Christmas Angel

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert

DILLON Gosling bit his lip anxiously, running a nervous hand through his tangle of chocolate curls, his eye on the clock on the dashboard, as he hovered outside what was probably one of the only two remaining empty spots in the entire mall lot. Well, not quite empty, but any second now it would be. It had been an incredible stroke of good parking karma that he’d been trawling the row just as the pair of package-laden, stroller-pushing women had begun trundling assorted toddlers and infants into their matching SUVs, laughing and talking to one another. That had been seven minutes ago. It had taken them forever to load everything and everyone in; eight drivers behind Dillon had given up in disgust and put their money on circling instead. Idiots. Only two weeks until Christmas, this time of day; no way would they find spots. Finally they pulled out, one after the other. Hallelujah! Dillon sighed in relief and pulled into the leftmost spot, careful to leave a generous amount of space between him and the car on his left. Dillon patted the steering wheel affectionately, repeating his daily ritual. “That’s it, Angel. You can rest now. Just two more weeks and I’ll be able to give you that tune-up and whatever else it is you need, like I’ve been promising you. Just please start for me when I get back tonight, OK?” he pleaded. With a silent prayer to whatever guardian angel might be listening, he shut off the ignition. 2

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert The engine of the ten year old battered white Toyota Camry didn’t stop immediately. It ran on for a few moments and then died with the same coughing, lingering sputter Dillon had been hearing with increasing dread for the past three weeks. Dillon exited his car and stopped cold when the man in the beat up red pickup truck now idling behind him called out to him in a very deep, deceptively soft and even Texan drawl, “Excuse me. Can you park your car within the lines so I can get mine in?” he asked politely. Dillon heard as clearly as if he’d spoken the words aloud the implied hail of, “You asshole,” and the closing words, “Before I kill you?” The truck was at least as old as his Camry, a real working man’s truck with a full bed with metal bars over it, and Dillon could clearly see the gun rack in the passenger cab, behind the hulking denim clad shoulders of the driver. The gun rack was empty, of course; this was California, not Texas, but still. He was so dead. Hard, impatient blue eyes stared at him from a strong, tanned face beneath a stark blond crew cut. The man was older, but then almost everyone was - Dillon was only eighteen and this guy looked to be twice his age. He would be handsome, if he didn’t look so intimidating, if he were smiling. If he ever smiled. Dillon swallowed, looking at the right side of his car. Sure enough, he was just enough over the line to make it impossible for the big guy and his even bigger truck to park. He turned back to the driver. “Um. I’m sorry, but I can’t,” Dillon said, continuing on in desperation before the guy could begin to argue the point. “I had to park like that because my passenger-side lock is jammed and I can only 3

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert get into the car from the driver’s side, and when I don’t leave enough room and the car I park next to pulls out and someone else parks too close, I’ve had to wait sometimes for hours to get in and…” Dillon trailed off, realizing he was babbling and the stranger could care less about his problems. “Look, I’m really, really sorry,” he said sincerely. “I’d risk it and move him anyway, even though I’m already late for work, but he won’t start again right now. He hasn’t been feeling well, I mean, running right, and he won’t start now until the engine cools off enough; it’ll take at least fifteen minutes. I swear.” The big guy was glaring now. “If you work in the mall, why aren’t you in Employee Parking?” he asked. “There’s gotta be at least twenty open spaces there,” he accused. “I know,” Dillon agreed sympathetically, nodding vigorously. “I’d kill to be able to park there, it’s not like I mind the walk or anything, but I’m only a seasonal hire and we don’t get Employee Parking Permit stickers. If I parked there, I’d get ticketed just like you would and I can’t afford to pay a parking ticket. I could barely afford the gas to get here. Look, honestly, I can’t move my car and I have to go now, or they’ll fire me, and then…” He looked from the driver back to Angel and to the driver again, broadcasting a silent message for mercy. If he came out and his tires were slashed or the guy had taken some other kind of revenge he was screwed, but he had to risk it. “I’m really, really sorry,” Dillon said again. Then he turned and ran. Forget gas and car repairs, if he lost this job he’d lose his apartment as well as any hope of buying groceries, let alone anything special for Christmas dinner. At least for now he still had a roof 4

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert over his head and a loaf of bread for toast when he got hungry. No, just the bread. The toaster had caught fire this morning and was currently still soaking in the sink, just to be on the safe side; the last thing he needed was his apartment to burn down while he was here. He’d used up the last of the peanut butter last week. He’d been so sick of it; it was the only protein he’d been getting for over a month. Dillon never realized he would miss it until it was gone. He couldn’t even grab a couple of slices of bread to eat on the way to work since he was down to two meals a day and those slices were his dinner. If he lost this job he’d be out on the streets, living and eating at one of the overcrowded homeless shelters he passed by every day. He had no illusions about how well that would turn out; he’d end up another statistic. He ran faster. Gabriel D’Angelo watched the small, slender, curly haired brunette, Mr. 4NGL266 old model white Toyota Camry, take off like a frightened rabbit. Shit. He hadn’t meant to scare the poor kid that badly. He’d pegged him for an inconsiderate college asshole or a self-absorbed flake. It was amazing how in the month before Christmas the IQ level of the general populace dropped geometrically in direct proportion to their proximity to a shopping mall. Gabe had been working undercover for two weeks now as mall security, trying to help bust the ring of thieves that had been hitting Electronics Barns in malls across six counties. This mall store was huge, the flagship superstore, the first one, the one that launched the chain of forty-six stores some thirty years ago. It was nearly a third the size of the rest of the mall. They’d used it as the anchor store for the mall, which was built ten years after the electronics store opened. 5

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert This was one of the four possible stores they expected would be the last hit. Word on the street was the black market supply of stereos would be drying up soon. The ring was ready to fold; it had been getting too hot. If only they didn’t cave before one final score, they’d have a chance to nail these bastards. The Electronics Barn chain had lost over a million and a half dollars of merchandise. Worse, their insurance company was withholding settlement because they suspected an inside job. So did the police. That’s why Gabe was here, undercover, with back-up scattered nearby. But so far they had no real leads. They’d run records on everyone in mall security and the Electronics Barn employees, including the seasonal hires, but nothing and nobody stood out. That kid… He looked familiar. Definitely not a security type. Maybe a seasonal hire at the store? He’d swing by later and take a look. A scowling bleached blond in a Mini Coop behind Gabe leaned on her horn. With a sigh, Gabe began circling again. Fifteen minutes later, he was finally heading into the mall, grinding his teeth against the canned Christmas music that doubled in volume when he opened the door. He changed into his uniform in the locker-room quickly. Gabe was eager to hit the walkways, to speak to Ace again. Ace was one of the seasonal security guard hires they suspected might be involved in a future theft; he fit the profile and just yesterday Ace had hinted that there might be some side work Gabe could do for the extra cash he’d pretended to need. Gabe hoped it panned out, that his intuition was right and Ace was part of the ring. But for some reason, eager as he was to see Ace, he 6

