What Happens at Christmas

by Evonne Wareham

  Automatically she checked out his feet and legs. They seemed to be intact. No visible damage. ‘Um … would you like to come outside? To the fresh air?’ The air inside the hut was pretty fetid. She was trying not to breathe too much of it. He’d shut his eyes, probably against the light. They blinked open again. Dark pits in a drawn face.

  ‘Nothing I’d like better.’ He raised his left hand. Something clinked and jangled. He held it out to her. ‘If you could lay a hand on a bolt cutter?’

  ‘Shit!’ Lori put her hand up to her mouth, swallowing the exclamation and hoping that Misty hadn’t heard it. ‘This is real isn’t it? Not a publicity thing. Someone did a number on you.’

  ‘Yep.’ His mouth was a flat weary line. He chewed his lower lip with a very white, even teeth. It was a completely vulnerable gesture that caught Lori unexpectedly under her heart. He seemed to be debating something with himself. ‘Look, on second thoughts, I think you’d better get out of here, with your little girl.’ He hesitated, as if making up his mind on something. ‘Is there someone local you could send, who wouldn’t ask questions? I’ll pay … for discretion. And if you could forget about all this too, I’d be very grateful,’ he said. The half smile was forced and disjointed. Something new and different shifted under Lori’s heart. If the guy really tried … ‘It was, er … sort of a joke,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Not a very good one, and I’d really like to sort it out privately.’

  ‘X for no publicity.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Lori didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d been all over the news this morning. It was Christmas Eve and the man had been through some sort of wringer, whatever the circumstances. If this is a joke, I’m glad I don’t know any of his friends.

  She dropped the branch and stepped forward into the hut to examine the chain, with a quick glance behind her, to check that her niece was not following. Misty had sat down in the doorway to wait, watching the show with the same interest as she gave a TV cartoon. Adults were clearly strange and fascinating creatures.

  Relaxing on that score, Lori stood to one side of the bench, avoiding a bucket with contents she didn’t want to investigate, and tracking the chain back to its fastenings. Vitruvius was looking over his shoulder wearily, following her movements. She put out a hand to confirm her thoughts, tracing the metal loop that attached the chain to the wall. Jackpot!

  ‘I don’t have access to a bolt cutter, Mr Vitruvius.’ She couldn’t help grinning. ‘But I do have a screwdriver.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Christmas Eve, Late Afternoon

  Drew slumped back against the wall of the hut, staring through the open door. The light was just beginning to fade, but he could see the pale trunks of trees and scrubby undergrowth beneath. The woman and the little girl had hiked back into the wood, to find their car. There must be some sort of track that the locals use. The two men who brought him here had known about it, or been told. His tired brain turned the thought over, but it wasn’t much help. He knew Mr Right and Lefty were Londoners. The accents gave it away. They weren’t from around here, wherever here was.

  Wearily Drew pushed his hair away from his face. Now that rescue was in sight, he felt floppy and lifeless, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. With an effort he pulled himself upright, wincing as his torn fingers scraped on the bench. The dark was gathering, the outline of the trees becoming less distinct. He couldn’t see or hear any sign of the woman. He took a sharp breath, over a tiny spurt of panic. How long did it take to locate a screwdriver? Maybe even now she was getting in the car to drive away. It’s what you told her to do.

  Would she just go and leave him here?

  Relief made him light-headed again when he saw the beam of light picking its way through the trees. She’d got a torch as well as the screwdriver. She paused on the threshold, looking in.

  ‘‘Still here.’ He dredged up the feeble attempt at humour, aware of the strain in his voice. ‘Where’s your sidekick?’

  ‘Misty?’ She stepped into the hut. ‘Sitting just outside on a tree stump and pretending to be a Christmas elf. Apparently, Christmas elves sing.’ She put the torch, a heavy-duty affair, down on the bench. Now Drew could hear the high-pitched treble coming from outside the hut. He couldn’t make out words, but the tune sounded vaguely familiar.

  ‘She says you’re not Jesus, by the way. And you smell.’ There was a hint of amusement in the voice.

  ‘True, on both counts,’ he admitted. ‘Jesus?’

