Christmas on the Run

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Ready?” he said instead, holding out his hand.

  To his surprise, she nodded, her fingers weaving through his as she followed him outside.

  SIX

  Jazz looked terrible.

  That was Carly’s first thought. It was also her second, third and fourth.

  She brushed a strand of silky blond hair from Jazz’s pale cheek, trying not to notice how cool her skin felt. With an IV attached to her hand, monitors attached to her chest and a blood-pressure cuff attached to her arm, she looked frail and impossibly young. She had a bruise on her cheek that Carly hadn’t noticed at the house. Scratches on her neck. Someone had put plastic bags over her fingers, and Carly assumed they planned to collect DNA evidence from under her nails. She’d saved Zane’s life and risked her own, and now she was lying in a bed in the ICU, her fiancé sitting on one side of her, Carly on the other. She didn’t know they were there. At least, that was what the nurse who’d been in to check her vitals had said.

  Maybe she was right. Maybe not. It didn’t matter. Carly had been talking to her, whispering that Zane was okay, that Jazz had saved his life, that as soon as she was better, they’d go pick out the shoes Jazz would wear with her wedding gown.

  Jazz hadn’t responded, but it had been enough for Carly to offer the words, to talk to her best friend the way she did every morning. They’d known each other for over a decade. They’d been housemates for six years. They were as close as sisters. Maybe closer, because there was no sibling rivalry, no jealousy.

  “You’re going to be okay, Jazz,” Carly whispered, and Brett sighed.

  “She can’t hear you, Carly.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “It’s what the nurse told us. Are you saying that she doesn’t know?” He raised a raven-black eyebrow, his handsome face free from stubble, blemishes or scars. He was about as polished looking as anyone could be, and for some reason, that had always rubbed Carly the wrong way.

  “I’m saying it doesn’t matter.”

  “It should, because I’m trying to pray for her, and every time you open your mouth, I get distracted,” he said, his tone clipped, his hand resting on Jazz’s.

  “I guess I should say I’m sorry, but I’m not. Jazz is in there somewhere, and even if her brain isn’t processing what I’m saying, her neurons and synapses are,” she responded, and he frowned.

  “I’m the one who’s sorry, Carly. I was being rude. The worry is getting to me. And the long night. I had a meeting with a client that lasted until midnight and had to take the 2:00 a.m. train into DC. I didn’t get to my apartment until seven, and Jazz and I have a ten o’clock meeting with the wedding planner, so I didn’t get much sleep.” He patted Jazz’s hand, then absently touched the huge diamond he’d presented her with when he’d proposed. “I guess I’ll need to cancel that.”

  “I don’t think Jazz is going to be able to make it, but if you think you should go, feel free.” Please.

  “Well, we will have to pay a cancellation fee. This late in the game, that’s understood.” He glanced at his watch. “And Jazz was really worried about the place settings for the reception. They’re a little too plain for the event. She wanted the royal blue and ivory tablecloths, but we agreed that black and white was more formal. Now she thinks it’s too spare, and she wants to switch to royal.”

  “I’m sure she’d be happy for you to take care of that,” Carly murmured, hoping and praying that he would leave. She could see Zane outside the room, his head bobbing up and then down as he tried to get a look inside. Most of the top half of the wall was a giant window, but the lower portion was drywall. The line between the two hit right at Zane’s head level. He’d been out there for twenty minutes, waiting patiently for his turn, walking from one end of the wall to the other, Dallas right beside him. Tall, handsome, stubble on his chin, his hair hanging across his forehead. Handsome. Very, very handsome. He smiled. Just a hint of a curve to his lips, and she realized she’d been staring.

  She looked away, focusing her attention on Jazz. If anyone could pull her back into the world, Zane could. Carly had tried hinting to Brett that she’d like to bring Zane in, but he’d chosen to be obtuse, ignoring both the subtle hints and the not-so-subtle ones.

