Sly should have known better. Should have. But then he thought of Mason and Caitlin and that poor throttled outsider—
He gave his head a clearing shake. Not important. None of that was. The only thing that mattered was this dangerous outsider and the kid who got caught in his crosshairs.
“Distract him.”
Lucas gave one terse nod, then stepped forward.
“Wha—what are you doing? I told you! Stay where you are!”
“Or what?” dared the doctor. “You’ve already done enough damage, taking the boy away from his home. You didn’t have to bring him with you into the woods. Look! He doesn’t even have a coat on, just pajamas and one mitten. When you found him in the car, you could’ve let him go. You’re panicking—”
True. Santa was also shaking, whether from the drink, the cold, or fear, the sheriff couldn’t say. It didn’t matter. So long as he was focusing on Lucas’s taunts, that meant he wasn’t turning his attention back toward Liam—or watching as Sly wat
ched him.
“You messed up real bad already. The hole you’re in is deep enough. You really want to keep digging?”
Santa’s face went as red as the second-hand suit he was wearing. Taking in a deep breath, he bellowed, “Why won’t you shut the hell up?”
It was a full-throated roar, sharp enough to hide the slur that was there, loud enough to disturb the snow piling on the branches up above. The branch quivered and the snow fell with a soft plop on top of the wilted Santa hat.
Santa jumped, looking around wildly with glassy eyes as if he expected to find that another person had popped up behind him.
Sly made his move.
Lucas was waiting for Sly’s signal. Sly nodded as he unsnapped his gun from the holster, pulling it free and disengaging the trigger safety in one fluid motion. Lucas cupped his mouth with his hands, yelling, “Liam, down,” just as Sly lifted the Glock and aimed.
The boy was already on his knees but, at Lucas’s warning, he laid flat on his belly. Santa, a little slower on the uptake, turned in time for Sly to fire his gun.
Just like he boasted, the shot was perfect. The bullet tore through the thick red coat, hitting Santa dead in his left shoulder. It wasn’t a fatal shot, not by any means. But it was an incapacitating shot, knocking the imposter on his back as he howled in agony.
Lucas ran forward as soon as Santa dropped, gathering the shivering Liam up in his arms and running back past Sly as the sheriff stalked over to where the wounded man lay writhing in the snow.
Maybe he shouldn’t have shot him, Sly mused. As he watched the blood stain the red coat even redder, shiny blood seeping through Santa’s grimy fingers as he gasped in pain, Sly had to admit that Lucas’s idea was pretty damn effective all the same.
Santa’s name, if his ID could be believed, was Frank O’Malley.
And he was damn lucky it was almost Christmas Eve. The spirit of the holiday was the only thing keeping him alive.
Ricky Hart was currently guarding the bastard in Lucas’s waiting room. Sylvester’s handcuffs had the outsider’s hands trapped together. Ricky’s pair was cutting into the meat of O’Malley’s fat ankles.
As soon as Lucas and Sylvester loaded the bleeding man into the back of Sylvester’s cruiser, Lucas strapped the distraught Liam into his Mustang. Because of all of the times Lucas treated the boy, Liam was more comfortable around him than the sheriff. Besides, the four-year-old put it very simply. The police take the bad guys away, and the doctors make people feel better.
And a lollipop from Dr. De Angelis would go a long way to making Liam feel better.
Both cars ended up at the same place. When Lucas escaped Hamlet in the beginning of November, he locked up his house and his office and left them just as they were. Now, almost two months later, nothing seemed different except for the snow in the drive and the faint musty air in his office when he unlocked the door with a key still hidden under the eaves.
Everything Lucas needed was at his old doctor’s office. A tissue and a wipe to clean up Liam’s face, antiseptic for the scratches he got being towed through the trees, a balm for the bruises on his arms and wrists. Plus the biggest purple lollipop still in Lucas’s desk drawer.
There was only one thing he was missing: a radio. After turning it off and removing the batteries, he abandoned it in his old house, thinking he would never need it again.
Which only went to show that, despite his best efforts, Lucas wasn’t always right.
The office might not have had one, but Sylvester did. By the time Lucas and the sheriff arrived at the office, two more cars were on their tail.
Ricky helped Sylvester carry the moaning O’Malley into the waiting room before slapping on the restraints and standing guard. Sylvester stayed with him until Lucas finished patching up Liam and brought him out front to be returned to his furious father and weeping mother.
Liam’s father, Mike Johnson, wanted nothing more than to get his hands on the outsider who snatched his boy. Only Sylvester, Rick, and Lucas standing firm in front of O’Malley kept Mike from dragging O’Malley out in the snow and booting his drunk ass into the gulley.