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert found he wasn’t looking for a big, red-headed guy in a uniform like his own but was instead looking for the slender brunette in beige Dockers and green button down shirt the same shade as his frantic green eyes. The kid was his type; Gabe knew he’d be squirmy and loud, the kind of lay you could pin against the wall or pound into the mattress while he begged for more, the kind who screamed when he came. But feisty too, not a toy - there’d been a little bit of fire under all that nervousness. Gabe reached down and discretely adjusted the sudden bulge in his pants. Yeah, he should definitely check out the Electronics Barn, see if his hunch that the kid was a seasonal hire there was right. Although that meant he could be part of the ring. The kid didn’t look like he had the cojones for that, but looks could be deceiving. No one would suspect him, right? So he’d be a perfect inside man. Damn. He hoped the kid was clean. He’d have to get his name, pull his file. Hey, wait, he still remembered the license plate number he’d memorized by force of habit. He whipped out his cell and called the precinct. A few minutes later he was heading to the store again feeling surprisingly relieved. Dillon Gosling, age eighteen, no wants, no priors, no infractions, not even a parking ticket; they’d run him and he’d pulled up clean before. Real shithole neighborhood the kid lived in now, though. According to his address records at the DMV, he’d moved out of a posh residential house in Hillside, to an apartment in Northside for four months, and then to the tenement in Westside for the past two months. That last address change was new, since they’d first researched the kid when he started his job. 7

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert Family trouble, maybe? Did his parents know where the kid was living now, how dangerous it was? Shit, the kid had sounded pretty desperate in the lot. Desperate enough to do anything for money, like help pull a heist? Frowning, Gabe headed to the store, hoping he was wrong.

DILLON headed deeper into the stock room, shaking his head at what a sap he was. Here he’d had that customer putty in his hands, ready to buy the overpriced, completely overkill SurroundMe home entertainment system, a juicy $100 commission for himself in the bag, and then he’d talked the guy out of it and convinced him to buy the BabyLove monitor instead, the one his wife had sent him to the store to get. He couldn’t help it. When that pregnant woman had come up, asking after one and Dillon had seen the guilt on the guy’s face, he just had to do the right thing. Sir Galahad, that was him, ready to starve himself in the name of honor. Now he was rooting around in the bowels of the stock room, well past the area they usually stored their current stock in, for the monitors he’d seen Mr. Schweinmann carrying towards there. Daniels had told him there was stuff back here dating to the store opening thirty years ago. Every old piece of tech the entire chain hadn’t sold was stored back here, everything from old style scroll paper fax machines to teletypes to betas to eight tracks to Commodore and Atari computers. The place was a goldmine of useless, worthless junk electronics. Maybe he could offer to inventory it for Mr. Schweinmann, clean it up, even sell the lot of it for recycling 8

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert so they’d be able to at least turn the waste space into some kind of profit. Aha! There were the BabyLoves. Top of the line, usually $199.95, on sale for $79.95 plus a $20 rebate. No rain checks, limited to stock on hand, so of course they only got two in, and then Mr. Schweinmann, the cheap bastard, had hidden those two. Dillon headed back towards the sales floor, the conquering hero. Hah! Some hero. Six months ago he was a starry eyed eighteen year old summa cum laude with dreams of college, grad school, an engineering degree, a future, a life. Back then he would have laughed if someone told him he’d be living in a shit-hole tenement, all but starving, with only two sets of clothes to his name, thankful for a temporary job in a discount electronics store. But that was before his father disowned him, before he threw him out of the house with literally only the clothes on his back when Dillon made the mistake of admitting to his father that he was gay, after his father confronted him the morning after his graduation party. A neighbor had seen Dillon and his twenty-three year old boyfriend Connor kissing. Two days later, hoping his father had calmed down, Dillon had gone back home. His father told him that if he didn’t leave he’d call the police and have him arrested for trespassing. He said he’d donated all Dillon’s things to Goodwill, his clothes, everything, because that’s what you do when your child dies, you get rid of their things and move on. He told Dillon he’d burned the junk they wouldn’t want, his photo albums, his science and math awards and trophies, and his diploma. Dillon had stared in disbelief as 9

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert his father told him he’d get a restraining order if Dillon ever darkened his doorstep again. He’d actually said that, like Dillon was a plague. And then came the second betrayal. When Connor saw Dillon was penniless and disowned, he’d ditched him, said he’d have to find another rich twink. If it hadn’t been for the small trust fund Dillon’s mother had left to him, he’d have been starving months ago. With the economy gone to hell, no one wanted or needed some kid with no work experience and only a high school diploma, when they could hire someone five times as qualified, with years of experience and a college degree. This seasonal job was all he could find. Now he was behind on his rent, the used car he’d bought with the bulk of the trust fund was on its last legs, and he was all but starving. Dillon fought back the familiar rush of tears. He could throw a pity party later. At least he wasn’t on welfare. Or living in a box or a homeless shelter. Right now, he had two customers waiting. When he got back to the floor, the two customers were chatting like old friends, oblivious to the wait. “Sorry it took a while to dig them out. Here you go. If you follow me to the register, I’ll ring you both up,” Dillon said. “You’ve got an aggressive pitch!” the man said, laughing. “I never even agreed to buy it.” Dillon laughed self-deprecatingly. “No, I’m a teddy bear. A real salesman would have had you spending that grand you almost blew on your dream stereo and sleeping on the couch from now until when your baby is born,” he said. Both

his

customers 10

laughed

at

that.

The

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert conspicuously pregnant young woman said, “That’s what I just told him when he told me about that monster he almost bought. Boys and their toys,” she teased. Dillon’s good mood lasted all of sixteen minutes after they left. Then Morrison rang up a SurroundMe sale, complete with five year extended warranty and delivery. He’d even gotten the poor sucker to buy two of the outlandishly priced peripherals, the ones with the bonus commission amounts. “Hah! That’s another $200,” Morrison crowed. “So, Goosey, you sell anything today or are you still batting the big fat goose egg?” he grinned at his pun on Dillon’s last name. “You know, you’re the first goose on the chopping block when they start cutting staff, right? Even at minimum wage you’re a drain on the store. Although, I gotta say, the stock room floor has never been so clean. I think you missed your true calling. Maybe you should forget sales and get a job as a Custodial Engineer. That’s what they call janitors nowadays, right?” he smirked. “My shift just started and I’ve already made two commissions,” Dillon said angrily, regretting it the second he said it, but the word “engineer” used in that context had stung. Michael Morrison had no idea of the dream he’d lost. Morrison’s eyes flicked to the board in surprise, then he laughed out loud. He wrote down his own sale and then, shaking his head in pity, he erased the six under Dillon’s name and wrote a two with the big black marker. “Actually, at a 10% commission, it’s $6 each, for a total of $12, not $8 for $16. You don’t get commission on the rebates. But I can’t believe you had the nerve to actually sell those two BabyLoves. I thought you needed this job. Mr. 11

