Silent Night by Mary Higgins Clark

didn’t believe it. Just like he didn’t mind that Michael sometimes called him the Dork; he knew he wasn’t a dork.
    He knew things were bad when you wished your jerk brother, who could be such a pain in the neck, was there with you, and that was just how he felt now.
    As Brian swallowed over that feeling of something in his throat, the plastic container almost jumped out of his hand. He realized Jimmy had switched lanes fast.
    Jimmy Siddons swore silently. He had just passed a state trooper’s car stopped in back of a sports car. The sight of a trooper made him sweat all over, but he shouldn’t have switched lanes like that. He was getting jumpy.
    Sensing the animosity that bristled from Jimmy, Brian put the uneaten hamburger and the soda back in the bag and, moving slowly so Jimmy could see what he was doing, leaned down and put the bag on the floor. Then he straightened up, huddled against the back of the seat and hugged his arms against his sides. The fingers of his right hand groped until they closed around the St. Christopher medal, which he had laid on the seat next to him when he opened the package of food.
    With a sense of relief he closed his hand over it and mentally pictured the strong saint who carried the little kid across the dangerous river, who had taken care of his grandfather, who would make Dad get better and who . . . Brian closed his eyes . . . He didn’t finish the wish, but in his mind he could see himself on the shoulders of the saint.

16

    B arbara Cavanaugh was waiting for Catherine and Michael in the green room at Channel 5. “You both did a great job,” she said quietly. Then, seeing the exhaustion on her daughter’s face, she said, “Catherine, please come back to the apartment. The police will get in touch with you there as soon as they have any word about Brian. You look ready to drop.”
    â€œI can’t, Mother,” Catherine said. “I know it’s foolish to wait on Fifth Avenue. Brian isn’t going to get back there on his own, but while I’m out and about I at least feel as though I’m doing something to find him. I don’t really know what I’m saying except that when I left yourapartment, I had my two little boys with me, and when I go back they’re going to be with me, too.”
    Leigh Ann Winick made a decision. “Mrs. Dornan, why not stay right here at least for the present? This room is comfortable. We’ll send out for some hot soup or a sandwich or whatever you want. But you’ve said yourself, there’s no point in just waiting on Fifth Avenue indefinitely.”
    Catherine considered. “And the police will be able to reach me here?”
    Winick pointed to the phone. “Absolutely. Now tell me what I can order for you.”
    Twenty minutes later, as Catherine, her mother, and Michael were sipping steaming hot minestrone, they watched the green room’s television monitor. The news bite was about Mario Bonardi, the wounded prison guard. Although still critical, his condition had stabilized.
    The reporter was with Bonardi’s wife and teenage children in the waiting room of the intensive care unit. When asked for a comment, a weary Rose Bonardi said, “My husband is going to make it. I want to thank everyone who has been praying for him today. Our family has known many happy Christmases, but this will be the best ever because we know what we so nearly lost.”
    â€œThat’s what we’ll be saying, Michael,” Catherine said determinedly. “Dad is going to make it and Brian is going to be found.”
    The reporter with the Bonardi family said, “Back to you at the news desk, Tony.”
    â€œThanks, Ted. Glad to hear that it’s going so well. That’s the kind of Christmas story we want to be able to tell.” The anchor’s smile vanished. “There is still no trace of Mario Bonardi’s assailant, Jimmy Siddons, who was awaiting