  The rule was only two visitors at a time in the ICU. Carly would have to leave for Zane to enter, and she didn’t think it was a good idea for him to be in the hospital room with Brett. The New York copyright lawyer had a lot of good qualities. Patience with kids wasn’t one of them.

  Zane jumped a little higher, waving wildly to get her attention.

  She waved back, and Brett frowned again. “Do you think the hospital is the best place for him?”

  “Where else would he be?”

  “At home?”

  “It’s a crime scene. Even if it wasn’t, I don’t have anyone to watch him.”

  “Then who’s standing out there with him? He was at your place earlier. I thought he might be a new friend.”

  “Dallas is my husband’s brother,” she corrected.

  “I didn’t realize you had family.”

  “We only met recently.” She didn’t explain how recently. She and Brett weren’t close. They knew each other because of Jazz, but if not for her, they would have steered clear of each other at any social function. It wasn’t that they disliked each other. That was much too strong a description for what Carly felt. It was more that they had nothing in common.

  Except for Jazz.

  “I see,” Brett murmured. He patted Jazz’s hand again, ran his finger lightly across the bruise on her cheek.

  “She’s still lovely,” he commented. “Makeup should cover this, if it hasn’t faded by our wedding day.”

  “Yes. I’m sure Jazz will be worried about that. When she wakes up,” she said, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

  He frowned. “Every woman worries about the way she looks on the day she gets married,” he replied, touching the diamond again.

  She really, really wanted him to leave, because he was getting on her last nerve and pushing her to the kind of anger she didn’t often feel. He’d mentioned his late night, his lack of sleep, his concern for losing money to the wedding planner. He seemed worried about a bruise that might not disappear before the wedding.

  What he hadn’t mentioned, what he didn’t seem all that concerned about, was Jazz’s condition. The nurse had given them almost no information. She’d said the CAT scan results were pending and that Jazz was stable. For now. Brett hadn’t asked questions, hadn’t requested a meeting with the doctor. He might be Jazz’s choice for a lifelong partner, but he wasn’t even close to good enough for her.

  The words were on the tip of Carly’s tongue, and she was just irritated enough to say them, but someone rapped on the window. She glanced over, saw that Dallas had lifted Zane onto his shoulders. Zane was tapping on the glass, grinning from ear to ear. There was nothing unusual about his smile or his face, but the image of the two caught her attention and held it. The line of Zane’s jaw, the angle of his chin and the shape of his eyes were so like Dallas’s, her breath caught. It made sense. They were related. But they could have been father and son. That was what struck her—the obvious genetic link between the two, the family resemblance.

  The bond that seemed to already be forming.

  She wasn’t sure what she would do with that.

  She’d never deny her son the opportunity to know his paternal family. Not if they wanted to know him. But Dallas...

  He might be a problem.

  She met his eyes, and he smiled again. This time a full-out grin that made her heart jump. She didn’t want a man in her life. She’d made that decision a long time ago. But she’d invited Dallas. She’d nearly begged him to help her. Now he was out in the hall with her son, smiling in a way that made her heart want
to melt. He gestured for her to come out of the room, and she stood, moving toward him without thinking about all the reasons why she shouldn’t.

  “Are you leaving?” Brett asked, patting Jazz’s hand one more time and then standing.

  “Just stepping into the hall for a minute. Zane has been waiting for a while, and he’s probably getting restless.”

  Brett glanced at the window and offered one of the smiles he reserved for elderly people and kids. Broad, toothy and fake. “I’m being selfish,” he said. “He deserves to have some time with his aunt.”

  “You have every right to stay as long as you want,” she responded, because if Jazz could hear, it was what she’d want Carly to say.

  “That goes without saying, Carly, but that doesn’t mean I should steal time from a little boy who’s probably very scared by everything he’s seeing at the hospital.”

  Zane didn’t look scared, but Carly went with it. “Hospitals can be intimidating for kids.”

