The Last Noel (9 page)

The house was warm, everyone was full after dinner, the music was good, and this felt ridiculously like a warm family scene.

When Skyler finished the first song, she went into “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” From there, she sang about the little drummer boy, letting Jamie take the lead. Uncle Paddy backed him up with his fine Irish tenor.

When the song ended, Craig clapped, Scooter followed suit, and even Quintin smiled.

“We should get the ornaments now,” Scooter said eagerly. “And she should keep playing,” he announced, pointing at Skyler.

“All right,” Quintin said.

Skyler immediately started playing a rousing rendition of “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

 

Tears were streaming unnoticed down Kat's face as she sat on the second-floor landing, listening, paying attention to every word, every nuance of tone.

She knew she couldn't leave. She wouldn't make it even a quarter-mile, much less the distance she would need to go. She had to wait for the weather to subside. The problem was, that was when the killers would be ready to leave, too, and before they did…

She was also afraid to leave. Afraid something terrible would happen if she did.

She was her family's only hope for survival, and she didn't know what to do, so she listened to the music and let her mind wander, hoping her subconscious would provide an answer while the rest of her mind was distracted.

Christmas carols were a family staple at the holidays. They could argue among themselves until they were ready to tear each other's hair out, but the fighting stopped when it was time to gather around the piano.

She felt a surge of fury. Those
monsters
were gathered around
her
piano in
her
home, threatening
her
family as her mother played the piano.

She was still in her parka, afraid to get caught without it, though she had unzipped it because the house was warm.

Warm and cozy, smelling deliciously of dinner and the bayberry candles her mother had set out. It always amazed her. They came here so infrequently and stayed so briefly, but this place had become a true holiday home for them. In a matter of hours they always managed to get their act together, despite all the bickering.

She felt a lump in her throat, a rolling in her stomach. Craig Devon—the tall, blond, muscular Mr. Gorgeous she had once loved—was down there with her family. The family he knew so much about because she had told him so much about them, while he'd told her nothing about himself.

Because, despite his boy-next-door looks, he was nothing but a criminal.

How had he gone from being a man filled with promise to what he was now? As she stared down at him, her nausea threatened to spill over. She remembered reading about a rash of heists conducted by thieves who hit small jewelry and antique shops throughout the Northeast, mainly in rural areas and mostly at night. And Hudson's, she thought now, was so close to this house. Police had warned that the thieves might be armed and very dangerous. One article had said police were searching for the killer or killers of a night watchman at a bank, who had been found dead near one of the jewelry stores, although they felt it was an unrelated incident. But what if it had been related after all?

If these men had killed before, they would certainly be willing to kill again.

If…

Maybe they hadn't killed the night watchman.

Right. There was a heist, and there was a dead man, but some passing maniac had done it.

That had been in New Hampshire.
Live free or die.
Apparently they had taken the state motto to heart.

She shifted slightly, gritting her teeth, and tried hard to remember any other details. As she moved, she felt her worthless phone in her pocket. She pulled it out, thinking that it couldn't hurt to see if she could get a signal.

She swore silently at the no-signal message, then stared in disbelief when the phone flickered for a moment and went dead. As she stared at the traitorous cell, she heard the music stop and people start talking about going up to the attic.

She scrambled to her feet, knowing that, whatever she was going to do, she had to move fast.

 

“Ready?” Scooter asked David.

“Sure,” David said. “Frazier, let's go get those boxes down.”

“Wait a minute,” Quintin said. “What else is up in that attic?”

Skyler stopped playing and turned to answer him. “We don't have a gun up there, if that's what you're afraid of,” she said flatly.

Quintin actually grinned, shaking his head. “Bleeding-heart liberal, huh? Guns don't kill, buddy. People kill,” he said.

“Thanks. I'll remember that,” David told him.

“You don't hunt, I take it?” Quintin said.

“No, I don't hunt.”

Quintin shrugged, as if David were only half a man.

“Some men don't need to hunt,” Skyler said, staring at Quintin. “They don't need guns.”

