The Kid Who Stole Christmas Read online

  Shannon wanted to hear the rest of the story, but could well imagine what had happened. She came from a broken home, herself, and had painful memories of the terrible things her mother had said about Shannon’s father in an effort to turn her against him. Much to her shame, she had turned against him, for a while, anyway. Unfortunately, by the time she was old enough to figure out what had really happened, her father had passed away.

  Maybe that was why the loss she saw in Rick’s eyes gave her such a strong desire to connect with him. She was well acquainted with loss.

  So it seemed she wasn’t being quite as altruistic in this quest through the cold and dark as she would like to think she was. Suddenly, she realized that, in a way, by helping Rick, she was seeking a form of absolution for herself.

  There was also something else, perhaps nothing more than the hormones that had lured her into hiring a rather suspicious stranger in the first place. Whatever, some little voice inside told her that Rick could be a valuable ally right now. For one, he was apparently acquainted with the Bayers’ way of doing things. For another, he held a very big grudge against them, a debt that might well be served by his helping her find Leo.

  That she would undertake the search went without question. In many ways, Shannon considered Leo to be her own, and she had no intention of losing him, too. Pop’s calm assurances aside, and whether Rick could help or not, she was determined to find the boy—before the shipment of toy spiders arrived, if possible. She didn’t like going against Pop, but all this struck too close to home for her to ignore.

  Somewhere, Shannon could hear people singing. The Union Station area, with its popular taverns, most likely. Fresh clean snow lay in a blanket all around, softening the city’s edges. It was beautiful, in spite of the occasional sight of a decrepit building and the bitter cold. Here, Christmas lights blinked in most windows.

  Soon, however, as she followed the form up ahead of her farther down toward the railroad tracks, those cheery windows gave way to ones that were boarded-up and dark. The snowy landscape now took on a forbidding, sinister dimension.

  And then Rick disappeared. At least she hoped it was Rick. Shannon realized she had been so caught up in her own thoughts that it was possible she had lost sight of him and had started following another vague shape, instead. Fear welled up within her, making her almost sick to her stomach, and every doorway seemed alive with threatening shapes.

  Suddenly, one of those shapes reached out and grabbed her. As she flailed her arms, trying to keep her balance, she was yanked roughly into a narrow crevice between two buildings by the collar of her coat. She struggled to stay on her feet in the frigid, near-total darkness. Just as she opened her mouth to scream, her attacker pushed her roughly backward through a door into one of the buildings. The bottom edge of the jamb caught her boot and she went down on her rear end, her coat providing little padding against the concrete.

  A man’s harsh whisper cut off the complaint that rose to her lips. “Hush!”

  “Rick?”

  “Who were you expecting, O’Shaughnessy?” he said in quiet, clipped tones. “The bogeyman? Well, down here, you might really have run into him.”

  “I—”

  “Just stay there and keep your mouth shut.”

  Since he did not seem in the mood for any discussion just now, she did as she was told. Rick moved to the door, paused and then went back out into the cold, dark night. When he didn’t return right away, Shannon decided he hadn’t meant for her to literally stay where she was, so she got up from the floor and dusted herself off.

  She seemed to be in a warehouse of some kind. With only the dim light filtering in from outside, it was hard to tell, but she could make out vague shapes that looked like crates. Lyon’s occasionally used the storage facilities down here near the tracks when the store got a big shipment by rail. But Shannon didn’t think she was acquainted with this particular building. Rick had little to worry about. She had no desire to wander around such a place in the dark.

  But what was Rick doing down here? Why was he so jumpy? Shannon had to admit that was another reason she had followed him. He might not be shady, and probably didn’t have anything to do with Leo’s disappearance, but she felt certain Rick was up to something. His behavior just now seemed to confirm her suspicions.

  Great. She had come to offer Rick solace, and instead had made him mad. That didn’t put her in the best position to ask questions about what he was doing, or to ask for his help in finding Leo, either. To top it all off, she was cold, scared and her rear end hurt. This was turning into some Christmas.

  Shannon jumped when Rick came back in and slammed the door. Then she heard him fiddling with what sounded like a heavy padlock.

  “At least nobody followed you,” he said, obviously relieved. “Sorry for being so rough, but you took me by surprise. I just assumed that anyone out walking on a night like this was either an idiot or dangerous, probably both. What are you doing down here?”

  “Following you,” Shannon confirmed defiantly. It was difficult to see his face in the dim light, but she thought she saw him smile. “What’s so funny?”

  He shook his head and chuckled. “Nothing. It’s just that you really did give me a scare,” Rick admitted.

  “Good. That and your lame apology take some of the sting out of my...out of my pride. Now, what are you doing down here?”

  “This is where I live.”

  “Oh.” That revelation gave her pause. “Sorry.”

  “For what?” Rick asked. “My lot in life or for thinking I was up to no good?”

  “Both, I suppose.” Shannon wished she could see his face. “Can we have some lights?”

  “This way.” He moved closer and held his hand where she could see it. “I have a place in back. The situation isn’t quite as dire as you seem to think.”

  “I didn’t mean...” She trailed off with a sigh and took his hand. It was still cold. Cold hands, warm heart? “Look, if you don’t want me here, just say the word.”

