Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
ZARA
The festive atmosphere in the auditorium for the Christmas Festival was the perfect distraction for my scattered thoughts and the sensory overload that almost made me believe in Christmas magic again.
Almost.
I shrugged out of the long winter coat that was shielding everyone from having to look at my spectacle of an elf costume, then looked around for somewhere to stash it. A volunteer pointed to the coat check.
“Thanks,” I murmured, heading over to deposit my coat.
I weaved through the crowd, past the Christmas Crafts Zone, toward the Santa Stage, ready to wrangle kids. Sam would get into position soon, and I needed to—
“Well, well, well. Look who’s playing dress-up.”
The sound of her voice made my stomach twist.
It was Ski Patrol Barbie.
She exited the gingerbread competition area, wearing an expression that was equal parts amusement and irritation. She looked like she was dressed for another model shoot, once again opting for a skintight ski jumpsuit, although this time, she ditched solid white for maroon.
What really captured my attention, however, was the pint-sized accessory attached to her hand: a little girl, maybe six or seven, with a confused expression plastered on her face.
I blinked, my brain struggling to process what I was seeing. There was no way Babbs had a daughter. She had always been crystal clear about never wanting children. She’d said it repeatedly over the years, usually while making cutting remarks about other people’s “breeding choices.”
So who was this blonde girl in the velvet dress, and why was she holding Barbie’s hand? I had a feeling I would find out soon enough.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to hear.
“Nice to see you, too.” She crossed her arms, her smile tight as she inspected my costume. “Love the outfit, although I think you may have more success out on the street corner. How much are you getting per hour these days?”
“More than you can afford.” I stepped closer, my anger flaring hot. “Look—I already told Thorne I don’t need reinforcement. I have everything under control.”
“Do you? Really?” Barbie’s eyebrow arched. “You have zero evidence.”
“And you do?” I said. “That was a nice little stunt you pulled this morning at the library, and look where it got you. If you had just asked me, I would have told you that Sam’s computer has more security measures than the Pentagon.”
“I admit I came up short, but the difference is, I’m just getting started, whereas you are fizzling out.”
I took a breath, forcing myself not to react. Getting into it with Agent Babbs in the middle of a family Christmas event was exactly what we didn’t need, especially in front of the girl.
Speaking of whom …
“Where did you even get a kid?” I asked, changing tactics.
Barbie’s smile returned, smug. “She’s my daughter.”
“Right. And I’m the Sugar Plum Fairy.” I crouched down to the little girl’s level. “Hi there, sweetie. What’s your name?”
“Cassandra,” she said, her voice small and uncertain.
“That’s a beautiful name. And who is this lady with you?”
Cassandra glanced up at Agent Babbs, then back at me. “She’s my mom.”
“Wonderful!” I exclaimed with fake cheer, even as my stomach sank. The girl had been coached, clearly. “When did you meet her?”
“Today,” Cassandra said matter-of-factly.
I straightened, crossing my arms as I locked eyes with Babbs. “That’s what I thought.”
Barbie’s jaw tightened, her composed expression cracking just slightly. She put her hand on Cassandra’s shoulder—possessive, controlling—and leaned down to whisper in the girl’s ear. “Remember what we talked about, honey. Don’t answer questions from anyone. Not even the weird elf lady.”
Cassandra nodded obediently, but I could see the confusion in her eyes. She had no idea what she’d been pulled into.
“Whatever you’re planning, it’s already a bad idea,” I said. “Sam will be onto you before you know it.”
“Onto me, underneath me, I’ll take him anyway I can get him,” she said. “I see nothing wrong with my daughter sitting on Santa’s lap and posing for a photo.” She winked, then her gaze shifted over my shoulder. “And just so you know, he’s watching us.”
I spun on my heels and glanced toward the photo area.
Sam was standing in front of the elaborate throne set up, looking directly at us.
Even from this distance, I could see the confusion on his face.
The questions. He’d seen me talking to Barbie—seen the obvious tension between us, the familiarity of two people who clearly knew each other.
Another crack in my carefully constructed cover.
“Great,” I muttered. “That’s just perfect.”
Beverly leaned in. “Better get your story straight, Mazini.”
She laughed and melted into the crowd, leaving me standing there with my heart hammering and my cover slipping further by the second.