Quintin laughed. “Well, right now, I've got the gun, and that makes me the man to watch, doesn't it?”

“Skyler…” David said soothingly.

“I've got the gun, and if I want 'em, I've got the cute little blonde, your wife and your sons,” Quintin said to David. “And that makes me feel very important.”

“Let's get the ornaments, Frazier,” David said tightly.

“Scooter, watch them,” Quintin warned.

“Quit acting like I'm a damn idiot,” Scooter snapped.

“You're not an idiot, you're like a fucking little kid, wanting to decorate the Christmas tree,” Quintin retorted.

“Hey!” Craig spoke up. “Cut it out, you two. Quintin, the tree and the music are nice.”

“Why the hell not have Christmas?” Scooter demanded.

Quintin narrowed his eyes. “Fine, let's have Christmas.” He turned to David. “Just don't do anything stupid up there and make me shoot your wife. Or even Blondie over there.”

Brenda gasped.

“Oh, shut up,” Quintin commanded.

“It's all right,” Skyler said, putting her arm around the girl as they sat on the bench.

“I'm just going to get the ornaments,” David said. “That's all.”

Scooter had his gun out, and he used it to gesture toward the stairs. “I'll be right behind you guys,” he said. His tone was pleasant and yet somehow disturbing.

David headed for the stairs, walking heavily. If Kat was still in the house, listening, watching, she needed to be warned.

Don't do anything foolish, Kat, he prayed silently. You have to live.

He heard his son behind him, and Scooter behind Frazier. When they reached the upstairs hall, he pulled down the ladder to the attic and started up.

“No tricks,” Scooter warned.

“No tricks,” he promised wearily.

He couldn't think of a trick that could save them. Not now. Not when Quintin was holding a gun on the rest of his family.

A thought raced through his mind. What if they could disarm Scooter? At least Frazier might have a chance to live.

And he would know his life had been at the cost of his family and the woman he loved.

“Don't get too close to your father, kid. Let him hand you the boxes,” Scooter said.

“I have to stand at least on the second rung to reach,” Frazier told him.

“Yeah, yeah, all right. Hurry up,” Scooter said nervously.

So Scooter was the nervous type, David thought. Maybe if they learned more about the three men, it could be useful.

He grabbed one of the ornament boxes and turned to hand it to Frazier. His son's eyes met his, and David realized that for once, his son was looking to him for a lead.

He offered a smile and tried to fill it with the assurance that that they would get out of this somehow.

Frazier nodded, and David found himself mentally listing his sons' strengths. Jamie was young and thin, but tall, strong and perceptive. Frazier was always at odds with him, but he was strong, bright and a creative thinker. They might not have any options right now, he thought, but the time might come, if they could just stay alive until then.

Stay alive—and pray their captors would make a mistake.

There were three of them now, including Craig, the injured one. But was he as much of a danger as the others? Hard to tell. Just how injured was he, anyway? He would bear further watching. He was with the criminals, but there was definite tension there. Maybe that was the answer: playing them against each other.

“Should Frazier take that one on down?” David asked.

“What do you mean? You planning something?” Scooter asked suspiciously.

David almost laughed. “I wish I had a plan. Should he take that box downstairs now, then come back so I can hand him the next one? Or do we all walk downstairs and back up again with every box?” he asked.

Scooter scowled, then turned to Frazier. “Take that one down and get right back up here. And you,” he said, indicating David with the nose of the gun. “Don't make a move until the kid is back up here. Any tricks, kid,” he said, returning his attention to Frazier, “and I put a hole through your old man's chest.”

“Unfortunately, I don't have any tricks,” Frazier said.

David knew when Frazier reached the living room with his box. Both he and Scooter could hear Quintin's explosion.

“Scooter!”

“What the fuck?” Scooter demanded, going to the rail.

“You let the kid walk down here alone!” Quintin raged.

“I have a gun on his dad, and you have a gun on his mother and his girlfriend,” Scooter said. “He's just bringing the box down and coming right back up.”

