Free Silent Night by Mary Higgins Clark

was sure of it.
    There were a lot of cars on the highway, and even though it was really snowing now, they were all going pretty fast. But Jimmy was in the far right lane, so no cars were coming up on that side. Brian began to plan.
    If he could open the door real fast and roll out onto the road, he could keep rolling to the side. That way nobody would run over him. He pressed the medal for an instant, and then his hand crept to the handle on thedoor. When he put faint pressure on it, it moved slightly. He was right. Jimmy hadn’t put the lock on after they stopped for gas.
    Brian was about the throw open the door when he remembered his seat belt. He’d have to unfasten that just as the door swung open. Careful not to attract Jimmy’s attention, he laid the index finger of his left hand on the seat belt’s release button.
    Just as Brian was about to pull on the handle and push the release, Jimmy swore. A car, weaving erratically, was coming up behind them on the left. An instant later it was so close it was almost touching the Toyota. Then it cut in front of them. Jimmy slammed on the brakes. The car skidded and fishtailed, as around them came the sound of metal impacting metal. Brian held his breath. Crash, he begged, crash! Then someone would help him.
    But Jimmy righted the car and drove around the others. Just ahead, Brian could hear the wail of sirens and see the brilliance of flashing lights gathered around another accident, which they quickly drove past as well.
    Jimmy grinned in savage satisfaction. “We’re pretty lucky, aren’t we, kiddo?” he asked Brian, as he glanced down at him.
    Brian was still clutching the handle.
    â€œNow you weren’t thinking of jumping out if we’d gotten stuck back there, were you?” Jimmy asked. Heclicked the control that locked the doors. “Keep your hand away from there. I see you touch that handle again and I’ll break your fingers,” he said quietly.
    Brian didn’t have the slightest doubt he would do just that.

12

    I t was five after ten. Mort Levy sat at his desk, deep in thought. He had only one explanation for the disconnected call: Cally Hunter. The tap from the police surveillance van outside Cally’s building confirmed that she had dialed him. The men on duty there offered to go up and talk to her if Mort wanted them to. “No. Leave her alone,” he ordered. He knew it would be pointless. She’d only repeat exactly what she’d told them before. But she knows something and she is afraid to tell, he thought. He had tried to phone her twice, but she had not answered. He knew she was there, though. The lookouts in the van would have notified them if she’dleft the apartment. So why wasn’t she answering? Should he go over to see her himself? Would it do any good?
    â€œWhat’s with you?” Jack Shore asked impatiently. “You forgot how to hear?”
    Mort looked up. The rotund senior detective stood glowering down at him. No wonder Cally’s afraid of you, Mort thought, remembering the fear in her eyes at Jack’s anger and open hostility.
    â€œI’m thinking,” Mort said curtly, resisting the impulse to suggest that Shore try it sometime.
    â€œWell, think with the rest of us. We’ve gotta go over the plans to cover the cathedral.” Then Shore’s scowl softened. “Mort, why don’t you take a break?”
    He isn’t as bad as he tries to seem, Mort thought. “I don’t see you taking a break, Jack,” he replied.
    â€œIt’s just that I hate Siddons worse than you do.”
    Mort got up slowly. His mind was still focused on the elusive memory of some important clue that had been overlooked, something he knew was there, right in front of him, but that he just couldn’t make himself see. They’d seen Cally Hunter at seven-fifteen this morning. She’d already been dressed for work. They had seen her again nearly