Robbie's house was an explosion of holiday cheer. Wreaths hung from every wall, electric candles sparkled in every window, and the Christmas tree dominated the living room. A mound of presents spilled out from beneath it in perfectly orchestrated chaos. Seven-year-old Evan Barnhoorn lurked nearby, never too far from the tree.
Maureen sat with Marcy, nursing little Christine while Grace squirmed in her bassinette. Doug scooped her up one-handed and tickled her belly. She giggled.
He sat on the couch and grinned at Robbie. "I can't believe it's their first Christmas already."
Robbie grinned back. "I can't believe it's Evan's seventh. They get so big so fast." Marcy beamed at him from across the room. He leaned in and frowned. "Marcy wants to try for more."
Doug avoided looking at Maureen. "Mo's exhausted all the time. I don't know how she does it, between the kids and her clients. But she's already said she wants more. We'll have to see."
The phone rang. Robbie hopped up and grabbed the phone from the cradle. He looked at the caller ID, frowned, and walked out of the room. Marcy looked at Doug. He shrugged, then rubbed noses with his daughter, cooing.
Robbie walked back into the room and put the phone back on the charger. "Work," he said. "Nothing that can't wait." He nudged Doug with his foot. "Help me with these dishes, will you?"
Subtle, Doug thought. He stood and followed Robbie into the kitchen. "What's up?"
"Larry's toxicology came back negative."
Doug frowned. "That's impossible."
Robbie grabbed a sponge and turned on the sink. "Maybe, but it's true. Clean as clean. He had some needle scars, but they were old. Very old." He washed a plate and handed it to Doug, who grabbed the dish towel off the stove handle and dried it. He put it in the drainer.
"No brain tumor, no chemical imbalance, no drugs. How the hell did Renner do it?"
"I don't know," Robbie said. "I don't know."
Marcy let Evan open one present, an Optimus Prime action figure the size of Doug's arm, then put him to bed. Marcy and Maureen headed upstairs to tuck in the girls while Doug and Robbie stuffed stockings. The house smelled of cinnamon.
Robbie looked pointedly toward the stairs. "Does she know?"
Doug shoved a handful of Tootsie Rolls into a red-and-green sock. "No, not yet."
Robbie sucked air through his teeth. "What are you going to tell her?"
"I don't know. The truth. We have to catch this bastard. We have to."
"Right. But she already knows that. What about after?"
Doug leaned his head against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut. "After that, there are ten thousand more just like him." He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. "The world is full of monsters, and if men like us don't catch them, what happens to our children?"
"Men like you," Robbie said.
"What?"
"Men like you catch monsters. I push pencils. I'd never fired my weapon, never even drawn it, on duty. It's…." He looked at Doug, stricken.
"It's not what you think," Doug finished for him.
Robbie shook his head. "It's the most terrible thing I've ever done. And God help me for saying it, that's why we need men like you. To do what the rest of us can't."
Doug said nothing. He picked up another handful of candy and shoved it into a stocking.
"Hey, Doug?" Robbie asked.
"Yeah?"
"You need to tell her soon."
"I know," Doug said. "I'll get to it. Just as soon as I know what I'm going to do."
On the staircase, Maureen listened silently and wept.
* * *
January 1st, 7:02 AM EST; Gene Palomini's Apartment; Washington, D.C.
The ring of Gene's cell phone shattered through the bars of Auld Lang Syne that ran through his dream. He sat up with a start, spilling leftover popcorn all over the floor. He lay on the couch in his boxer shorts, surrounded by empty pizza boxes and an enormous pile of beer bottles. He'd shut the TV off six hours earlier, ten minutes after the last guest had left. The phone rang again. He knocked over several empties and fumbled for the phone he knew was somewhere on the coffee table.
What kind of monster calls at 7 AM on New Year's Day? He found the phone and managed to pick it up. He stared at the tiny screen with sleep-bleary eyes and tried to read the caller ID. It snapped into focus, and he smiled. Finally! It had been almost two months since they'd sent the fake job to Paul Renner.
The entire team feared for Burton's life. Paul might not alert them to every job that he did, and Gene feared he would try to kill the man without ever calling. That thought had occurred to Mark Burton, but he'd signed up anyway. Gene worried that six undercover bodyguards might not be enough.