Page 80 of The Santa Claus Con

“I wasn’t part of the group, but I did help out with some ops. So we’re probably both targets,” I say, as though this might make him feel better.

I see Nathan’s pulse beating rapidly against the side of his neck. “Hawk,” he says between gritted teeth. “Hawk knows both of us.”

My throat goes dry. Could this scheme be the work of another informant going rogue?

“One thing at a time,” I say, more to myself than Nathan. “Freddie’s still our number one Santa Suspect, and he’s on the move.” I orient myself with the street signs above us. Fifty-Seventh Street and Sixth Avenue.

“Where is he?” Nathan asks, swerving around a taxi.

I open the app tracking my pen. “He’s…” A flash of something catches my attention in the side mirror, where I see a red and white hat on a man. A man who looks just like Freddie. I sharply inhale the cold air. “Right behind us.”

My sparkly hair and face must act like a beacon because, in that moment, Freddie’s eyes lock with mine in the mirror. He presses on the gas, zooming around us.

“Sadistic Santa wants to play?” Nathan asks. “Let’s play.”

We blast through a yellow light to stay on Freddie’s tail. Car tires screech around us. Nathan removes his hat so it doesn’t fly off, his hair whipping in the wind. I duck down, holding my wig in place.

We weave through traffic, nearly hitting a garbage can on the sidewalk, but Freddie isn’t messing around because he actually knocks one over.

Nathan swings over to Freddie’s left, our cars bumping up against each other. The back of our car dips at the force, followed by a grating, scraping sound.

“Can you believe I’ve never been part of a car chase? I’ve always wanted to be,” I squeak out, though ideally not in a vehicle with only three tires. “It’s not as fast as I’d prefer it, but hey, I’ll take it!”

“Merry Christmas to you,” Nathan deadpans, completely focused.

The circumstances aren’t ideal, but I can’t stop the excitement bubbling up inside me. I sneak a look over at Freddie, who’s so close to me that I swear I see a glint in his eye when he turns his head to us before accelerating toward a yellow light. He’s going through it, no doubt.

Nathan’s tone is steady but urgent when he asks, “What’s the play, Payne? Freddie’s gonna cut across the park on the transverse. If he gets ahead of us, we won’t be able to pass him. Right or left?”

In my head, I hear my boss telling me to stay on the road, to follow the law, to not mess up this operation, too.

“You’ve always listened to your gut,” Nathan says, cutting through the noise. “Now’s not the time to doubt yourself.”

I look from Nathan to the yellow light and know exactly how I’d do this if I weren’t second-guessing myself.

So that’s the call I make. “Go straight!” I shout as Freddie turns right on the red.

Nathan grimaces. “I change my mind. You can drive,” he says as we approach the blocked-off entrance to Central Park.

I rest my hand on his forearm. “There’s no one I trust more than you to do this. I know you got this.”

He glances over at me, nods once, and then lays on the horn while pressing down on the gas pedal. We’re pushing twenty-five miles per hour—the best we can do without losing control of the car—and people scatter across the street, screaming and shouting that we’re going the wrong way.

Which, yeah. That’s the whole point.

To be totally honest, I wasn’t sure Nathan would do it. I’m proud of him. I’m also proud of myself for not grabbing the wheel or jumping into Nathan’s lap this time. Some call that personal growth.

I’m not, however, proud of how many people we terrify by blasting through the DO NOT ENTER barricades. Walkers and bikers scatter as we barrel past pedicabs and hot dog stands. Technically, we’re still on a road, just not one meant for unauthorized vehicles to drive on. Best-case scenario, I get to flash my badge that’s wedged down my stocking.

More pedestrians clear out of the street when they see us coming, and what a sight we must be. Or maybe not. Most people don’t bat an eye at the Santa Claus and glittery elf zooming past them in a light blue convertible with a flat tire like we’re “Santa Baby” come to life. It’s New York City. We’re probably the least interesting part of everyone’s day. I love this place.

While Nathan winds around the park’s curves and bends, my phone rings with a video call from my sisters.

“Do not answer that,” Nathan warns.

“It’s way too early in the morning in Taiwan for them to be calling. Maybe something’s happened,” I say to him before answering the call. “Hi. Is everything okay?”

Instead of Kate and Cleo, I see my Pó Po and Gong Gong. Well, I see up their noses.