by Kira Blakely
“Keep that locked,” I command her, then stride over to the adjoining bathroom, depress its button lock on the doorknob, and pull it shut, sealing myself out of her room. It’s better this way, and she’ll only breach those locks if one of the kids is in trouble.
I come out through my bedroom door and look up and down the hallway first. Everything is dark and quiet, but there’s an unmistakable and strong draft coming from the stairwell.
I step quietly in my bare feet to the landing and glance down at the foyer.
The front door hangs wide open.
There’s no way that it’s James. Shit. It’s got to be either Astrid or a wild animal, and to be completely honest, I would prefer even a black bear cub to tipsy, un-medicated Astrid. There’s no time to waste with quiet steps anymore. I thunder down the stairwell and shut the door, sliding all its locks into place.
“James?” I hiss. “Are you awake?” I creep to the den, still scanning for any shadows of movement, but nothing is there. James is notorious for leaving televisions playing in rooms where no one is watching them, but this time, the television is off and the room is dark. He even turned off the Christmas tree, which is even more unlike him. Still, all its tinsel and baubles shimmer softly in the shadow, horribly out-of-key with this moment. I back out of the room, confused, and feel a rumble across the floor. Shit. Something’s downstairs. Maybe it is James. Or maybe it’s hurting James.
I hurry to the basement door in the corridor between the kitchen and the foyer, throwing it open and rushing downstairs. James is flat on his back, groaning at the foot of the stairs.
“What the hell happened?” I demand, certain that he’s been the nuisance moving through the house, scaring everyone to death. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, man, that’s why I was coming upstairs,” James grumbles, rubbing the back of his head and blinking up at me sleepily. “I was down here, and I heard somebody come running down the stairs and slam the door. It woke me up. I think I lost my footing on the damn stairs. I’m fine, Lucas. Don’t worry about me. What the hell is going on up there? Why are all the lights out?”
A chill tickles down my spine.
He didn’t turn off the television. He didn’t turn off the tree. The electricity is out.
“Do you think it’s the storm?” James asks at my back, but I’m already galloping back upstairs. I don’t think it is the storm. Storms can’t turn doorknobs.
I burst through the basement door and lunge into the kitchen, the only room I haven’t checked yet. I scan everything for signs of disturbance, but the only clue is the open kitchen door. Nothing else. This isn’t a Christmas-themed thief.
My stomach sinks. It’s got to be Astrid. She’s the only one crazy enough to do something like this.
She’s not in the living room. She’s not in the basement. She’s not in the kitchen.
Fuck. While I was downstairs, she might have headed upstairs. I step to the back door in the kitchen and quickly lock it. I glare out the window at the snow, still falling hard. I don’t see anybody out there. I don’t hear anything. Maybe it was the storm. Maybe the front door wasn’t closed tightly.
When I turn, a shadow darts into the den, and then a high-pitched shriek rings through the air. Oh my god, it’s Madison. Madison is down here now. I would recognize that scream anywhere, and I burst through the living room door just in time to see the entire horrific tableau.
Madison stands at the other living room entrance, her hands clapped over her mouth and her eyes as wide as golf balls. On the other side of the room, silhouetted against the Christmas tree, is Astrid. The silvery light from the blizzard outside our windows gives her a macabre pallor and a wild glaze to her eyes. She’s still wearing the white cat suit from earlier, still in that constrictive shapewear. Her makeup tracks down her face, leaving black pits of smeared mascara beneath her eyes. Her face is wet from the storm and possibly her own tears. Her hair is a wreck. She looks cold and wet and insane, and she’s gripping the Christmas tree, on the brink of wrecking it.
“Mommy?” Madison squeaks uncertainly. “Are you… Santa Claus? I heard a noise, and I thought—I thought it was Santa.”
“Madison!” Sofia’s voice cries from the stairwell, and God damn it, she’s coming down. This is the match that will make this whole house explode. I can’t let Astrid see Sofia right now, but it’s too late. Sofia emerges through the foyer entrance and grasps Madison’s shoulders before she even sees Astrid.
