The Last Noel (12 page)

Q
uintin 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
someone!”

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.”

Apparently that made sense to Scooter, who nodded. “No more of that, girlie,” he said. “Christmas or no Christmas, I
will
slug you next time.” He stood. “Let's get her inside and let Quintin figure out what to do with her.”

Craig nodded, trying to help Kat to her feet. She wasn't particularly cooperative.

“What the hell is going on out there?” Quintin yelled from the house.

“We got a girl!” Scooter cried out. “A wild one. The older kid's got a twin, and I think this is her.”

“Tell the wild one to come along nice and quiet or Mom gets it.”

Craig saw Kat's shoulders slump. Saw the utter despair and desolation darkening the emerald beauty of her eyes.

“Let's go,” he said curtly.

Inwardly, he trembled and wondered how they would manage to get through the night, if there had been truth, a premonition, in that vision of her hair spread out…

Like blood on the snow.

 

Lionel Hudson was dead from a single bullet between the eyes.

Sheila kept feeling the sting of tears against her eyelids. Lionel had lived his years as a good man, a fair man, always ready to help others. And now he was dead.

Executed.

She raged against the idea. She didn't even feel the snow against her cheeks or the bite of the cold through her clothing.

Tim laid an arm around her shoulders. “Sheila.”

“Yeah?”

“You said he had cancer.”

“Yeah.”

He inhaled deeply. “I've seen people die of cancer. It can be slow and painful.”

She looked at him, enraged. “So this is better?”

“I'm just telling you that he's beyond pain now.”

She swallowed, shaking her head. Beyond all pain.

A bitter wave of anguish seized her, and she almost laughed out loud.

“Sheila.”

“Yeah?”

“Whoever did this is still out there.”

She nodded, still feeling numb.

“Sheila, that other message came from just a few miles from here. Right?”

She nodded.

“I think that's where our killer is.”

Again, she nodded. “We need some major help here. Like a swat team from Springfield.”

“We don't have help. We have you, and we have me.”

“Tim, if the man who killed Lionel—”

“I'd say it was two men. Maybe even three. The way he was dragged out here…don't think one man could have done it.”

“Okay, so if these men are in the O'Boyle place…we have to be careful. They've already killed once. They'll kill again without a thought.”

Tim nodded. “Maybe…” He looked away.

She frowned, her knees threatening to buckle. “Maybe they're already dead,” she said, finishing the thought he couldn't voice.

He shrugged unhappily, not meeting her eyes.

“All right. We've got to get over there as fast as we can.”

“And then…?”

“We'll figure that out when we get there.”

 

Quintin was furious, and Craig had never felt more afraid in his entire life.

When they reached the house, Quintin stared at Kat in fury, but he didn't touch her. Instead, he backhanded David with a vengeance. Skyler screamed in protest, but she'd already raced forward to grab her daughter.

The others started to move.