The Last Noel (5 page)

“Quintin, you can join the rest of us in the kitchen.”

Her mother had somehow taken control. Amazing, Kat marveled.

Quintin laughed. “Yes, ma'am. We seem to have ourselves an Irish matriarch here, Scooter. There's no one fiercer. And she's a fine cook, we're told. Good thing, because I'm starving. And freezing.”

“There are sweaters in the hall closet, right over there,” Skyler said, pointing. “Take off your coats. I don't want you sitting at my table in those filthy coats.”

Mom, be careful! They'll shoot you for sure, Kat thought, her heart sinking.

But Quintin only laughed again. “All right. You,” he said, indicating Brenda, “get the sweaters, so we can all have dinner.”

He stared at Brenda, who was staring back at him like a doe caught in the headlights of a speeding car.

“Hop to it!” Quintin said, and Brenda did.

“What about Crai—” Scooter began, doffing his coat and accepting one of David's old sweaters.

“Later,” Quintin said.

“But it's freezing out,” Scooter said.

“Later, after dinner.”

“But—”

“What happens, happens,” Quintin said.

What the hell are they talking about?
Kat wondered.
Who or what is “Crai”?

“We'll put your coats in the mudroom,” Skyler said, and Kat could see that her mother was trembling as she picked up Scooter's discarded coat and tossed it into the small tiled mudroom off one side of the foyer where they were standing.

“I'll hang mine, if you don't mind,” Quintin said, suiting his actions to the words. “Now let's go. I'm starving.”

He looked up suddenly, and Kat instantly backed even farther into the shadows, her heart thundering. Had he seen her? Apparently not, because he set his hand on Skyler's shoulder and repeated, “Let's go.”

“Get your hands off her,” David said.

Quintin seemed surprised, but he only smiled. “Just remember, everyone on good behavior. Everyone. We keep close together, like a good family, and no one gets hurt.”

They left the entry hall and moved into the kitchen, and Kat was left alone with her roiling thoughts.

She felt frozen, paralyzed, but she knew she had to get past that. Her mother had kept them from knowing she was in the house for a reason: so she could save the family.

Or so she could live when the invaders massacred the rest of the family.

No.
That wasn't going to happen. She would find a way to make sure of it.

She prayed silently for strength. What the hell should she do? How was she supposed to get help in the middle of a blizzard?

She couldn't wait until the weather calmed down, because Quintin and Scooter were waiting for the same thing. Then they would no doubt steal one of the family's cars and get back on the road.

And before they went on the road…

They would kill her entire family. They hadn't hidden their faces. They had blithely offered their names. Of course, they might have made up the names they had given, but she didn't think so. The most likely scenario was that they would have dinner, savor the warmth of the house and then kill her entire family.

She turned and hurried silently down the hall to her room. She tried her cell first, but she wasn't at all surprised to discover she had no service. She hesitated, then quickly tried the landline. But either the wires were down or their unwelcome visitors had cut the lines.

Think, she commanded herself. There had to be something she could do.

She could run, but where?

Oh God, it was all up to her. And she was in a panic, failing…

She drew a deep breath.

She could not—would not—fail.

 

She must be in a state of delayed shock, Skyler decided. She should be paralyzed, either entirely mute or screaming, but instead she was talking, moving, almost normally. They all were, thanks to that basic instinct for survival that kicked in no matter how dire the circumstances.

The singer on the CD that had gone on playing in the background moved on to “O Holy Night.” She had wanted peace so badly before but now…

Now she just wanted everyone to live.

“What the hell is that stuff?” Scooter asked, staring at one of the serving dishes.

“Bacon and cabbage, to go with the corned beef,” David said sharply. Bless him, he was actually bristling at the insult to her cooking, despite the circumstances.

“Don't look like bacon,” Scooter said.

“It's more like Canadian bacon,” Frazier said. “It's the Irish tradition to have bacon with the cabbage.”

“Cabbage is worse than bacon,” Scooter said, wrinkling his nose.

“Taste it. All the flavors mix together. It's good,” Skyler heard herself say as if she were coaxing a five-year-old. “Brenda, would you pass the potatoes, please?”

She could do this. They all could. It was the only way to stay alive. Because if they didn't stay calm and pull this off…

At least, she prayed, Kat would survive.

As Scooter reluctantly accepted the bowl of cabbage, Skyler dared a glance at David. His jaw was locked, a pulse ticking at his throat. His eyes touched hers, and they were filled with humiliation. He had failed to protect his family. He wanted to do something.

She shook her head.
No.

“Hey, you're right. This shit is good,” Scooter said.

“My mother does not put
shit
on the table.” Jamie bridled.

There was silence for a moment; then Scooter grinned. “Sorry. It's just that…been a while since I've eaten a family dinner.” He set his fork down suddenly. “I can't do this.”

“You can't do what?” Skyler demanded, her heart racing. He couldn't sit and eat with them when he planned to shoot them all in a few hours?

“Leave it,” Quintin said.

“Come on,” Scooter protested. “The kid could be dead.”

Quintin frowned, then swore in exasperation. “The kid could be a cop.”

“No, he's not,” Scooter insisted.

“What kid?” Skyler demanded, feeling as if she were about to explode, as if she were choking and stars would burst in front of her eyes before the total darkness of death descended.