“Get your hands off my daughter!” Astrid howls, sounding more like a demon than like a woman.
The blood drains from Sofia’s face and her hands go limp, dropping off Madison’s shoulders.
“Mommy, you’re scaring me,” Madison whispers.
The basement door opens in the distance, and I hear James shuffling toward the other entrance to the den. As soon as he sees Astrid, he holds his hands out and says one long, firm, “Whoa.”
Astrid turns her wild eyes away from Sofia and onto him. “Stay the fuck out of this, James,” she screeches.
I’ve never seen her this bad before.
I should’ve been checking in with her, making sure she was still going to her therapy sessions and still refilling her prescriptions on time. I should’ve been more careful, because I realize now that Astrid hasn’t been well since before Thanksgiving, when she repeatedly skipped visitations with the kids. I just didn’t want to see it then. I brushed it aside and now it’s exploded.
“James,” I breathe to my brother. “Take everybody downstairs and keep them with you.” I don’t want them to see whatever happens next.
Christmas is supposed to be a special time. This is like the much worse version of A Nightmare before Christmas. Or no, it’s literally the Grinch.
Astrid’s claws are hooked between the string of lights and the tree itself.
James nods and ducks back out of the kitchen entrance. His footfalls thud through the connecting corridor and his hand reaches out for Sofia and Madison.
“Don’t you dare,” Astrid growls, freeing one hand from the tree to point. “Don’t you dare go anywhere, Miss Nanny.”
Madison’s hand slides into James’s and they disappear from the room. I’m not sure where Charlie is, but I assume he’s sleeping safely upstairs. I don’t think Astrid will mess with him—not anymore. All my focus is on Sofia. Her arms are still crossed protectively over her midsection.
I stretch out my arm to the right, silently indicating for Sofia to come to me. I’m afraid that running will spur Astrid’s hunter instinct and send her sprinting after Sofia. I would rather Astrid trash the tree, the house, everything in it than hurt my unborn child and the woman I love. Christ, do I love her.
Astrid sees the gesture and, as Sofia crosses the space toward me, she topples the tree to the ground with a terrific crash. Then, she launches herself at Sofia. She falls back, away from me, gripping her stomach. “Stop!” she says. “Stop it. Astrid, there’s no need for this.”
“Need for this?! This is all your fault! If you hadn’t come along, everything would’ve been perfect. He would’ve been mine. You slut, you lowly, little –”
“Enough,” I grunt. “That’s enough. Don’t talk to Sofia like that, Astrid.”
She spins on her heel, eyes stretched so wide her eyelids are fucking streaks of nothing, her lashes peeled back against her sockets. “You bastard,” she whispers. “This was supposed to be our Christmas. Ours. Not hers.”
I want to signal to Sofia to get the hell out of here, so I can diffuse the damn situation, but I can’t without alerting Astrid to the plan. And I can’t guarantee how she’ll react if she sees me taking sides again.
The last thing we need is a fight in front of the kids. The last thing we need is Astrid scaring them again.
Charlie’s just started recovering. He’s finally got life in his eyes. He’s laughing again.
“Astrid, please, you’ve got to calm down. Calm down, and we can talk about this.”
Her feet drum down the corridor between the foyer and the kitchen. She must be heading for the basement door, for safety with the kids and James.
Astrid lets out a feral shriek. “No, you don’t, you weasel bitch, you’re not getting away that easily.” She dives for the kitchen entrance, and her footfalls thunder after Sofia’s.
“No,” I cry, but it’s too late. I bolt after Astrid. I didn’t want to startle her with a sudden movement, but I should have, because now Sofia and our baby might be in danger.
Just how far will Astrid take this?
Chapter 39
Sofia
My heart pounds hard in my throat. She’s lost her mind. She’s going to do something to me, and I don’t want to think what.
The baby. I won’t let her hurt our baby.
Surely, Astrid isn’t that crazed.
I break into the foyer and hesitate, glancing between the dark upstairs of the house and the corridor that leads to the basement door and the kitchen. That corridor never seemed longer than it does right now, but I don’t want to trap myself upstairs. I’d rather be downstairs with another adult, and there might be a place for me to hide or another exit down there.
