Page 13 of Silent Night Sins
“There’s an idea.” I drummed my freshly painted fingers against the marble countertop. I didn’t have to be in a group setting to go out. I could take myself.
Running upstairs, I changed into jeans and a hoodie. The toe of my sock snagged against the hole in the carpet.
I winced.
He-who-shall-not-be-thought-about came rushing back into my mind. If it really washim, what the hell was he doing robbing my dad? Our parents had been friends once upon a time. I tugged the dragon rider hoodie over my head, pausing to rub my scalp. Sixteen stitches left a blemish that my stepmother was always telling me should be seen by a plastic surgeon. I kept the scar, always smiling when I thought of the badge of honor. My battle wound was a reminder of the friendship that should have stood the test of time.
I missed that boy.
“It probably wasn’t even him,” I grumbled, jogging back downstairs.
That was the debate that kept me occupied the last few days. Boston was home to a melting pot of cultures. There were plenty of people called Cristiano residing in just this area alone—something I’d googled after a couple glasses of wine.
It was highly unlikely that my thief wastheCristiano I used to know.
“He’s not your thief,” I bit out, snatching my phone and ordering a ride share.
My body laughed in response, growing too warm under the thick layer that said, ‘Save a dragon, ride a wing-leader.’
And if it was the boy I used to know, no good could come of the fact that he’d chosen my father’s house to rob. I rubbed my forehead and searched for movie times while I waited for the car to pick me up. Cristiano Messina was not a law-abiding citizen. A burglar didn’t even come close to his level. The Messina family was the darkest of the dark, the worst of the worst. Cristiano would have grown up like his father, becoming a Made Man. They were the kind of family mine wouldn’t be caught dead speaking to in public.
Which was exactly why I hoped the masked man wasn’tthatCristiano.
And on the slight possibility he was, that was why I never reported the break-in.
I rubbed my forehead. There could be no link between the Messinas and the Lorings—but not because it would spell disaster for my father’s career.
It would damn the boy I would have done anything to protect.
***
Silver Patron and artificial butter were not a good combination. I should have gotten the tray of nachos, but looking at the neon orange cheese sauce, I thought of the beautiful queso waiting in the fridge to be heated and couldn’t do it, but the popcorn was also a mistake.
I tossed another handful into my mouth as I climbed the steps to my seat. The rest of the flask, tucked safely in my bra, was going straight into the Coca-Cola, where the syrupy fizz would temper the delicious sting of the tequila. Maybe the mixed drink would blend better with my movie snackies.
As the previews began to stream over the jumbotron, the last guests filed into the already packed theater. I’d bought the seats next to me just so I didn’t have to sit next to anyone. The group of tweens squealing at the end of the row justified that decision. If they kept that up, though, it was going to be a long movie.
Something prickled at the back of my neck that had nothing to do with the possessed nun in the movie trailer coming out for Valentine’s Day. I swept a look around the dark theater. There were three rows behind me, and I itched my back, twisting to cast a glance up.
In the rows of people, a figure wearing a Patriots cap with his matching hoodie pulled over it caught my immediate attention. I didn’t think he could see from how low the brim was pulled. But something about his posture made me do a double take. He was in the farthest seat, at the end of the row, basically at the other end from me. He stared straight ahead, and from this distance, I couldn’t make out his features.
It was his energy.
I shifted my shoulders and turned to watch as the Christmas Nightmare began to unfold on the screen. After a few sips of my contraband cocktail, I risked another look. The sports fan was staring straight ahead. Which wasn’t unusual. Everyone else was too—except for me.
The movie played out. The tweens screamed every thirty seconds, and half the theater joined in on occasion. But I couldn’t shake the feeling. It was a magnetism, drawing me to look back. I wasn’t able to focus on the film. Yes, it was a predictable horror film, and I already knew Krampus was going to win in the end.
But enjoyinghowhe bested the holly-jolly family was why I’d come to the movie in the first place.
When the end credits played over the screen, I shot to my feet. I was going to leave by the opposite door, purposely passing the man who seemed to be sitting alone. Just one look would be enough. The moment my curiosity was sated, I could leave happily.
“Nicole! Is that you?” a lady in the row directly under me called out.
My attention snagged, I wobbled a little, catching myself on the rail that divided the seats.Oh, good grief.
Of all the people, and all the places, why did she have to be here?
Worse…Bobbie Jefferson wasn’t alone.
