Operation Christmas (13 page)

Her mom laughed. “I’m certainly feeling dull at the moment.”

“See. We’d have no entertainment if she didn’t speak her mind. Now go home. Eat. Take a pill and go sleep. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. I need not tell you what that day will be like.”

“I hate to start popping pills, but I am exhausted. Just don’t let Grams know she’s got it right. We’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Believe me. My lips are sealed. I’m no more up to
I told you so
’s than you.”

“You said that was entertainment.” Her mom raised an eyebrow at Madeleine who laughed. “You sure you’re okay to close?”

“How many times have I closed? Hundreds.”

“Okay, then. I’ll make a plate and put it in the microwave for you to warm up.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Madeleine reached out to hug her mom. She remembered a time when the simple gesture would have been skipped to get out of the place a couple of seconds sooner.

So much had happened in her relationship with her mother since becoming a widow. New maturity in how she viewed her parents for one. As an only child, she knew they enjoyed her returned presence to the family unit. But Madeleine wondered if she had stayed too long, thinking it her way of saying thanks for their support when she suspected it hindered her from moving forward. She’d become too secure in the cradle of love her parents provided.

And definitely gone were the days of taking things for granted. Like two hands. Even the gesture of food waiting in the microwave filled her with gratitude.

Her mother appeared small tonight as she shrugged into her winter coat, winding a colorful knit scarf Grams had made around her neck. Like Grams, her mother personified “the little engine that could.” They waved a final good-bye and the back door clicked shut. She hoped her mom wasn’t getting sick.

“Life is short,” Grams said to distraction. “Don’t spend it feeling sorry for yourself.” Good words of advice she often ignored because the crusty delivery made her tune out. Grams’s ways were old world and tough love. And boy, she did make it tough to stomach some of the things that spilled from her mouth.

After losing Danny, she fretted over everyone in her family leaving her behind. First Grams. Worries her mom might be sick or her dad working too hard. Today she added Jess to the list.

Why didn’t he call or stop by? At this point, she wouldn’t squabble over a text and its impersonal meaning.

Only one customer came in after her mom left so Madeleine busied herself wiping down glass and sweeping the wood floor in front of the cases. She put things away in the back. At five minutes to eight she decided to lock the door and close out the register then put if off.

The process only took minutes. After counting the cash and placing it in a zipped money bag, she would run the register’s end-of-the-day tape. That went into the bag with the money and locked in the bakery’s small safe. Her father would do the accounting before work began the next day. When the bank opened two doors down, her mom would make a deposit.

Madeleine did help with the books from time to time. Without a job on the horizon, she vowed to set up a computerized accounting system and drag that portion of Belmar Bakery into the twenty-first century. Ideas flowing, she poked around on the office computer before she realized it was after eight.

She headed for the front of the store to lock up and turn off the OPEN neon sign. She came through the short hall and arrived behind the counter as the gang-banger she’d seen earlier burst through the door. Her heart catapulted to her throat.

“I’ve got a gun,” he announced in an adrenaline-filled voice. He raised the pocket of his jacket to indicate it was there. “Turn out the lights.”

“We don’t have much money.” True. Her mom had locked up the bulk of the day’s cash. He’d only get the little they’d taken in over the last hour plus the hundred they kept in the register to open the store.

“Turn out the lights or I shoot.”

Shoot before he got the money? Well, she didn’t intend to point it out. She doubted she could speak anyway. Her mouth felt dry as cotton. Since they’d never had a robbery, she decided to do whatever he wanted and quickly turned out the main store lights. He yanked the plug on the neon OPEN sign. Weak light shone through the hall from the kitchen.

Cold fear raised the hairs at the back of her neck. No one would attempt to enter the store with it dark and the sign unplugged.

The gun Madeleine hoped a threat was pulled from his pocket.

