Deadly Holidays Part 1

Deadly Holiday.

By Alexa Grace.

For my amazing, loyal readers, and street team.

May your holidays be merry and filled with happiness.

Acknowledgements.

A special thank you to Sgt. Adrian Youngblood of the Seminole County Sheriff's Office, Major Crimes Unit, who patiently answered my questions and reviewed pa.s.sages for accuracy as I wrote this book.

My appreciation also goes to Police Chief Patrick Flannelly, of the Lafayette Police Department, who keeps me straight on law enforcement in Indiana.

Thank you also to Jakob Mortimore, who gave me his expertise for the search and rescue scene.

Any mistakes here are entirely mine.

Thank you to my editor, Vicki Braun.

Much appreciation goes to the Beta Reader Team who devoted their personal time to review each page of this book: Karen Golden-Dible, Gail Goodenough, Melody McAllister Novellino, Barrie MacLauchlin, Rhonda Dennis, and Kelly Struth.

Thank you to Jeff and Karen Dible for allowing me to use a photograph of their lovely home for the design of this cover.

Finally, I want to express my appreciation to my family and friends. Without their love, encouragement and support, this book would not have been possible.

December 21.

Anne Mason-Brandt peeked through sleepy eyes at her clock, noticing it was five forty-five in the morning. The handsome man sleeping soundly next to her, who was the county prosecutor, would wake up in fifteen minutes. She rolled over to wrap her arms and legs around his warm, hard body. As his arms tightened around her, Anne felt she was the luckiest woman in the universe. She was married to the man of her dreams, who'd given her two beautiful children, and a happy life she'd once thought was beyond her reach.

Anne traced Michael's broad shoulders and hard-sculpted body with her fingertips, smiling when his eyes fluttered open. He pulled her close and planted tiny kisses on the sensitive places around her neck that sent a delightful shiver up her spine. Anne sighed, tilting her head to give him better access. She sighed again, this time in frustration, because he abruptly stopped when they heard a knock at the door, and two loud barks from an excited dog.

Michael softly whispered, "We'll continue this later," as their five-year-old twins, Melissa and Michael Jr., bounded into the room and onto the bed, followed by their Giant Schnauzer, Harley.

Melissa wrapped her little arms around Anne's neck and said, "Grammy-Daisy said that Santa is watching us to see if we're being good."

Anne smiled as she visualized Daisy, housekeeper, friend, and the children's Grammy, using this holiday bit of information to get the sometimes-unruly twins to behave. "Honey, if you are behaving, then you've nothing to worry about. Right?"

Stroking the big dog's head, Michael Jr. shot his mom a skeptical look and said, "Does Santa watch Harley, too? Because yesterday Grammy got mad because he tracked in dirt on her clean kitchen floor."

Anne glanced at her husband who was trying not to grin, and said, "It sounds like Harley should wipe off his paws when he comes inside. Maybe we should get him some boots." The twins giggled at the visual and their dad pulled them into a bear hug, sending them into shrieks of laughter.

After breakfast, Anne helped her husband with his tie and kissed him before he left for work. She wandered into the formal living room where she admired the six-foot Christmas tree that Michael and the kids had chosen from a wooded area of their farm, along with Hank, their farm foreman. Michael had made hot chocolate that they'd sipped by the fireplace, as the children decorated the tree. The memory made her smile.

Upstairs, Anne pulled off her nightgown and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water stream down her body. Squeezing some rose-scented shower gel into her hand, she rubbed each arm until a cloud of suds appeared. Anne put more gel into her hands to wash her left breast then her right. Warning spasms of alarm erupted within her when she felt a pea-sized lump as hard as a stone in her right breast. Panic like she'd never known before welled in her throat. No, it couldn't be. Anne had lost Marion a" a friend who was more like a mother a" to cancer, and the horrible disease had become her greatest fear. Perhaps she was imagining something that wasn't there.

Anne ran her fingers over the area again. The lump was still there. She leaned against the shower wall, staring but not seeing, her breath bursting in and out. She slid against the water-slickened shower wall until she sat cross-legged beneath the pounding water. She hugged herself, rocking back and forth, as she wept. Anne indulged in her personal pity for a few minutes before she got on her feet. She resolved to tap into the strength she knew she had deep inside. She wrapped herself in a towel and called her doctor.

