Page 32 of The Santa Claus Con

Then one of the sidekicks pushes his arm harder into my head, and yeah, there’s definitely a gun there.

In the distance, a confetti blizzard falls over Times Square. Arnold was right. It did look like it might snow. I just hope my body’s not the one covered in it at the end of all this.

“Nathan,” I hear Scarlett whisper in my ear.

If this is how it has to go, Scarlett Payne calling me by name will be the last thing I ever hear. There are much worse things.

Lewis and Hawk take a step back, being careful not to make any sudden movements. The cocking of a gun is one of the worst sounds an undercover agent can hear, especially when said gun is pressed up against your head.

I spread my fingers. “I just wanted to clarify,” I say, knowing I only have a few seconds to use the exact right words that will determine whether I live or die. Or until they decide to take me somewhere else to finish me off.

“You speak French?” Arnold asks. His blue eyes turn stormy as they drill into me.

Shit.

“Un peu,” Scarlett hisses in my ear. “Un peu!”

“Un peu,” I repeat.

“Pourquoi n’as-tu rien dit avant?” Arnold asks.

Scarlett doesn’t bother translating and just tells me what to say. “Ce n’était pas ma place,” she says, too fast.

“Sooh nuh tee, uh…” I try as she repeats it slower. “Look, high school French got me nowhere, but I learned what I was interested in, like diamonds. Emeralds. Gold. Rubies.”

“Diamants,” Scarlett translates. “Say it.”

“Diamants,” I say, listing off the other jewels she provides. “Émeraudes, or, rubis.”

Arnold frowns. “Who are you? You a cop? FBI?”

This is typically when I’d offer him my wallet, in which he’d find a library card, a museum membership card, and a receipt with my undercover name. But we didn’t have enough time for backstopping, so I can’t offer proof.

I force out a scoff. Arnold’s sidekick follows my every move with his weapon. “Yeah, I’m a cop. You got me!” I even roll my eyes—roll my damn eyes!—at Arnold. Something has taken over me, and I can’t stop it now. I’ll have to accept my fate.

My nonchalance almost works, but Arnold doesn’t fold. His sidekick presses even harder into my head, forcing me forward.

“I don’t believe you,” Arnold says, taking out his own gun and pointing it at my chest. “Who is he?”

“Hawk, step in carefully,” Davis commands, taking over for Scarlett.

“He’s one of our quickest guys,” Hawk says calmly. “Let’s not get excited. He’s rough around the edges, but he’ll get what you need.”

Yeah. I will. But I can’t do that if I’m dead.

Clearly, I can’t trust anyone. No one tells Arnold to put the gun down. No one warns him that he’s in public, and this would draw unwanted attention. Not that I ever trusted Hawk, given that he’s here because it’s either this or jail time. Even Lewis stands back, arms crossed, waiting to see how things play out before breaking cover. I regret laughing at his ridiculous omelet story from fake Santa brunch.

“My last boss wanted us to be very clear about our orders,” I say. If I want to live, I’m going to have to fend for myself. Time ticks away painfully. Never is time so tangible as when you’re counting it down by the second. “One guy messed up and literally brought him shoes instead of copper, so excuse me for being clear.”

It’s not worth it. I’m not worth it. I can see it in Arnold’s eyes the moment he decides this. The money, the jewels, their operations… they’re bigger than me. He’s had people betray him before. He’s not falling for it again.

Arnold raises his eyebrows like, Such a shame, and glances at his sidekick with the gun. I always wondered what would flash before my eyes in a situation like this. I figured I’d see something oddly specific, something equally scary, like that time as a kid when I climbed the highest tree in the woods and had to be rescued like a cat by the fire department. Or the moment I found out, just days before Christmas three years ago, that my brother had been killed.

But it’s nothing like that. Instead, I see Scarlett Payne as the last face in my mind before it’s lights-out. Her and… Elvis?

A stumbling woman dressed as the King barrels past Arnold and bursts into our little group. She’s in a gold jumpsuit, aviator sunglasses, and a black wig with sideburns that curl up her cheeks.

“Who can point me to the Heartbreak Hotel?” the woman asks in a low voice, her arms waving all over the place. “Just kidding! I’m looking for the ball drop. Where’s that? And what time is it?” She looks at her wrist but there’s no watch.