Eyes that met his briefly before she realized she had given herself away and disappeared.
“Hey, what are you looking at?” Quintin demanded.
Craig turned to Quintin and said calmly, “Nothing. Just wondering where the bathroom is.”
“My jaw is killing me,” Frazier said flatly. “Can I quit for a while?”
“Why don’t we play a game?” Jamie suggested.
“A game?” Quintin said, and again there was that awful edge amusement in his voice. Yes, entertain me.
The sick thing was, Craig knew they had probably all lived so long precisely because they entertained him. And, of course, because they were snowed in and Quintin wanted turkey tomorrow.
“A game,” Craig said. “Like…?”
“Trivial Pursuit. We can be on teams,” Jamie said.
“No more going upstairs to get things,” Quintin said.
“It’s under the coffee table,” Skyler said.
“All right, get it out,” Quintin agreed.
Craig dared to glance upstairs again, and he silently whispered a prayer of thanks when Kat was nowhere to be seen.
The storm wasn’t over, but it had definitely eased up.
Kat certainly had done lots of thinking. There were ways to fight, it was true. The problem was that Quintin had been telling the truth. The next time they fought, someone was going to die.
She stood in the basement by the window, reflecting on her chances of getting out and finding help.
There really wasn’t anything to think about. She might die of exposure if she went out there, but she had to give it a try, because they didn’t stand a chance if she kept hiding out here. Quintin’s strength—along with the two guns, of course—was that he didn’t care if his cohorts died, while her family would fight to the death for each other.
Imagine that. Dysfunctional as they were, they would always be there for each other when the chips were down. Besides, weren’t all families dysfunctional?
She gave herself a shake.
There was only one way to win. And that was to take down Quintin.
Craig would never hurt them. He might have gone the wrong way. He might be scum. But she just couldn’t believe he would hurt her family.
Who was she kidding? He hadn’t loved her. He’d made that clear.
Something had gone wrong with Craig, terribly wrong. But no matter how wrong it had gone, she couldn’t believe he would kill her or anyone in her family. She couldn’t let herself believe it, because if she did, she would lose her courage, and then they would all be doomed.
But there was still Scooter. He might be weaker than Quintin in every way, but he still had a gun, which meant he was dangerous.
She hesitated, afraid. Terrified that any move she made would be the wrong one.
Then she squared her shoulders. There was only one way for her entire family to survive. Both men had to be disarmed. And for that to happen, she had to somehow reach the sheriff’s office and pray someone was there.
If she was caught…
She was dead.
And she didn’t want to die.
But if she just stayed here and waited and just cowered as her family was massacred…
She wouldn’t want to live.
She wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck and pushed up the window.
David looked over at Skyler and forced himself to smile reassuringly at her.
What a joke, he thought. He was supposed to be the man of the house, the protector of his family. Well, he’d been one hell of a failure, hadn’t he?
But his wife wasn’t looking at him as if that was the case. Strange and bitter, but true. They’d been at odds getting ready for Christmas. She’d complained for years about how hard it was to pull everything together when they went away to celebrate, so this year, he’d been ready to give in and stay in Boston, but she’d wanted to come here.
To keep the family together, she’d said. The kids might have come around for dinner otherwise, but someone would have shown up late or left early. There would have been bitching. Arguments. And by five or six, everyone would have been gone. Even Jamie, who always wanted to spend more time with his friends than his family these days.
But could you really hold a family together by force? And did the kids really want to be here? Did he and Skyler really even know each other after all these years of constantly being at odds?
And yet…
Skyler was staring at him as she hadn’t in a very long time. There was so much caring and concern in her eyes. And more. A message, as if she were trying to tell him it had been a good run, and that she loved him…whatever might come.
He tried to make his eyes say something, too. He tried to tell her that they would survive this.
And he knew there was something else, something they both agreed on: their children were going to survive, no matter what it took.
And they both knew that Kat was still there, a hidden asset against these men.
He returned his attention to the game, trying to hide his true feelings about this insane parody of family life Quintin was making them play out.
Suddenly Quintin was on his feet. “I hear something,” he said, tension in every line of his body.
“Yeah, us,” Craig said, frowning.
“No. Outside,” Quintin said. “Somebody’s out there.”
The wind was still blowing, the snow still falling, but damned if Tim hadn’t gotten the snowmobiles dug out and ready to go.
Sheila, so bundled up that she doubted she would even recognize herself, took her seat, gunned the motor and took off. Tim followed right behind.
There were abandoned cars along the road. They checked every one, glad not to find anyone frozen inside. They kept going—up a hill and across the valley—as a full moon struggled to shed its glow through the dark clouds hiding the night sky. Finally Sheila saw a shadow rising up beside the road and knew immediately what it was.
An old building that had stood there as long as she could remember, with a sign on it reading Hudson & Son, Fine Art, Antiques, Memorabilia and Jewelry.
“Hey,” she shouted to Tim over her radio. “There’s the Hudsons’ store.”
“Let’s go.”
