Chapter 1
WILLOW
I should have known better than to go shopping on Christmas Eve.
Even in a small town like Sleepy Hollow, the stores are packed full of procrastinators, just like me.
Well, I didn’t procrastinate entirely. I did plenty of shopping online. Enough that every evening when I got home from work, there was at least one box sitting outside my front door, maybe more.
But when it came to finding a gift for my sister, I kept dragging my feet. Not because I don’t love her—I do—but because nothing I saw online seemed quite right.
My sister is amazing when it comes to giving gifts. She has a gift for it, so to speak. Every Christmas, she hands out the most thoughtful presents, like a hand-carved charcuterie board for my mother to use during book club or a personalized whiskey decanter and matching glasses for my dad.
Last year, she gave me a gorgeous cashmere sweater handmade in Ireland. Ireland. Not as in, the yarn came from Ireland. As in, someone actually created it there.
I know it’s not a competition. I’ve reminded myself of that fact dozens of times in the months leading up to Christmas.
But a silent voice kept whispering to me as I clicked through pages of search results online, saying, You know Autumn will give you something amazing and thoughtful.
Just like she always does. Don’t you want to give her something special, too?
Yes. I do.
The only problem was coming up with something.
Which is why I kept procrastinating while reassuring myself I’d come up with the perfect idea soon.
But soon turned into the week before Christmas. Then it turned into three days prior. And then Christmas Eve arrived, and I still didn’t have something for my sister.
That’s why I ventured into town for some last-minute shopping, ignoring my mom’s advice to never, ever go out to the stores on Christmas Eve.
It’s a madhouse, she says every year. A madhouse. Everyone waiting until the last minute to finish their Christmas shopping when they could have finished it weeks ago.
And this year, I’m one of them.
In an attempt to avoid some of the crowds, I headed out first thing this morning. Early enough to actually find one of the coveted parking spots downtown rather than having to park all the way over on Horseman Way, a good ten-minute walk to the center of downtown.
When I walked into Greta’s Goodies, the cheerful bell above the door announcing my arrival, I was relieved to find the store relatively quiet. Aside from Greta and her assistant, Shelly, there were only a handful of shoppers browsing the aisles.
Not five minutes into my shopping session, I found the perfect gift—a bracelet that I could customize with little charms to represent Autumn’s interests and things that are special to her.
Success, I silently crowed while I waited at the jewelry counter for Greta to help me. I did it. Not even nine AM and I found just what I need. By nine-thirty I’ll be on my way home to spend the rest of my day off cooking and baking in preparation for Christmas dinner with my family.
Then Ryan, one of the other volunteer paramedics who works with me at the Ambulance Corps, came into the store, and all my thoughts of gifts and pies and casseroles disappeared.
All I could think about was how handsome he looked in that deep blue fleece that matched the color of his eyes and the stretch of the fabric across his shoulders and biceps.
I thought about how cute he looked with his cheeks flushed from the cold and how he seemed almost uncertain as he walked into the store, like he had even less of an idea of what to buy than I did just minutes before.
We’re just friends, of course. But that doesn’t mean I can’t admire the view, does it?
Anyway, I called him over, ostensibly to ask if he needed any help. Which was silly, considering one, I don’t work here, and two, I might not be the best person to give advice on picking the best gifts.
Still, I called out his name, and my heart did that little fluttering thing it always does whenever he smiles at me. And he made a beeline over, his smile growing bigger the closer he got. “Willow,” he said as he approached. “Good to know I’m not the only one procrastinating.”
“Nope,” I replied brightly, feeling even more pleased about how the morning was going. “But at least it’s not too busy yet.”
As we chatted, I contemplated asking if he wanted to grab a coffee afterwards. Or some holiday pastries at Decadent Delights down the street.
Just as friends. Obviously.
But midway through our conversation about whether eggnog is delicious or disgusting—I said delicious, he said it was disgusting—my surprisingly pleasant morning turned into chaos.
And six hours later, I’m still living it.
Or, rather, me, Ryan, Greta, Shelly, and eight other customers are.
Just as I was insisting that Ryan just hadn’t tried the right eggnog, the bell over the door jingled again. But instead of another customer, Daniel Geraghty came storming in.
