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    19th Christmas


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      Contents

      MAP

      AUTHORS’ NOTE

      PROLOGUE: DECEMBER 20

      PART ONE: DECEMBER 21 CHAPTER 1

      CHAPTER 2

      CHAPTER 3

      CHAPTER 4

      CHAPTER 5

      CHAPTER 6

      CHAPTER 7

      CHAPTER 8

      CHAPTER 9

      CHAPTER 10

      CHAPTER 11

      CHAPTER 12

      PART TWO: DECEMBER 22 CHAPTER 13

      CHAPTER 14

      CHAPTER 15

      CHAPTER 16

      CHAPTER 17

      CHAPTER 18

      CHAPTER 19

      CHAPTER 20

      CHAPTER 21

      CHAPTER 22

      PART THREE: DECEMBER 23 CHAPTER 23

      CHAPTER 24

      CHAPTER 25

      CHAPTER 26

      CHAPTER 27

      CHAPTER 28

      CHAPTER 29

      CHAPTER 30

      CHAPTER 31

      CHAPTER 32

      CHAPTER 33

      CHAPTER 34

      CHAPTER 35

      CHAPTER 36

      CHAPTER 37

      CHAPTER 38

      CHAPTER 39

      CHAPTER 40

      CHAPTER 41

      CHAPTER 42

      CHAPTER 43

      CHAPTER 44

      CHAPTER 45

      CHAPTER 46

      CHAPTER 47

      CHAPTER 48

      CHAPTER 49

      CHAPTER 50

      CHAPTER 51

      CHAPTER 52

      PART FOUR: DECEMBER 24 CHAPTER 53

      CHAPTER 54

      CHAPTER 55

      CHAPTER 56

      CHAPTER 57

      CHAPTER 58

      CHAPTER 59

      CHAPTER 60

      PART FIVE: DECEMBER 25 CHAPTER 61

      CHAPTER 62

      CHAPTER 63

      CHAPTER 64

      CHAPTER 65

      CHAPTER 66

      CHAPTER 67

      CHAPTER 68

      CHAPTER 69

      CHAPTER 70

      CHAPTER 71

      CHAPTER 72

      CHAPTER 73

      CHAPTER 74

      CHAPTER 75

      CHAPTER 76

      CHAPTER 77

      CHAPTER 78

      CHAPTER 79

      CHAPTER 80

      CHAPTER 81

      CHAPTER 82

      CHAPTER 83

      CHAPTER 84

      CHAPTER 85

      CHAPTER 86

      CHAPTER 87

      CHAPTER 88

      CHAPTER 89

      CHAPTER 90

      CHAPTER 91

      PART SIX: DECEMBER 31 CHAPTER 92

      CHAPTER 93

      EPILOGUE: JANUARY 2 CHAPTER 94

      CHAPTER 95

      CHAPTER 96

      CHAPTER 97

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      About the Authors

      JAMES PATTERSON is one of the best-known and biggest-selling writers of all time. His books have sold in excess of 385 million copies worldwide. He is the author of some of the most popular series of the past two decades – the Alex Cross, Women’s Murder Club, Detective Michael Bennett and Private novels – and he has written many other number one bestsellers including romance novels and stand-alone thrillers.

      James is passionate about encouraging children to read. Inspired by his own son who was a reluctant reader, he also writes a range of books for young readers including the Middle School, I Funny, Treasure Hunters, Dog Diaries and Max Einstein series. James has donated millions in grants to independent bookshops and has been the most borrowed author of adult fiction in UK libraries for the past twelve years in a row. He lives in Florida with his wife and son.

      MAXINE PAETRO has collaborated with James Patterson on the bestselling Women’s Murder Club, Private and Confessions series. She lives with her husband in New York State.

