He found the radio and snapped it on.
Music boomed through the speakers.
He let out his breath slowly as he recognized the notes of “Silver Bells.”
“Ring a ling ... hear them sing.”
Caught up in the melody, he let his anger go. He couldn’t let the cretins of the sheriff ’s department or the imbeciles who worked for the media deter him.
He had work to do.
Work, he’d make certain, Detective Selena Alvarez would surely appreciate!
Chapter 13
The next morning Alvarez drove her Subaru across the railroad tracks and up the winding road climbing Boxer Bluff. With a sheer rock wall on one side and a steep cliff on the other, the road ascended the hill, splitting midway up, and then continuing to higher ground and the newer part of Grizzly Falls.
Nearing eight o’clock, the traffic was thick, and snow was once again falling heavily. Her car was handling the steep terrain, but the pickup in front of her was sliding a bit, so she hung back, giving the driver space, even though she was eager to get to work.
She’d woken up with a headache and it hadn’t gotten a whole lot better despite a quick jog and a cup of tea. She’d slept poorly, tossing and turning most of the night, and woke up missing the dog and confused about O’Keefe.
Her dreams, when she had dozed, had been peppered with images of Lara Sue Gilfry’s frozen body, Grace Perchant walking above the snow, her two wolf-dogs in tow, and Junior Green jabbing a fleshy finger into her face. That finger turned into the nose of an old revolver and he’d suddenly been wearing a fedora and trench coat. With a twisted smile contorting his huge, laughing face, he’d pulled the trigger.
Blam!
The scene had changed and she was running through an empty lot in San Bernardino. It was hot, she was sweating, breathing hard, searching for her missing baby in the rusted-out cars and rambling vines and litter covering the empty space. Across a wire fence, she noticed a glowing, plastic Santa with a leer, rocking on the cracked front walk of a ramshackle bungalow that she recognized as Alberto De Maestro’s hideout.
No, she thought. My son can’t be with that monster.
And yet, over the sough of the wind, she heard the distinctive cry of a frightened baby. The wails came from within the house. She tried to run faster, but her legs were leaden as the cries became ever more plaintive.
I’m coming! Oh, baby, I’m coming ...
Frantic, she reached the wire fence and attempted to clamber over the sharp barbs, only to prick her skin and scrape her knees as she fell. She’d nearly reached the other side when the door was flung open. Bang! The door hit the wall and the lights within shined outward.
Alvarez’s heart was in her throat.
In silhouette, Alberto De Maestro appeared, a wicked grin becoming a slice of white on his dark face, a spreading stain of red blooming on his bare, sweaty chest. “You will pay for this, perra!” he snarled, and over the sound of faint Christmas music, she heard the baby crying. Louder.
“Let me have him. Please.”
De Maestro laughed.
“But he needs me.”
“You gave him away,” De Maestro reminded her cruelly. “He is no longer yours!”
She saw red. No way was this pathetic excuse for a human being keeping her from her boy. “Get out of my way, bastardo!” She took a step toward the run-down house and h
eard her name.
“Selena! No!” O’Keefe cried as De Maestro turned and leveled his gun, not at her, but directly at the man she loved.
“Nooo!” she screamed, and had woken up, her heart pounding, sitting bolt upright. Jane Doe, who had been sleeping on the pillow next to her, shot to her feet, hissing and arching her back as she tiptoed sideways across the bed, away from her crazy mistress, only to drop onto the floor and hide somewhere in the dark.
Alvarez had clutched the covers, willing her thudding heart to slow, reminding herself it was only a nightmare, nothing more.
“Get over it,” she told herself now as the pickup stopped for a red light and she gave him enough room to backslide as he hit the gas. All of last night’s dreams, those distorted little bits of her life that didn’t fit together, were nothing more than anxiety. And she hadn’t loved O’Keefe. Not really. What she’d felt for him was a mixture of lust and respect.