She held her breath and got very still seeing him reach inside his jacket. “Put your cash in this,” his fake low voice cracked. He tossed a small gym bag across the glass counter. Her back hit the counter behind in an attempt to catch the clumsy throw.

Her mind raced. The bread slicer there would be too heavy to lift and smash into his head. Her elbow knocked several angel tins to the floor. She sucked in a breath. The crashing sound of tin on wood reverberated with internal tremors. Would she die like Danny?

The ruckus made the kid’s head jerk toward the front windows then back again. “Leave them.” The gun waved then steadied when she stood stiff with a tin in her hand. She flung it at his head like a Frisbee. He ducked and it hit the wall behind him. More noise. She silently cursed the angel spread across it for not helping her hit the mark.

“
Idiot.
” He came closer to the counter. “Hurry up.”

She was an idiot. Who mocked a plea for divine intervention with a gun aimed straight at their heart? She tapped a finger to the register’s computer screen to bring it to life. They really did need a new register. Theirs was torturously slow.
Talk.
Talk to the kid
. “I know who you are.”

“Yeah?” He raised his eyes to stare through the shanks of hair with orange streaks.

Talk.
“You’ve been in here before. But you colored your hair. Do you go to Lincoln High? I went there.”

“It’s a hell hole.” He waved the gun. It shook. “What’s your problem? Open the register.
Now.
”

Her finger trembled against the computerized screen. “I can’t. It’s already locked for the night.”

“You think I’m stupid? It’s not like it’s on an alarm or anything. I worked in a store. I know how it works. Unlock it.”

“No. You’re not stupid. I’d never say that. I’d say you’re very smart.”

“Shut up.” He shoved the gun closer and reached around the screen to tap it to life. “Doesn’t look closed to me.”

“Okay. I’m trying.” Don’t be a hero, Madeleine. Give the kid the money. She saw his shoulder flick up and down as he rocked from foot to foot. The register drawer opened. He licked his lips.
Talk.
“You want the change too?”

“I don’t know.” His voice pitched high. “Just the bills and hurry.
No.
Throw in the quarters.”

The total contents of the register barely filled a corner of the bag. She knew there wasn’t anything under the cash drawer, but stalled to lift it and peer underneath. Maybe someone would see the scene inside the darkened bakery and call the police. She did her best not to show the fear as her body trembled beneath her clothes.
Talk.
She tried to make eye contact. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Says who?”

“You could get hurt.”

“How? I’ve got the gun.”

He made a grab for the bag, and she pulled it back. Stupid.
Talk.
“If you kill me, I won’t care. My husband’s dead.”

“Boo hoo.” The gun shook again, and he switched hands.

“I hit a switch under the counter. The police will see your gun and shoot you. You don’t want to put your parents through the pain.” Hopelessness shone in his dull eyes and sent a deep chill over her.

“Shut up. They don’t care,” his voice quivered.

“Of course they care.” Courage she didn’t know she possessed wrapped her like a cloak. A warm veil of bravery hid knees that knocked. Or stupidity. She wasn’t sure.
Talk
. “Think this through. You’re a good kid. I can tell.”

“Shut up or you’ll be dead. Give me the bag.” He lunged. She tossed the bag at him not willing to take any more chances.

The blur of motion outside the front window caught in her peripheral vision. Jess crashed through door with such force the heavy glass cracked. “Get down!” he shouted at her.

The kid turned and fired shots.

Pop! Pop!

Chapter Ten

Jess hit the hooded figure with a full body tackle and readily disarmed him. A young male, he realized, who got off a good kick to his shin. He grunted. “Don’t be stupid here. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Screw you.” The kid swung his arm out from under Jess’s body in a wild grab for the gun.

“Tough guy, huh?” Having a longer arm reach despite his handicap, Jess batted the gun across the floor. The boy whimpered as Jess flooded his ear with graphic details of what a gun did to flesh, his mind flashing back to the day he’d lost his arm.