      Also by James Patterson

      ALEX CROSS NOVELS

      Along Came a Spider • Kiss the Girls • Jack and Jill • Cat and Mouse • Pop Goes the Weasel • Roses are Red • Violets are Blue • Four Blind Mice • The Big Bad Wolf • London Bridges • Mary, Mary • Cross • Double Cross • Cross Country • Alex Cross’s Trial (with Richard DiLallo) • I, Alex Cross • Cross Fire • Kill Alex Cross • Merry Christmas, Alex Cross • Alex Cross, Run • Cross My Heart • Hope to Die • Cross Justice • Cross the Line • The People vs. Alex Cross • Target: Alex Cross • Criss Cross

      DETECTIVE MICHAEL BENNETT SERIES

      Step on a Crack (with Michael Ledwidge) • Run for Your Life (with Michael Ledwidge) • Worst Case (with Michael Ledwidge) •Tick Tock (with Michael Ledwidge) • I, Michael Bennett (with Michael Ledwidge) • Gone (with Michael Ledwidge) •Burn (with Michael Ledwidge) • Alert (with Michael Ledwidge) •Bullseye (with Michael Ledwidge) • Haunted (with James O. Born) •Ambush (with James O. Born)

      PRIVATE NOVELS

      Private (with Maxine Paetro) • Private London (with Mark Pearson) • Private Games (with Mark Sullivan) • Private: No. 1 Suspect (with Maxine Paetro) • Private Berlin (with Mark Sullivan) • Private Down Under (with Michael White) • Private L.A. (with Mark Sullivan) • Private India (with Ashwin Sanghi) • Private Vegas (with Maxine Paetro) • Private Sydney (with Kathryn Fox) • Private Paris (with Mark Sullivan) • The Games (with Mark Sullivan) • Private Delhi (with Ashwin Sanghi) • Private Princess (with Rees Jones)

      NYPD RED SERIES

      NYPD Red (with Marshall Karp) • NYPD Red 2 (with Marshall Karp) • NYPD Red 3 (with Marshall Karp) • NYPD Red 4 (with Marshall Karp) • NYPD Red 5 (with Marshall Karp)

      DETECTIVE HARRIET BLUE SERIES

      Never Never (with Candice Fox) • Fifty Fifty (with Candice Fox) • Liar Liar (with Candice Fox) • Hush Hush (with Candice Fox)

      INSTINCT SERIES

      Instinct (with Howard Roughan, previously published as Murder Games) • Killer Instinct (with Howard Roughan)

      STAND-ALONE THRILLERS

      The Thomas Berryman Number • Hide and Seek • Black Market • The Midnight Club • Sail (with Howard Roughan) • Swimsuit (with Maxine Paetro) • Don’t Blink (with Howard Roughan) • Postcard Killers (with Liza Marklund) • Toys (with Neil McMahon) • Now You See Her (with Michael Ledwidge) • Kill Me If You Can (with Marshall Karp) • Guilty Wives (with David Ellis) • Zoo (with Michael Ledwidge) • Second Honeymoon (with Howard Roughan) • Mistress (with David Ellis) • Invisible (with David Ellis) • Truth or Die (with Howard Roughan) • Murder House (with David Ellis) • Woman of God (with Maxine Paetro) • Humans, Bow Down (with Emily Raymond) • The Black Book (with David Ellis) • The Store (with Richard DiLallo) • Texas Ranger (with Andrew Bourelle) • The President is Missing (with Bill Clinton) • Revenge (with Andrew Holmes) • Juror No. 3 (with Nancy Allen) • The First Lady (with Brendan DuBois) • The Chef (with Max DiLallo) • Out of Sight (with Brendan DuBois) • Unsolved (with David Ellis) • The Inn (with Candice Fox) • The Warning (with Robison Wells)

      NON-FICTION

      Torn Apart (with Hal and Cory Friedman) • The Murder of King Tut (with Martin Dugard) • All-American Murder (with Alex Abramovich and Mike Harvkey)

      MURDER IS FOREVER TRUE CRIME

      Murder, Interrupted (with Alex Abramovich and Christopher Charles) • Home Sweet Murder (with Andrew Bourelle and Scott Slaven) • Murder Beyond the Grave (with Andrew Bourelle and Christopher Charles)

      COLLECTIONS

      Triple Threat (with Max DiLallo and Andrew Bourelle) • Kill or Be Killed (with Maxine Paetro, Rees Jones, Shan Serafin and Emily Raymond) • The Moores are Missing (with Loren D. Estleman, Sam Hawken and Ed Chatterton) • The Family Lawyer (with Robert Rotstein, Christopher Charles and Rachel Howzell Hall) • Murder in Paradise (with D
    oug Allyn, Connor Hyde and Duane Swierczynski) • The House Next Door (with Susan DiLallo, Max DiLallo and Brendan DuBois) • 13-Minute Murder (with Shan Serafin, Christopher Farnsworth and Scott Slaven)