  ‘Whistle Down the Wind. Her grandmother is into vintage films.’

  Drew nodded, as if he understood. Maybe he was hallucinating. Could you hallucinate a woman brandishing a very business-like electric screwdriver? ‘Sorry about the smell.’

  She smelled rather good, as she leaned over to unscrew the chain. Cinnamon, with some sort of citrus undertone.

  ‘No problem.’ She was fiddling with the light. ‘You’re going to have to hold this, I need to see better.’ He held out his hand and she put the torch into it, illuminating the blood on his fingers. There was a small in-drawn breath. ‘You tried to free it with your bare hands!’

  ‘Desperation.’ No point in hiding it. He pointed the beam and the screwdriver buzzed into action on the fastenings holding the chain to the wall strut. ‘Do you always travel with a loaded screwdriver?’

  ‘I’ve been doing a bit of DIY lately.’ The first two screws fell out and the hasp sagged away from the wall. She tilted her head listening, the elf was still singing gustily. ‘I don’t like Misty being out there when it’s beginning to get dark, but she didn’t want to come in.’

  ‘I can’t say I blame her.’

  Straightening up she moved quickly over to the door of the hut, looking out. Drew could see a light and the outline of a small shape near the trees. The child waved and his rescuer came back, quickly fitting the screwdriver into the next screw head. ‘Thank goodness these seem to be coming out easily.’ Another screw dropped. ‘I’m Lori, by the way.’

  ‘Thank you, Lori.’ The hasp clattered onto the bench as the last screw lifted out. ‘Thank you.’ Drew put down the light and reeled in the chain and fastening, fumbling to wrap it around his wrist. He was stuck with the cuff and chain, but he was free. And without conscious thought, he’d made a decision. He wasn’t dragging his rescuers into this mess. ‘You go now, back to … Misty? If you just point me in the direction of the main road—’

  ‘What?’ She was storing the screwdriver in some sort of holster. Her head jerked up to look at him. ‘We can’t leave you here. You need medical attention—’

  ‘No!’ He’d managed to wrap the length of chain around his wrist and wedged the wall fastening in the cuff, to hold it. ‘I don’t want to involve you and the child in this.’

  ‘And I’m supposed to just drive away and leave you here?’ The light from the torch was strong enough for him to see her eyes narrow. ‘Do you even know where you are?’

  ‘Um …’ Oh hell. ‘No?’

  ‘Ufff.’ The noise was exasperated, low-pitched and rather cute. She’d grabbed the light and his arm and was towing him out of the hut. He didn’t have the energy to fight her off, but he was going to have to try. ‘Please, Lori, I can’t—’

  ‘Yes. You can.’ She navigated them over the threshold. He stumbled and almost fell into her, then righted himself. His legs were disturbingly unsteady, now that he was trying to use them. ‘It’s Christmas Eve, it’s getting dark and you’re in the middle of the Brecon Beacons.’

  ‘Ahhh!’ Heart definitely sinking, he still tried to dig in his heels and free his arm, but she wasn’t having any of it.

  Wimp.

  Misty was dancing around the tree stump now, waving a small torch. She ran up, wide-eyed, when they emerged from the hut. ‘Off you go, Madam Elf.’ Lori nodded to the path through the trees. ‘You can lead the way back to the car. Don’t fall over.’

  The child turned and headed for the path, still singing, lighting her way with the torch b
eam.

  The ground was uneven, sloping down into the trees. Lori was breathing heavily with the effort of keeping them both upright. Shaking his head to clear it, he concentrated on keeping his feet moving and his weight off her as far as possible. And tried again. ‘I don’t want—’

  ‘Look.’ She flipped her hair out of her eyes. ‘I get that there’s something going on here that is beyond a joke. Way beyond – and I appreciate that you’re trying to keep me and Misty out of it, but you really can’t stay here. I’m not leaving you wandering about on the hillside alone. Come home with us now, so we can sort it out. Or if you really don’t want to do that, as soon as we get somewhere with a decent phone signal, we can phone the police to come and pick you up.’ They’d reached a narrow track through the trees. She kept pulling him forward. ‘You know they have an appeal out for information on you?’ she added conversationally.

