An Angel for Christmas (9 page)

“We should be able to go soon,” she said curtly. She frowned. The front door to the house had
opened. Genevieve, cradling her precious teddy bear, was stepping out of the house alone.

“What the heck is she doing?” Morwenna wondered.

Gabe stumbled to his feet, coming to the doorway.

“No!” Morwenna called suddenly.

Genevieve was trying to come out, to see for herself what they were doing. Whatever distraction her mother had been employing with them, it wasn't working.

The little girl was sneaking out—and trying to make sure that she wasn't being seen.

Morwenna could see that her niece meant to approach the shed from the cliff side. Since she was trying not to be seen, she was running around in a wide fashion; she knew that she wasn't allowed to go too far around the house, and yet it suddenly seemed as if she didn't remember. She was a child—a curious child. Morwenna wasn't half as angry as she was afraid.

If she went too far, which she could easily do in
the snow, she'd be on uneven ground, and could tumble down a hundred feet or so.

“No!” Morwenna cried.

Too late.

Genevieve let out a shrill scream as she stepped into the snow…and hit nothing beneath it. As Morwenna bolted across the yard, Genevieve began to fall.

“We can go out soon,” Shayne heard his mother say. She'd been sitting beneath the tree with Genevieve, polishing her nails with a pink color from the package Morwenna had given her, when Shayne had first come in. He thanked God for his mother; she loved his children and she was good with them.

But now, coming back to the parlor from the kitchen, Shayne saw that Stacy was looking out the window. He knew that she was anxious. The kids
were growing increasingly restless. Of course, if it was storming, they knew they had to stay in. But they'd been anxious to help with the turkey dinner, and now, Stacy wasn't cooking, and Christmas Day had taken a drastic turn.

“The clouds—or whatever!—are just sitting up there,” Stacy said, staring out at the sky. “It's just gray and…actually clearing, maybe.”

She turned around suddenly.

“Genevieve?”

Connor was playing with the electronic game he'd gotten. He didn't look up.

“Connor, where did Genevieve go?” Stacy asked.

Connor looked up. “She was right here,” he said, frowning.

Stacy looked back to the window and gasped.

“Oh, my God! She's on the side path!” Stacy cried.

Shayne bolted for the door and threw it open, unaware of the blast of frigid air that hit him. Genevieve had disappeared beyond the snow.

“My God!” he cried, and raced to the side path
that was so pretty in summer, so treacherous in winter.

“Genevieve!” His daughter's name tore from his throat.

In an instant, a fraction of a second in time, he realized that he'd been a bitter fool; that even with the pain of the divorce, he'd been the luckiest man in the world. He had two beautiful, healthy children, and they were worth everything in the world.

And now…

As he ran, he could see his sister coming from the opposite direction. And someone was behind her, and then, overtaking her.

Gabe Lange.

Hands still tied, he was moving like cannon shot, a blur in the snow and the gray. Then, he cleanly disappeared.

He had pitched himself down the ledge, toward Genevieve. Morwenna screamed and followed him.

Shayne heard his heart thundering, heard the
gasp of his breath as he reached the path and beyond; the ledge. And he stopped himself in time.

Gabe had managed to get himself down the slope and wedged next to some kind of brush; he'd prevented Genevieve from tumbling farther with the length of his body. He was struggling to keep his grasp on whatever bush or outcrop of rock was beneath the snow. And Morwenna was just above the two; he could see the branch she held—naked and thin, stripped bare of green, as if it were a skeletal hand reaching for her instead of the other way around.

“Hold still! I'll get rope!” Shayne shouted.

He turned to head back to the house; his mother was behind him, terror in her eyes. She was ready to pitch herself down the mountain, but Shayne grabbed her shoulders.

“Mom! The rope, the cord of nylon rope in the kitchen—go get the whole thing, quickly, please!”

“Oh, Shayne!” she cried.

“Mom, go!”

She turned and fled back to the house; he'd never seen her move so fast.

“Hang on!” he called down the slope.

“Hanging on!” Gabe called up.

Bobby and Connor came running out behind Stacy, who now had the rope. Shayne looked around; there was nothing close enough that was steady and stable to work the rope. Bobby hurried to him, seeing the problem. “You and me, bro. You and me!” he said.

He nodded. “I'm bigger. I'll be the anchor, you the control.”

Bobby didn't argue with him; they had perhaps seconds before something down the slope began to give. He expertly knotted the nylon around himself while Bobby made a loop with the other end.

