Page 70 of The Santa Claus Con

“After this year, after all the years, I don’t know how much more I’ve got left in me,” Nathan finally says. “For this job, for this lifestyle. Don’t you ever want to do all the things you talked about, but on a real vacation?”

“Well, sure,” I agree. I am missing the holidays at my grandparents’ home in Montana. “But then life would get old and boring, and I’d miss… this.” I gesture around us, as though a marina parking lot represents undercover ops and doing good in the world. “So would you.”

“Maybe,” Nathan says, his eyes crinkling as he squints at the triple-deck catamaran getting smaller every passing second.

“I’m sorry, Nathan,” I finally say.

He shakes his head. “It’s not your fault. I don’t know why chickens had to cross the road at that exact moment.”

“Because they wanted us to get on the boat a different way?”

He huffs out a pity laugh. “That’s a terrible punch line.”

My attention drifts over to the harbor where johnboats, dinghies, and sailboats are docked.

“It’s not a punch line,” I say, grabbing Nathan’s hand and pulling him up. “I’m getting you on that boat one way or another. Hall didn’t say I had to stay put.”

Nathan doesn’t fight me. He even follows me, watching as I step over the bows of skiffs to get to the dinghy I have my eye on.

Then he says, “Tell me you’re not stealing a boat.”

“Okay. I’m not stealing a boat.” I hop into the dinghy. “I’m borrowing a boat. Consider it my Christmas present to you.”

“Don’t implicate yourself. I got this,” Nathan says, staying where he is on land.

I kneel next to the engine. “Oh, really? Because you don’t look like you got this standing there like that. Let’s go. We’re burning sunset hours, and a beautiful one at that. Don’t be a scaredy-cow. We need to channel Big Bison Energy.”

“Did you just call me a cow?”

I check the fuel level in the portable tank. “When there’s a storm, cows run away from it. They’re not very speedy, so they end up being in that storm longer. Bison, though, they run toward the storm and get through it quicker. We can get through this storm, blizzard, setback, whatever.”

“Excuse me, Miss Scared-To-Climb-Up-An-Elevator-Shaft, I’m not being a scaredy-cow. And I’m not running away from this,” Nathan says. “We’ll figure something else out. There are other solutions here. Legal ones.”

“Those won’t be fast enough.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea showing up like we’re spies in a movie. It’s too risky and highly dangerous.” Nathan runs his hand down his face. “We might as well just flash our badges while we’re at it. I know you love doing that.”

“It’s my favorite power move.” I gently push the choke and throttle. “Don’t mess with my operation, Lambros.”

He crosses his arms. “And what operation is that?”

“Operation Get on the Boat.”

“Subtle.”

I pull the starter cord in two long, smooth motions, and the engine whirrs. “Now get in this one so we can get on that one.”

Nathan grumbles something but finally listens. He kicks aside a T-shirt, a mask, a snorkel tube, and fins. He sits on the edge of the boat, the present clutched between his hands. He’s chosen a penguin-patterned paper to wrap the money in, the edges tight and folded in sharp lines. I appreciate this detail about him. It’s so unassuming, so random.

I peel out of the marina. “Where’d you learn to wrap presents like that?”

“Tiffany’s,” he says. “I trained there in preparation for my last job. I needed to become a jewelry person in more ways than just selling the goods. The whole presentation matters. We’d have competitions wrapping rings, bracelets, and necklaces in those robin’s-egg-blue boxes, complete with the white satin bow.”

“Did you always win?” I ask.

Nathan smirks. “Not the first time. But every time after, yeah. Thankfully you weren’t there.”

I laugh at this.