Astrid looms in the kitchen and pounces on me while the doorknob to the basement twists in my hands. She’s unarmed, but her strength is monstrous. Her long, icy nails claw and sink into my arms as she drags me against her chest, pulling me into the kitchen with her.
“Shh, princess,” she purrs darkly into my hair. I thrash against her, but she holds me easily. “Is this the kind of stuff you wore around him, when you were supposed to be the fucking nanny?” Astrid growls. “And the fucking nanny was what you turned out to be, wasn’t it?”
As she holds me tight, the soft hint of moonlight trickles into the sky, signaling that the storm is over. But it’s only beginning inside the house. The rising sun doesn’t mean it’s a new day in here.
“Astrid,” Lucas calls to her, firmly. My gaze meets with his, and I pray to God that he knows the magic words to say to call her off. I don’t want to assault the woman—well, I do, since she’s threatening me, but I can’t. I’m already wanted for insurance fraud, and unhinged as Astrid might be, she’ll only spin this on its head and use it against us.
And the kids. God, the kids. Is Charlie OK? Maddy’s downstairs at least. Shit, shit, shit, can this get any worse?
“Astrid, you don’t want to do this. You’re going to ruin your life if you don’t relax and let her go,” Lucas says. “This is grounds to have your custody rights removed entirely. Let her go, and we’ll talk about this. Rationally. Like adults.”
“You already ruined my life, you giant dick!” Astrid cries. “You divorced me! Took my children away. And now, you’ve hired yourself a new wife, all of, what, eighteen? Pregnant so fast it’d make your head spin. You ruined my life, Lucas. You’re the one making me do this.” Her words slur a little, and her breath stinks of alcohol.
It takes all my resolve not to elbow her in the stomach and make a break for it.
Breathe through it, Sof. For the kids. For the future. For Lucas. Shit, even for this crazy bitch who’s got you pinned.
“Listen to me, Astrid,” Lucas says, placing his palms up to her. “I know that you feel bad right now. But let’s walk it through, OK? If you hurt Sofia, you’re going to end up in prison or in a mental hospital. Period, point blank. You won’t win. Your life won’t get better. The only way to fix this is to let her go. Admit that you need help. I’ll help you. We’ll all help you.”
“Now he pays attention. You couldn’t pay attention before, but now I’ve got my arm around this little slut’s neck, you listen. Typical fucking asshole.”
“Fine, I’m an asshole,” Lucas says, clearly. No, you’re not an asshole. This is just a messed-up situation and we need to deal with it. “I should’ve realized you were struggling sooner, Astrid. Just let Sofia go, and we can talk. OK? We can talk about everything. About Christmas and the kids. Everything.” Lucas says. There’s a hint of command in his tone, but at the same time, he’s gentle with her.
Perhaps he senses Astrid will snap like a year-old candy cane if he doesn’t. She’s already cracked, colorless.
“Yeah?” Astrid pants, her chest rising and falling hard against my back. “We can talk?” Her voice is bright and shaky with madness.
“Of course, we can talk, Astrid,” Lucas promises her. “Of course, we can. Just let Sofia go.”
“OK,” Astrid breathes. “I want to make a deal with you.” She still hasn’t let go of me, and she doesn’t sound any less crazy than she did a second ago.
I take a deep, cleansing breath, struggling to center myself. I know it’s not over. It’s not over yet.
“All right,” Lucas allows. “Let’s make a deal. Why don’t you let Sofia go?”
“Why the fuck do you keep calling her Sofia? Did you tell me the wrong name all along? What’s going on?” My eyes bulge as she tightens her grip, and the urge to turn and rabbit punch her almost overwhelms me. Almost. “I’m not letting this woman go until we make a goddamn deal, Lucas.”
“All right, all right,” Lucas whispers, creeping closer. “We can make a deal. Relax.”
“This bitch is not a nanny, Lucas,” she sneers. “She’s a homewrecker. Let’s call it what it is. And I get it, believe me. I get it. But you need to let her go now. She needs to get a new job. A real job.”
