Chapter Twenty-Four
Gideon downed a couple of Motrin, then handled the paperwork himself. His wounded officer would wear a sling for a time while he rode a desk, but he was home and safe for Christmas.
A woman and two kids under ten were shattered, but alive, also safe, and with family.
Dennis Ryder, however, wouldn’t go home for Christmas for a very long time.
Why anyone would threaten to kill his family and himself rather than face divorce remained one of life’s mysteries. It happened far too often.
In this case, after a long standoff, they’d managed to talk him down and out.
With duty done, he headed home. What he wanted? A long, hot shower, a very large drink, and a couple hours of quiet.
Since he was nearly two hours late already, the shower and quiet were off the table. He’d settle for the drink, shift his mood for company, noise.
Christmas Eve didn’t stop because he’d had a rough one.
And when he could manage it, he’d screw up Arden’s Christmas by telling her about Theresa Lester, and all the rest.
He wouldn’t lie to her or soft-pedal. She deserved neither. So he wouldn’t hold back, but he needed to tell her face-to-face, and not at a family party.
He pulled up at the Yeoh house, saw the lights shining, the tree in the window, his grandfather’s truck, Arden’s car.
And it helped with that shift of mood.
He got out of his truck, realized he could definitely use some food as well as that drink.
The door opened before he knocked, and there she stood, that amazing hair spilling over her shoulders like golden fire.
“Hi, um—”
He did what he needed, stepped in as she stepped back. He drew her to him, found her mouth with his, and just let the day, all the weight of it, float away.
“Gideon—”
“One more. It’s been one of those.”
When he released her, he ran a hand over her hair. “Merry Christmas.”
“You bet. Ah, look who’s here.”
When she gestured, he saw his parents, standing together, both of them grinning as if he’d just won Olympic gold.
He said the only thing that came to mind. “Seriously?”
“Surprise.” With a laugh, Scarlett ran to him and flung her arms around him. In his ear, she murmured, “I really like your girl.”
Then she drew back, kissed him, hugged him again.
He held tight—he hadn’t let himself dwell on how much he’d missed her—and glanced over her head at Joe.
“Don’t look at me.” Joe tossed up his hands. “I didn’t know until they came in the door.”
After exchanging bear hugs with his father, he looked at the two of them. “You said you weren’t going to make it up until February, maybe March.”
“We lied.” Scarlett tipped her head toward Liam.
“She lied,” he corrected. “She’s better at it. I simply supported the lie. Is that what the chief of police wears around here?”
“It’s what this one wears.”
“Are you a bourbon man, Gideon?” Boone asked.
“I can be. I’m driving. As are other people in this house with drinks in their hands.”
“Christmas Eve. One drink, followed by food and festivities.” Boone handed him a lowball glass.
Gideon could only stare at it. “Bourbon isn’t pink.”
“It is when it’s a Santa Smash.”
Lexy danced at his feet. “Santa’s bringing a princess castle.”
“For me? How did he know I wanted one?”
“Silly.” She giggled as he picked her up. “For me.”
“Now that we’re all here, a toast.” Doug held up his glass. “To Santa, to family, and to surprises.”
Gideon sampled the drink—not bad at all—and closed the door on the long, hard day.
He’d have to open that door again, but for a few hours he had the pleasure of watching his parents interact with Arden’s family.
He knew them, and their—he swore—innate skill for mingling with any group of any kind, of any size, in any place.
But since he knew them, he saw they clearly enjoyed everything and everyone.
Not an act when his father sat with Maddy on his lap while she babbled and he made faces of astonishment, delight, shock, and concern.
Not an act when he saw his mother and Arden with their heads together—though that struck him as a little unsettling.
Joe finally managed a private word.
“How bad was it? I heard—I didn’t say anything.”
“Bad. If we’d had to go in—and it nearly went there—it would’ve been a lot worse.
The wife’s got some bruises, but he didn’t touch the kids.
Probably scarred them for life, but he didn’t hurt them physically.
He shot out the freaking window when the officers approached the house.
Harley took one in the shoulder, through-and-through, so it could’ve been worse. ”
“You saved lives today. Remember that.”
“They never went at each other.” Gideon sipped the pink bourbon as he studied his parents.
“Not once, at least never around me. They never gave me a reason to be afraid of them, not that way. Sure, the I’m-in-big-trouble-now way, but never that they’d hurt me, or each other.
He’d have killed those kids, Pop. Because his wife didn’t want him anymore, he’d have killed her and his own kids. ”
“But he didn’t.” Joe laid a hand on his shoulder. “You were there, and he didn’t. This is what you wanted to do, were meant to do. And this is why.”