  “Exactly. So I’ll disappear for a little bit. Maybe an hour? That should give Zane plenty of time.”

  “An hour is more than enough time.”

  “I might be a little longer. If I’m going to leave her, I may as well do something productive for my future wife.”

  “You’re going to meet with the wedding planner?” she guessed.

  “And get a bite to eat. I haven’t had anything since my dinner appointment yesterday.” He leaned down and kissed Jazz’s cheek, but he didn’t say goodbye to her. Obviously, he thought that would be a waste of time. “If things change, give me a ring. I won’t be more than twenty minutes away.”

  “I will.”

  “Thanks, Carly. You’re a good friend. Jazz and I really appreciate that about you.”

  He walked into the hall, offering Zane a quick high five as he moved past.

  Carly was right behind him.

  She reached for Zane, tugging him down.

  As she set Zane on his feet, Dallas turned, and suddenly they were face-to-face, his ocean-blue eyes staring into hers.

  “You look unhappy,” he said quietly.

  “I’m worried.”

  “About Jazz?”

  “Yes.”

  “And about me and Zane?” he continued, and she couldn’t deny it.

  “Just about you,” she blurted out, and he chuckled.

  “At least you’re honest.”

  “I’ve been lied to a lot in my life. I try not to do it to other people.”

  “I live by the same philosophy, so don’t worry too much.”

  “Can I go in, Mom?” Zane interrupted, walking to the threshold of the room and peering inside.

  It was the perfect distraction, and she went with it, hurrying to his side. “Only with me. They don’t let kids go in without adults.”

  “Is she sleeping?” he whispered.

  “Sort of.” She led him into the room, studiously avoiding looking in Dallas’s direction. Which, of course, meant that she really wanted to look. She liked his smile, his easy way with Zane. More than anything, she liked the fact that he was there, standing outside the room, playing bodyguard to a child he barely knew.

  Her phone buzzed as Zane took a seat next to Jazz and lifted her limp hand, the plastic bag rustling. “She has bags on her hands,” he commented.

  “They do that sometimes.”

  “Yeah, because she punched the guy right in the face, and maybe she got blood and stuff under her nails.”

  “You’ve been watching too many of those crime shows, buddy.”

  “I think I watched just enough.” He leaned across the crisp white sheet and studied Jazz’s face.

  “You’re very brave, Aunt Jazzy,” he whispered, his expression more somber than Carly had ever seen it. “And I love you very much. Also, I have a secret.” He leaned even closer, whispering about his new uncle who was probably a superhero, because he was taller than anyone Zane had ever seen.

  Carly listened with half an ear as she pulled out her phone and scanned the message from her boss, Michael Raintree. He lived in her neighborhood and had seen the commotion at her house. He wanted to make sure she was okay. She typed a quick response and then checked her emails. She had a few offers for freelance work restoring old family heirlooms. Based on the queries she’d had in the months since she’d moved to DC, she wasn’t going to have to worry about finding work if the Smithsonian didn’t offer her a salaried position when her contract was up.

  Michael had assured her that they would. As the director of operations, he had the most say when it came to hiring. He’d been the one to put Carly’s name in for the contracted job. He’d also encouraged her to take it. They’d been friends since college. They’d both apprenticed with a master gemstone cutter whose expertise was in antique cuts and tools.

  Carly had excelled. Michael had struggled. He’d never seemed to care, though. He’d encouraged her, cheered her on, kept in touch with her when she’d married Josh, offered her advice when she was widowed. By that time, he’d been married, his wife pregnant with their first child. He’d established himself in the New York museum scene and was head curator at the American Museum of Natural History. A year later, he took a job at the Smithsonian in DC.

  He was, in Carly’s opinion, an all-around good guy.

  If he said she’d be offered a salaried position, she probably would be, but she didn’t believe in taking chances. She’d already accepted a few small jobs, and she planned to meet with another potential client Monday afternoon. She could make excellent money working freelance, and there were plenty of museums in the area that might have contract work for her to do.