      For more information about James Patterson’s novels, visit www.jamespatterson.co.uk

      Authors’ Note

      Part of the joy of writing a long-running series is the opportunity to watch the characters develop lives of their own. Just like all of us, the Women’s Murder Club (and those they care about) have a present—and a past. In 18th Abduction, the first scenes and the very last scenes take place in the present day, but the main story takes place five years earlier, before Julie Molinari was born. We referenced this time line shortly after the Prologue, but probably didn’t make it clear enough. We heard from some readers asking after Julie. Thank you for caring about this character so very deeply. Read on for more about Julie, and all your other favorites.

      Prologue

      * * *

      DECEMBER 20

      IT WAS FOUR nights before Christmas Eve, and the city of San Francisco had decked the halls, houses, and grand public edifices in a sparkling, merry Christmas display.

      My husband, Joe, our three-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Julie, our aging border collie, Martha, and I had piled into the family car for a tour of the lights.

      Julie was wearing a red leotard with a tutu and a blinking tiara. The antlers she had assigned to Martha had been rejected by our doggy, so Joe wore them to keep the peace and Julie approved. I was wearing the sweater my baby fashion coach had picked out of a catalog—Santa and his sleigh sailing over a cheesy grinning moon. It was so tacky it was hilarious.

      Joe said to me, “Lindsay, give me a C.”

      I did, perfectly pitched.

      As we headed down Jackson Street, we sang “Jingle Bells,” and then Martha joined in—definitely off-key.

      Dear Joe knew the way to guide our sleigh, and we headed toward Cow Hollow, parked, and walked along Union Street to see the Fantasy of Lights. The Victorian buildings, both shops and homes, were twinkling red, green, and white. Joe carried Julie on his shoulders, and I laughed out loud when she parted his antlers to get a better view of the window displays.

      Julie clapped her hands at the sight of the snowmen guarding the entrance to Santaland, and I was elated. This was one of the wonderful things about motherhood, watching Julie make Christmas memories.

      “Where to next?” Joe asked Julie. “The fishing boats will be all lit up from the Holiday Lights Boat Parade.”

      “Chocolate factory!” she shouted from her top-of-Daddy seat.

      And we were off to Ghirardelli Square, near Fisherman’s Wharf, to see the fifty-foot-tall tree decorated with giant chocolate bars, Julie’s idea of the prettiest Christmas tree in the whole wide world.

      Yuki Castellano was in the kitchen, and there was not a holiday decoration in sight. She stirred the guacamole and then set a tray of brownies in the oven while her husband, Jackson Brady, mixed up a pitcher of margaritas.

      “Ah love to see you giggly,” he teased in his Southern accent.

      Yuki giggled just hearing that. From her Japanese mother and her Italian-born American-soldier daddy, she had inherited a ticklish funny bone, no tolerance for alcohol, and a decided weakness for tequila.

      “You just want to take advantage of me,” she told her husband.

      “I do. My first night off in I don’t know how long, and I think we should trash the bedroom.”

      Yuki felt the same way. She’d just finished prosecuting a case from hell, and Brady had been working overtime as a homicide lieutenant and doubling as the acting police chief. They’d barely had time for sleep, let alone each other—and it was almost Christmas.

      She said, “No phones, okay? Not a single phone call. And that means both of us, agreed?”

      “Say the word and I’ll fill up the sink and drown those dang things in it.”

      She said, “The word,” laughed again, and popped open a bag of chips.

      “Plate alla that, will you? I’ll grab the liquor.”

      They headed for the bedroom with drinks, chips, and dip. They’d chosen to screen an action classic that some considered the greatest Christmas story ever told. Yuki had never seen Die Hard and was wondering now if she’d ever get to see it. Odds were she and Brady were going to be naked before the opening credits rolled.

      “Don’t start without me,” she said. “I’ll be right there.”

      She went back to the kitchen and turned off the oven. Brownies could wait.

      Cindy Thomas and her live-in boyfriend, Rich Conklin, stood on the tree-lined path that divided Civic Center Plaza. The attractions of the seasonal Winter Park were in full swing.

      Up ahead, centered on the path, City Hall was alight in wide, horizontal red and green bands; the brilliant Christmas tree in front of the impressive old granite building pointed up to the magnificent dome.

