A Christmas Miracle. Amy Andrews
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can do whatever we want, old man.’
Trinity’s heart hammered as rage took hold. Yes, these guys and the Todds of the world always thought they could do whatever they wanted.
She looked around—there was no one else in the park. She was it. Her pulse skyrocketing, she set Oscar down on the bench beside her. ‘Darling, I want you to stay here and don’t move, do you hear me? Stay very still.’
His little fingers clutched her forearm. ‘Like when they give me the drips, Mummy?’
Trinity hated that so much of her son’s young life had involved needles and doctors and hospitals and pain.
It fuelled her anger.
‘Yes.’ She kissed his forehead. ‘Exactly like that. Mummy will be back in a minute.’
She rose then, covering the distance quickly. ‘Oi!’ she yelled. ‘Stop that right now.’
The three teens were clearly startled enough to obey as she stormed up to them. There was thunder in her veins and lightning in her eyes. She was furious but there was a clarity to her anger as skills from a distant time in her life surfaced again.
These guys had chosen the wrong person to mess with today.
The guys laughed when they realised from whom the demand had come. ‘Oh, yeah?’ the beefiest one sneered at her. ‘What are you going to do if we don’t?’
‘I’m going to put you on your ass.’
The old man looked bewildered, his white hair mad-scientist-wild. ‘It’s okay, my dear,’ he said, a gentleman to the core despite his confusion.
There was more hysterical laughter before it cut out and sneering guy locked gazes with her before giving another, very deliberate shove, right in the middle of his victim’s chest.
‘I say!’ he objected, his voice quivering with outrage, causing more laughter from the moron gallery.
And an eruption inside Trinity’s head.
The rage she’d been trying to keep in check exploded in a blinding flash. She grabbed the hand of the beefy guy just as he was about to push again and in one swift, practised, if a little rusty move he was on his back, his arm twisted painfully in her grasp, her foot jammed hard against his throat.
His friends’ eyes widened as he gurgled on the ground, clutching at Trinity’s foot with his spare hand. A second or two passed before either moved, then one of them puffed his chest out and lunged. Trinity was ready for him, landing a solid blow to his solar plexus with one efficient chop, dropping him to the ground.
She cocked an eyebrow at the third guy. ‘You want some?’ she demanded, her voice icy. ‘Get out of here, now,’ she snapped, giving an extra little twist to the guy’s arm before removing her foot from his throat. She pulled her phone out of her pocket. ‘I’m calling the cops.’
The three guys didn’t wait around; they scarpered.
It was only then Trinity realised how fast her heart was beating. Automatically she turned back to Oscar, who was watching her with an owl-like expression, his big eyes huge and unblinking.
She rushed to him, her hands shaking as she scooped him up. ‘Mummy, you were like a superhero,’ he whispered, his voice reverent.
Trinity laughed. A kid who spent three quarters of his life in hospital had seen a lot of cartoons and the superhero ones were his favourite.
‘C’mon,’ she said, ‘let’s go and check on your friend.’
She turned around to find he’d walked away and was almost at the road near where she’d parked her car. He walked hesitantly though, looking around.
She put Oscar down and they half walked, half jogged to catch up. ‘Excuse me,’ Trinity called. He didn’t answer. ‘Excuse me, mister?’
The old man turned around, his face blank until he saw Oscar. ‘Are you okay?’
‘What?’ he asked, ruffling Oscar’s hair. ‘Oh, yes, thank you, dear. I just...’ He looked around him as if he didn’t know where he was. ‘I’m not sure why I’m here. Do you know where I am?’
A spike of concern knitted Trinity’s brows together. Had the incident with the teenage boys traumatised him? They hadn’t physically hurt him but she couldn’t blame him for being shook up.
‘It’s Monno Park,’ she said, laying a gentle hand on his arm. ‘You came to feed the ducks.’
The man stared at the pond for long moments. ‘Oh. Did I?’
‘Do you live around here?’
The man glanced at the park around him and the houses on the street opposite. ‘I...think so,’ he said, his big hairy eyebrows beetling together.
Trinity was really worried now. Maybe this wasn’t a reaction to his confrontation with the thugs; maybe he wasn’t of sound mind to begin with? Maybe he had dementia? Had he wandered or...escaped from somewhere?
‘Is there someone I can ring for you?’
‘Oh, yes.’ His face brightened. ‘My grandson, Reid Hamilton.’
‘Okay.’ She nodded encouragingly. ‘Do you know his number?’
His expression blanked out again. ‘He works at Allura. The veterans’ hospital.’ He stood taller. ‘He’s a doctor.’
‘Right, then.’ She smiled. Not even dementia, it seemed, diminished a grandparent’s pride. She felt a momentary spike of envy at that. ‘I’ll look it up.’
Trinity wasn’t at all confident as she rang the hospital and asked for Reid Hamilton. If the man had some kind of dementia, who knew if the information was correct? She might need to ring the police, after all.
The phone picked up and a male voice enquired who was calling, then informed her Dr Hamilton was with a patient. Trinity was relieved that she was on the right track. ‘It’s about his grandfather,’ she said. ‘I’ve found him wandering in a park. I’m sure he’ll want to know.’
‘One moment.’
Trinity smiled at the man, who was watching her intently, rubbing his creased forehead as if it would help clarify things for him.
‘Hello? Who’s this?’
Trinity blinked at the brisk voice. There was an authority to it she doubted few messed with. But she was over boorish men. ‘Is this Reid?’
‘Yes.’ The impatience in his voice could have cut diamonds.
‘My name’s Trinity. I think I’ve found your grandfather wandering around in Monno Park. He seems a little...’ she dropped her voice, not wanting to hurt the man’s feelings ‘...confused.’
‘Goddamn it,’ the man cursed, low and growly. ‘I’ll be there in fifteen.’ And the phone cut out in her ear.
* * *
The low rumble of a motorbike engine always put an itch up Trinity’s spine and today was no different as, fifteen minutes later exactly, a big black bike pulled up at the kerb not far from where she, Oscar and Edward—he’d asked her to call him Eddie—were standing.
‘Ah, here he is,’ Eddie announced with palpable relief and obvious pleasure.
Trinity watched as the guy on the bike, dressed in top-to-toe black leather, dismounted with a long-legged ease that spoke of many hours in the seat. His helmet was a sleek black dome—gleaming and aerodynamic.
A little hand tugged at her pants and Trinity glanced down at her son, who was even more bug-eyed than he had been witnessing her drop two beefy teenagers to the ground.
‘Mummy,’ he whispered. ‘It’s the black Power Ranger.’
Trinity