Bobby stood at the precipice, testing his footing. He called down to Gabe. “I've got a loop—coming your way.”

Shayne angled himself down on the ground, using his weight as an anchor as Bobby tossed the rope down. It fell almost to Genevieve on the first try, and Bobby cursed beneath his breath. Shayne lowered his head, praying. He heard his
sister cry up. “Bobby, I've got it. It's good. I'm getting it to Gabe and Genevieve.”

“Got it!” Gabe called.

Shayne heard Genevieve's terrified tears then, and he winced, gritting his teeth, digging in farther. The ground was so slick, with patches of ice beneath the snow. He felt something on his legs; his mother had thrown herself down into the snow, too. They looked at one another, and despite his terror, he offered her a weak smile. “Thanks, Mom. We're going to do this.”

She nodded grimly.

“I can't! I can't!” Genevieve cried. “Auntie Wenna, I'm so scared.”

“Let Gabe get the rope around you. Your daddy is up there. He's going to get you.”

“Bobby?” Shayne asked.

His brother was hunkered down, trying to guide the rope, but Bobby glanced at him. “Gabe is getting the loop around her. Morwenna is talking to her, assuring her.”

Shayne was aware of the soft sound of sniffles near him. He looked around. Connor was just
standing there, frozen as he watched, too little to help, too big not to know what was going on.

And he was surely blaming himself that his sister had slipped out.

“Okay!” Morwenna called up. “She's secure!”

Bobby started to pull on the rope. Shayne heard Genevieve sniffling and crying again. As Bobby secured the rope, Shayne began to inch backward.

Bobby swore suddenly; Shayne saw Connor make a dive.

“What?” he cried hoarsely.

“It was stuck—Connor slipped it. We're good. Keep moving.”

His daughter wasn't even heavy; she was a little thing. And yet he felt as if he strained as he never had before, as if each millisecond was years in the making.

“I've got her!” Bobby cried, and Shayne dared look up again. Bobby was falling back from the ledge, Genevieve in his arms. Shayne lowered his head, trying to stop the shaking that had seized hold of his body.

Thank God, thank God, thank God, thank God…

His instinct was to rise and grab his daughter;
he knew he couldn't do so. He called out to his mother. “Mom, get Gen. Get her inside, please. Connor, get Gramps. Get him out of the garage—now, please, Connor.”

He heard the footsteps in the snow. Morwenna wasn't heavy—maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. But the snow was slick, and the hauling was hard. “Bobby?”

“I've got it back down. Morwenna has the rope…it's around her. Now, Shayne, now, I'm hauling it up.”

Again, Shayne began his backward crawl in the snow. He kept fit; being a physician had made him do so, but he felt every muscle, and it seemed every speck of blood and bone in him, ache with the effort.

As he thought he might not make it, his father came running across the snow; he reached Bobby's side and took on some of the weight, and Shayne inched backward again.

He heard his sister cry out. “I'm here—I've caught the ledge. Just…your hand, Dad.”

Shayne looked up again. Mike MacDougal had
Morwenna in his arms. The two of them fell backward in the snow, Morwenna half laughing and half crying in their father's arms.

“We've still got Gabe down there!” Bobby reminded them all.

“If you were smart, you'd leave him there.”

Shayne twisted to see who was talking. Of course, Mike had left his post at the garage door; Luke DeFeo had followed him out.

“If you're really law enforcement,” Mike said, “you'll remember that you catch the criminals, and the justice system sees to punishment.”

“And if you're an ADA,” DeFeo countered, “you know that half the scum of the earth winds up in court—and then walking.”

“Shayne, you ready?” Bobby asked. “Rope is going down again. Can you handle it?”

“Yes,” Shayne said.

And yes, he would.

“Go! You've got Dad to help you lever the weight.”

This time, it was going to be really hard; Gabe
Lange was at least six-two, and had to weigh a well-muscled two hundred–plus pounds.

“Damn!” Bobby swore. He'd not gotten the rope down far enough.

As he pulled it up to toss it down again, they all heard the cracking of a branch, as loud as thunder in the crisp and silent air of the tension-filled winter morning.

“Hurry!” Morwenna breathed.

“Got it, got it,” Bobby assured her.

He tossed the rope again.

They heard Gabe shouting from below. “I have it!”

Just as the echo of his words died, they heard a crack like a gunshot; it was the end of the bush that had broken Gabe's fall down the slope.

Shayne felt himself jerked forward as Gabe's weight fell fully on the rope.