Prosecutor Michael Brandt looked at the frightened boy in his office and wished he could avoid the discussion that would ensue. The kid, sitting stock-still, was thin with auburn hair and a sprinkle of freckles across his nose. His legs weren't long enough to reach the floor, and he nervously kicked one back and forth.

That any little boy should have to testify against his father was wrong on many levels. That he should have to do it this close to Christmas was dreadful.

Michael cleared his throat as he moved around the desk to sit next to Shawn Isaac. "I want to start out by telling you how brave I think you are. I know testifying today isn't going to be easy for you. Do you have any questions?"

Shawn looked up at Michael, eyes wide with fear. "Will my daddy be in the room?"

"Yes, Shawn. He will be sitting at a long table with his attorney."

"Will he be able to hurt me?"

"No, Shawn. I won't let him hurt you. Neither will the judge nor the policemen in the room."

Shawn sighed as he considered this. "What about my mommy? Will Daddy be able to hurt her?"

"No, Shawn," he said. The muscle at the side of his jaw tightened, but Michael fought to control the anger that filled him. His son, Michael Jr., was the same age. Shawn should have been able to count on his father to protect him, just as Michael Jr. depended on him. In a perfect world, Shawn would not have experienced beatings at the hands of his father. And he would not have witnessed the abuse his mother suffered. "Let's talk about when you testify."

"I'm scared." Shawn said, as he crossed his arms across his chest.

"I know, Shawn. But you're braver than you think. I know you can do this." Michael squeezed the little boy's hand and continued. "When you are in the witness chair, I will be asking you some questions."

"I know. Detective Blake said I must tell the truth."

"He's right. Tell the truth," said Michael. "When I'm asking you questions, it will help if you only look at me. Don't look around the room, and don't look at your dad."

Biting his lip, Shawn nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Speak loudly enough so that you can be heard," Michael advised. "Don't worry. I'll be standing close to you. I'll be right there if you need me."

"Will the judge make my daddy stop hitting us so that we can be a family like Billy Collins has? His mommy and daddy are nice to each other. They kiss. Sometimes they pull Billy into a big hug."

Michael's heart squeezed as he struggled for the right words to comfort the boy. "Shawn, the judge will do all he can to change your dad's behavior. But when it comes right down to it, your dad must decide to change."

A loud rap on the door let Michael know that Blake Stone had arrived to take Shawn to the courthouse, and wait with him until the boy testified. Michael affectionately patted Shawn's back, then headed for the door.

At her front door, Jennifer Brennan-Stone stood aside so her parents, Megan and Tim, could enter her house. Their arms filled with Christmas presents, they headed for the living room where Jennifer and Blake's glittering, decorated tree stood before a wide window.

"Gonna snow tonight," predicted her dad. Though he was sheriff, he prided himself on his accurate weather predictions. "By the way, you're huge. When did your doctor say the baby was due?"

"Thanks for pointing out my size, Dad," Jennifer said as she waddled to the sofa to sit down. "If I get any bigger, I'll have to shop at the tent and awning store for clothes."

Megan sat on the sofa and picked up a soft throw to lay across her daughter's lap. "Ignore your dad. He's missing the filter that goes from his brain to his mouth."

"Jennifer, you know how excited I am about this baby. If I comment on your size, it just means I'm hoping for twins. Or how about triplets?" A grin teased the corners of Tim's mouth.

Jennifer groaned and threw a sofa pillow at her father as he eased into the recliner. Truth be known, Jennifer didn't care if she had one baby or three, just as long as they were healthy. She and Blake had already decided to fill their home with children a" as many as they could afford.

Megan leaned over to kiss her daughter on the cheek. "You look beautiful, honey. You've got that happy glow that pregnant women get."

"Thanks, Mom. I am happy. I can't wait until this baby arrives, and neither can Blake."

"Are you still telling your doctor you don't want to know if it's a boy or a girl?" asked Tim.

"I want it to be a surprise a" the best holiday surprise ever."