David could hear Quintin muttering. Scooter stared back at him, and he had to prevent himself from smiling. “Quintin really runs you on a tight rope, huh?” he asked.

“Quintin doesn't run me.”

“Sure he does.”

“Shut up. We work together. No one runs me.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Here comes the kid. He's back. Get another box, and then get down from there. You're done.”

“Sure.” David stepped up into the attic again. Frazier was back on the second rung below him, ready to take the next box of ornaments. David reached for the box and just barely kept himself from gasping aloud.

Kat was there.

She was three feet away, shoving the box silently over to him with one hand and putting a finger to her lips in the age-old signal to keep silent. “I can't get away,” she breathed so quietly that he could barely hear her. “And my phone is dead.”

He nodded to let her know he understood, then mouthed the words, “Charger in my top bedside drawer.”

“I love you,” she whispered, and his heart soared.

“I love you, too.”

“What the hell's taking so long?” Scooter demanded.

“Nothing. I'm just getting a grip on it,” he said. He stared at his daughter for a long moment, then smiled with encouragement and breathed, “Be careful.”

She nodded and slipped into the shadows as he climbed down and handed the box to Frazier.

“That's it, all right?” David said, using irritation to cover his relief at knowing Kat was still alive.

“Yeah, yeah.” Scooter waved the gun. “Go on, both of you, downstairs. Listen. Your old lady is playing ‘Deck the Halls,' so let's go deck 'em.”

I
t was insane, Skyler thought. There they were, all gathered around the old piano, just like the quintessential Christmas family. But in reality it was the most terrifying situation she'd ever known. Despite that, as if trying could somehow make it real, she found herself racking her mind for the most cheerful Christmas carols possible. “Frosty the Snowman,” anything with a bit of a lilt. Meanwhile, Jamie chose ornaments and handed them out. Brenda had somehow found her courage and was helping. The room was cozy and smelled of the bayberry candles she loved, along with the faint scent of dinner.

It couldn't have looked more like Christmas, at least as long as she ignored Craig, who was sitting on the sofa, watching and still looking a little green around the gills.

Her panic had subsided, hovering in the background and only rearing its ugly head occasionally, when she let herself think about what was really going on.

Suddenly her attention was caught by a loud laugh. It was Scooter, who seemed to have the time of his life, helping to decorate the tree.

“These are great ornaments,” he said to Jamie. “Are they Irish?”

“No, just from Macy's,” Jamie told him.

“And this one?” he asked, holding up a red tear-shaped glass ornament.

“That's an old one,” Frazier told him. “From my grandparents, right, Mom?”

“Yes. It's part of a set my parents brought over from Ireland,” Skyler said between songs. She took a moment to look over at Quintin, who was listening without expression. What the hell was going on in that man's mind? she wondered, then tried to figure out just how many more Christmas carols she knew.

She started to sing “What Child Is This?” the Christmas version of “Greensleeves.” When she dared a look at Quintin, his eyes were almost closed, and he seemed strangely at peace.

“Do you know any Irish carols?” Quintin asked when she'd finished.

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Jamie demanded. “Sorry, Mom.”

She shrugged. She'd heard the word before. Sad enough to say, she'd probably used it herself, even in front of her children.

“Do you want to hear more Christmas music,” she asked Quintin, “or just music in general? Jamie could get his guitar.” She looked at Frazier. “And we could do with a violin.”

“Yeah,” Quintin said. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

They all stared at him.

“The boys' instruments are upstairs in their bedrooms,” Skyler said.

“Go with them, and keep the gun on them,” Quintin told Scooter.

“Why?” Scooter demanded. “The kids know if they do anything, Mom gets it right between the eyes.”

In the end, Skyler thought with a moment's panic, Mom will get it between the eyes anyway. David and I need to just throw ourselves on top of these guys and hope the kids can…

No, not yet. They had all night. The storm was still freezing everything in their little world. There was time.

“Go with them,” Quintin insisted to Scooter.

Suddenly Craig spoke up. “I can do it.”