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert Schweinmann promised his wife he was saving them for his nephew. They needed both sets since their house is so big.” Dillon’s stomach dropped to the floor. Shit. He’d thought Schweinmann had been hiding them just because he was a jerk. Could this day possibly get any worse? Sure. Being fired would be worse. Having his car wrecked by that Texan in the parking lot would be worse. Morrison looked around at the momentarily empty sales floor. “How about I buy you dinner tonight, Dillon?” Morrison asked, in an appeasing tone, moving closer. “Make you forget all about your problems?” The sudden change in tone and attitude had Dillon looking at him suspiciously. Morrison had called him Dillon, instead of Goosey, and he was way over Dillon’s personal space boundary. “Why?” Dillon asked warily, backing away from Morrison, who kept pace with him, until Dillon’s back was literally was against the wall. Morrison laughed, obviously enjoying the pursuit. He put out his left arm, blocking Dillon’s only exit. Dillon was hemmed in by shelving on the right. “Maybe I feel sorry for you. Or maybe I like the way you looked when you were bending over shifting stock yesterday,” he said, his eyes flicking down and back suggestively. “You’re not gay,” Dillon squeaked. Was he? No, he had to be just playing head games with him, right? Besides, gay or straight, he had absolutely zero interest in the Morrisons of the world. But he had to be careful what he said. Morrison would without a doubt be a vindictive bastard if he thought he was being slighted. 12

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert Morrison reached out a hand and caressed Dillon’s face and Dillon gritted his teeth and jerked his face away from the man’s unwelcome touch, unable to hide his loathing. Morrison laughed. “Come on, Dillon. Live a little. When’s the last time you had filet mignon? Or lobster? Or a really good bottle of wine?” Morrison said, his voice dripping with honey. Dillon could feel his face going dark red, as he began shaking in outrage, all thoughts of caution evaporating in his fury. “You’re offering to buy me dinner in exchange for… for… I’m not a whore!” he hissed, trying to keep his voice low. He couldn’t afford anyone hearing, couldn’t afford to make a scene or get arrested for assault or injured in a fight. Morrison laughed, a nasty, vicious sounding laugh, as he pressed himself against Dillon. “Not yet, maybe. But within a few days, a week tops, unless sales pick up Schweinmann will be cutting you loose. I heard him say so. You think I haven’t noticed you alternating between the same two shirts and pairs of pants each day? How worn looking they are, under those careful creases? That you don’t eat in the restaurants or the food courts like the rest of us, but you sit and watch us sometimes, drooling? Pretty soon you’re going to be like that little whore in Les Misérables, too hungry for pride. Then when you come crawling to me, I’ll really make you work for you supper. I’ll have you begging. You’ll wish you were nice to me now.” Dillon was shaking in rage and humiliation. He felt tears burning at his eyes and knew the worst thing he could 13

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert do would be to cry, but he couldn’t even think, with Morrison pinning him like that. “Yo, asshole! Who do I have to blow to get some service around here?” a hard, deep voice boomed from directly behind them. Dillon had the satisfaction of seeing Morrison jump guiltily away, as he spun to confront their irate customer. Dillon couldn’t see the man; Morrison was blocking his view. Then Morrison said in his silkiest tone, “May I help you, officer?” Dillon’s eyes widened as Morrison moved and Dillon saw the uniform. How long had he been standing there; had he witnessed the harassment? Then Dillon realized it was one of the mall rent-a-cops, not a real cop. But God, did the man know how to fill out a uniform. And he had a wide leather belt and a blackjack and a gun; renta-cop or not, he was armed and delicious. All his old fantasies from when he was in his early teens watching Adam 12 reruns with his dad came crashing back. If his dad only knew. Half the time he used to pretend he was the innocent young rookie cop, submitting to his partner, and the rest of the time he’d pretend he was a helpless, handcuffed suspect at the mercy of the two officers. He would have gotten hard thinking about it if he hadn’t just been so traumatized. Then his eyes flicked up to the man’s face and he froze. Oh shit. Oh God. The day had just gotten worse after all. It was the Texan, from the parking lot. He was a mall security guard. An armed guard. The guy had already been pissed at him, now he was even more pissed. That was probably how he spent his life, angry at everyone. Or maybe 14

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert it was just him he hated. “Yeah. You can help me by getting the fuck out of my face, dirt bag. And if I hear you’ve been harassing this kid again, you can help me by taking a trip into the service tunnels under the mall, where I can teach you the manners your daddy should have taught you,” the Texan said. Morrison froze, a look of disbelief on his face. Dillon wasn’t sure who was more shocked. “Hey, Kid, I need some help finding a present,” the Texan said to Dillon. “Um… uh… yes, sir,” Dillon said. Gabe bit back a groan as the kid’s response made his dick stand up and take notice. Oh, shit, the way the kid called him “sir” had him wanting to drag the boy into the service tunnels himself and teach him a whole different kind of lesson. Except the poor thing was already shaking so badly he looked like he was going to faint dead away. They began walking. When they were far enough away from the asshole that Gabe figured it was safe to talk, he said, “Relax, Kid. I’m not out to get you or anything, I’m not stalking you. I came in for a present and saw that creep pressing someone up against the wall. Figured I’d put the fear of the Devil in him,” he said grimly, tapping his metal nametag, which said DEVLIN in block letters. Gabe stuck out his hand and introduced himself, giving the man his cover name, “Grant Devlin.” Dillon looked at it in a daze, like he’d never seen a hand before and had no idea what to do with it. Then he 15

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert started and blinked and cautiously shook the man’s hand. “Dillon Gosling. Um… thanks. Morrison really was out of line, but I wasn’t sure what to do. I need this job; I couldn’t afford to make a scene.” “No job’s worth that kind of harassment, Kid. unless you’re starving,” Gabe said.

Not

“I am,” Dillon blurted out, and then his face darkened in humiliation. “Um, I mean… Oh God. Never mind. What exactly are you looking for?” Dillon asked, slipping into sales mode with difficulty. I think I’ve already found it, Gabe thought, then shook his head. No. Bad. Business, not pleasure. He’d come in here to talk to the kid, ask some subtle questions while perusing the merchandise, scope the place out some more. But he’d heard the conversation the two men were having and he’d been shamelessly eavesdropping. The kid definitely needed to make a sale, he was way too thin and the sound of his growling stomach verified what he’d said about being hungry. What the hell, he’d been promising himself a new stereo for over a year now and what he wanted wouldn’t be cheap no matter where he went for it. “I was thinking maybe a SurroundMe,” Gabe said. Dillon stopped so suddenly and unexpectedly that Gabe walked right into him; he would have toppled the kid if he didn’t grab him and steady him. Dillon turned and looked at Gabe, and to Gabe’s horror he saw tears in the kid’s eyes. “Don’t do this to me,” Dillon begged, his voice a ragged whisper. “Morrison put you up to this, didn’t he? Or it’s because of the parking spot. I know you probably think 16

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert it’s funny, dangling a commission like that in front of me, but… but… Oh God,” Dillon said, shutting his eyes tightly. “Hey!” Gabe said, his arms out and around the kid as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Hey, it’s OK. I’m not fucking with you, Kid, honest to God - I came in here to buy a stereo. For real. Take it easy, OK? You gotta calm down; you don’t want anyone seeing you fall apart on the sales floor, right? Come here, pretend you’re showing me stuff,” he said, blocking him from any prying eyes with his own body. He was patting the kid on the back, doing his best to calm him, but his gentleness and kindness was the last straw. Dillon broke down into full-on wild, wracking sobs. Then Dillon heard the voice of the Apocalypse from behind them. “What on diese erde ist going on here?” a heavily German-accented voice boomed. Dillon yanked away from Gabe’s embrace, to see Mr. Schweinmann glowering at him and Morrison smirking behind him, watching. Gabe put a protective arm around Dillon and glared at Schweinmann. “Are you the manager here?” he demanded. “I most certainly am,” Mr. Schweinmann huffed. Morrison looked positively gleeful. “Good. Because I want to file a complaint against one of your employees. That guy there, Morrison,” Gabe said, pointing an accusing finger. “He had this poor kid pressed up against the wall when I came in and it looked all kinds of wrong to me. From what I overheard and saw, he was sexually harassing your employee. If I was a cop, I’d arrest Morrison right now and haul his ass off to jail. As it is, 17

