Page 72 of The Santa Claus Con

“Let’s get our Nathan back.”

Nathan nods once in agreement. “Deal. But let me explain the situation to Brody, okay?”

My mind whirs. “No need,” I say, slipping my earpiece and my necklace into his jacket pocket. I smooth down his wild hair from his earlier tugging and the wind and hold his face in my hands. “Hall was right. We shouldn’t show up together. We can’t chance it.”

“But—”

“I’m not your girlfriend, and we don’t know each other. Meet me in the bathroom before you do anything.”

Nathan’s mouth opens again, but before he can get a single question in or objection out, I grab the snorkel set and jump over the side of the boat.

Chapter 21

NATHAN

6 hours and 25 minutes until midnight

Was Sadistic Santa on the Silver Belle?” Scarlett asks as we pull away from our last location before the Snowflake and zoom up Sixth Avenue. NYPD was able to block off enough streets for us that we shaved ten minutes off our route. That means we have twenty-five minutes left to get to the Snowflake, figure out what we need to do there, and then get to Sheep Meadow.

It’s still not enough time. I don’t have a good feeling about this. About any of it.

“Everyone on that boat was fingerprinted,” I say. “So if someone here was on that boat, they’d have shown up in our system.”

“It’s just… you’re right. The riddles have been too personal,” she says as she flicks through photos of Sadistic Santa’s invitations and letters. “The Silver Belle, popcorn… We need to figure out what those numbers from the advent calendar mean. If it’s the code for the bomb, there’s probably a sequence of some sort. Two-four- five-seven-twenty-five.”

“Added up, it’s forty-three. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Forty-three turtle doves? Days until something?” She narrows her eyes in thought. “Two plus four is six, five plus seven is twelve, and two plus five is seven.”

6-12-7.

“Together that equals twenty-five.”

Scarlett types that into her phone.

“That last one, twenty-five, I don’t think that gets added,” I say. “It was its own door on the advent calendar. What if you just add the first set of numbers?”

“Okay, so six, twelve, twenty-five. It’s a date maybe?”

I grip the wheel tighter. “Does June twelfth, 2025, mean anything to you?”

The glitter on her face sparkles when she shakes her head.

“Me neither,” I say.

We’re passing Forty-Second Street when our dashboard camera switches from a live recording of us to something that looks pre-recorded. A message from our sponsors?

When I see what it really is, I’d rather have been sold insurance I don’t need.

“Dear Scarlett,” the deep voice says from the little speakers on the dashcam. The screen shows a shadowed Santa sitting against a red background.

“It’s him.” Scarlett grips my arm. “I guess that last riddle was part one?”

Every nerve in my body goes on high alert. It’s Sadistic Santa, in our car. And of course he’s using a voice changer that makes him sound like Jolly Old St. Nicholas.

“One for you and one for me, simply drop off what’s under the tree,” he continues. “Walk on in, without a pause, and ask for a gift for Santa Claus. Don’t open it until I say, or you won’t like what comes your way.”

Then the screen goes dark.