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“I’m not sure,” he says. “We definitely have his fingerprints. They would’ve shown up when we ran the cards.”

“True. Does anyone here look like him?” I pull my Santa Cheat Sheet from my pocket and flip through it. “I would’ve sensed his presence by now, I’m sure of it. He’s Hawk!”

Nathan hesitates. “This is too mastermind-y. Hawk was more of a follow-the-orders kind of guy. He didn’t have threaten-your-life-as-a-riddling-Santa vibes.”

“I know we all went through a lot together and it felt like he was on our side, but he wasn’t,” I remind Nathan. “It was forced cooperation or prison time. Hawk was looking out for himself. He was a solid vouch, but he had access to the same network of criminals. With my history with informants, I’d rather be extra cautious. Getting screwed over publicly is brutal. He could absolutely want revenge—”

“Along with everyone who got arrested on that boat.” After a few long seconds, Nathan adds, “Bijoux. She had the most to lose.”

A burst of cold runs down the length of my spine. “I’d want revenge if I were her. Arrested at her birthday party after almost getting away, and in front of everyone who worked for her? Yikes.”

“She’s a mastermind who knows a lot of dangerous people willing to do things for her,” Nathan says. “But she’s been in FBI custody until her court hearing.”

“So she’s not competing in the Con,” I think out loud. “She could have people playing and taking care of her tasks. Seems like a lot to go through for two random agents, though I guess we’re not totally random. She hates both of us. Maybe she’s trying to finish the job.”

I stuff my hand in my pocket, feeling the Ring Pop. Another mystery. Everything’s compounding, and we still don’t have clear answers. We need to keep going.

We toss our to-go containers and head back to the event, passing the area where all the convertibles are parked. That’s when we see it.

A note, tucked under the windshield wiper of our scraped-up convertible. Before opening the envelope, I snap photos to send to Meyers and Bird and ask for footage from this vicinity.

There’ll be no going home for Christmas,

the games aren’t over yet.

I’m having a grand ol’ time

And you are, too, I bet.

As for why and when and where and what,

here’s what I’ll say for who,

No one’s ever who they seem,

something you both know well, don’t you?

Just two more little games

and after we shall meet.

When we reunite,

I think it will be sweet.

“Oh yeah,” I say with a huff. “We’re having the time of our lives.”

“‘No one’s ever who they seem,’” Nathan reads. “And then he relates it to us.” He surveys the crowd of people, as though one might stand out. Sadistic Santa’s evasive, but this isn’t a Dickens story. He’s not a literal ghost. He’s here somewhere. “What you said earlier about these clues being related to operations you and I have done together… there’s something there. This language feels bitter, like he’s trying to prove a point because he knows we go undercover. Is that why he’s doing this? Everyone here is undercover. You think these people are actually Santa Claus? Come on.”

“He references two more games, like he’s still in them,” I analyze. “That sounds… too certain. There’s something strange about that. The next competition is going to be intense. Physical. It’s too risky for Sadistic Santa to compete. You saw how Freddie almost didn’t make it, and yet this person sounds positive he’s going to be there at the end.”

“Which means he can’t get out,” Nathan says, fiddling with the silver buckle on his boot. “And not in an I-can’t-get-eliminated way. This guy couldn’t risk the possibility of being cut.”

It’s like the air around us gets colder as his words click. I look over at the freestanding chimneys in the field where the four judges and two hosts are huddled.

“I think I was wrong,” I admit. “So is the off-site team. Sadistic Santa’s definitely in the games. He’s just not competing in them.”

Chapter 27