Morwenna screamed, throwing herself on Shayne to further anchor him; Mike lunged forward, catching the rope with Bobby, and they both leaned back, trying to brace their boots against the slick white snow.

“Wenna, back…inch back little by little,” Shayne said.

She obeyed him; she wasn't much on size, but the fact that she was there with him, clinging to him as if he were salvation itself, gave him strength. She braced his legs, moving as slowly as a snail, adding weight to his anchor as he painfully wormed his way back, feeling as if his shoulders would break and his spine would snap if they didn't make it soon.

But then, just when he thought he wouldn't make it, the pressure eased up. He and Morwenna had been trying so hard to keep moving that they actually slid backward a foot when the tension on the rope eased.

Again, he dared to look up. Mike had dragged Gabe up the last few feet. And now he, Bobby and Gabe were lying halfway entangled with one another by the slope, gasping for breath, laughing with relief and congratulating one another.

Shayne rolled to his back and looked up at the sky.

It had cleared; the dark clouds were gone.

He glanced to the side. Still handcuffed, Luke DeFeo was looking on.

“He's a damn good actor,” he said quietly to Shayne.

“I don't give a damn if it was an act or not,” Shayne said. “My daughter and my sister are alive.”

 

Morwenna, showered, changed and headed downstairs. She could hear her father speaking to her brother Bobby, and she stopped before reaching the parlor.

“He showered, got into dry warm clothes and let me put the ropes right back on him,” Bobby said. “Dad, I just can't see how the man could be any kind of killer.”

“I have to admit, Bobby, I just don't see it either. But the thing is, we still don't
know.
What if DeFeo is right?”

“Dad, Gabe pitched himself over a cliff to save Genevieve,” Bobby said.

“So did your sister,” Mike said huskily.

“Morwenna is my hero, Dad. But she's Gene
vieve's aunt. Gabe was ready to give his life for a little girl he just met.”

She heard her father sigh deeply. “I know that, Bobby. But the sky has cleared. We're getting these guys down to the tavern. Someone there will have some way to communicate with the rest of the world. And if we're right, and Gabe is a good guy, we'll know it then.”

Morwenna hurried down the stairs.

“Where are our—prisoners now?” she asked.

“In the kitchen,” her father told her.

“With Shayne?”

“Shayne is trying to make Genevieve and Connor understand that they still have to learn to listen to what they're told,” Bobby said.

“Then who is watching the prisoners?” she asked.

“Your mother,” Mike said.

“Mom?”

Mike grinned. “Don't underestimate the power of a mother and grandmother, Morwenna,” he told her. “She's grateful to Gabe, but she's hard as nails
when she wants to be. She knows we're all going to start down to the tavern.”

Morwenna stared at her father and Bobby with surprise, and then hurried into the kitchen.

Both men were seated on stools by the island workstation with steaming cups in front of them. It wasn't coffee; Morwenna smelled the aroma of chicken soup.

Stacy was seated away from them at the far end, the shotgun in her hand.

She glanced at Morwenna as she entered. “Make sure you're dressed good and warm,” she told her daughter. “We're going to leave as soon as everyone is ready.”

“We're walking down, I take it?” she asked her mother, eyeing the two men. They were at opposite sides of the table, but Stacy had seen to it that neither could possibly reach out and grab her—or the shotgun.

“We have to. There isn't a plausible path a car could make anywhere on the mountain right now,” her mother said. “Yesterday was dangerous, and there's been more snow since then. Last
night, late in the night, I woke up, and I saw that it was snowing again.”

Morwenna couldn't help but look across the table at Gabe. He looked at her with a grin and a shrug.

“On this walk, you'd better keep a close eye on Gabe Lange,” DeFeo warned. “Don't you people see? He figured that once he'd saved the little girl, you'd be so grateful, you'd untie him.”

“He could have died,” Morwenna pointed out.

“Yes, but he's facing life in prison or a death sentence if you get him down the mountain,” DeFeo said. “The Commonwealth of Virginia still carries out the death penalty when the judge determines that it's appropriate. And you people still don't know the half of what he's capable of.”

“We've established that,” Morwenna said.

“Fine—take your chances walking down to the tavern,” DeFeo said.

“That's what we're doing,” Stacy said firmly.

“Stacy!”

Mike's voice sounded from the parlor.

“Yes, Mike?”

“We're ready. Head them on out,” he called.

“You heard my husband,” Stacy said. “Rise slowly and carefully, gentlemen, one at a time, please, and keep your distance from each other as we head out.”