  ‘Shit.’ Drew shut his eyes, swaying slightly and breathing heavily. He opened his eyes rapidly again when he tangled with a trailing bramble and nearly fell. Shades of his journey with Mr Right and Lefty. Briefly his stomach heaved. He fought the nausea, trying to order his thoughts. He should have been ready for this, but who the hell expected to be rescued by a woman with a kid in tow? A deep instinct to keep them both well away from the whole sordid mess was coagulating in his gut, along with the totally stupid but equally strong impulse to deal with the whole thing himself. With a little help from a friend.

  A small surge of anger powered him to stand straighter. He wanted answers, and he wanted to look someone in the eye while he got them. The police would have to be involved eventually, but he didn’t want to wait meekly while they investigated. He’d done enough helpless waiting, chained in that bloody hut. Now he was free …

  His stomach gave another queasy heave and the brief power surge faded. His legs, stumbling over the uneven terrain, had the texture of wet cotton wool. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to talk to the police tonight, even if he wanted to. And after the police, will the press be far behind?

  He swallowed. He needed time to get a handle on this mess. ‘This thing …’ he said softly. ‘I don’t really think it was a joke. I think it was … malicious, but I don’t want the police … um … I’m not sure I can face them tonight, anyway.’

  He heard her inhale. Which was not surprising, as she was more or less carrying him along the path. ‘Do you have to? Can it wait until the morning, if you contact your family tonight?’

  Ahead of them he could see the bulky shape of the car parked under the trees, with the little girl standing beside it, waiting for them. Thank you, God.

  He shook his head. ‘No family.’ She was offering him the chance of warmth, light, food and drink, maybe a shower. So much for the bad-ass action man.

  Would it matter if this was kept quiet for another twelve hours or so? Until he could call up his cavalry and start the process of kicking ass and taking names? It wasn’t as if there was anyone who loved him who would be worrying. And no expensive search parties scouring the hills either, when no one had any idea which hills. He caved in. ‘Until the morning.’

  ‘Fine,’ she acknowledged briskly. ‘Things always look better in daylight.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Christmas Eve, Early Evening

  The place looked like fairyland.

  Maybe he was hallucinating now.

  He remembered a book tour through Scandinavia at New Year. The car had turned a corner and in front of them was this whole town, spread out over a hillside, and every house with candles lit in the windows. That’s what this looked like – the indoor version. He’d stepped through the front door into a tall space, full of twinkling lights.

  And blissful warmth, and the scent of cinnamon.

  The child, Misty, scooted past him to wrap her arms around a very large white and ginger cat who jumped down from a chair to greet her. She’d bombarded him with chatter in the car, most of which had simply washed over him, as he struggled to keep focused on his surroundings through a buzzing head. An occasional grunt in response seemed to satisfy her, in between grateful gulps from a water bottle Lori had produced from a bag in the back. He’d demolished a chocolate bar that she’d handed him too, then felt nauseous again from the sugar rush. At least that, and listening to Misty, kept you from falling asleep. And you found out there was no daddy waiting at home. He was apparently in America.

  Realisation hadn’t hit him, until he was crawling into the car. In caving in so pathetically to the promise of a night to get himself together, he hadn’t thought that he might be bringing trouble along with him They hadn’t seen another car until they were well away from the hut and there was no sign that they’d been followed. Which helped him to breathe a little easier. Now he appeared to have been demoted. Misty had lost interest in him when she could have the cat. Lori shut the door behind them, pulling off her boots.

  ‘Shower?’

  ‘God. Yes, please.’

  She was moving around, lighting oil lamps and real candles, not just the L.E.D. ones. That was the source of the scent.

  ‘Bathroom is upstairs.’ She nodded to the staircase that ran up to a gallery. ‘I think I can find you some clothes.’

  ‘That would be … very kind.’

  She tilted her head to look at him, clearly decided that he wasn’t firing on all cylinders – too true – and began herding him gently towards the staircase. He reached the top by an effort of will. The chain at his wrist came lose as he stepped onto the landing, clanking against the banister. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why should you be?’ She was frowning as he gathered it up. ‘Maybe we can fix it somehow.’ She showed him the bathroom, turning on yet more lamps, then left him, shutting the door with a soft clunk.