I plastered on my brightest fake smile and waved at Sam like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t just been confronted by another federal agent who was here to finish the job I’d apparently failed at.
He waved back, but the confusion didn’t leave his face.
Get it together. You’re a professional.
I took a deep breath, yanked down my elf costume one more time, and headed toward the photo area.
Kids were already lining up, bouncing with excitement, their parents trying unsuccessfully to keep them corralled. The energy was infectious despite the knot of anxiety in my stomach.
I approached Sam as he settled onto his throne. “All set?”
“Ready as can be,” he said, wiggling his butt around to find the perfect spot, then added, “What did Beverly want? I’m surprised she even talked to you, considering you practically ripped off her head and fed it to her.”
I crossed my arms. “You should write soap operas. You’re fantastic at fabricating drama.”
Sam chuckled. “I will take that under consideration.” Luckily, he didn’t press the subject further and added, “Okay, let’s do this.”
Walking back to the front of the line, I raised my voice just enough to be heard over the chaos.
“Okay, everyone! Santa is ready to meet all of you! We’re going to go one at a time, nice and orderly, and I will let you know when it’s your turn.
Who’s excited to tell Santa what you want for Christmas and take a photo with him? ”
A chorus of “ME!” erupted from the crowd.
I grinned despite the negative energy running through my body. “That’s what I like to hear! Let’s make some Christmas magic happen.”
After getting the first few parents in the line to sign the contact information form, I guided the first child to the stage, where Sam waited with that genuine smile that made even my cynical heart warm a little.
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” Santa boomed. “And who do we have here?”
“This is …” I glanced at my clipboard, “Paxon.”
“Paxon!” Sam’s eyes lit up like the boy was the most important person in the world. “Come on up here. Let’s hear what’s on your Christmas list.”
The little boy climbed onto Sam’s lap with the fearless enthusiasm only children possessed, immediately launching into his Christmas list with the rapid-fire delivery of an auctioneer.
“And a bike, and a new video game, and maybe a kitty if Mom says yes, and—”
“Whoa, whoa!” Sam guffawed in a genuine tone. “That’s quite a list! Have you been a good boy this year?”
“The best!” the kid declared with absolute confidence.
“Excellent!” Santa said. “You know what they say—good boys get the best toys!”
The rhyme was silly, but Sam’s delivery made it endearing. It even made some parents smile.
After Paxon finished with Santa and took a photo, I handed him a candy cane as he climbed down.
Then it was time for the next child …
A boy with dark curly hair and troubled brown eyes approached slowly, hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure this was a good idea.
“Come on up, Michael,” I encouraged gently, noting the way his mother stood off to the side, her own expression anxious. “Santa would love to meet you.”
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” Santa boomed when Michael climbed onto his lap, though I noticed him immediately softening his tone when he saw the boy’s serious expression. “And what’s your name?”
“Michael,” the boy whispered.
“That’s a fine name—one of my favorites. Now, what would you like for Christmas this year?”
Michael was quiet for a moment, his small fingers twisting together in his lap. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“I’m not sure …”
“Yeah? Why is that? Most kids know exactly what they want.”
“I’m a little sad this year.”
Sam’s jovial expression shifted, becoming gentler, more present. “I’m sorry to hear that, Michael. What’s making you sad?”
“Kids at school make fun of my big sister.” Michael’s voice got quieter. “Because she talks funny.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Michael’s mother pressing a hand to her mouth, her eyes already glistening.
“That’s not very nice of them,” Sam said, his Santa persona full of genuine compassion. “Your sister is lucky to have a brother who cares about her so much.”
“It’s her teeth,” Michael said, the words spilling out faster now, like he’d been waiting a long time to tell someone.
“They’re in the wrong place, so her tongue can’t move right.
That’s what the dentist said. So when she talks, it sounds weird to other kids.
I don’t think it sounds weird because I’m used to it, but they laugh at her all the time, and she gets sad.
” He twisted his fingers together in his lap.
“The dentist said he could fix it with surgery so she could talk normally, but it would cost a lot of money. Like, a lot. My mom said we can’t afford it right now. ’
Michael looked up at Sam with those serious, hopeful eyes that broke something inside me.
I understood why Sam did what he did.
How could someone not care?