Tomorrow morning, at ten. Not a moment before. I’ll call someone to come and unlock the door and see ya get down there without gettin’ hurt.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. O’Shay. And don’t worry. We’ll find Jesus.”

  “I pray you do. By the way? It’s high time to marry your big oaf and stop sleeping with him in sin.”

  “I’m working on it.” Grabbing lunch, I trot back home and at the bottom landing get stopped by Joey whose door is always open. “Yo, Sammy. My mudder said you’re goin’ to find Jesus. What? You becomin’ a nun or some shit?”