  “You followed me for a reason, didn’t you?” Rick asked.

  “I want to talk. About Leo. Among other things.”

  He squeezed her hand slightly. “That sounds promising. Come on. And watch your step.”

  That was difficult, since she couldn’t even see her feet, but he led the way so confidently, it wasn’t necessary. It was obvious he had made this trek in the dark before. Shannon had to assume there was a reason he did so without the aid of a flashlight. She doubted that reason had anything to do with not having the money to buy one. To her, it seemed as if Rick was a man with something to hide.

  “We’re not supposed to be in here, are we?” she asked.

  Rick smiled mischievously. “Why? Does the idea of breaking and entering excite you?”

  She had to admit it did, a little. Perhaps for the same reason Rick excited her. Hers was a fairly quiet life-style, and he offered the prospect of something different, maybe even a tad dangerous. Of course, she had no intention of telling him that. But somehow, she suspected he already knew.

  “I was just asking,” Shannon replied. “You know. In case the night watchman comes along. I’d like to know whether to wave hello or run.”

  “Relax. We’re supposed to be here. Or at least I am,” he added pointedly. “I just don’t like to advertise my comings and goings. Seems safer that way, considering the neighborhood.”

  While Shannon pondered this information, Rick let go of her hand for a moment. She heard the jangle of keys in a lock and then he took her hand again, gently guiding her into what she could tell was some sort of smaller space. Finally, he turned on a light. Shannon blinked in surprise.

  She found herself in makeshift living quarters, rather like a small, sparsely furnished motel room. There was a single bed on one side—neatly made, she noticed—as well as a nightstand and a chest of drawers. In the middle of the room sat a small table with two chairs. The opposite side was dominated by a large comfortable-looking armcha
ir, behind which stood a reading lamp. That and the bedside lamp went on with the same switch Rick had turned on next to the now-closed door, bathing the room in a warm glow. Against the far wall, a little electric space heater purred to life, as well.

  Though the furniture was old-fashioned, everything was clean and well taken care of, giving the little place a cozy, homespun ambience. In Shannon’s opinion, it needed a few plants and some pictures on the walls. A window would also be nice. But under the circumstances, she decided to keep that opinion to herself.

  “Nice,” she said simply.

  “Better than some places I’ve been in,” Rick agreed.

  He removed his snow-dampened coat and hung it on a peg near the door, then motioned for Shannon to do the same and hung hers up carefully, as well. He then had a seat at the table. Shannon joined him. Rick looked at her curiously.

  “Well?” he asked.

  Where to begin? Shannon wondered. “Who are you, Rick Hastings, and what are you doing working as a Santa Claus for Lyon’s Department Store?”

  “Who am I? That’s a question I’ve been asking myself for the last three years,” Rick replied, returning her appraising gaze. “I’m not entirely sure I know the answer yet. But I’m getting close. Why do you care, Shannon O’Shaughnessy?”

  She smiled. “I did say I liked the direct approach, didn’t I?” Shannon thought it over for a moment, and decided to be equally direct. “You don’t have a corner on the pain market, okay? Maybe I think I can help you. Maybe I think you can help me. I don’t know!” she exclaimed. “Maybe it’s just good old-fashioned Christmas spirit. I followed you all the way down here in the cold, didn’t I? That should tell you something.”

  “It tells me you’re serious,” Rick observed. “But about what remains to be seen. Didn’t you say you wanted to talk about Leo?”

  “I do,” Shannon agreed. “Pop seems to think Leo is just fine. He’s probably right. And I agree with him that this affair isn’t worth going to the police and risking another war with the Bayers, either now or once Leo is home.” She crossed her arms on her chest in a defiant gesture. “But I’m not going to just sit around. I want to find Leo and get him back. If possible, without handing over the Arnie shipment.”

  Rick was smiling slightly. “Why tell me this?”

  “You know the Bayers and how they operate.” His surprised expression pleased her. “Pop made a few calls after you left. He has contacts everywhere. But since I’m kind of going behind his back on this, I thought maybe you could give me some idea about where to start looking.”

  “I see,” Rick said. He was gazing at her, obviously deep in thought. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision. “I can tell by the determination in those pretty green eyes of yours that you mean business, so I guess I’ll have to level with you.”

  “Level with me?” she asked, confused.

  “I don’t intend to sit around and wait, either. I had already planned to go looking for Leo, as well as make sure that shipment ends up at Lyon’s. But make no mistake,” he told her in a quiet voice. “I am at war with the Bayers.”

  Shannon frowned. “Why do I get this feeling there’s more to your involvement in this than meets the eye?”

  She was astute, all right. Rick knew he would have to tread very carefully from now on, lest she ruin everything. But the path he was on now was very well traveled, and came easily to him.

  “You probably get that feeling because it’s true,” Rick admitted. “And you’re also right about it having something to do with why I’m working at Lyon’s.”

  “I thought it might.”

  “Being a Santa is the perfect cover. I can be with the kids, and in the meantime keep track of the shipment.”

  “I see,” Shannon said. But she didn’t.

