Page 97 of A Very Daddy Christmas

Finally, Orson sinks into his chair, defeated and ultimately accepting his situation. He knows there’s no fixing this. No lie good enough to get him out of the shitstorm he’s created for himself.

“You’d better guarantee my safety,” he says quietly, his voice weak.

We’re smackin the middle of debriefing the sheriff on our findings when a call comes in. It’s Eva, and she is beyond frantic.By the time we get to the bakery, she’s minutes away from delving into a full panic attack. Waylan manages to sit her down and help her with her breathing, while Riggs and I go through her phone, since she keeps gasping for air and pointing at it.

“Oh, God,” she exhales sharply.

“Deep breath in through your nose,” Waylan tells her. “Slow exhale through your mouth. Come on, Eva.”

“Shit,” I mutter as I swipe through her most recent text messages. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“What is it?” Riggs asks and rushes to my side. “Oh, fuck.”

Waylan gives us both a troubled look. “Dammit, what is it?”

“Well, we now have confirmation that Denaro has Cora. He sent photos and a message,” Riggs says. “Eva needs to let the building sale go through if she wants to get her sister back alive and in one piece.”

The images show Cora sitting on the edge of a bed. The background is pretty dark and intentionally blurred, likely from a photo editing app.

“She’s wearing the same clothes she was wearing the other day when I last saw her,” Eva said, between sobs. “She looks so scared.”

“But she also looks very much alive,” I try to soothe her as best I can.

Cora is visibly tired, judging by the shadows under her eyes. I don’t even want to imagine what it must feel like for her, especially knowing she’s pregnant and all the more susceptible to complications that could jeopardize her and the baby’s health.A new, fresh wave of rage comes over me.

“Denaro wants us to hold back,” I say, staring at Cora’s expression in one of the photos. He has her holding up today’s newspaper to confirm she’s still alive. “He’s trying to keep the building sale in the legal realm, but he doesn’t have the funds to outbid what we put into escrow. Orson used that bullshit morality clause to cut us off. But they both know we still stand a chance, no matter how small, of forcing the sale through. They’re desperate.”

“They have my sister!” Eva snaps. “What did Orson say? George?”

“Oh, they’re going to be busy with Sheriff Foreman for a while,” Riggs replies. “Unfortunately, they didn’t know Denaro would pull this stunt.”

“What do we do now?” she asks, looking at each of us with despair in her eyes. “I can’t just leave her there with that monster.”

“We won’t leave her there,” I say. “And we’re not backing down from the sale, either. I’ve already got our lawyers working over the holidays to get ahead of this. We just need to figure out where they’re holding her.”

“If Denaro is indeed short on cash, he can’t afford too many goons to do his unholy bidding,” Waylan surmises, “which means she’s not heavily guarded.”

I start zooming in on the photos, pulling each detail into focus until something catches my eye. Any detail might help. Waylan and Riggs join me, and we scan every image for what feels like a repetitive forever.

“There,” Riggs finally notices something. My eyes hurt at this point. “Show me the nightstand.”

I pinch the image wide open to give him a better view. “What is it?” I ask. “All I see is the table lamp and… wait, is that a bible?”

“The St. James bible,” Waylan mutters.

A split second later, I’m on the phone with Sheriff Foreman, hoping he’s somewhere close to Orson St. James.

Eva is watching us with wide, hopeful eyes. “What did you find? What about that bible?” she asks with a trembling voice.

“A while back, Orson and the church folks went on this campaign of sorts,” Waylan explains. “They were handing out bibles everywhere. Stores, hotels, motels, local businesses. They had special copies of the St. James Bible commissioned with a fancy green cover and gold lettering.”

He shows her the zoomed image on my phone, prompting a gasp. “Oh. Orson might know the place, then,” Eva says.

“Here’s hoping,” Waylan sighs.

31

Cora

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