He led a patrol of Marines into a hot zone on the outskirts of Kabul. December nineteenth. Routine except for two first-timers scared to death. Private James walked a few steps in front of him. Private Blaine at the rear. A doughy built kid with the face of a ten-year-old the guys called Tator. He told them to stay close and “do not” do anything stupid. Ear ringing POP POP POP accompanied the fiery sting of flying debris. They scattered for cover in burnt-out hovels once homes.

“You’d better cry, son.” Jess huffed as he struggled to keep the boy pinned to the floor. Pain shot up Jess’s arm when teeth sank into his hand. He pressed the teen harder to the floor for fear he’d wiggle free. Damn, the kid was strong or hyped up on drugs. “Now that wasn’t smart.
Madeleine
, call the cops,” he shouted.

“They’re on the way,” he heard her muffled voice.

Jess jerked his head toward movement. Madeleine? “Stay in the back. I’ve got this handled.”

The teen spewed endless profanities and grunts determined to escape. It could have been another time, another place the writhing form beneath him so similar to Private James.

No time to make a plan, the high whistle of incomings filled the air. On instinct, he grabbed the fatigues of Private James. He hurled the boy’s body to the ground. Correction. The hard imprint of a hand on his back catapulted him to the ground. SWOOSH preceded a silent vacuum that covered and sealed him and the soldier beneath him. Multiple explosions erupted around them. Flashes of angry hot orange. Heat. The ground shook
.

Chaos broke out. Returned fire. Men screamed in pain. There were shouts. The hand pinned him to the ground. Rage spewed from his mouth as he tried to free himself. If Tator had thrown himself on top him to be a hero in saving an officer, he’d pummel the kid’s rear end when this thing was over. He prided himself in keeping his men safe. Not the other way around.

Jess smacked the kid when he managed another bite, this time to his stump. It took every ounce of restraint to keep from doing serious damage to the screwed up kid, when he caught sight of two police officers pounding pavement in route to the bakery, then inside. “I’ve got him,” one said.

Jess rolled off to surrender the kid to a pair of handcuffs. But at that moment, he didn’t see the teen. He saw the young Marine, Private James.

He rolled off Private James to rub cobwebs from his face and discovered he had no hand. Holy moly! He ducked his head at the sound of wings. Another incoming? Loud flapping. His imagination? Damn! His hand, forearm were blown to bits. Where was the pain? Another hard flapping. Like a huge injured bird the outline of a bigger-than-life image shimmered. A winged man? It confused him. Then he smelled burnt feathers, no flesh. More gunfire. Men shouting. Heat. Pain. Black out.

Chaos filled the bakery as new officers rushed in the broken door. Today would have a different outcome than two years ago. Jess stood a second trying to gather his composure, stunned to have fully remembered the attack outside of Kabul. He fought the urge to cry out in anguish as he had that day. Hopeless despair at the sight of Tator’s lifeless form sprawled out over rubble. Five men dead. He missing an arm. Private James a leg. Dear God, he hoped it a one-time show.

“You hurt?” a police officer asked.

“No, sir.” Jess ran a hand across his face and rushed over to Madeleine behind the counter. Terror contorted her pale face. He gently pried a cookie tin from her white-knuckled grip and set it on the counter before shucking off his jacket. His chest heaved. “You okay?”

She stepped forward to bury her face into the heat pouring off his chest, shaking like a leaf. Jess cradled her close, kissing her sweet smelling hair, nothing like the battlefield he’d just relived. His voice shook with emotion. “I’ve never felt more handicapped than this very moment.”

“Me neither.”

He chuckled. “Oh, Madeleine. We’re a pair.”

She wrapped her arms around him and held on tight. “Something helped us,” she mumbled against his chest.

“It’s just you and me, Madeleine, just you and me.” He stroked her hair.

They rocked in the embrace, trying to settle their breaths as if they’d run a marathon. Relief she’d not been seriously hurt almost overcame him as she clung to him for dear life, needing him.