  Not that any of that would matter if Jazz didn’t improve.

  Another email came through, and she opened it, her heart stopping as she saw the contents: a photo of Zane sitting on Dallas’s shoulders and the message Say one word about the gems, and he dies.

  She looked up, expecting to see someone at the window staring at her.

  Dallas was there. Boone had joined him. They were sipping coffee and discussing something. She stood, moving closer to the window and looking out into the corridor. There were a few nurses, a janitor, a man pushing a cart filled with food trays.

  Someone tapped the glass, and she jumped, her gaze darting in the direction of the sound. Dallas was there, Boone just a few inches away. They were both watching her.

  She knew how she must look—wild-eyed and scared—but she didn’t care. Someone had sent her a photo of her son. One that had been taken moments ago.

  Whoever it was had to be close.

  “Stay right there, buddy,” she said to Zane. “I’m just going out in the hall for a second.”

  “But you said kids couldn’t be in the room without an adult.”

  “I’ll send an adult in.” She walked across the room, her legs stiff with anxiety. One wrong move and her entire world would fall apart. She felt it like she felt her heart beating in her ears.

  “But, Mom—”

  “Stay here.” She stepped out into the hall.

  Dallas’s expression had changed.

  He knew something was wrong, but he was acting like everything was just right, moving toward her, sliding his hands around her waist and tugging her into his arms.

  She fit there perfectly.

  The thought flitted through her head, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it.

  He was leaning toward her, his lips brushing her forehead. To anyone watching, they’d look like a couple exchanging a comforting embrace.

  “What’s wrong?” he murmured, so quietly she almost didn’t hear.

  “Someone emailed a photo of Zane sitting on your shoulders,” she replied just as quietly.

  His hands tightened on her waist. Other than that, nothing chan
ged. Not his expression, his posture, his tone.

  “Okay,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, his fingers lingering. She could feel the warmth of them spreading through her, chasing away the fear and dread.

  “It isn’t,” she responded, her voice shaking as much from his touch as from her terror.

  “It will be.” His lips brushed her cheek this time. “Go back in the room and text me the photo.” He pulled her in for another hug. For show, she knew, but it felt better than anything had in a very long time.

  “She’ll be okay,” he continued loudly enough for anyone nearby to hear.

  She nodded, because she couldn’t speak. Her throat was clogged with emotion. Only half of it terror.

  He stepped back, his hands dropping away, and she was cold again. Freezing. All the fear rushing back.

  She shoved it down and hurried back into the room, taking a seat next to Jazz’s bed and doing exactly what Dallas had asked.

  * * *

  It took three seconds to read the text.

  Dallas waited another few minutes before he sent it to Boone. They didn’t need to discuss it. They knew what it meant.

  “You want me to go take over so you can bring your lady for some coffee?” Boone suggested idly. Not even a hint of anxiety in his voice.

  “Sounds like a plan. I don’t get to spend enough time alone with her,” Dallas responded, playing along for whoever might be listening.

  No sense in giving the perp a warning. Let him think that Carly was still going along with the plan.

  Seconds later, Boone was in the room and Carly was out of it. She looked anxious, tense and terrified. Exactly what the perp expected and wanted.

  “Hey, hon,” he said, taking her hand, dropping a kiss on her knuckles. “How about some coffee?”

  “I don’t want to leave Zane and Jazz,” she said, and he knew she meant it. No playing along. No putting on a show. She wasn’t planning to leave.

  “I think,” he said, “that Jazz would expect you to.”

  “I—”

  “Boone is with them.” He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He wanted to see if he could spot the perp, but he wasn’t leaving all three potential victims in one place. Separate them. Let the perp try to decide how to respond. That was the plan. “I think we could both use some new scenery. Who knows who we’ll run into while we’re away?”