“Don’t move!” he shouted. And to emphasize, he pulled a gun from his waistband and fired it into the ceiling.
Which would have actually been funny, considering bits of ceiling tile came tumbling down on him, making it look like he’d just been snowed on, except for the whole he had a gun and fired it thing.
Then he locked the door behind him and snarled, “Everyone. I want you on the floor in front of the counter. Now. Or I’ll shoot.”
We did what he asked. Of course. And six hours later, we haven’t moved.
“Willow,” Ryan whispers. His fingers brush my leg, the most contact he’s dared. “Are you okay?”
I glance at Daniel to check if he’s watching, but his attention is on his ex wife, Greta, who’s sitting beside Shelly, silently crying.
Though my primary concern is getting out of here, I can’t help feeling sorry for her.
Greta doesn’t deserve this kind of crap.
I mean, none of us do, but from what I’ve heard around town, Daniel’s really put her through the wringer.
Coming home drunk every night—while they were still married, that is—spending weekends at the casinos gambling away their money, and rumor has it, even cheating on her.
So it’s not a surprise she divorced him. What is a surprise is Daniel holding a dozen people hostage in her gift shop for hours. With a gun. A gun he’s clearly not afraid to use, considering he already fired it three times.
The first was when he came into the store. Then again when he decided everyone wasn’t moving fast enough. And a third time just twenty minutes ago, when Mrs. Everts sneezed and he fired a shot into the Christmas gnome display before realizing what the sound was.
He hasn’t hurt anyone yet, though. I’m trying to take comfort in that.
And I have Ryan beside me. Not close enough to fling myself into his arms, like I’d really like to, but close enough to be reassured by his presence.
“I’m okay,” I whisper back. As Ryan’s hand moves away from my leg, I brush my fingers against his. “I just wish this would be over already.”
Ryan looks at Daniel, his gaze narrowing in anger. A muscle ticks in his jaw. Those admirably broad shoulders tense.
Is it wrong to be thinking about Ryan’s shoulders right now? And wistfully recalling the car wash we helped with this past summer, when his T-shirt got so wet it was practically see-through?
If it is, I don’t care. I need something positive to cling to right now, and if Ryan’s shoulders are it, I’m doing it.
“It will be,” Ryan murmurs. “I think the police are making some headway. And I’m pretty sure the SWAT team should be showing up soon.”
My stomach lurches at the image that jumps to mind—Daniel’s body flung backward in a flurry of bullets, then sprawled out on the floor in a growing pool of crimson.
I’m mad at him. Furious, really. But I really don’t want to watch someone die on Christmas Eve. Or any day at all, for that matter.
A shudder ripples through my body.
A cold sweat prickles along my back.
“Willow.” Ryan studies me with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” I work my lips into a weak smile. “Just stressed out. And scared.”
Except I’m not okay. And it’s not just from being held hostage in a gift shop on Christmas Eve.
Over the last hour or so, my body has chosen the absolute worst time to betray me. At first, I tried to convince myself it was all in my head. That the extreme thirst and fatigue and shaky feeling was from stress, and nothing more.
But it’s not.
An hour ago, I comforted myself with reassurances that we’d be let go soon. That Daniel would finally come out with what he actually wants instead of just ranting about how Greta screwed him.
An hour later, I’m getting nervous. And I most definitely am not okay.
Ryan frowns. “I’m sorry, Willow.”
“It’s not your—”
“Is someone talking?” Daniel bellows. He spins to glare at Ryan and me. “You two?”
I clamp my mouth shut, but not before a tiny, frightened meep escapes.
Ryan lifts his chin as he meets Daniel’s angry gaze with one of his own. But he replies calmly, “I was just asking if she’s okay. Since we’ve been sitting here for a long time. That’s all.”
“I said no talking,” Daniel gripes. But his gun lowers back down to point at the floor.
“What about the bathroom?” Mrs. Events asks. Her voice shakes. “I need…”
“Shush,” the woman sitting next to her hisses. “Don’t make him angry.”
With Daniel’s attention off of us, Ryan touches my leg again. In a tone so low it’s almost inaudible, he says, “It’s going to be okay, Willow. I promise.”