Page 2 of The Santa Claus Con

If only she knew.

I shift my attention from the holiday lights wrapped around buildings… to wreaths hanging on railings… to the iconic seventy-five-foot Christmas tree lit up in every color of the rainbow with a bright star on top. A tree that 125 million people visit every year. This morning, though, that number is in the few dozens.

“Who knows,” Kate says, laughing. “Dressed like that, maybe she’s chasing down a bad guy as we speak.”

Too soon to tell, but I was desperate for this morning excursion to get me off the desk doing administrative work, making calls, and cross-referencing tips. It’s not the stuff I dreamed of when I was a kid, or when I graduated from Quantico, and especially not when I completed an extra few weeks of undercover school.

The thrill, the chase… I need it the way gingerbread houses need candy decorations. Without them, they’re incomplete. Being assigned—more accurately, punished—with paperwork has been torture by boredom.

“That’s classified,” I say, this time realizing I’ve sounded way more serious. Maybe because it’s true. “Anyway, today I’m Miss Claus.” And I can’t pretend to be someone else without knowing their backstory. “I exude warmth and joy and bake daily batches of peanut-butter-chocolate-chip-walnut cookies.”

Cleo makes a face. “Aren’t those your favorite cookies?”

Sure are, because when building a cover, the fewer lies to remember, the better.

As my sisters debate whether nuts or chocolate chips belong in cookies, I walk to the other side of the rink for a different perspective, memorizing the faces of every person I pass. It’s a beautiful morning with overcast skies. Just add snow, and it might be a tick in the Pro Christmas column.

“Is that a store? Are you shopping?” Cleo asks, holding the phone closer to her face. “It’s nice to see you out doing something on your day off for a change.”

I scan the rooftops of the lowest buildings surrounding the area. “Technically, I’m supposed to be sick.”

“Glad to be funding your sick day,” Kate quips.

Her tone is teasing, but I know she’s prying. All my family knows is that I work for the government. They can’t be privy to more specifics than that.

“We also have a 401k and health insurance. Have I blown your mind yet?” I ask. On the southside of the rink are camera cranes, storage units, and folded-up chairs, like they might be filming some kind of event here.

“Ha, ha,” Cleo says. “If they don’t give you time off for our family trip to Taiwan in a couple weeks, tell your boss I’m coming for him personally.”

“I’ll be your accomplice!” Kate tacks on.

Cleo is eighteen months older than Kate, but I’m eight years younger than Kate. As soon as I was born, my sisters were immediately overprotective of me. I was always at such different stages of life than them, but they didn’t care. Even when they were off at college and I was finishing up elementary school, they called every week to check in.

“I requested the time off in July,” I say, even though having approved PTO has never stopped me from canceling before. I’ve had to bail on every family vacation ever since I joined the FBI five years ago. Sometimes timelines expand on undercover missions. You can’t go MIA from a criminal organization and then come back bronzed after a weeklong nap on a Hawaiian beach. Oops, sorry, boss. I wasn’t earning you money last week because I was taking some much-needed me time. It takes as long as it takes to nail the bad guys. “I really need this vacation, too.”

More than my sisters know.

“Why are you actually calling so early?” I ask, because I don’t need to be highly trained in reading body language to know they have something to say. “Other than to threaten me into a family vacation I’m already going on?”

“We just… we really want you to be there,” Kate says gently. “You’re always too busy for family trips and—”

“Pó Po and Gong Gong aren’t getting younger,” Cleo says, getting to the point. “Know what I mean?”

Kate balks. “Cleo!”

Our older sister lifts an eyebrow toward the screen. “Where’s the lie? The man’s eighty-nine,” she says around her bite. “So if anything comes up at work… It would just be nice if you were there with us.”

I release a sharp breath, the air forming a small cloud in front of me. “Thank you for the guilt trip. You know those work so well.”

Cleo makes a sympathetic face. “I know the vacation was supposed to be fun, and now this might, I don’t know, remind you of the Coopers maybe—”

“Especially at this time of year,” Kate adds.

Cleo nods. “You never got to say goodbye to them, and we don’t want that to happen with Pó Po and Gong Gong—”

“Guys, it’s okay,” I cut in. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m good, and I hear you. Let’s have a great holiday. Together.”

I’m about to loop back to the rink and get a closer look at the cast bronze sculpture of Prometheus when something stops me. I don’t know why I hesitate, exactly. Maybe I’m on edge from what I’ve just heard and the memories it risks surfacing. Maybe because the whole scene in front of me is a little too picture-perfect that I take an extra second and hang back.