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert Gosling here has the grounds for a sexual harassment suit, against Morrison and you and this store, for allowing this kind of thing to happen. Your security cameras won’t have what they said on tape, but they sure as hell should show what Morrison was doing. If I don’t hear that this matter has been resolved to Mr. Gosling’s satisfaction, I’m going to file a complaint against this store with both mall management and your corporate office. Seeing as how it’s only two weeks before Christmas bonus time, what with the bad economy and all, I’m sure you don’t want this to escalate to that level, do you?” Gabe said coldly. “Officer, I assure you, neither I nor the Electronics Barn condone any sort of harassment against employees. You have my word I will look into this matter fully und immediately. Herr Gosling, why don’t you take an early lunch, ja? Herr Morrison, in mein office, now!” Schweinmann demanded. Dillon headed for the entrance to the store in a daze, not quite sure where he was going; he had no food and no money to buy any. Devlin had apparently left as he was no longer standing there when Dillon turned around. He jumped when a gentle hand wrapped around his arm just outside the store. Devlin, he realized in relief. “Hey, Kid. I didn’t want it to look like we were together or anything. It would make the accusation less believable. Come on, let me take you to lunch - you need to eat before you faint,” Gabe said. “You don’t have to do that,” Dillon said. “I want to,” Gabe replied. 18

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert “But aren’t you on duty?” Dillon asked. “Yeah, so what? I was protecting an employee in the store, now I’m protecting an employee on the walkway, and I’ll be protecting you in the restaurant. And if I see anyone else who needs my protection, I’ll help them, too. Texas Style work for you, Kid? It’s the only place in the whole city that knows how to grill a decent steak and their ribs are the only edible ones I’ve had since I moved here from Houston,” Gabe said. Dillon swallowed. “Um… They’re really expensive. I mean, they don’t even have a lunch special.” “So? You’re worth it,” Gabe said, meaning it. The kid literally jerked back in surprise. Jeez. Someone had sure played a number on the poor kid, that his self esteem was that low. “Don’t worry about it; like I said, my treat. And don’t you dare just order a salad or something either. You’re having beer with lunch, too, it will help calm your nerves. They’ve got the best corn bread, fried in bacon fat the way it’s supposed to be, and they serve it warm as an appetizer. We’ll start you off with that, and that way the beer won’t go right to your head. Wouldn’t do to have you come back from lunch drunk or anything. So, does shit like that happen to you often? Guys pushing up against you, trying to take advantage of you?” Gabe asked. “What? I… no… No, of course not,” Dillon said defensively. “I mean, I usually avoid situations like that. I notice who’s around me, park under street lights when I can, don’t go down dark alleys or into strange bars, that kind of 19

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert thing. It’s just, I thought Morrison was straight and he’s made no secret of the fact that he despises me, and we were in the middle of a store, during business hours, in a mall for Christ’s sake! Who ever attacks someone like that?” he asked rhetorically. “Plenty of people. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse. Anyway, here we go. Table for two,” he said to the hostess. “Good thing your manager gave you an early lunch, Kid. This place is usually packed, I’ve waited twenty minutes to a full hour sometimes. They don’t take reservations.” “Wow. The food must really be as good as everyone says it is,” Dillon said wistfully, inhaling deeply. “Yeah. And at least they pipe in Country Christmas songs instead of that mall crap. I swear, if I hear Jingle Bells one more time I’m going to puke,” Gabe said. Dillon laughed. Forty-five minutes later, Dillon was so full he could barely move. He still knew nothing about his rescuer but he’d managed to pour out his entire, pathetic life story to him. He’d even told Grant about Connor. Grant had listened intently the whole time, like he really cared. He’d asked him all kinds of questions about his job, too: how sales were, how the company seemed to be doing as a whole, this store in particular, about Schweinmann and Morrison and the other employees. Dillon looked at his watch nervously. He didn’t want to take more than an hour. “I really should be getting back now. Thanks again for lunch,” Dillon said, grateful but bemoaning the knowledge that he could have bought two weeks of groceries with what Grant 20

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert had spent. “My pleasure, Kid,” Gabe said. Funny, it should have bugged him the way Grant called him “Kid,” but it made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Maybe it was just feeling full for the first time in ages or the beer going to his head, Dillon thought cynically. Grant handed him the bag with the extra loaf of cornbread and the double portion of chocolate cake neither of them had touched. “Here, this is for you,” he said. “No, I couldn’t. I still feel guilty for letting you treat me,” Dillon said, even as he stood and eyed the bag longingly. Gabe stood too and then thrust the bag into his hand. “So you can make it up to me. Like by letting me take you out to dinner this weekend and maybe a movie. Or dancing. You like to dance? Ever been to Eros? It’s a gay dance club. I’ve been there once or twice. It’s dynamite.” Dancing? Oh God. It wasn’t just pity, just a free lunch, and Grant had just confirmed he was gay too. And he really liked him. “I haven’t danced since my graduation party,” Dillon admitted. Damn, that had sounded too desperate. Gabe laughed. “Like that was so long ago.” “It was,” Dillon said softly, all the joy suddenly leached out of him. “It was a lifetime ago.” “Hey!

Lighten up, Kid, or I’m going to have to hurt 21

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert you,” Gabe threatened. “Hurt me?” Dillon asked, eyes widening. Gabe leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Yeah. In a good way. Long and deep and hard. I want to make your ass burn so hot that you’ll forget you ever had anything to be sad about. I want to hold you down and fill you up, until I’m your whole world.” Dillon let out a whimper. “Do you have handcuffs?” he asked, and then blushed darkly and shivered at the hot breath still on his neck. Gabe froze as his cock, which was already hard, throbbed. “Why don’t you come home with me tonight and see?” he asked, fighting to keep his hands off the kid. They were in a freaking restaurant in a shopping mall, and he wanted to slam the kid down onto the table and take him right there. Jesus. Dillon threw all caution and common sense to the wind. “I get off at six,” he said. “No, you leave work at six. But you’ll be getting off at 6:45 and then about every half hour for the next twelve or until you beg for mercy or pass out from exhaustion,” Gabe whispered into his ear. “I… um… can’t walk like this. bathroom,” Dillon gasped.

I need to use the

“Me too,” Gabe smirked, raking his gaze over him like a starving lion eyeing a gazelle.