He was off his snowmobile and on his way to the door before she was.
She followed him, her nose freezing, so cold that she was afraid it was frostbitten. She couldn’t help but wonder what she would look like if she had to have the tip of her nose cut off. It wouldn’t be a pretty sight.
When they reached the old building, the snow was piled high against the door, but that didn’t seem to daunt Tim in the least. He ran back to his snowmobile in a flash, then came back with the snow shovel he had loaded on the back.
“Good thinking, kid,” she complimented him, then examined their surroundings while he started to dig. What she saw made her blood run cold.
“Look,” she said, pointing toward the rear of the old structure.
They both paused in silence. Lionel Hudson’s huge old Cadillac was still parked and collecting snow beside the building.
“He’s in there,” Sheila said.
Tim redoubled his efforts to clear the door. As soon as the drift was out of the way, he tried the door. Unlocked. Struggling against the wind, he pulled it open.
They both drew their weapons, tense, staring at one another for a long moment, and then Sheila nodded. She had a feeling their guns wouldn’t be necessary. Whatever evil had visited here, it was already gone.
Even so, they entered carefully, making all the right moves.
They were greeted by darkness and silence. Tim drew out his flashlight and sent the beam skidding around the shop.
“Lionel?” Sheila asked into the void.
There was no reply.
Sheila turned on her own flashlight and walked around the counter. There was no sign of Lionel.
Tim headed toward the back of the store. Suddenly Sheila heard him gasp.
“Sh
eila?”
“Tim?”
She joined him and heard her knees creak as she crouched down beside him.
“It’s blood, Sheila,” he said.
Her heart flip-flopped. “Do you think they might have taken him hostage?” Tim asked.
She shook her head.
“Where is he, then?”
She stared at him for a long moment, then rose. She ran back outside, suddenly heedless of the dark and wind and pelting snow. She plowed her way through until she reached the old Cadillac.
“Sheila, stop,” Tim said, racing up behind her.
“But—”
“There’s blood on the snow,” he said quietly. “I’ll look.”
“I’ve been a deputy for most my life,” she told him. “I’ve seen it all.”
“He was a friend of yours.”
Was.
She swallowed.
“Help me,” she said to Tim.
Together they dug away the snow with their hands and struggled with the door to the Cadillac. As soon as they got it open, she directed the beam of her flashlight into the backseat.
“Oh God,” Tim breathed.
EIGHT
Quintin told Scooter to keep everyone together, then walked toward the front door and opened it. A blast of cold hit them like a ton of bricks.
“Quintin, what the hell?” Scooter complained.
“I heard something,” Quintin said.
“It must have been the wind,” Frazier said. “Blowing stuff around.”
Quintin flashed him an angry glance, then returned to staring into the night.
There wasn’t much to see. The snow was too thick.
David cleared his throat. “If you want the generator to work all night and through…through dinner tomorrow, you can’t overwork it. You don’t want the heat giving out, do you?” he asked rationally.
But Quintin wasn’t even listening to him. “Someone’s out there,” he said.
Quintin turned suddenly and aimed his gun at the group. “Craig, Scooter, get your coats on.”
“Come on, Quintin, you’ve gotta be joking,” Scooter complained.
“I’m dead serious,” Quintin said, nodding meaningfully at Skyler.
“What do I care if you shoot her?” Scooter grumbled.
“What’ll you care, doing life in prison?” Quintin said. “Anyway, Mr. Softie there will care.”
Swearing, Scooter headed for the closet. Craig followed suit. As he buttoned his coat, he turned to Quintin and asked, “What the hell are we looking for?”
“Someone is out there,” Quintin said.
“How the hell could anyone be out there? They’d be frozen by now,” David pointed out reasonably.
Quintin stared at him coldly, then turned to Skyler. “Mom, come over here. Now.”
David tensed as if he were about to move.
“I told you, I’ll shoot her next time,” Quintin said very softly.
“Just chill, everyone. It’s fine,” Skyler said, walking over to Quintin. He pulled her against his side and slipped an arm around her. It wasn’t an affectionate gesture. He held her with the muzzle of the gun pointed to her cheek.
“Get out there,” Quintin said coldly. “And if either one of you tries to pull anything, just remember that Mom here will end up with half her head blown away. Got it?”
Craig followed Scooter to the door, figuring Scooter still had a gun.
“Lookit all this damn snow. What the hell are we supposed to do?” Scooter muttered to him.
Craig shrugged. “Plow our way through it,” he returned, his heart thundering. Kat had to be out here. But the snow was so deep, there would be no way to hide the trail she’d be making through the deep, white blanket that surrounded the house. And if Scooter found her…“Look, we’ll just stay out here long enough to make Quintin think we really searched. Hell, Scooter, David was right. No one could survive out here.”
He thought they were making their way down the front walk to the road, but it was difficult to tell. The wind was still high and flakes were still falling, and that combined with the depth of the snow on the ground made it almost impossible to tell where they were.
“Listen!” Scooter said suddenly.
“To what?”
“A motor.”