  The clunk echoed around his brain.

  He spun and opened the door again. She was part of the way down the landing, towards what were presumably bedrooms. ‘Lori.’

  She turned, stepping into the light of a large lamp at the top of the stairs, and he at last got a proper look at her. Nearly as tall as he was, slim, he guessed, under narrow jeans and what appeared to be several sweaters. Her hair was dark blonde, curling loosely around her face. Big eyes, perfect skin. Lovely. The word whispered in his head.

  ‘I …’ He put up his hands, fingers spread, not quite sure what he was trying to say. Protect. You have to protect them. ‘Forget the police, I’ll just get out of here in the morning.’ He shook his head as she opened her mouth to speak. ‘I know it’s Christmas day – it doesn’t matter. It’s better this way. I’d be grateful then if you’d keep quiet about all of it. I … I’ll sort it out.’ He knew exactly who he’d call for help. Not the police. Not yet. Someone who would do his digging without drawing attention. He’d have to have a story for all this, but something would come, when his brain was functioning properly again. Hell, you’re a writer. You tell lies and earn money for it.

  He wasn’t so out of it that he hadn’t figured out a few things. He didn’t think it was going to happen, but just in case …

  ‘If by any chance someone comes looking for me tonight, I’ll leave with them – just treat the whole thing as a joke. Go along with whatever they say.’

  She was looking coolly at him. ‘Do you think we are in danger?’ Her eyes darkened. ‘Misty—’

  ‘No. I don’t believe there’s any real threat,’ he hurried to interrupt. ‘I don’t think anyone will come looking, but if they do … Just let them take me, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ She looked doubtfully at him. ‘Should we be calling the police tonight?’

  Suddenly he felt unbearably tired. ‘Maybe. I don’t want to … but I really don’t know.’ He put his hand up to his face. His skin felt strange and stiff. ‘I can’t think straight, or not straight enough.’ He leaned against the door jamb. ‘You know about the kidnapping stunt, for charity?’ She nodded, without speaking. ‘Well, someone made it for real. Someone wanted to … hurt me. I don’t know who. It was meant t
o look like a joke gone wrong. That’s what it’s going to look like to the police too. Whoever it was … I don’t think they’d harm anyone else.’

  ‘But you can’t be sure.’

  ‘No. Which is why I’ll be gone in the morning. I promise.’

  She thought about it. ‘That will do.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sorry. About all this.’

  He huffed out a breath. ‘So am I.’ They stood for a moment, just looking at each other. With an effort of will he turned back into the bathroom.

  ‘Mr Vitruvius …’

  ‘Drew.’ He swung to face her again. ‘My friends call me Drew.’

  ‘Right.’ She nodded ‘Drew.’ She gestured over her shoulder. ‘When you’ve finished in the bathroom, you can use the bedroom along there.’ She waved her hand. ‘I’ll go and make up the bed and see about those clothes. I’ll leave them here, outside the door.’

  When she turned and walked away he stood for a moment, looking after her, not wanting her to leave.

  Back view is as good as the front.

  He gave a self-disgusted snort, shoved open the bathroom door and came face-to-face with himself in the mirror. Wreck didn’t come near it.

  Zombie might.

  Dirt, bruises, bloodshot eyes, four days of beard growth. His hand half mangled. He looked down at it. As he thought, he’d all but ripped off one of the nails in his attempts to get free.

  He stared at his reflection. It didn’t matter how lovely Lori was, nothing was going to happen.

  The pull of desire he’d experienced on the landing had taken him by surprise. He wouldn’t have expected to have the energy.

  Which proves something about the human male.

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what.

  And she wouldn’t be looking twice at you, mate, even if she wasn’t already with someone else.

  He put up his hands, scrubbing the heels into his eyes, and nearly knocked out a tooth with the end of the chain. He was an asshole, thinking what he’d been thinking, when there was a chance he’d brought a threat into this tranquil house.