Quintin looked at him, a strange, twisted grimace on his face. “But you're not armed, are you?”

“Scooter can give me his gun. You don't need two of them down here.”

“I don't think so,” Quintin said, staring at Craig.

Craig shrugged, as if it made no difference to him. “Whatever.”

Scooter let out a sound of aggravation. “Next time, you do it,” he told Quintin.

“Just get going,” Quintin said flatly.

Scooter stared at Jamie and Frazier. “Come on.”

To Skyler's surprise, Quintin looked from David to her after the others left and said, “This is really nice, this whole family thing, the music.” Without warning, his eyes hardened. “So don't go ruining my good mood, okay?” He turned to Brenda then. “What about you? You play an instrument? Or do you just sit around looking pretty?”

Skyler put an arm around the girl. “Brenda is pre-med.”

“She's going to be a doctor?” Quintin started to laugh.

“What's wrong with that?” Brenda asked him, surprising Skyler by speaking up so firmly.

“Are you tall enough to reach the operating table?” Quintin asked.

“She's not just tall enough, she's smart enough,” Skyler snapped.

“Why don't you leave them alone?” David asked, his tone low, his words spoken with a tremendous dignity that squeezed Skyler's heart.

“I could,” Quintin mused. “But I don't want to. And hey…I've got the gun.”

Skyler rose and, hands on her hips, stared at the man who was destroying her family. “Brenda is at the top of her class. One day, when you've been shot and there's a bullet lodged in your brain, she could be the doctor operating on you. She plans on making something of herself. That's more than what some people here can say.”

David stood, and she knew she had frightened him, that he was afraid Quintin would retaliate violently.

“Sit down, both of you,” Quintin said patiently. “I'm just an old chauvinist—sorry. The kid is smart? Good for her. Are you and the boy engaged, then?” he asked Brenda.

“No,” she said.

Quintin turned to David. “And you don't mind them shacking up in your house?”

David stared back at Quintin. “Yes, I mind. But I love my son, and I respect Brenda.”

“Still, it's not like it was when you were a kid, huh?” Quintin said.

“No,” David agreed flatly. “Times change.”

“That they do,” Quintin said, and though his voice was quiet, there was menace in his tone. “That they do.”

 

Kat, who'd been watching from the second-floor balcony, leaped up lightly and fled as soon as she saw Scooter and her brothers coming up the stairs.

She raced to her room, grabbed the phone from the charger and leaned against the closed door, her heart racing as she tried to listen to what was going on.

While she listened, she punched buttons frantically and tried to send out a 911 text message, but whether or not it got through, she didn't know.

Not that it mattered. Until the storm abated, no one could get here anyway, she thought, then went back to eavesdropping.

“Come on, come on,” Scooter said, as he ushered the two boys along the hall. “He just has to have his damn music, so let's just get the damn fiddle and be done with it.”

“You have something against violins?” Frazier asked belligerently.

“Calm down and don't be a jerk. You're just like Dad,” Jamie accused him.

“I'm not like Dad!” Frazier denied heatedly.

“Oh yeah? You get pissed off every time someone is late. But then you're late to everything, and you say it's because you think everyone else will be late.”

“Who are you to talk? Ever since you got that car, you never even show up for family occasions half the time.”

“That's because I'm stuck with them
all
the time,” Jamie reminded him.

“Because you're sixteen,” Frazier told him.

“At least you're a twin. You always had Kat around. I have to deal with Mom and Dad all alone.”

“You have a twin?” Scooter asked Frazier suspiciously. “Where?”

Against the wall, Kat sucked in a breath and held it.

“She escaped,” Frazier said quickly.

“Escaped?” Scooter echoed.

“Escaped the family this Christmas. Which is exactly what I should have done,” Frazier said quickly.

Their voices faded as they walked farther down the hall. When she could tell from their footsteps that they were outside Frazier's room, Kat dared to open her door and peek around the jamb. Her brothers were looking her way, and their eyes grew big when they spotted her. She shook her head in warning, and they nodded almost imperceptibly.

