A Christmas Miracle in Pajaro Bay (Pajaro Bay Series Book 6) (4 page)

She could hear the rousing singing loudly now, as the whole village seemed to be joining in a chorus of "Angels We Have Heard on High" in the main part of the church.

But the room she stood in was still, a bit dusty, and quiet as a tomb.

She cast around for a hiding place. The baby was quiet now, asleep in her arms, heavy and warm.

Where to hide? There was a door opposite. She opened it. A closet, filled with choir robes and costumes from the nativity play, and priests' garb. She could hide behind the robes, but it would be the first place the man would look.

No time.

She set the baby on the floor very gently, then stood. She grabbed a cloak of rough linen, probably one intended for a poor shepherd in a play or something. She wrapped it around her and then picked up the baby again, covering her body with the cloak. She slept on, unaware.

It was no good. She knew this costume wouldn't fool the man. She had to find somewhere to go.

She opened another door, and heard the voices singing loudly. This door led down a little hall into the main church, and the lights ahead and the warmth of the song pulled her forward. She knew there was no safety in numbers, but still, to be around others, it was something.

Lori came out of the hall and found she was in the sanctuary, directly behind the Father leading the service. There was a large nativity scene set up here, with bisque figures, old and dusty and wearing elaborate robes. There were candles all around, tall creamy pillars all alight around the manger.

The choir was still singing.

She cast around for someplace to hide, but all the people in the church were facing forward and looking directly her way. She raised one hand up and put a finger to her lips, then crept over to the midst of the nativity scene.

Then her stomach turned over. She was sure she had heard the creak of the outside door over the sounds of singing.

She knelt at the nativity scene and took the little doll out of the creche. Its bisque face was cracked with age, and the little swaddling was worn and mended.

She set it aside and placed the baby in the creche, then bent over her and bowed her head, covering her own blonde hair and the baby's face with the cloak's hood.

The people kept on singing, probably assuming this was part of the Christmas service.

Then the door from the side hall burst open and she heard it bang against the old church wall.

The singing started to trail off as people gasped in shock. She couldn't see the man but knew what they must be seeing: a killer, gun in hand and murder in his heart.

The voices one by one went quiet, except for one male voice, enthusiastically if erroneously singing "angels who have gotten high, sweetly sleeping on the plane." It was Hector of course, the giver of the crooked little seashell mobile that hung over the empty crib at the lighthouse.

From the corner of her eye Lori could see him smiling away, loopy as ever, happily singing at the top of his lungs, and oblivious to what everyone else was staring at.

He finally stopped when someone nudged him.

She saw his eyes widen as he looked at something behind her. "Dude! Not cool!" he said, outraged. But the same hand that had nudged him pulled his arm and he sat down, muttering.

Total silence. She could hear the hiss as the candles kept burning, their warm, yellow glow so incongruous in what was now to be a house of death.

She prayed that the baby wouldn't wake up. Even if they all were doomed, she prayed somehow for this innocent baby to be overlooked. Even as she tried to think of words for the prayer, she knew it was futile.

Father Anselm spoke. They were words in Spanish, soothing phrases that did not seem to soothe.

She heard a click from the gun, and he stopped talking.

Heavy steps behind her. She could feel an itch between her shoulder blades as if the bullet was already there. She held her breath.

The steps passed her, went down past the father to the main aisle of the church.

She could see the man's feet now as she looked sideways under the edge of the cloak's hood. Booted feet, wet. Slow, purposeful movements as he went to each pew and stopped, seemed to examine all the faces there, then moved to the next. Left and right sides, slow, methodical, missing nothing.

No one spoke.

There was a tiny whimper from the manger.

The feet turned on a dime and strode quickly up the aisle toward her.

Lori threw the hood back and picked up the baby. "No!" she shouted.

She could hear the word echo to the rafters.

But the man came closer. A boy, really, probably not much older than Enrique had been. A boy so lost to the world that he would do this thing he'd been ordered to do without even questioning it.

She stood up, the newborn in her arms. "You don't want to do this," she said firmly. But it was in English, and the look on the boy's face showed he either didn't understand, or if he did, the words didn't reach him in his single-minded focus on his mission.

She stood there in the middle of the Christmas scene, surrounded by sputtering candles, her arms futilely cradling the baby.

The gun was huge. One bullet would travel through her body, her arms, and the infant. It was hopeless. Her arms clenched around the baby.

The baby fussed at the rough handling. One hand escaped from the cloak and reached up, toward the rafters.

The gun wavered. The man stared at the baby.

Lori looked down, and saw that a trick of the light made the candlelight appear to be held there, a golden glow cupped in that tiny palm.

Silence in the church, so drawn out that she thought she would scream just to break the tension.

Then the gun hit the floor with a clatter that echoed through the nave. The boy went down to his knees and put his palms over his face and cried.

Father Anselm came over then and knelt beside him. The boy didn't resist when the father put an arm around him and spoke soft words again. This time the boy just leaned against the father and cried.

Hector stood up and came over, picked up the gun and took it back to his seat. He sat holding the gun in his lap, gingerly, like it might bite him.

No one else moved until Captain Ryan and Deputy Joe and her own Matteo came through the big front doors of the church. Then the captain cuffed the boy and the father went with him as they took him out.

The boy looked back at the baby before he was led out the door, as if he wanted his last sight to be of that little hand holding the light.

T
he Day After Christmas
, 4 p.m.

I
t was raining
.

The rain seemed appropriate. Lori cradled the baby close to her while Matt held an umbrella over the three of them.

Father Anselm made it a short graveside service. The single shared grave was filled in by the sexton. Matt had said that a single anonymous grave would be less likely to be found by their enemies, and the Father had agreed that Inez and Ricky deserved to spend eternity together, since it was denied to them in life.