"Yeah, I get it. But I sure would like to know. It'd make it a lot easier to choose those sports-related Christmas presents I've been eying."

Megan rolled her eyes and said, "This baby isn't even born yet and you've got it playing sports."

"Lean toward soccer, Dad," said Jennifer. "Blake and I are hoping he or she will want to play soccer. It turns out we both played in high school."

"Where's Blake?" asked Tim.

"He went to Michael Brandt's office to pick up Shawn Isaac and take him to the courthouse. Today is John Isaac's hearing, and Blake wants to be there for Shawn," Jennifer explained. "I just wish I could have been there, too. It's going to be tough for Shawn to testify against his father."

"Honey, your doctor has you on bed rest for a reason. You're not going anywhere," said Megan.

"Blake really likes that kid," Tim began. "I think the feelings are mutual. Did you know that Shawn requested Blake for my Buddy Program that pairs children-at-risk with law enforcement officers?"

"Yes. Blake really enjoys spending time with Shawn," she answered. "They made lasagna together last weekend." Jennifer smiled as she glanced at the numerous presents under the tree that were for Shawn. He'd become a frequent visitor, thanks to the Buddy Program. "He is a very special little boy. I think he owns a piece of Blake's heart, and mine, too."

"Too bad about his dad," said Tim. "What kind of a man beats his wife and five-year-old son? I hope the judge throws the book at him. The last thing that little boy should be doing this time of year is telling a courtroom filled with people how his father abused his mother and him."

It was an overcast day with puffy snow clouds dotting the gray sky, as Blake walked Shawn through town to the courthouse. Shop owners spared no expense in the glistening ornaments and glittering lights gracing their store windows, capturing the curiosity of small children. Shawn paused before each, his eyes filled with wonder. Blake's heart clenched as he speculated about what kind of Christmas the little boy would have at home. He'd heard that Shawn's mother had lost her job and was drinking again. Blake was going to ask Eve if she and Shawn would join his family and friends for Christmas dinner. Everyone was gathering at Tim and Megan's Victorian home, and there would be children with whom Shawn could play. The little boy had stolen his heart. He'd do anything to make Shawn's life better, happier.

Blake felt a tug on his coat sleeve and found Shawn had stopped before a storefront filled with shiny, new toys. Wordlessly, the little boy stood staring inside the shop window. He reached for Blake's hand and held on.

"What do you want for Christmas, Shawn?"

"I want a fire truck, a train and a soccer ball," he answered, as he bent his neck to look up at the big man.

"That right?" Blake said with a smile. He and Jennifer had wrapped those three items and placed them under their Christmas tree the night before.

Glancing at his watch, Blake said, "We need to go now, Shawn. We don't want to be late." He and Shawn walked hand-in-hand down the street toward the giant brick courthouse where the fate of the little boy's father would be decided. Blake wished the hearing were over. More than anything, he wanted the kid clutching his hand so tightly to be happy and wondering about things other than why his father abuses his mother and him.

In no time, Blake and Shawn pa.s.sed through security and climbed the marble steps leading to the second floor. As they approached Judge Jackson's courtroom, Blake could see Eve Isaac, Shawn's mother. She was scheduled to testify against her husband, John, then Shawn would enter the courtroom to sit in the witness chair. Blake was glad Judge Jackson was overseeing this hearing. He was a fair man, and very perceptive about the needs of children.

Eve Isaac hugged her little boy, then introduced Blake to her mother, Helen, who was wheelchair-bound, thanks to a leg amputation. The bailiff opened the courtroom doors and both women entered to take their seats. Blake and Shawn waited on a bench in the hallway for Shawn to be called to testify.

Shawn sat on the hard, oaken bench next to Blake, biting his lip as he worried about testifying. His mommy, Blake, and Mr. Michael told him that telling the truth was the right thing to do. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and balled his fingers into fists. He was so afraid. Shawn hadn't been this frightened since his daddy shoved his mommy against the wall and she hit her head hard.

This time the fear gripping his insides had nothing to do with his father. Shawn feared someone would ask questions about his mommy. Blake and Mr. Michael told Shawn to always tell the truth. But his mommy said if he ever told anyone about what she did to him; the bad people would take him away from her. They'd make him live with mean people who didn't like children, and they would beat him harder than she ever did.