  “Don’t get me wrong, though,” Rick added quickly. “I do need the money. The advertising blitz didn’t come cheap and Arnie the Arachnid is being run on a very tight budget at the moment. I’m barely getting a salary.”

  Shannon’s frown deepened. “I don’t understand. Are you telling me you’re an employee of the Arnie campaign?”

  “Yes. I’m in Denver to watch over your shipment of Arnies,” Rick explained. “There was word the Bayers were covertly trying to figure out where and when it would arrive. Since, as you noted, I am well acquainted with their ways, I came to interfere with any plans they might have had to sabotage the shipment. I had no idea they’d stoop to kidnapping, though.”

  Although this was far too much for Shannon to take in on such short notice, there was one thing she couldn’t help grasping. In fact, she even reached out and grasped Rick’s arm.

  “Are they here?” she whispered, her eyes wide as she looked around to indicate the warehouse.

  He laughed at her reaction. “Not yet.”

  “When?”

  “I’m not at liberty to divulge that information.”

  Shannon let go of his arm and leaned back with a sigh of astonishment. “Whew! At the risk of perpetuating an age-old stereotype, I could do with a wee nip. Care to pop over to the local and join me?” Then she glanced at him and asked hesitantly, “Or am I putting temptation where I shouldn’t?”

  Rick laughed. “As I said, my situation isn’t nearly as dire as you seem to think. You’re on.” He stood up and retrieved their coats, holding hers open for her. “Drink isn’t responsible for my troubles, though there was a time when it could have been a contender, I suppose.”

  “Then what is responsible?”

  “Three people,” Rick replied.

  “Nathan Bayer and Angela I can guess. Who’s the third?”

  “Me.”

  Chapter Seven

  Shannon didn’t find the walk back toward the nearest pub nearly as cold, dark and scary, with Rick by her side. In fact, there was something cozy about the night now. She tentatively touched her gloved hand to his, and he surprised her by taking it. This was different from holding her hand while leading her through a dark warehouse. This was a gesture of warmth and companionship. When she glanced at his face, the small smile she saw there confirmed that he felt the same way.

  The place Shannon had in mind was a boisterous watering hole directly across from Union Station called the Wynkoop Brewing Company. It had been among the first of what was now a wave of brew pubs sweeping the nation, so named because the proprietors brewed and served their own fresh beer right on the premises. Shannon liked the stout she could get there, which reminded her of a trip she’d taken to Ireland in her college days.

  At this hour and particularly during this season, the pub was packed, loud and deliciously festive. Just the ticket to drive the chill from their bones and ease the telling of what Shannon thought might be a painful story for Rick.

  It was also a great spot to lose oneself in the crowd, which they quickly did. After flagging down a server, they managed to squeeze themselves into a cranny far enough away from the main bar to allow a relatively quiet conversation. As Shannon had expected, Rick did seem more at ease here than he had in his little place at the warehouse.

  So did she. For all its unusual ambience, it had been too intimate there by half. She sipped her stout, which looked and tasted more like sweet, black coffee than beer.

  Rick had ordered the same. “Good,” he said after a sip.

  “So,” Shannon prompted, “I believe you were about to tell me the story of your life?”

  “That would only bore both of us to tears. I was born, raised and attended school in Arizona. It’s a nice place, if you like sun, the desert and lots of quiet. But for the most part, the only people who find any of it truly fascinating are anthropologists, New Agers and white folks pretending to be Native Americans.”

  Shannon laughed. “A cynic. I like that in a man.”

  “Don’t get me started,” Rick warned. “I can do an hour on Elvis impersonators alone. But seriously, there isn’t much to tell on that end. How about you? Colorado girl?”

  “Sort of,” she
replied. “I was born in Nebraska. But after my parents divorced, my mother moved us here.”

  “How old were you?” he asked thoughtfully.

  “Eight, the same as Leo.”

  Rick drank his beer, mulling over this fact. “And about the same as Chelsea was when Angela divorced me.”

  “I thought so,” Shannon told him, nodding. “That seemed to be the age of the little girl who was the hardest for you to be around today. But also the one who seemed to have helped you the most.”

  He studied her face. “And so that’s why you decided you might be able to help me?” he asked, obviously doubtful.

  “Well, I don’t know, Rick,” Shannon replied, unable to keep an edge of sarcasm from her tone. “I was yanked away from my father at about the same age as your little girl, and grew up hearing a daily tirade about him and his evil ways. That might just give me some insight into your situation, don’t you suppose?”

  Rick realized that he had been so caught up in his own problems that he hadn’t seen what was right in front of him. Shannon had been offering her help almost from the moment they met. She was right, of course. He didn’t have a corner on the pain market.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

  Shannon blew out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry, too. I don’t have any cause to be snippy with you. It’s just that hearing you talk about what happened to you has brought back some bad memories of those times.”

  They were both quiet for a moment. It was then that they appreciated their surroundings, for the way other conversations filled in the awkward silence in their own.

  “Did you listen?” Rick finally asked.

  “To the stories my mother used to tell about my father, you mean?” Shannon guessed.

  He nodded.

  “Well, I didn’t have much choice, really. After all, she is my mother, and I was something of a captive audience.”