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“Ian!” She nearly collapsed with relief. He was already halfway down the stairs. “We have to find Renee.”
“Got her.” Ian appeared at the top of the stairs and met her halfway.
“Don’t look,” she said.
“Who?”
“Clark. Not Ray Watkins. I don’t even know how he knew where to find me.”
“I think Watkins knew and Clark got it out of him. Watkins’s dead. In his sister’s car.”
“Oh God. Where’s Renee?”
“Outside, with Merlin. I found her in some kind of hole.”
“The snow fort.” Lucy nearly collapsed with relief. “She must’ve gotten out through the firewood chute and hid there with the dog.”
“Let’s go get them, before the police arrive. They’re on their way.”
They stepped outside into the frigid night, where the blizzard still raged. Upon spying her mother, Renee dashed from beneath the cover of the surrounding forest, kicking up snow as she flung herself into Lucy’s arms.
“Ooh.” Lucy sucked in her breath. Pain burned through her abdomen where the bayonet had sliced her skin, but she didn’t let go of her daughter. There were hurdles to overcome. She would have a mountain of charges against her, everything from trespassing to murder, she supposed, but it would all sort out. Somehow. She’d make sure it did.
She heard the sound of sirens before she saw the strobe of red and blue lights barely visible through the snowfall.
Ian placed an arm around her shoulders, and for once she didn’t shrug it off. Maybe it was time to take another look at him. For tonight, at least, she’d cast off her doubts. Tonight, the nightmare was over.
San Francisco, California
Now
As rain drizzled down the windowpanes and holiday music played softly from the radio, Lucy eyed the Christmas tree, its warm lights glowing in the townhouse in San Francisco, the only home her daughter had ever known.
Renee was carefully rearranging the ornaments, adding older, forgotten angels and reindeer and whatever else she could find from an old box she’d found in the attic. Lucy had let her do the decorating as she was still recovering. The slice in her abdomen from the bayonet had required thirty-three stitches. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was long, and it still hurt like hell. It was a miracle they were even celebrating the holiday this year, Lucy thought, as the past week had been a flurry of police interviews, doctor visits, depositions, and explanations. The police were still looking into Ray Watkins’s sister’s brutal death. Her body was found in her home, but it was still undetermined whether Ray had killed her or Clark had. The prevailing theory was that Clark was behind it all, and though Ray Watkins had intended to track down Lucy, Clark had used him, taking him hostage to find his little sister. No one knew what Clark really intended, what his ultimate goal had been, or how he’d planned to get away with it, but it was over. Thank God.
As for Lucy, it seemed as if she still had her job; the Jacoby family wasn’t pressing charges and had agreed to take a few thousand dollars for repair and cleanup of their cabin. Aunt Beth, tired of “all the drama,” was keeping her distance, but Lucy believed that relationship could be mended. The press was at least under control, though that was temporary, and Lucy was estranged from both Marilyn and her mother. They both blamed her for Clark and Ray Watkins’s deaths.
So, what else was new?
“Wonderful,” she muttered under her breath.
“What’s wonderful?” Renee moved a tiny angel to a higher branch. How fitting. Closer to heaven.
“The season. Haven’t you heard those song lyrics about it being the most wonderful time of the year?”
“That’s not what you were talking about.”
True.
Renee said, “I thought you were going to make us cocoa.”
“Coming right up.” She pushed herself out of the chair and walked carefully into the kitchen, Merlin at her heels.
“Make enough for Daddy,” Renee reminded her. “He texted. He’s on his way over.”
“Okay.”
Ian. What are you going to do about Ian? Now that he’s proved himself, been by your side throughout this ongoing ordeal, and now that you no longer believe he cheated on you, are you going to give him another chance?