22

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert The bathroom was big, with three stalls and half a dozen urinals, instead of a single room, and empty. Dillon headed for a stall and gasped in surprise when Gabe pushed in after him. Before Dillon could complain, deft fingers had unzipped his fly and then a large, rough, knowing hand was wrapped around his erection. “This is just the appetizer, Kid. Just something quick to take the edge off. I’ll do you the way you deserve tonight. I’m gonna have you wave that tight little ass in the air for me and I’m gonna wrap both my hands around your waist and pound into you so hard, you’re never gonna want to go. Handcuff you to my bed and mark you as mine,” he said. At the word “mine” Dillon came, his head snapping back hard into Gabe’s chest. Gabe milked every last drop out of the kid, then guided Dillon’s hand to his own erection. Dillon’s eyes widened as he felt it. Just like that, Gabe was coming - the kid’s wide eyes and gentle, cool little hand on his hot shaft had him shooting like a teenager. Gabe dried them both off with some toilet tissue. “I can’t wait till tonight,” Gabe said hoarsely. “You’re a screamer, I can tell. It must have been hard, keeping it quiet. Come on, let’s wash up.” He grinned. “I see you didn’t drop your dessert,” he teased, pointing the bag clutched tightly in Dillon’s white knuckled hand. Dillon gaped at it in surprise. He’d forgotten he was holding it.

SCHWEINMANN glared at Morrison, mopping his brow with his already sodden handkerchief. 23

“What was that all

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert about?!” he snapped in his thick accent, as soon as he was sure they were alone and couldn’t be overheard. Lawrence Darrens, the man Schweinmann knew as Morrison, looked at the porcine, sweaty German as if he were an insect, all pretense of subservience gone. “Don’t you raise your voice to me, Porky. You’re in this thing up to that fat little neck of yours. You forget who’s working for who. You want your final cut of the take, to keep that demanding wife of yours happy, you follow my orders. Unless you want us to use you as the fall guy for this one, instead of Goosey and that rent-a-cop? We told you, this is going to be the last job; we’re moving onto other things. But no way am I going to let those last four pallet loads of SurroundMes you got squirreled away in the stock room just sit there gathering dust. At thirty units per pallet, that’s a cool $120K retail, $60K street value.” “My source in security tells me Devlin is our other perfect patsy. That he was here today, that’s just beautiful. All you have to do is erase the part of the security tape with me and Goosey on it and leave the part with Devlin and Goosey confronting you. You tell the cops you were getting suspicious of Goosey, the way he was showing Devlin around, you caught them in the stock room together. Devlin got hostile once he was back on the sales floor, and he was armed so you figured you’d complain to his superior in mall security instead. Then, tomorrow night, you have Goosey do the store closing. You let me and my associates take care of the rest, you get your final $10,000 cut for all your help, and then we forget we ever met. Capiche?” “Yes sir, Herr Morrison. 24

Forgive me for before,”

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert Schweinmann said, mopping his brow again. Darrens smiled, the smile a shark gives his dinner just before it bites. He didn’t tell Schweinmann that the cops would find Goosey and Devlin dead at the loading dock after the final haul apparently went bad. The only pallet of SurroundMes they knew about would still be there. Three full pallets of the thousand-dollar systems conveniently no longer showed up on the store’s inventory, thanks to Schweinmann. No one would know they were missing until long after their operation had folded. The cops would find Schweinmann in his office with his brains blown out and a suicide message and confession typed on the inventory computer in remorse, when he realized his little embezzlement scam had blown up in his face and cost two men their lives. It would all be wrapped up for the cops in a neat little gold bow, like a present, just in time for Christmas, even down to the final skid of SurroundMes. The robberies would stop, the suspects would all be dead, and there would be no final haul to trace. God, he loved his job, especially tying up all the loose ends. A pity about Goosey, though. He’d been having so much fun mind-fucking the kid. He’d liked to have fucked him for real, first, before he cooked his little Christmas goose’s ass. It always made it that much more sweet, seeing the look on his latest mark’s face when he stared into the gun barrel. Shit, it made him hard just thinking about the last time. That Henderson kid, back when they’d been knocking off camera stores, the look in his eyes when he wasted him. He’d just have to find some other little squeeze toy to get his rocks off on later. Shooting that pompous ass 25

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert Schweinmann would be an extra special pleasure. Like a big, fat Christmas pig with an apple stuffed in his mouth. As Darrens left the store, he began smugly singing a mangled version of We Wish You a Merry Christmas: “Bring me some piggy pudding, bring me some piggy pudding…”

IT took all of fifteen minutes away from the kid for Gabe to realize he was making a big mistake. He could not take a suspect in an ongoing investigation home to fuck. Worse yet, he was really falling for the kid. He had to put the brakes on this now, before the guy got hurt, emotionally or physically. This was a high stakes operation; the ring would think nothing of offing anyone who got in their way. That guy Morrison deserved another look-see. He’d make his excuses to the kid, and then after his shift ended, he’d research Morrison some more. And spend a miserable, lonely night alone in his crappy apartment. Shit, two weeks till Christmas and he hadn’t even put up his tree yet. Some fucking Christmas this was turning out to be.

THE rest of the day after lunch passed in a surreal blur for Dillon; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy. Probably the night of his graduation party. Thinking that made him feel uneasy, like the sky was about to fall again, but he tried to tell himself he was being ridiculous. Until Grant stopped by, and he saw the look on Grant’s face and Grant started to explain why he had to take a rain check. 26

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert Dillon had nodded and smiled and managed to keep the tears at bay, but it had been hard. Ten minutes later when Mr. Schweinmann approached, he had waited for the other shoe to drop, sure he’d be fired. But Schweinmann had surprised him. “Herr Gosling, I’d like you to vork the late shift tomorrow night, 2 PM until 10 PM. I want to see how well you handle the store closing and final count for the night.” “Yes sir! Thank you!” Dillon said, trying to fake sounding as thrilled as he should be about it. If Schweinmann trusted him to close the store and count out the receipts, maybe he wouldn’t be letting him go soon after all. But it felt like a hollow, pointless victory. Dillon dragged himself to his car that night, clutching the bag of cornbread and cake, hating that he was bringing it home, but he was almost out of bread. Home? God, that empty shit-hole apartment in his hellhole neighborhood was his home now, the only one he’d ever have. By the time he reached the car he was sobbing his heart out. At least Angel didn’t betray him - he started faithfully. As soon as he walked into the cramped studio apartment, Dillon tossed the doggy bag into the rattling old refrigerator where he kept the bread so the mice and roaches couldn’t get to it. He tried not to see the ancient, yellowed and cracked linoleum or the peeling, faded paint, starkly lit by the single overhead bulb as he headed for the bathroom. No matter how hard he scrubbed, it always looked filthy. He shed his clothes, laying them in the sink to wash later, pulled aside the pathetically bright curtain and entered the tiny shower stall. 27

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert Dillon felt dirty and used and horny as hell. He turned on the water and began soaping himself, imagining it was Grant’s hand on his arms, his chest, on his cock again, his hot breath on his neck, picturing all the things he’d foolishly hoped for. Giving up all pretense of getting clean, he jerked himself off in frantic need of the brief endorphin rush. Dillon cried out as he came and then kept crying as he collapsed onto the floor of the shower, wallowing in heartache and selfloathing.