She held up her phone and mimed dialing, hoped they understood, then mouthed, “I love you,” and slipped back inside her room, shutting the door carefully. A moment later she heard them coming back down the hallway.

Suddenly the phone clutched in her hand let out a beep. She froze.

“What was that?” Scooter demanded, and she realized he was right outside her door.

“What?” Jamie asked.

“That noise,” Scooter said.

“What noise?” Frazier demanded, sounding impatient. “This is an old house. It creaks and groans all the time.”

“It wasn't any fucking old-house sound,” Scooter snapped. “It was a beep. Now come back here and open that door.”

Frazier did his best to stall. “That door?”

“What are you, stupid? Yes,
that
door. Open it.”

Kat could hear their voices, even though she had dived into her closet and hidden as best she could behind the clothes, scrunching into a corner and pulling an old comforter over herself.

“Get in there,” Scooter snapped to Jamie and Frazier.

Her heart pounding, afraid her every breath was a thunderous gasp, Kat cowered as far back as she could go and listened.

“Don't you two pull anything,” Scooter warned.

“What are we going to pull?” Jamie demanded.

Kat heard a thump and realized Scooter had gotten on his knees to look under the bed.

“What the hell do you think you're going to find?” Frazier demanded.

“Whose room is this?” Scooter asked, ignoring Frazier's question.

“My sister's,” Jamie said. “When she bothers to show up.”

“But she didn't show up?” Scooter asked.

“Have you seen her?” Frazier asked in return, sounding aggravated by the question.

“She's in love,” Jamie said. “She went away with her boyfriend.”

“Yeah?” Scooter said, doubt still evident in his voice.

“Will you hurry up and look wherever you're going to look?” Frazier queried impatiently. “Your crazy friend is down there with my family and my girlfriend, and he's going to start thinking something's wrong if we don't get back.”

“Open that closet door,” Scooter said.

Jamie snorted derisively. “Why? You think the bogeyman is in there?” he asked.

“Do it!” Scooter yelled. He sounded tense and on the edge of hysteria.

The door opened.

“Nothing here,” Jamie said impatiently, although he had to know she was there.

She heard footsteps on the floorboards outside her refuge. Scooter?

“I heard something,” Scooter snapped.

“I bet I know what it was,” Jamie said. “You must've heard one of the smoke detectors. The battery's probably going or something.”

“A smoke detector?” Scooter said doubtfully.

“Yeah, look. There's one right there. On the ceiling.”

“I dunno,” Scooter said. “Make it beep again, kid.”

“I don't know how to make it beep,” Jamie argued.

“Then figure it out,” Scooter said. “Figure it out.”

 

Quintin rose, his gun in his hand.

David stayed seated and did his best to remain calm, but the other man had a firm grip on his weapon, and it was clear that he knew how to use it. He'd used it before, David was certain. There was something in the man's eyes. A coldness. A complete lack of conscience.

He liked to be amused. Entertained. And right now they were entertaining him. He didn't want to think what would happen when that stopped.

Quintin was starting to look nervous, David realized. The others had been upstairs for what felt like a long time.

Maybe Craig had picked up on the same thing, because he suddenly said, “Quintin, you want me to go see what's going on?”

Quintin flashed him an impatient glance. “No.”

“What the hell do you think I'm going to do? I'm half-dead and I don't have a weapon. I'll just go up and see if Scooter needs help.”

“Go to the foot of the stairs,” Quintin said, “and just yell for him.”

Craig nodded and got up. “Yeah, sure. Hey, Scooter!” he yelled when he'd reached the stairway. “What's going on?”

“He's being a jerk!” Jamie shouted from above.

David felt his stomach lurch. Please, Jamie, for the love of God, watch your mouth. We're playing a dangerous game.

“Hey!” Scooter objected angrily.

Craig glanced at Quintin, frowning.

Jamie appeared on the landing. “He thinks I can make the smoke detector beep again,” he called down.

A beep? David thought. They'd heard a beep? It had to be Kat's phone. He didn't know whether to feel hopeful or even more terrified.