“You hear a motor?” Craig said. He tried to make his tone incredulous, but he could hear it, too.
It wasn’t coming from anywhere near the house, though. It was distant, the sound carrying unnaturally because of the wind.
“What the hell do you think it is?” Scooter demanded tensely.
Craig shrugged. “It’s nowhere near here,” he finally said, as if he’d only just managed to hear it.
“You sure?” Scooter stared at him.
Scooter had been the one to want him in the group, he reminded himself. Unlike Quintin, Scooter trusted him, and he could use that to his advantage.
“Scooter, listen,” he said calmly. “It’s probably just a fire engine or an ambulance or something. No one is coming to this house. There’s no reason for them to.”
“There’s the car,” Scooter said.
“Buried now. No one can see it.”
Scooter stood there, staring at the moon as it tried to peek down through the heavy cloud cover. Snowflakes fell on his gaunt face and stuck to his eyelashes. After a moment he smiled. “I don’t want trouble tonight,” he said.
“I know. It’s warm and comfortable in there. And the food’s good.”
“I like having Christmas,” Scooter said. “I never had Christmas when I was a kid. I never knew who my dad was. And my mom…she drank. And then there were the men. She’d rather buy a gift for any asshole she thought might marry her than for her own kid.” He looked at Craig. “None of her men ever stayed around, though, so she drank herself to death. And there was never Christmas until I made my own. First year after the old lady was dead, I hit up one of those department-store places. I stole a tree and all kinds of ornaments. But I got caught, and I was old enough to do real time. Haven’t had Christmas since then. What about you, kid?”
“Me?”
“Did you even know who your dad was?”
“Oh, yeah. I knew who he was.”
“And your mother?”
Craig shrugged, looking away. “She died young.”
“She drink herself to death?”
“No.”
“Then—”
Craig swung around. “Look, I want to have Christmas, too. I want turkey tomorrow—hell, I think even old Quintin wants turkey tomorrow. We’ve just got to keep things calm and him on an even keel. We can’t have him going all ballistic every time he hears a noise.”
“Yeah, yeah, but…what the hell is it about you that he doesn’t like?” Scooter demanded, staring at him.
“Damned if I know,” Craig told him, shrugging, but inside he felt sick.
I wanted to stop him from killing the old man, he thought. And maybe Quintin hadn’t killed him. Maybe…
Quintin had killed him. He knew it. He had failed. God, he had failed.
He couldn’t fail now. Somehow he had to find a way to disarm both men, to get them going after each other instead of the O’Boyles.
Scooter spun around. “Hey, I hear something! Over there.”
Scooter started plowing his way through the snow, his gun out. Swearing softly in dismay, Craig followed.
He saw the trail leading away from the basement window through the snow and his heart sank.
Kat.
He forced his own path through the snow, somehow getting ahead of Scooter even though the other man had started off first, and then, even over the sound of the storm he heard her. Heard her desperate breath as she tried to run through the mammoth buildup of snow.
Then he heard the explosion of a bullet, followed by the soft sucking sound as it shot through the snow and into the wet ground.
“Stop!” he shouted to Scooter.
“There’s someone. There is som
eone!”
Another bullet ripped through the night.
“Stop shooting!” he shouted to Scooter. “You’re going to kill me.”
He had to reach Kat first. He redoubled his effort, but she was young and fit.
And she was running for her life.
He ran harder, barely grimacing when his ankle caught and twisted in a rut beneath the snow.
Kat let out a gasp as another bullet exploded, far too close.
“Scooter, you idiot, stop!” Craig raged.
She was directly in front of him. He jumped for all he was worth, catching her by the shoulders. Together, they flew facedown into the snow. She screamed and fought but he was stronger than she was.
He turned her over, and shock filled her eyes when she recognized him.
“Stop fighting, please,” he implored in a whisper.
“You could have let me go!”
“Don’t you understand? He would have shot you. I had to take you down or else he would have killed you,” he told her softly.
For a moment, she was still, eyes staring into his. Then she spat at him.
He swallowed hard. He could hear Scooter coming up behind them and knew he had to talk fast. “For the love of God, for your life, for the lives of your family, you don’t know me. You’ve never seen me before. And quit fighting.”
She stared at him. Green eyes like gems in the strange light, snow falling delicately on her cheeks. And all across the snow, the deep red flow of her hair.
Just like blood. Blood on the snow.
“Bastard!” she hissed.
He swallowed and nodded, and then Scooter was there and there was no more time to talk.
“I guess Quintin isn’t such an idiot after all, huh?” Scooter demanded. “Lookee, lookee. What have we got here?” He hunkered down, grinning at Kat.
Craig didn’t like the look of his grin. He liked it even less when Scooter reached out to touch her cheek.
Once again, Kat spat.
“Why you—” Scooter began. He was going to hit her.
Craig caught his hand.
Scooter stared at him, mistrust dawning in his eyes.
“No…it’s Christmas, remember? Come on, Scooter, let’s just make it through the night.”
The Last Noel Page 10