GABE stared at the picture on the computer screen in confusion. “Who the fuck is this?” he asked. “Michael Morrison, like you asked for. One of their top salesmen for the past five years, transferred to the flagship store six months ago,” Rick McFarlan said. “You OK, Angel? You’ve been acting weird ever since you got in,” Rick asked in concern. Gabe stared at the picture. Holy shit. “This isn’t Morrison. I mean, it’s not the Morrison I met today; it’s not the guy who says he’s Morrison. Shit! If Morrison’s a fake, dimes to donuts this is who we’ve been looking for! No wonder we couldn’t find him! Christ! I bet you a month’s salary the real Morrison is dead. Crap, I need to get a still off that security camera, get a match.” “You’d need a warrant for that,” Rick said. “Instead, why not tool by the store tomorrow with your cell, snap a picture of the guy and send it to me, and I’ll run it on our computer for you? Then, depending on what we find, we either watch the guy 24/7 or haul his ass in for questioning, 28

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert whatever looks like would work best. We’ve still got your store and the other three we think they might hit under surveillance. If they make their move tonight we’ll get them, no matter what.” Gabe hated having to wait, but Rick was right. Damn it, he hated having the kid working there, not knowing how dangerous it might be. For the first time he prayed the ring would hit one of the other stores, one someone else was working.

THE last person Dillon expected or wanted to see when he arrived at work a full half-hour early the next day was Grant Devlin. The fact that Grant was having Daniels show him a SurroundMe just made Dillon want to throw up. Or maybe kill him. How dare he? He had his fucking nerve! He hadn’t realized he’d screamed both his question and accusation until both of the men turned in shock and he heard the echo of his voice in his head. Oh crap. The kid was early. Gabe had been trying to find out when Morrison would be in so he could take his picture and decided to use the whole stereo-buying thing as a cover while he pumped Daniels for information, and now the kid was looking at him the way Jesus must have looked at Judas, even after knowing he’d be the one to betray him. Gabe approached Dillon, mouth opening in apology. “Get the hell away from me!” Dillon screamed. Shit.

The last thing an undercover op needed was 29

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert someone screaming, drawing attention to him. Gabe had no choice. He bolted. He’d have to send McFarlan or Jeffries or one of the other guys here for the picture, or maybe try to get a police artist to make a good enough composite. Gabe was at the cash register near the entrance when Morrison’s face grinned mockingly at him from only three feet away. Not the man in person, but his picture under the “Salesman of the Month” heading. Gotcha, asshole. He pointed his cell phone at the smirking image and snapped the shot, then sent it to McFarlan with the text message, “ASAP.” He paced the mall walkway impatiently, waiting for the call.

DILLON went into the stock room, not looking for donuts like he usually would be, even though he hadn’t eaten dinner or breakfast. He wasn’t hungry. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to think about food or go to the bathroom ever again without feeling dirty and stupid and used. Morrison was right. He really was a whore. He’d let that asshole jerk him off, he’d given a man a hand job in a public bathroom as payment for lunch. Just the thought made him want to vomit. Or cry again. But not where anyone could see him. Dillon headed to the deepest bowels of the stock room. It was dark and private back there, he needed that. Twentyfive minutes from now he’d have to get to work, but he was early; he had time to cry his heart out. He passed pile after pile of old boxes of worthless, outdated product, broken skids and junk. The shiny plastic wrapped pallet of brand new SurroundMes was completely unexpected. What the hell were these doing back here? Dillon was dumbstruck when fifteen feet later he came 30

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert across a second pallet and then a third. He knew for a fact none of this was in the inventory; they’d gotten two pallets in, one of which was already out on the floor, mostly sold, and a second that they hadn’t touched yet. Why were these here? He became aware of the footsteps behind him, felt a surge of unreasoning but instinctive panic as he started to turn. There was a blinding, mind-shattering pain in the back of his head, and then nothing at all.

“SO who is he?” Gabe asked Rick on his cell. “Lawrence Darrens, a.k.a. Dirty Larry. The guy’s a criminal mastermind, not to mention criminally insane. He’s been arrested a dozen times on grand robbery charges, questioned in conjunction with at least three homicides, plus three or four dozen lesser counts. But he hasn’t been convicted of a single damn thing, not since he turned eighteen, at any rate. The prosecution keeps having trouble with witnesses vanishing or changing their testimony. Two years ago, when all those camera stores started getting hit downtown, our boy Larry was brought in as a suspect. Never convicted, not enough evidence to make it stick. My new partner Jeffries was the one who tried to bust him for it. Jeff swears Darrens was guilty, not just as a ringleader in the robberies, but he’s pretty sure he was personally responsible for at least one homicide, too. Some poor kid who worked part-time at the last store they robbed got wasted on the final heist, shot right between the eyes, up close and personal. Seems Larry and the kid had a little 31

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert fling a couple of days before, though from accounts from the other clerks later, Jeffries thinks Larry might have forced or scared the kid into it, with threats about him losing his job.” Gabe was shaking. Dillon. Oh God, the kid! What if Darrens planned to do the same thing again? That sick fuck! Gabe had to see Dillon, warn him somehow; even if it blew his cover, he had to get him out of there before history repeated itself. “Morrison… That fucker Darrens, he tried to do the same thing yesterday to Dillon Gosling, that seasonal hire. He had the kid pressed up against the wall, was threatening him with how he was going to lose his job, trying to exchange dinner for favors. It’s going to be tonight, I think it’s going to go down tonight. Gosling usually works days, but Daniels told me Schweinmann is having Gosling close the store up tonight. Darrens will take advantage of it, I know he will. I want extra manpower, a 24/7 watch on Darrens. I don’t know where he is now, but we have to find him. Fuck! I want to pull Gosling out of there, but I know if we do, we might spook them, they might bail. Damn it!” “Hey, Angel, calm down. This isn’t like you at all. You’re not… You haven’t let any of this get personal, have you?” Rick asked. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m sleeping with the kid? I damn well would be, if I wasn’t living this lie. I should have been last night. You should have seen his face. Christ, I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to that kid,” Gabe said. “You want us to hit them now?” Rick asked. “Pull up 32

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert stakes early, round them up, hope someone breaks, or that we find something funny in the computer or the stock room or the sales floor? It’s your call, Angel; you’re the lead. I’ll back whatever play you make with the Captain,” Rick said. Gabe swallowed hard; he was shaking. “Why? Why would you do that?” he asked. “Because I fell for Jeremy just that hard and fast. If it was Jeremy, I’d already be at that store busting heads and taking names, as soon as I made sure he was OK,” Rick said. Gabe wavered. “No. First we find Darrens, make sure he doesn’t get away this time. Darrens is the inside man. As long as he isn’t at the store, the kid should be safe.” “OK, Angel. I’m on it. I’ll keep you posted.” Rick said. “Thanks, Rick. I owe you for this,” Gabe said. “All part of the job, pal. I’m a public servant, after all, and you’re part of the public I’m here to protect and serve,” Rick said and hung up. Gabe headed back to the store and began scanning the aisles for the kid. Nothing. He saw Daniels, though, and approached him. Daniels looked surprised and wary. “I’m not sure I should be the one helping you. I didn’t realize Dillon could get angry like that. You should have told me you’d promised him the sale,” he accused. “My mistake. That’s why I’m here, to make it up to him. I’m hoping he’s calmed down a little. Where is he?” Gabe asked.