Surely they couldn't mean Kat?

“What kid?” David breathed.

Quintin waved his fork dismissively. “Nothing for you to worry about, buddy.”

Skyler was surprised to see David lean forward intensely. “Haven't you guys ever been in a blizzard before? If you left someone out there in this, he'll die. A few years ago, one poor old woman died
after
the storm. She froze to death just trying to get her mail.”

Scooter looked at Quintin. “The kid is no cop,” he insisted. “I don't want anyone to die if I can help it.” Then, as if realizing that he was sounding too soft, he added, “But don't any of you forget we've got guns, and we'll use 'em if we have to.”

“Mom first,” Quintin reminded them very softly, and Skyler lifted her head to stare at him. He laughed suddenly. “Look at the little lioness. You think it would be worse if I threatened one of the children. For you, yes. But for the kids here…You think they'd want to go on living, knowing they got you killed?”

“Ah, it's all clear to me now,” Paddy said suddenly.

“What's clear, you old Mick?” Quintin demanded.

“Why, that you were abandoned by y'er blessed mother,” Paddy said.

“I wasn't abandoned,” Quintin snapped back. “The drunken bitch died. Maybe you should watch it, Mick. You could be next.”

“Speaking of abandoning people…” Skyler cut in. “Have you abandoned someone outside?”

Quintin grinned. “You
want
us to bring in our buddy and put the odds even more in our favor?”

There was no way she could hide the confusion that filled her when she added that thought to the mix.

“That's all right. You're good people,” Quintin said surprisingly.

“I want to get the kid,” Scooter said stubbornly.

“The food will get cold,” Quintin said. “And how do you propose we get him?”

“Those two get him out of the car and carry him in,” Scooter said, indicating David and Frazier. “You sit here with your gun trained on Mom and they won't make trouble.”

“The wind is blowing like a son of a bitch,” Paddy noted.

“So it is,” Quintin said. “Go get coated up.”

 

The blow to his head had been bad. Craig groaned, shivering, his teeth chattering. He tried to open his eyes again.

Somehow he managed to sit up so he could get a look at where they were, and his heart sank.

Oh God. He'd hoped it was just the blizzard and the pain confusing him, making him see the familiar where it didn't exist, but he hadn't been confused. What he'd seen was all too real.

This was Kat's family's country home, the one she always joked was out in the boondocks, where people still knew one another and where they cared.

Kat.

With her music and her laughter. He could remember far too vividly the times they had come up here for weekends when her family was away, the nights they had spent cuddling on the couch, watching old movies, unable to keep their hands off each other.

Casablanca
rolled across his mind. He could hear Humphrey Bogart saying, “Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she had to walk into mine.”

Except that Kat O'Boyle hadn't just walked into his life.

He had plowed into hers.

Maybe it wasn't the house, he thought, and looked again.

Nope, it was. Painted white and black with detailed Victorian gingerbreading. The porch, the sloping yard…This was the house, all right.

Maybe they weren't here. But he knew they were. He could see lights in the windows, and in the living room, a Christmas tree strung with colorful lights.

What the hell was the matter with these people? They lived in Boston. Why hadn't they bought a vacation home somewhere warm? Anywhere but here.

Maybe, he hoped against hope, Kat wasn't there.

No, Kat never missed Christmas with her family.

He closed his eyes, wishing he couldn't see the house. When he opened them, he thought about getting out of the car, then decided to give it another second, even though the backseat now seemed as cold as the middle of an iceberg.

Even if something had happened and Kat wasn't here, her family was inside. He'd never met them, but he felt as if he knew them. Her father, set in his ways. Her twin brother, Frazier, whom he'd at least seen when Kat pointed him out once across campus. Her little brother, Jamie. He'd wanted to meet her family. Even when she had complained about them, it had been with love.

Her parents were just so old-school, she had told him once. They had both been born in the States, but their parents had come over from Ireland, and sometimes it felt as if they had only recently come over themselves. Her father thought Mexican food was weird and sushi would kill her one day. She'd once suggested they hire a country singer at the pub, and her mother had looked at her as if she'd betrayed the nation.

They fought too much, Kat had said, even admitted that they probably should have gotten a divorce.

No, he'd told her. It was great when people believed so strongly in marriage that they made it work no matter what. He'd never told her about the way his parents had gotten divorced. They hadn't meant to hurt him, of course. They were decent people who'd gotten so caught up in their own pain that he had gotten lost in the shuffle. And then, when time had passed and some of the wounds had healed…

Then everything had really gone to hell.

He closed his eyes again, and when he opened them…

There was a face looking in the window at him.

Kat's face.

He blinked to banish the hallucination. Then he heard the door open and realized she was real.

“Craig?” she murmured incredulously. “Craig Devon?”

“Kat?” He couldn't see clearly, couldn't think clearly, but he knew he had to shake it off.

“Oh my God! What are you doing here? Did they kidnap you or—”

She broke off, staring at him. He steeled himself, feeling his heart freeze and then shatter into little pieces.

“I heard you were in jail,” she said. Her voice had gone as cold as the snow around them.

Jail? He felt like laughing. She didn't know the half of what had happened.

His choice, of course. The turns his life had taken weren't the kind a man longed to share with the woman he loved. The woman he longed to have love him in return.