Lucas nods. “That’s fine,” he whispers. “Consider it done. Sofia, you’re fired.”
Astrid walks me closer to Lucas, and we’re within arm’s reach of the chopping block and the array of knives that it stocks. She’s holding me, but surely, she’s not crazy enough to reach for a knife? No way. She’s drunk and belligerent, not a psychopath.
We come close to the den entrance through the kitchen, and Astrid’s gaze is glued maniacally to Lucas’s.
“I don’t fucking believe you,” she tells him. “Put her out in the snow, where she belongs. Put her out in the snow, like I was. I’m the mother here, Lucas. This is my family!” Her fingers clench as hard as they can and now I can’t breathe. “Fire her, Lucas! Put her out in the snow, Lucas! Put her out in the snow like you put me out in the—!”
Lucas moves like lightning. He whip cracks out, almost serpentine in motion, and grasps Astrid by the wrist, then twists it, turns her, and restrains her. Like that, I’m free. I let out a low sigh.
Astrid staggers on the kitchen tile, gasps at the sudden change of fate. “Let—you—” she stammers, ut she can’t get the words out. It’s one thing being in control of someone smaller, but when the person is bigger and overwhelming you?
Astrid sputters wordlessly, tugs once, but winces.
“Don’t move, Astrid. I don’t want to hurt you, all right?”
Footsteps thunder down the stairs. “Dad? Are you OK? I heard yelling,” Charlie yells from the hall.
“It’s OK, Charlie,” Lucas says. “Everything’s OK. Don’t come in here. You stay where you are.”
The basement door creaks open, and I glance in that direction. James pokes his head out and catches up on the action, then gestures to a point out of sight. To Charlie. The boy hurries over, enters, and the basement door shuts, securing both the children downstairs with Uncle James.
Headlights sweep down into the driveway, splashing through the porch windows, and my brow furrows. How did anyone know we needed help if our electricity was out? Did James make a call with his cell phone?
A car door slams shut outside, and I look over to Astrid and Lucas again. They aren’t paying any attention to the car outside. Astrid is tearfully explaining to Lucas that she’s the one who’s pregnant with his third child, not me.
I shake my head with pity for the woman, and an authoritative knock draws all my attention away from them a
gain.
Shit. The police.
We never did figure out exactly how we could wiggle free from the warrant for insurance fraud that was issued in Ohio. We probably can’t. I’m going to end up in jail, right alongside Astrid for her breaking and entering stint. Perfect.
But Lucas holds Astrid, talks to her softly, and she relaxes her shoulders, bit by bit. “Hey, Sofia,” he calls to me, “could you go get the door, please?”
I swallow and nod, forcing myself to walk the walk, to face the music. I must. I’ve hidden long enough.
I throw the front door open and that blast of blizzard air hits me again.
Agent Finn Callahan, battened down in a thick jacket, glowers back at me from the porch stoop.
“I came here to return this,” he informs me promptly, flourishing three thick stacks of cash, still wrapped in paper. I take each of them and rest them on the small table alongside the front door. Lucas gave Agent Callahan thirty thousand dollars to walk away. “I thought about it long and hard. But the money isn’t worth my integrity as an investigator. And for that, I do apologize, Miss Marshall. But I am going to have to report your presence at this home, and you will face criminal charges for insurance fraud.”
“Ha! I knew it.” Astrid cries from the kitchen. “I knew that she was full of shit, Lucas.”
This draws Finn’s attention deeper into the house and he furrows his brow at the blonde woman with the huge raccoon eyes, being gently subdued by Lucas Gray. It’s an odd scene to find in the early hours of the morning on Christmas Day.
“Is everything all right in here?” Agent Callahan asks.
“When you report Miss Marshall,” Lucas calls to him, “I need you to also inform the sheriff of another situation. There was a break-in perpetrated by my ex-wife, who is an un-medicated manic-depressive patient. She assaulted one of the household members and damaged my property.”
“You son of a bitch!” Astrid sneers, trying to rip herself away from him, unsuccessfully. “You son of a bitch, you said you would help me.”
