Chapter 7 - The Christmas Eve Trade
I wanted Lucy surrounded by every police officer in Connecticut.
Thomas wanted exactly that.
“He wants us frightened and predictable,” Alvarez said.
“I am frightened.”
“So am I.”
Eric sat across from me.
Five years had changed him. His hair was threaded with gray. He moved carefully. But when he looked at Noah, I saw the man I married.
Then I remembered he had kept my mother’s secret.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You could have told me.”
“I thought silence protected you.”
“Everybody keeps saying that.”
“I know.”
“Silence cost us five years.”
Eric looked down.
“Yes.”
There was no argument.
No easy forgiveness.
That made it harder.
Noah entered carrying two mugs.
“One is cocoa. One is coffee. I forgot which.”
Eric took one.
“So we gamble.”
Noah smiled.
It was a tiny domestic moment inside a nightmare.
Police devised a false exchange.
I would bring a copy of the list to a public Christmas Eve market while officers watched.
Thomas chose the location.
Bellamy Town Square.
Hundreds of people.
Carolers.
Children.
Terrible place for an arrest.
Perfect place for him to hide.
At 7:00 p.m. I stood beneath the giant tree holding a red envelope.
My phone buzzed.
WALK NORTH.
I walked.
PAST THE CHURCH.
I obeyed.
A Salvation Army bell rang.
For a second I remembered Noah counting bells from the back of Wade’s van.
My phone buzzed again.
YOUR DAUGHTER HAS YOUR COURAGE.
I stopped.
Across the street, Lucy stood beside a woman dressed as Mrs. Claus.
She was supposed to be at the safe house.
“Lucy!”
The woman grabbed her.
Police moved.
Chaos exploded.
The woman released Lucy and ran.
Alvarez tackled her behind a vendor stall.
It was Margaret.
I stared.
“What are you doing?”
Margaret sobbed.
“He has Victor.”
“Who is Victor?”
“My other son.”
Eric went white.
“You told me Victor died as a baby.”
Margaret covered her face.
Another family lie.
Victor Dalton had been placed for adoption because Thomas believed the infant was not his.
Decades later Thomas found him and used him.
Wade Mercer was not Thomas’s partner.
Victor was.
Or had been.
“Where is Thomas?” Alvarez demanded.
Margaret shook.
“He said bring Lucy or Victor dies.”
I wanted to hate her.
Part of me did.
But fear had turned Margaret into a puppet for years.
That did not erase her choices.
It explained them.
Police secured Lucy.
I knelt.
“You okay?”
She nodded, crying.
“I bit her.”
Margaret looked at her hand.
“She did.”
Despite myself, I almost laughed.
Then the Christmas tree lights went dark.
The entire square lost power.
People screamed.
Eric grabbed Noah.
I grabbed Lucy.
A voice came over the town speaker.
Thomas.
“Merry Christmas, Katherine.”
Police searched rooftops.
Nothing.
“You have something that belongs to me.”
I shouted, “Come get it.”
Eric whispered, “Don’t provoke him.”
“I have had five years.”
Thomas laughed through the speakers.
“You think this began with Noah?”
My skin prickled.
“No.”
“It began before you were born.”
A projector suddenly illuminated the white wall of the church.
Old footage appeared.
My mother.
Young.
Terrified.
Standing in Thomas Dalton’s office.
Beside her was another woman.
Margaret.
My mother said, “If anything happens to me, Margaret has the copy.”
I turned toward Margaret.
She stared at the screen.
“You had it first.”
Margaret whispered, “Yes.”
Then the footage changed.
My mother handed Margaret a baby.
Me.
The timestamp showed Christmas Eve, forty years earlier.
May you like
Thomas’s voice came through the speaker.
“Ask Margaret who your real father is.”
