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When Topor contacted Svetlana with yet another excuse as to why he couldn’t make it for Christmas, Gunner was prepared. He’d installed software on Zary’s mother’s phone, and within seconds of his call, they knew his exact location.
He didn’t call the man until they stood outside the door of his motel room.
“We’re here to deliver you to your sister as a Christmas gift,” Gunner said when he answered the call he believed was from Svetlana.
Rauf “Topor” Evasov opened the door slowly. “Are you sure you’re not here to kill me?”
A few short weeks ago, Gunner would’ve been eager to put a bullet in the man who stood in front of him, but after hearing Zary’s account of the way Topor had cared for her mother all those years, and given the fact that he’d saved the life of the woman he loved, Gunner had developed a soft spot for him.
“We have one rule,” Razor told him. “We won’t kill anyone on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. After that, all bets are off.” He smiled and held out his hand. “Welcome to the family,” he said when Topor shook it.
Gunner had to admit the man looked like shit. He wouldn’t ask now, but before they delivered him back to the seedy motel he was staying in—if they brought him back here at all—he’d find out whom the man was afraid would find him. If it was protection he needed, it would be easy to arrange. One call to the company, and Rauf Evasov would never have to worry for his life again.
He hadn’t told Zary or her mother where he and Razor were going, only that they’d be back soon. He wondered if Svetlana had even noticed her phone, which he now held in his hand, was missing.
“We’re back,” he yelled when they came in the front door. “Where is everyone?”
“In here,” his mother hollered from the kitchen.
“This way, Topor.”
“Please, Rauf.”
“You got it.”
Both Zary and her mother were in the kitchen when he, Razor, and Rauf walked in, and the look on both their faces melted Gunner’s already-thawed heart.
“Tell me about Christmas,” Zary murmured.
“Past or present?”
“Both.”
“As you know, we moved around a lot when I was a kid. My parents always made sure that we had as traditional a Christmas as possible. If my dad was stationed in the States, we’d go to my grandparents’ house. If not, my mom would pull out all the stops and decorate the hell out of wherever we were living.” Gunner looked around the room they were sitting in. “Kind of like she did here.”
“I like it.”
“I do too, to be honest.”
“Which grandparents did you visit?”
“Both. My father’s parents lived here, in what is now the guest house. My mother’s parents lived in DC, so only about forty-five minutes from here.”
“Your mother’s father was the French ambassador.”
“That’s right. Did she tell you, or did you already know?”
“She did. I asked her to tell me about Christmas too. It was lovely to hear about Père Noël.”
“Ah, so you understand why the shoes sitting by the fireplace are filled with carrots and cookies.”
“For Père Noël’s donkey.” Zary’s smile lit up the room.
“Do you know the donkey’s name?”
“I do.” She clapped her hands as a child might. “It’s Gui, which means mistletoe.”
“That’s right. Every year up until I turned eleven or twelve, I’d beg my parents to get us a donkey that we could name Gui. At some point, Odette convinced me we’d have better luck asking for a dog.”