33

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert Daniels shrugged. “He went into the stock room right after you left. He’s still in there. His shift doesn’t actually start for a little while yet.” Gabe turned to the door to the back room. Just then Schweinmann appeared, sweating profusely. The man seemed to excel at it. He was about to mop his brow with his ubiquitous handkerchief, when he drew it away from his face, staring at it in horror. “Schweinmann!” Gabe called. The man jumped like he’d been shot. His eyes widened in panic when he saw Gabe; he tensed, like he was ready to run, his eyes darting towards the door to the stock room and then to the store entrance. Schweinmann looked guilty as sin. Gabe’s stomach fell to the floor. Oh God, the kid. He just knew something had already happened to him. He ran towards Schweinmann and with a yelp of fear, Schweinmann darted back into the stock room. Gabe tackled him, pinning him to the ground. “Where is he? Where’s Gosling, you fat fuck? Talk!” He lifted a closed fist, wanting nothing more than to bash the guy’s face in, but he was afraid he’d kill him, that he’d never find the kid. Schweinmann instinctively put both hand up to protect his face, his right still clutching the handkerchief. That was when Gabe saw the deep red smear on it. Blood. Oh God. He grabbed Schweinmann by the throat and shook him like a dog with a bone. “Where’s Gosling? Where is he?” “The back, he’s in the back! I had to do it! He found 34

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert them, I had to do it!” Schweinmann sobbed in terror. Gabe was shaking with anger, with fear. He was too late. He stood, yanking Schweinmann up with him. “Show me! Show me, you bastard!” Gabe demanded, his hand twisted into the back of the guy’s shirt. Nodding wildly, Schweinmann headed deep into the stock room, confessing as he went. “I needed the money! Greta, always she wants more, like her friends, more jewelry, more clothes. She was ruining me. It was so easy, what I had to do. I help them and they give me one-sixth of the profit. The stores, they are insured. No one gets hurt,” he justified. Gabe forced himself not to snap the man’s neck or pound him into the ground. First he had to find the kid. God - his body, he was going to find the kid’s body, he knew it but he had to see for sure. Then he’d kill this fucker, do to him whatever he’d done to the kid, make him hurt the same, make him suffer the same. No; worse, a hundred times worse, a thousand. Then Gabe saw Dillon, crumpled at the base of one of the towering metal shelving units, deathly pale, his cheek streaked in blood, his hands tied up over his head, to the metal shelving support, his mouth gagged. Tied? Gagged? If he was dead Schweinmann wouldn’t have done that. But he was so pale and not moving; what if he’d bled to death after Schweinmann tied him up, what if… Then the kid moaned and looked up, terrified green eyes looking at him the way they had the first time they’d met in the parking lot a day ago, a lifetime ago. The look changed, to one of relief 35

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert and wonder and maybe something more when he recognized Gabe. “Kid. Thank God!” Gabe said. He pushed Schweinmann onto the ground, practically threw him. “You lie there, you bastard, hands behind your head. I swear to God, if you move I’ll shoot you,” he said. Schweinmann lay motionless except for his trembling, as commanded, as Gabe whipped out his cell phone. He pushed speed dial #4. “Devlin, code double black, converge, converge, back of the stock room, I need an ambulance and a wagon, now,” he said. Then he snapped it shut, not waiting for an answer. Gabe knelt beside Dillon, pulling out his pocket knife, his hands shaking so badly he could barely open the blade. He cut the plastic ties binding Dillon to the metal support, catching Dillon as he slumped against him, trembling. “I’ve got you, Kid, I’ve got you,” Gabe soothed, pulling off the gag, stroking his hair. His hand came away wet and when he realized it was the kid’s blood, his hands started to shake more wildly and he looked at Schweinmann with murder in his eyes. “You found me. wonder.

You rescued me,” Dillon said in

Thank God. The kid could talk, he was lucid. “I heard you coming before I saw you; I thought Schweinmann had come back to kill me. He kept apologizing to me, after I woke up, after he’d tied and gagged me, about how he’d had to hit me. He’d said no one was supposed to get hurt, the stores were insured, that it didn’t matter if some things were stolen. He said it was my own 36

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert fault, for being back here. He was afraid of what Morrison would do, once he told him, like Morrison was his boss, instead of the other way around. Oh God! Morrison,” Dillon said, struggling to stand, but Gabe held him. “He’ll never get near us. In about another minute, this store is going to be swarming with police,” Gabe said. “Relax, Kid. You’ve probably got a concussion. We need to get you to the hospital; you let me worry about the rest,” Gabe said, pressing his sleeve against the kid’s head, trying to stop the bleeding. There was the thunder of approaching feet. Freeze!” a familiar voice called out.

“Police!

“Speaking of the cavalry…” Gabe said. “Jeffries! Glad you could join the party. This is Mr. Schweinmann, the store manager. He needs to be read his rights and officially charged. Mr. Gosling here will testify that he was assaulted by Mr. Schweinmann, threatened, tied up and gagged. Mr. Gosling also told me Mr. Schweinmann confessed to having involvement with a theft. Is the ambulance here yet?” “Any minute now,” Jeffries said. Then he turned to Schweinmann, repeated the charges against him and began reading him his rights.

EIGHT hours later, Dillon stared up at Gabe from the hospital bed, looking more dazed now than he had when Gabe first found him. “So your name isn’t really Grant Devlin, it’s Gabriel D’Angelo?”

37

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert “Gabe, although most of the guys at the precinct call me Angel,” Gabe said. “Angel?” Dillon repeated numbly. “And you’re not really a mall security officer, you’re a police detective?” “Right,” Gabe said. “So everything you told me, everything you did, everything you said since I met you was a lie?” Dillon asked, his voice and his heart breaking. “In the restaurant, that’s why you listened, why you asked so many questions. You were just pumping me for information for your case. You were just using me. And… Oh God,” Dillon said, closing his eyes tightly, but not quickly enough to stem the flow of hot tears. “No! God, Kid, no, that’s not why I listened. And the rest, that had nothing to do with the case, that was me, the real me. That’s why I broke our date last night. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to. Because I never should have…” He saw Dillon’s face crumple. “No! No, that’s not what I meant! Jesus, Kid, you have me so tied in knots I can’t even talk straight! “It killed me to break our date because I desperately wanted to take you home, my real home, not my cover’s apartment. I wanted it to be my name you said when you came - Gabe, not Grant. I didn’t want to do something that profound, that real, on a bed of lies. I couldn’t do that to you, I knew you’d hate me once you learned the truth. But I could see how much it hurt you, me breaking our date, and you not knowing why. That’s why… I want you to come home with me as soon as they let you out of here. I want to 38

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert tell you everything about me, everything I couldn’t say in the restaurant, so you know who I really am, so you know if you really want to know me. Jesus, Kid, I’ve never felt like this about anyone, and it hit me so hard and so fast. Please, just give me a chance? How will you ever know what could have been if you don’t at least try? I broke our date to protect you, not to hurt you, because I love you, not because I don’t,” Gabe said, wincing when he heard himself say it. “You can’t love me,” Dillon denied. “You just met me. And I’m nobody. I live in a tenement, I have no money, no food, no family, no friends, no future. What’s there to love about me?” Dillon asked, tears streaming down his face. “Let me show you. Let me tell you the million reasons I already have. Let me find a million more. Come home with me. Give me a chance. Christmas is only two weeks away. It’s the season for miracles, Kid. Come on, you named your car Angel - you must believe in God, in miracles if you did that, right? Especially with that license plate. Me, I would have named him Devil,” he said, trying to distract him. Dillon looked at him, confused. spite of himself.