At first, he thought he earned Mommy's whippings by doing things that annoyed her, like leaving his toys in the living room, or not eating everything on his plate. But after Mommy lost her job, she started drinking just like his daddy. When she was drinking, any little thing would set her off. She'd make a switch from a branch from the tree out back, and lash it across his back and b.u.t.t until he thought he'd die from the pain. In the morning, or when she was sober, she was always sorry and begged him not to tell. He promised he wouldn't, which created his current dilemma. If anyone asked, he'd betray his mommy by not keeping his promise to never tell. But if he didn't tell the truth, he'd let down Mr. Michael and Blake. He wished he could run away and hide. Then he wouldn't let anyone down.

Though his attorney ordered him not to look at her, John Isaac couldn't take his eyes off his wife, Eve, as she sat in the witness chair. She would regret opening her mouth, he vowed. She'd ruined his life. The Sugar Creek Cafe was nearly bankrupt, thanks to the coverage in the local paper of his arrest for domestic battery. The goody-two-shoes patrons stopped eating at his restaurant. Just like that. They'd enjoyed his good food and service for years. One little arrest, and they avoided his restaurant like they would a case of food poisoning.

The b.i.t.c.h was divorcing him, and John's attorney said she'd get the small farm where they'd lived since their honeymoon. h.e.l.l, Eve would probably get fifty-percent ownership of the failing cafe, too. All that plus child support. John gritted his teeth as he glared at her. If the deputy sitting behind him didn't have a gun in his holster, he'd take the chance to rush her in the witness chair and give her the beating she deserved. Eve would pay for ruining his life. He didn't know where or when, but she'd pay.

Blake looked at his watch. It was almost over; Shawn was testifying and holding up well. Michael Brandt finished with his last question and John Isaac's attorney announced he would not be asking Shawn any questions. Judge Jackson found John Isaac guilty and set the date for the sentencing and released Isaac on his own recognizance, with the caveat that he stay away from his estranged wife and son. With a tap of the gavel, the hearing was over.

Blake ushered Shawn to the hallway to turn him over to his mother, so he wouldn't be late to drive Jennifer to her appointment with the obstetrician. They were doing another sonogram today, and Blake didn't want to miss a last peek at their baby prior to birth.

Eve Isaac was deep in conversation with her mother and a friend when Blake approached her with Shawn. She nodded her thanks and continued her conversation. Her little boy stood awkwardly near her and watched Blake leave.

Soon, she nudged Shawn, "I'm meeting a few friends, so you're going home with your grandma." Without waiting for a response, she left, heading toward the exit stairway.

Shawn knew that when his mommy said she was meeting friends, it meant she was going to be drinking and would most likely arrive home late and drunk. He hated it when she drank. She became another person a" mean and grouchy. He was sure to get another beating, just like he did every time she drank.

He nodded absently and moved to stand next to his grandmother's wheelchair. She was talking with the neighbor who drove her to the hearing, and barely noticed him.

Once his mother was out of sight, he pulled at her arm, "Grandma, I need to go to the bathroom."

"Well, just go," she said abruptly, before turning back to continue her conversation with her neighbor.

Shawn walked toward the men's restroom. Once he reached the door, he glanced back at his grandmother, who was still talking. He then raced down the hall to take the side exit stairs. Once he reached the first floor, he walked out of the building and down the street.

Eve Isaac was pumped. She was sure her no-good, loser husband was going to get the book thrown at him. That alone was a great reason to celebrate. Not that she needed a reason when she got together with her friends. Sandy, Laurie and Stacie had been friends since their wild high school days. Eve picked up the pace as soon as she saw her old red Pontiac Firebird parked nearby. By the grace of G.o.d and her buddy, Larry, the car was still operational.

Reaching the car, she opened the door, threw her purse in, slipped into the driver's seat and started the engine. It was then she felt the knife at her throat. Every nerve in her body told her to scream, but when she opened her mouth, only a rasp came out. She looked in the rearview window to see the crazed, dark eyes of her estranged husband in the back seat.