Christmas Justice. Robin Perini

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      Molly stared after her mother, father, brother and sister, her baby blues filled with tears. “It’s not fair. I want to go to the pageant. I’m supposed to be an angel.”

      The forlorn voice hung on Laurel’s heart. She placed her hand on the little girl’s hot forehead. “Sorry, Molly Magoo. Not with that fever.”

      Ivy bundled Molly’s older brother and sister into the backseat of the car. Laurel sent her sister a confident nod, even though her stomach still twisted. She recognized the same lie in her sister’s eyes. They were so alike.

      One of the kids—it must have been Michaela—tossed a stuffed giraffe through the open car door. Ivy shook her head and walked a few paces away to pick up the wayward animal.

      Laurel started to close the door. “Don’t worry, Molly. They’ll be back s—”

      A loud explosion rocketed the night, and a blast of hot air buffeted Laurel. She staggered back. The driver’s side of the SUV erupted into flames. Fire and smoke engulfed the car in a hellish conflagration. Angry black plumes erupted into the sky.

      God, no! Laurel’s knees trembled; she shook her head. This couldn’t be happening. Horror squeezed her throat. She wrenched Molly toward her, turning the little girl away from the sight, but Laurel couldn’t protect Molly. Her niece had seen too much. Molly’s earsplitting screams ripped the air.

      No sounds came from the car. Not a shout, not a yell.

      Laurel had to do something.

      “Stay here!” She scrambled through the door, racing across the frozen yard. She glanced back; Molly had fallen to the floor in tears. Laurel squeezed her eyes shut against the heart-wrenching cries, then snagged her phone from her pocket and dialed 9-1-1. “Help! There’s been an explosion.”

      Blazing heat seared Laurel’s skin. It wasn’t a typical car fire. It burned too hot, too fast. Laurel choked back the truth. This wasn’t just any bomb. This was a professional hit. A hit like she’d read about in dossiers as part of her job with the CIA.

      Unable to look away, she stared in horror at the interior of the car. In a few minutes, nothing would be left. Just ash. They wouldn’t even be able to tell how many people had been in the car.

      The phone slipped from her fingers.

      Ivy’s family was gone. No one could have survived. Frantically, Laurel searched for her sister. Her heart shattered when she saw the smoking body lying several feet away from the car. She ran to Ivy and knelt next to her sister’s body, the right side blackened and burned beyond recognition, the left blistered and smoldering.

      “Laur—” the raspy voice croaked.

      “Don’t talk, Ivy.” Laurel couldn’t stop her tears. She could hear her niece’s wails from inside the house, but Ivy. God. Her clothes had melted into her skin.

      Ivy shifted, then cried out in agony. “Stupid,” she rasped. “Not c-c-careful enough. Can’t...trust...”

      “Shh...” Laurel had no idea how to help. She reached out a hand, but there wasn’t a spot on Ivy not burned. She was afraid to touch her sister. Where was the ambulance?

      Ivy coughed and Laurel bent down. “Don’t give up. Help is coming.”

      “Too late. F-find Garrett Galloway. Sheriff. Tell him...he was right.” Ivy blinked her one good eye and glanced at the fire-consumed vehicle. A lone tear pooled. “Please. Save. Molly.” The single tear cut through the soot, and then her eyes widened. “Gun!”

      Laurel’s training took over. She plastered herself flat to the ground. A shot hit the tree behind her. With a quick roll, she cursed. Her weapon was locked up in the gun safe inside the house. A loud thwack hit the ground inches from her ear. The assault had come from the hedges.

      “Traitor!” Ivy’s raspy voice shouted a weak curse.

      Another shot rang out.

      The bullet struck true, hitting Ivy right in the temple.

      Horrified, Laurel scampered a few feet, using the fire as a shield between her and the gunman. She panted, ignoring the pain ripping through her heart. She would grieve later. She had one job: protect Molly.

      Sirens roared through the night sky. A curse rang out followed by at least two sets of footsteps, the sound diminishing.

      Thank God they’d run. Laurel had one chance. She flung open the door and grabbed a sobbing Molly in her arms. She hugged her tight, then kicked the door closed.

      Through the break in the curtains, she watched. A squad car tore into the driveway. No way. That cop had gotten here way too fast. Laurel pressed Molly against her, then locked the dead bolt.

      She sagged against the wall. “Oh, Ivy.”

      “Aunt Laurel?” Molly’s small voice choked through her sobs. “I want Mommy and Daddy.”

      “Me, too, pumpkin.”

      Laurel squeezed her niece tighter. She had two choices: trust the cop outside or follow her sister’s advice.

      After the past two months... She slipped the bracelet from her father into her pocket, then snagged a photo from the wall. Her sister and family, all smiles. She had no choice. The high-tech bomb, the cop’s quick arrival. It smelled of setup.

      Laurel raced through the house and grabbed Molly’s antibiotics and the weapon from the gun safe, half expecting the cop to bang on the door. When he didn’t, Laurel knew she was right. She peeked through the curtains. Her sister’s body was gone. And so was the police car.

      The flames sparked higher and Laurel nearly doubled over in pain.

      The sound of a fire engine penetrated the house. No time left. She snagged the envelope her father had sent and stuffed it into a canvas bag along with a blanket and Molly’s favorite stuffed lion.

      She bundled Molly into her coat, lifted her niece into her arms and ran out the back door. Laurel’s feet slapped on the pavement. She sprinted down an alley. Shouts rained down on her. Smoke and fire painted the night sky in a vision of horror. One she would never forget.

      She paused, catching her breath, the cold seeping through her jacket.

      “Aunt Laurel? Stop. Mommy won’t know where to find us.” Molly’s fingers dug into Laurel’s neck.

      Oh, God. Poor Molly. Laurel hugged her niece closer. How could she explain to a five-year-old about bad people who killed families?

      Laurel leaned against the concrete wall, her lungs burning with effort. She wished she didn’t understand. She wished she could be like Molly. But this wasn’t a child’s cartoon where everyone survived even the most horrendous attacks. Reality meant no one had a second chance.

      Laurel had to get away from the men who had shot at her, who had killed her sister and her family.

      But Laurel didn’t know what to believe. Except her sister’s final words.

      Which left her with one option. One man to trust.

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