The street was brilliantly lit in white. Each home was decorated the same, as if someone had come up with a theme and they’d all agreed to it. A tall, white-flocked tree, trimmed in white lights and gold ornaments and ribbons, took center stage in the front window. White icicle lights hung down from along the roof edge. Small strings of blinking white lights framed the sidewalks. And on each front door hung a large, green wreath trimmed in pinecones and white lights, a big red silk bow tied off at the top.
Each house sparkled merrily, looking as if it were its own living Christmas card.
Each house – except for one.
Yassen had waited until after dark, but not so late as to be the only one driving down the street. There wasn’t much traffic, but there were enough sightseers that he blended in just fine, and he’d been able to take a lingering look at the house where Ian Rider used to live.
When he’d received the message that Mrs. Jones wanted to talk to him about Alex, he’d thought it was a way to lure him into a trap. But now that he was on this street, Alex’s street, he could see that something was wrong. He could see the lone house without a tree, without the lights, without the wreath – without life.
He drove by the house several times. There were lights on inside, and he could see movement, so it wasn’t as if the house was dark because no one was at home. He was sorely tempted to just park the car and walk right up to the front door, demanding to know why this house was the only one to not participate in the spirit of the season.
That would be stupid, of course. Yassen didn’t make mistakes like that. He always did his research first before doing anything that had an element of risk involved.
He stopped at the end of the street, taking one final glance at the house that stood out dark in the bright night. Turning on his mobile, he dialed his service.
“Tell Mrs. Jones - noon on Saturday, Brent Cross Shopping Center, the area where Santa sees the children.”