gray silk blouse. A double strand of pearls hung around her neck. She had large brown eyes and perfectly straight chin-length blond hair. She was attractive in a very cosmopolitan kind of way—beautiful, really. And certainly, the woman in the picture bore a striking resemblance to the one in the traffic photo. Still, it was Cody’s job to be certain.
Alongside was a picture of Gregory Mateev, a family snapshot of a kid with a mop of dark hair, sitting on a beach with a bucket in his hand.
A short bio followed: Viktoria Mateev, age twenty-nine, was the wife and now widow of one Lucas Mateev. Viktoria was the custodial parent of the missing Gregory Mateev, age four. Residents of New York City—Manhattan, specifically—Viktoria was a stay-at-home mom and Lucas was listed as a medical sales representative. Or he had been until his death in July, the victim of a hit-and-run accident while crossing a New York City street.
Neither the driver nor the car that struck and killed Lucas was ever found. Alarm bells began clanging in Cody’s brain.
Cody returned to the original traffic picture, expanding it until it filled the screen. The woman’s hair was longer and now fell around her shoulders, but that was to be expected if she no longer had it cut regularly. The nose and lips were the same, but there were also differences. He studied her face, complexion—pallid, with dark smudges under her eyes and a tightened jaw. In a word, she looked haunted.
Or maybe hunted.
Without question, that was Viktoria Mateev in the photograph. Like the best Christmas present in the world, Cody had been gifted with a Mateev needing to be brought to justice. And this time would be different—this Mateev wouldn’t get away.
But to find out where she was now, he had to figure out where she’d been. The bottom of the photo had a small location and time stamp—Telluride: West Colorado Avenue/South First Street. 23 December, 1:32 p.m.
Cursing, he ripped his fleece cap from his head and threw it on the counter. More than two hours gone. If Viktoria Mateev was just passing through, she could very well be in New Mexico by now. Then in Mexico by tomorrow. He compressed the picture, examining the whole. The car was a late-model sedan, from an American manufacturer, gray and covered with dust.
The car was completely unremarkable, maybe even intentionally so. He examined the photo further. Strapped securely to the roof was a small pine tree. In the back seat, Cody could see the outline of a child.
No, Viktoria Mateev was not simply passing through Telluride. She was local, planning to celebrate Christmas with her son—and who knew who else. Maybe someone from the Mateev family?
Using her license plate number, Cody searched satellite images from earlier in the day and traced a route that led to a cabin tucked away in the foothills of the Rockies. The same car was parked in the drive. Another search gave him an address and the property’s owner. The cabin had been rented for the winter, and the current tenant’s name was not listed. Bingo.
Cody slipped his phone out of his pocket, then paused. For a moment, he thought about the significance of the date—December 23.
Casting his gaze at his refrigerator, he quickly glanced at the card his sister, Sarah, had sent—a family picture taken at Thanksgiving was attached with a magnet. On the bottom, next to the printed holiday greeting, was a note in Sarah’s loopy script inviting him to visit.
Memories of other holidays—some happy, some bittersweet—came to Cody. He blocked them all. He’d never been much for celebrating, but this year might be different. Would anything bring him more joy than bringing down a Mateev?
December 23
9:00 p.m.
Outside of Telluride, Colorado
The timer’s insistent beep filled the small cabin. A slender pine tree stood in the corner. Red, green and white lights twinkled from each branch. The sharp scent of pine mingled with the sweetness of baking sugar cookies to create an aroma that was wholly Christmas. Viktoria Mateev set the bowl of green frosting aside and rose from the table. Before walking to the oven, she leaned over and placed a kiss on the top of her son Gregory’s head.
He held up a cookie—Kris Kringle’s profile dripped with thick red frosting. “Do you think Santa will like this one?” Gregory asked.
“It will be his favorite,” she said. She opened the oven door and heat rushed upward, immediately fogging the windowpane nearby. The darkened outline of full evergreens and the frail branches of white aspens that surrounded her cabin were suddenly invisible.
It was almost as if the rest of the world could not see her, or Gregory, either. She exhaled and her chest contracted as if embracing the emptiness of a holiday spent alone. It was her first Christmas since her husband, Lucas, had died. She couldn’t even call her parents, fearing that their phones were being monitored. Standing taller, Viktoria reminded herself that she wasn’t alone. She was with her son and they were safe.
After pulling out the last two trays of cookies, Viktoria set them on the back burners of the stove to cool. “What else are you going to make for Santa?”
Gregory held up a reindeer-shaped cookie covered in green frosting and bright red sprinkles. “This one is for you.” He spoke around a spoon that had once sat in one of the frosting bowls. Pulling it from his mouth, Gregory smiled. His teeth and lips were stained green. Her son’s enthusiasm for the season was infectious and Viktoria couldn’t help but smile in return.
It was the simplicity and love in this moment that she sought. To give Gregory some Christmas joy, she had risked everything by slipping down the mountain and into town. The streets of Telluride had been teeming with people, an interesting combination of locals and wealthy tourists who came for a holiday on the slopes. At first the crowd had left her terrified of being seen and recognized. Yet as she turned off the oven, Viktoria convinced herself that the crowd had been a blessing. Certainly, she and Gregory had blended in—just two more faces out of many.
As Gregory iced another cookie, Viktoria knew the risk had been worth it. Even if the state of New York considered her to be an unfit parent, even if all the evidence against her had been lies, even if she knew that her deceased husband’s family had unparalleled wealth to orchestrate it all—Viktoria couldn’t deny her son the joy of the season. Maybe she even needed some holiday tidings herself.
Gregory yawned and leaned into the side of his arm. The clock on the back of the stove read 9:05.
“It’s bedtime, Captain Kiddo,” Viktoria said as she tousled his hair.
“But we still have more cookies to decorate,” he complained.
“How about this,” she suggested. “You get ready for bed and I’ll put everything away. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and Santa won’t come until midnight, so there’s plenty of time to finish decorating cookies in the morning.”
“This is the best Christmas ever,” Gregory said with a mock salute as he scooted off one of the mismatched chairs. “I’m going to get ready for bed, Agent Mommy.” The soles of his footed pajamas pitter-pattered as he crossed the room.
They had to find something else to watch beyond the DVDs of Phineas and Ferb that had been left in the cabin. “That’s Secret Agent Mommy,” she called after him, “and do a good