Dr. Lil was there, in black jeans and a black turtleneck that set off her snow-white hair. She didn't need to speak. Lori knew how hard she'd fought for those two young lives.

Matt and Lori and the baby stood to one side and watched the dirt cover the final resting place of Ricky and Inez. Just Ricky and Inez. No one knew their last names.

The father had helped them pick out a stone. When it arrived, it would simply read,
Beloved
. No names. No date. They didn't dare say anything more. Who knew what danger might come to the village some day in the future, searching for answers? Lori cuddled the baby closer. What would happen to her now?

Matt looked up and Lori caught the quick smile flash across his face.

"You're late," Matt whispered as a man came up to stand next to them.

Lori smiled too. George Asher had been closer to her husband than anyone, the one person he could trust in that world of darkness in which they'd spent their lives. Now they had both left that life, and the dark, handsome man standing next to them looked nothing like the flamboyant character he usually played when infiltrating criminal gangs.

George stood silently beside them until the service was completed.

It was over quickly. Dr. Lil left for the clinic, Father Anselm and the sexton headed back to the mission, and Matt, Lori, and George took the gravel path through the cemetery up to the church parking lot.

"So this is the little one," George said, peering down at the sleeping baby.

"She's heavy," Lori said. "I had no idea how tired your arms get holding a baby."

George smiled. "But you wouldn't give it up for anything."

Lori frowned, because of course she would be giving up this little person with no name soon. The child wasn't theirs. She was in some strange legal limbo, born somewhere at sea between two countries, her parents dead, her life threatened.

"We have to find her family, but we don't even know Inez's last name."

"Suarez," George said flatly. "Her last name was Suarez."

They were at the car. The rain was still pouring down, but George just stood there in his expensive gray suit, with water droplets in his short-cropped, black curls and rivulets running down his bronze face. He smiled gently at Lori.

"Don't do that," Matt said. "Don't let Lori think this is going to have a happy ending. You know the law better than anyone, George. You said there was a grandfather. He gets custody."

George touched the baby's cheek with one finger. "The grandfather sold Inez to the cartel when she was fifteen years old."

Lori cupped the infant's head in her hand. "Matt! We can't send her back! We can't!"

Matt looked at George. "If we fight it in court, the cartel will learn what happened. How could we possibly keep her safe?" He put his arm protectively around Lori and the baby.

George reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a manila envelope.

He took the umbrella from Matt and held it over them while Matt tore the envelope open and pulled out the papers inside.

"But—" Matt shook his head. "You can't just make a baby disappear...."

"No. I can't do that." George grinned. "But the U.S. Marshalls can."

"But how—?"

George handed the umbrella back to Matt. "I told our old boss at the Project that you didn't remember the layout of the tunnels in that compound."

"I would never withhold information like that!"

"Of course you wouldn't. But I would." He kissed Lori on the cheek. "Merry Christmas."

He dashed to his rental car, got in, and was gone.

Matt and Lori stood there in the rain. The baby slept on, oblivious.

"What happened?" Lori finally asked when Matt said nothing.

Matt held up the papers. "It's a birth certificate. Social Security number. Everything a newborn needs to start her life in America."

"I don't understand. How is that even possible?"

Matt led her around to the passenger side of the sedan. He opened the back door and she put the baby into the car seat Dr. Lil had lent them.

"The U.S. Marshalls are in charge of the witness protection program," he said while she buckled the baby into the seat. "They gave her a new identity."

"But she's not a witness."

"According to these papers, she's a witness to the murder of Inez Suarez."

Then he did something totally unexpected. He dropped the umbrella and knelt down on the pavement next to the open car door.

He bent his head and cried. "She's safe," he whispered. "And she's ours."

Lori fell to her knees next to him. She was getting soaked but she didn't care. They both knelt there and looked at this tiny person.

"I saw things when I was under, Lori," Matt said softly. "I don't talk about it. I saw what happened to kids. To girls. Inez was a prostitute. The baby's father could have been one of hundreds of horrible men. And Ricky, he grew up in the gangs. They both knew what would happen to their baby. They sacrificed their lives to get her to us. To give her a chance."

"Oh, Matt! The papers are getting wet!" She took them from him and laid them on the seat next to the baby.

She saw the name on the birth certificate. "Kai Milagra DiPietro," she whispered. "Do you know what it means?"

Matt stood up and helped her to her feet. He opened the front door and helped her in.

Lori was muddy and soaking wet, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but that the baby was safe, and she was theirs.

He got in the driver seat and started the engine. "Let's see," he said. He wiped his eyes. "Well," he said briskly, "Milagra is Spanish for miracle. And George's sister-in-law is named Kai. It's Hawaiian. I think it means 'from the sea' or something like that." He grinned. "And you know where the DiPietro comes from."

"So Hawaiian, Spanish, and Italian."

"Quite a big name for such a little person," Matt said.

"Miracle from the sea," Lori whispered. She tilted the rearview mirror so she could see the baby... their baby... their little Kai... sleeping away, her tiny hand clutching the strap of the car seat as it had cupped the golden candlelight in the mission church.

"Welcome to Pajaro Bay, Kai," she said.

And they went home.

D
on't miss
the story of Lorelei York and Matteo diPietro:

He was supposed to seduce her, not get rescued by her. So how did Matt DiPietro find himself lying in a brass bed being fed chicken soup by a sheltered girl with innocent blue eyes and a pretty good right hook? He had to find a way to get back in control of the situation before both of them ended up as shark bait.... Get
Shadow's Lady
at
http://geni.us/BarbaraCoolLee