“Why?” he asked in

Gabe smiled. “Come on Kid, 4NGL666? Angel 666? Fallen Angel. Satan, Lucifer, you know, the Devil. Like me. Sometimes I’m Gabriel D’Angelo, named after the freaking Archangel Gabriel by my sainted but misguided mother, may she rest in peace. Sometimes I’m Grant Devlin. And that’s only the tip of the iceberg. You could spend a lifetime learning about all the imp I got in me, Kid, and all the angel. You want handcuffs, you’ve got handcuffs. You want gentle 39

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert kisses and touches and caresses until you’re trembling and whimpering in need, you’ve got those, too. Come home with me. Spend Christmas with me. And New Year’s. And Valentine’s Day. Let me show you why you need to spend the rest of your life with me, Kid.”

CHRISTMAS Eve, Dillon stared at the beautiful, perfect tree, the cozy fireplace. The whole apartment smelled of mulled cider and gingerbread. He was surrounded by Christmas, warm and safe and well fed and completely desolate and empty inside. Dillon had stayed in the hospital for three days because of the concussion. He’d been freaking out about paying for it until Gabe explained the state would, there was a Victims of Violent Crimes fund that covered medical expenses in cases like his. Once Dillon had been discharged, Grant had taken him to his old apartment to collect his meager belongings, in his shiny late model silver pickup, complete with gun rack, and a personalized license plate: ARCHNGL. Dillon had actually smiled when he’d seen the plate, as well as the little white decal on the back windshield of a devil peeing, and he’d commented about how he’d never understood those. Then Gabe had grinned and asked him if he was sure the devil was peeing, and Dillon had blushed a deeper red than the old battered pick-up he’d thought was Gabe’s. He’d let Gabe talk him into coming home with him and staying, let himself pretend he had a friend, a life, a future. But his job was gone; his branch of the store was still closed 40

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert for the police investigation. Schweinmann had sung like a canary, they’d caught Morrison, cracked the ring wide open, made dozens of arrests. But the chain’s stock had plummeted with the scandal; bankruptcy seemed imminent. He’d be homeless without Gabe. And Gabe hadn’t touched him beyond a few hugs. It had become painfully obvious that he was just a charity case, that Gabe was taking care of him out of pity, no matter what he’d said. Gabe sighed heavily, watching the kid being miserable. Shit, he’d have to risk it, and pray he was doing the right thing. He had to give him back what pride he could, make him see what he saw. “I… um… I need to give you your present tonight, Kid. I can’t wait anymore,” Gabe said, holding out two envelopes. Open the big flat one first,” he said. Dillon winced, looking at them. More charity? “Please, just open them, and I’ll answer all your questions and explain,” Gabe said. Dillon sighed and opened the larger envelope. His brow creased as he leafed through the documents and then his eyes widened in astonishment. “These are… This is my copy of the records verifying…” He stopped, his mouth too dry to speak. There was a full-time course schedule - three courses, twelve credits - for the University of Hilldale Engineering Department, Winter 2009 quarter, starting January 5th and a zeroed out bill from the Bursar’s Office for $2,968.80. “I just needed to reactivate your Fall registration. Your advisor showed me you’d signed up for twenty-one credits 41

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert when you applied. He said you shouldn’t have been taking more than eighteen, max, but then when I explained you’d be working, too, he said you shouldn’t take more than twelve. He put you down for two of the courses you’d picked and one other that you’d need that didn’t have a prerequisite that you’d missed from not taking Fall classes,” Gabe explained. “Why did… Working?” Dillon asked numbly. Gabe took the second envelope from him, opening it quickly, holding the letter in front of his face. “The Department had an opening. I explained your application was delayed because you were in the hospital, and the help you’d been with the case. So they made a note in your file that the application was pending and ran the background check first, from the information I provided on you. They were really impressed with your high school records and the recommendations from your teachers, and you had the required personal recommendations from three police officers; that’s the part that really weeds out the competition. Um… that was me, Jefferson Jeffries, and Rick McFarlan. You met Jeff at the store and Rick at the hospital. All you need to do is fill out the official application, do the interview, and sign the release so they can get your blood test results from the hospital, for the drug screening. It’s all just red tape, the Tech Level III job in the Surveillance Unit is yours,” he said. “Why? I don’t understand any of this,” Dillon said, shell-shocked. “College, that’s my Christmas present to you. 42

But I

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert know you need to pull your own weight; you’re not looking for a sugar daddy, you want to contribute to the rent and food and stuff. I know you’ve been thinking about leaving. I’ve been watching you die inside a little more each day and… God, please, Kid. I don’t want you to leave. I love you, Dillon, I know you don’t understand, that you still can’t believe it, that you’re scared. I’m just as scared and confused as you are. Please, stay with me? We’ll work it all out together. I swear I won’t try to control your life or anything, I know enrolling you and getting you the job is probably freaking you out, but I knew you couldn’t do it by yourself, that you needed some help. Just like I know you’re going to do great, once you start. “I’m not asking for you to love me back, or even to stay with me. I mean, not after you don’t need to any more. If you find someone at school your own age, someone you can love, I won’t stop you. I just… I want you to be happy, Kid. I need you to be. That’s all that matters. Just give me whatever time you can, OK? That’s the only present I want, the only one I need,” Gabe said. God, the kid was so quiet, he’d blown it; he knew he’d screw it up, hurt him worse. Dillon put the papers down carefully and turned to Gabe, tears in his eyes. Gabe wanted to get his gun and shoot himself. He’d made the kid cry; it was Christmas Eve and he’d made him cry. But then Dillon’s arms were around him and his lips were pressed against his, tender and gentle and loving. Dillon pulled back. “Thank you. This is the second most 43

Christmas Angel / Maria Albert wonderful present you could have given me,” he said, looking into Gabe’s eyes intently. Gabe looked at him, uncertainty in his eyes. wanted something else more? I thought…”

“You

Dillon pressed his finger against Gabe’s lips, quieting him. “I already have it. You’re the most wonderful present I could ever receive. You gave me my life back, my future. And I’m going to spend the rest of yours showing you how much I appreciate you. My Angel.” Then Dillon kissed Gabe again, long and deep, slow and sweet, the glow of the Christmas tree lights like a halo around them both.

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Christmas Angel / Maria Albert

MARIA ALBERT lives in the California Bay Area with her two daughters and several dozen friends, most of the latter of whom are still trapped in binders on her bookshelves. She looks forward to releasing many more of them in the coming months.

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Christmas Angel / Maria Albert Other titles from Maria…

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Christmas Angel / Maria Albert

©Copyright Maria Albert, 2008 Published by Dreamspinner Press 4760 Preston Road Suite 244-149 Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover Art by Dan Skinner/Cerberus Inc. [email protected] Cover Design by Mara McKennen This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ Released in the United States of America December, 2008

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