If he’d had time, just a little more time, he’d have told his grandfather about Dubecki, but Doug came over asking if he could drop by and see Joe’s workshop. So the conversation turned to tools and wood and projects.
The kids opened presents from his parents, with squeals of delight, and when, with much coaxing about Santa and the morning, they headed to bed, they took the stuffed panda and lemur—both pink like the bourbon—up with them.
More conversation—it always amazed Gideon when people just didn’t run out—until Scarlett patted Liam’s hand.
“This has been wonderful, just wonderful. And it’s time for me to get my boyfriend home.”
“She means that one.” Liam shook a thumb toward Joe. “She’d throw me over for him if he’d have her.”
“Without hesitation. I might even cook.”
“Oh God, no. You can’t do that to my dad. Scarlett’s a brilliant actor, a crafty businesswoman, and a terrible cook.”
“She is a terrible cook,” Gideon confirmed.
“I am, but for Joe, I could learn. Meanwhile, I’m stuck with you, so up and out, Riley.”
“You should go with them,” Arden murmured. “Have Christmas morning with them.”
He shook his head. He had to open that door again. “I’ll see them for dinner.”
So he followed her home and worked out the best way to tell her. The only way, in his mind, the straight way. Give her the facts, no sugarcoating, no easing away from the hard.
Then he hoped she could put it away. Be careful, be smart, but trust law enforcement to do its job.
The rain started as he pulled in the drive behind her, as if the sky opened to a thousand buckets.
Zorro raced straight for the mudroom door, shook himself as Arden hurried behind him, key out.
“It couldn’t wait two minutes!” And laughing, she unlocked the door. Inside she pulled off her cap, her jacket as Zorro stopped at his water bowl to drink like a camel.
“I have to tell you, I couldn’t even speak when your parents walked in with Joe. I’d just gotten there myself. Jesus, Gideon, your mother completely fills the room. All that sparkle. Warm, breathtaking sparkle.”
“Yeah, she does that.”
“And your dad? So like Joe, I’m not going to be nervous about having them for dinner.
Hardly. Even though I’ve only made this rib roast once and that was two years ago.
I got enough to serve fourteen, so that’s good, especially since two of us are little girls, and another two are little boys. And I’m doing plenty of sides, so …
“Maybe some more than hardly nervous.”
While she talked, he got out wine. He figured they could both use it once he told her.
“They’re both pescatarians.”
“What? They’re—shit!”
“Kidding.”
“Well, ha ha.” She punched his arm.
“Sit down.”
“Actually, I’m going to do the rub, prep the roast tonight.”
“Sit,” he repeated, and drew her down to a stool.
“I—I think that’s a cop face. I think you’re wearing your cop face.”
“Dubecki killed his mother.”
All the color drained from her cheeks. “Oh God. When? How? Is he in jail? Is he in custody now?”
“No, they didn’t get him. The ME tags the time of death at between seven and midnight on December seventeenth.”
“The seventeenth. You said you’d tell me if—”
“Hold on. They didn’t find the body until last night. I wasn’t notified until today. Then I had a hostage situation.”
“But how … A hostage situation?”
“It’s resolved, but it took time. And I wasn’t going to dump this on you at a family party, so I’m telling you now.”
Closing her eyes, she reminded herself to breathe, and to think.
“I’m sorry. I lose my head when it’s Dubecki. His mother. She—she hired the lawyers. Both times. She helped get him early release. She did everything.”
“For some, everything’s not enough, or it’s too much. He killed her the night of his father’s funeral.”
Sensing distress, Zorro leaned against her leg. She reached down, stroked his head as she drank some wine.
“He strangled her, didn’t he?”
“That’s right, and took her car, left the one she’d bought him. He used her phone to send her husband—on a business trip in London—a text. Going to a spa, going offline for a few days, need quiet, meet you at home on the twenty-third, and he bought it.”
“He killed his mother, someone who tried to look out for him, take care of him. Detective Brill told me … I know she visited him every week, bought a house so she could sometimes see him more often. He’d just lost his father, and he killed his mother.
He’s not right, Gideon. Something in him is missing, or turned wrong, but he’s not sane. ”
“Legally, he damn well is. He knew what he was doing, had to plan it, and he covered his tracks. Taking his mother’s car. He put different lights—including the goddamn Christmas tree—on timers.”
“So it looked like he was there, in the house.”
“He went to long-term parking at the airport, switched the plates.”