Jenna Ryan - Mistletoe and Murder

“Ambulance is coming,” she said, a minute later. “Was he shot or stabbed?”

“Shot in the stomach.”

Within the shadows to their left, a sudden flurry of footsteps erupted. A split second later, a round of bullets discharged. Before Jacob shoved her head down, Romana spied Patrick’s bone-white face framed by a door in the corner.

It had to be the basement door. She smelled the mold and mildew of a damp cellar. He must have run down there when they’d come in.

He stumbled toward the front of the house, firing blindly. His teeth were bared in a grimace, and the ratty bathrobe he wore had come untied. The belt dragged along behind him. Twin smears of blood stained his T-shirt with other, smaller spatters circling them.

“Stay with Critch,” Jacob told her.

“Jacob, I’m not going to sit and-” but he was gone before she finished “-do nothing,” she said to the air in his wake.

She started to stand and would have gone after him if Critch’s fingers hadn’t clamped like steel talons around her wrist. She let out a quick hiss of surprise before he yanked her back down-with far more strength than she would have anticipated.

“It was North,” he managed to whisper. “North killed her.”

“Yes, I know.” Romana pried ineffectively on his fingers. “Critch, you’re not helping here. Jacob’s gone after Patrick alone. If anything happens…” She set her teeth, rephrased. “He needs backup.”

The faintest of smiles played on Critch’s lips. “Not Knight. Damn good cop alone. He let me catch him-in the alley- just stood there and let me point my gun at him. Didn’t fight back, only spoke a few words. That had to mean I was right, didn’t it?”

Romana considered striking his hand with the butt end of her gun, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. “Let go.” Even using her fingernails, she couldn’t pry her wrist free. “I don’t care how good a cop Jacob is, Patrick’s unstable, and that makes him doubly dangerous.”

“Tell me about it.” A wet laugh gurgled up. She glanced at the door, then back down at his sweat-pearled face. “Damn you.” Snatching a wad of paper napkins from the table, she pressed them to his stomach. “Why are you here?”

“Came to talk. North worked with Belinda. Thought he might know something.”

“About what?”

“I was so sure.” Critch’s eyelids fluttered. “So damn sure Knight did it. Had to be him. Had to be…”

She kept a firm pressure on his stomach. “Didn’t you ever think it might be someone else?”

He stared up at the ceiling now instead of at her. “Not at first. But after a while, it didn’t seem so cut-and-dried anymore. You spend time alone. You want it one way, but you start to doubt. Seeds blow around, get into your head. Mine were slow to take root, but time passed and…” He faded out.

“Critch!” Romana used a seat cushion to elevate his head. “Stay with me here. Did you have any idea what you were walking into tonight?”

He gave another burbling laugh. “Hell, no. Thought he might know something is all. People talk to coworkers. Pulled a gun before I even asked the question. No need for talk after that.”

“Did he tell you he murdered her?”

“Think so. Doesn’t matter. Truth’s out now.”

“It would have been nice if you’d gone looking for it a bit sooner.” She slapped his cheeks lightly to keep him conscious. “Come on, Critch. You’re tougher than a little bullet.”

But his eyes rolled back in his head, and his jaw went lax.

Outside, sirens wailed, both police and ambulance. Blood saturated the napkins and Critch’s breathing grew shallow.

Romana bent closer. “Critch, can you hear me?”

“Really cold,” he rasped.

“The paramedics are almost here. Just hang on, okay? Two more minutes.”

“You should want me dead.”

Did she? In spite of everything, Romana couldn’t wish for that. “You loved Belinda,” she said. “Love isn’t always logical. Mostly isn’t logical,” she amended and battled a shudder when she envisioned Jacob chasing down an injured killer. “Maybe a lot of us would snap under similar circumstances.”

Boots and wheels clattered into the foyer. “Back here,” she called to the rescue team. “Straight ahead, in the kitchen.”

Removing the sodden wad of napkins from Critch’s stomach, she pushed upright and reached for her gun. “You’ll be fine, Warren. Just keep breathing.”

The paramedics rolled a stretcher through the door. Romana backed up to make room. But Critch’s body gave a violent jerk, and once again, he snared her wrist.

“Critch, I have to move.”

“You don’t know,” he whispered. “The cards. I wasn’t sure at first, but every year, cards, threats.”

“Yes, I know. We got the Christmas cards, all six of them.”

“I didn’t want to see, or care. Really didn’t.”

“You need to give us space,” the paramedic growled. He looked big, mean and menacing.

“Trying to.” She twisted on her wrist. “It’s like he’s got hooks on his fingers.”

Mean and Menacing offered an unexpected grin as he hunkered down beside her. “They get strong sometimes when they think they might be heading for the tunnel. Maybe they figure holding on to someone will keep them from being sucked in.”

“Either that or they want company on the journey. Critch.” She tugged harder. “Critch, these people can’t help you unless I’m out of the way.”

The eyes that rolled back in his skull popped open to stare into hers. His breath rattled out. With his other hand, he made a grab for her coat. “Listen to me, Romana. The cards… I only sent four.”

If there was a blood trail, Jacob couldn’t find it in the snow and the dark, but he heard the occasional bang as Patrick clambered over a fence or careened into an unlit Christmas display.

North knew the area. Jacob had to rely on instinct.

He heard the ambulance a short distance away, police cruisers perhaps a mile behind. Their wails rose and fell at the whim of a frigid northerly wind.

He suspected North was circling. Where to? Back to his car? To Romana?

Using the boulevard trees as cover, Jacob squinted through the snow. His hands were numb from the cold, but otherwise he was dressed for this. North wasn’t. Combine that with blood loss, and he should be tripping over the guy’s frozen body any time now.

He picked up movement ahead and worked himself around the trunk of the tree. No doubt about it, they’d wound a path back to ground zero.

Another movement caught his eye. Checking left and right, he ran for the next tree. And the next.

An outline took shape. Something thudded at the rear of North’s garage, but Jacob remained focused on his quarry.

The outline darted sideways at the noise. Jacob followed. When the man slipped, he had him. He brought his gun down and shouted. “Toss the gun, North. Hands in my sight.”

The hands went up as ordered. Slowly, the outline turned.

Jacob’s arms dropped and, with a curse, he closed the gap. “Well, goddammit, O’Keefe. Where did you come from?” O’Keefe lowered his arms. “Man, I thought you were going to shoot. I was right behind the paramedics.” Jacob scoped the area. “Where’s Romana?” “I didn’t see her. I heard someone breathing hard before I went inside, so I followed the sound. Lost it after a few minutes. Have you been tailing me?” “Did you flatten a wooden Frosty six or seven houses ago?” “I flattened something fat and hard.” “Then I’ve been tailing you.” “Any idea where he went?” Jacob started across the street. “Not to his car. It’s boxed in by yours.” “Score one for me.” O’Keefe blew into his free hand. “If North’s out in this, he’ll be a Popsicle in ten minutes.” “He’s probably holed up in a neighbor’s garage.” Or his own, Jacob reflected. However, a quick inspection of the structure revealed no sign of Patrick and no place he could conceal himself inside.