      Rich squeezed Cindy’s hand and she looked up at his dear face.

      She said, “Are you going to forgive me?”

      “For us not going out to see my family?”

      “I wish I could, Richie. Your pops always makes me feel like a movie star. But I’ve got that interview tomorrow.”

      “And a deadline,” he said. “You think I don’t know the drill by now?”

      “You. Are. The best.”

      “Don’t I know it,” he said. He grinned at her and she stood up on her toes to kiss him. He pulled her in and made a corny thing of it, dipping her for effect, making her laugh between the dramatic rows of trees. People cut around them, taking pictures of the view.

      Cindy said, “Hang on.”

      She ran up ahead to the couple who had just taken a photo of City Hall.

      “Sorry,” she said to the surprised couple. “I wonder if you might have caught me and my man in your pictures?”

      The woman said, “Let’s see.” She flicked through the photos on her phone and squealed, “Hey. Lookee here.”

      She showed the phone to Cindy, who beamed and said, “Can you send it to me, please?”

      “My pleasure,” the woman said. She took Cindy’s email address and said, “There you go. Merry Christmas.”

      Impulsively, Cindy threw her arms around the stranger, who hugged her back.

      “Merry Christmas to you, too. Both of you,” Cindy said, and she ran back to her sweetheart.

      “Rich, look.” She showed him the photo on her phone.

      “Instant Christmas card. Beautiful. I’ll send it to my family. And now let’s go home, Cindy. Home.”

      Claire Washburn had slung her carry-on bag over one shoulder and her computer case over the other and was forging ahead toward the gate. She and her husband, Edmund, were at SFO, which was decorated for the season with over three million LED bulbs—not that Claire took any notice. She turned to look for her husband and saw him far behind, gazing out at the light show.

      She called, “Edmund, give me one of those bags.”

      “I’ve got them, Claire. Just slow down a little so I can keep up.”

      “Sorry,” she said, walking back to him. “Why is it you can never find a luggage trolley when you want one?”

      He made a face. “You want me to state the obvious?”

      The airport was always busy, and it was even busier today, with mobs of people flying out to spend the holidays with relatives in far-flung places.

      It was a working holiday for Claire. As San Francisco’s chief medical examiner, she had been asked by National University in San Diego to teach an extra-credit course for students in the master’s program in forensic medicine.

      She was glad to do it.

      The quick course would be held during Christmas break and was the perfect amount of time for a case study of a crime Claire had worked years ago. The body of a young boy had been discovered in a suitcase chained to a concrete block in a lake miles from home. Claire’s work on that case had helped the police solve the crime.

      Along with giving her a nice paycheck, th
    e City of San Diego was putting Claire and Edmund up at the Fairmont Grand Del Mar, a resort-style hotel with a gym and a gorgeous pool. It promised to be a great respite from the somewhat harsher NoCal winter.

      Edmund had resisted going with Claire on this trip. He had made plans with friends from the San Diego Symphony to lay down a track for a CD they were working on. But Claire knew the real reason he didn’t want to come: Edmund was becoming more introverted by the year, and he just wanted to stay home.

      Claire had told him, “Edmund, it’s a chance for us to be together with a heated pool and room service. Your mom is dying to babysit her youngest grandchild over Christmas, and Rosie wants to be babied. Tell me I’m wrong.”

      He couldn’t honestly do that.

      Edmund knew how much Claire loved talking to students, encouraging them and sharing her experience on the Thad Caine case. It would be a needed lift to her spirits, and if Claire wanted his company, he couldn’t say no.

      Edmund saw a lone luggage trolley by the newsstand and he grabbed it.

      He called to Claire, “I got wheels. We are definitely not going to miss our flight.”

      Part One

      * * *

      DECEMBER 21

      CHAPTER 1

      JULIAN LAMBERT WAS an ex-con in his midthirties, sweet-faced, with thinning, light-colored hair. He was wearing black jeans and a down jacket as red as a Santa Claus suit.

      As he sat on a bench in Union Square waiting for his phone call, he took in the view of the Christmas tree at the center of the plaza. The tree was really something, an eighty-three-foot-tall cone of green lights with a star on top. It was ringed by pots of pointy red flowers and surrounded by a red-painted picket fence.

     

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