Trixie leaned back against the smooth black leather of the living room couch. Surrounding her on the coffee table and polished hardwood floors were file folders, loose papers, and two plates and forks with remnants of cheesecake still clinging to them.

“Nothing! I still can’t find anything important in these files.” She tossed the last paper she had been reading on the floor beside her and rubbed her blood-shot eyes.

Dan snickered as he continued to skim a file. “You don't consider the fact that Bill kept referring to someone as his “good luck charm” important? For his sake, I hope he wasn't talking about his former partner. I think Patrick Kelly would be more than a little offended.” When Trixie didn't respond, he looked up from the file he held in his hand. “Trixie, it’s after midnight. We’ve spent three evenings sorting through these files. Let’s give it a break and get some sleep.” He studied Trixie’s pinched face more carefully and frowned.

“Trixie, are you feeling okay?”

Trixie’s eyes flew open and Dan was startled to notice the dark circles beneath the normally sparkling sapphires.

“I’m fine, Dan. I just haven’t been sleeping very well lately.” She paused. “There’s something about these files that’s bothering me.” Trixie started gathering the papers and Dan knew that the conversation had been terminated.

He took the files from her hands. “I’ll clean this up. You want to be ready for your session with Keith in the morning, right?”

Trixie groaned, a spark of life returning to her face. “Have I mentioned just how out of condition I am? Three months of living in hotels and staking out an arms dealer did nothing for my muscle tone.”

Dan shrugged. “It won’t take you long to get back into it. That’s what Keith is for, right?”

Trixie shuddered. “You mean The Punisher? I swear, the man was laughing at me all Tuesday. He worked me extra hard on Monday so that the next day he could watch me walk as if I were made of wood. I think he gets some kind of sick pleasure out of it.”

Dan chuckled and drew her to her feet. “You know he pushes you because you’re good. He wouldn’t spend so much time with you if you weren’t. Remember the first time you knocked him down?”

Trixie’s eyes sparkled in remembrance. “Man, was that sweet. The look on his face was priceless.”

“That, and the look on the face of every other trainee in the room,” Dan corrected her. Trixie blushed as he continued. “Just remember that when you go up against him tomorrow. You’ve brought him down before, and you’ll do it again.”

Trixie smiled and headed for bedroom, grateful to leave the mess of papers behind. “Sleep well, Danno.”

“You, too, Friday.”

Trixie tugged the white and cornflower blue comforter around her securely. Too hot. One leg fought its way out of the covers and dangled over the edge of the bed. She tried to lie still, in the hope that if she quieted her body, her mind would follow suit and she would be able to sleep.

Instead, Trixie’s mind replayed the conversation with her mother from earlier in the week. Her heart ached as she remembered her mother's cautious surprise when Trixie had told her she'd be coming home for Christmas. Of course she's cautious, Trixie told herself. How many times have I had to cancel trips home? How many family gatherings have I missed?

Worse still was the hesitation when she asked if Dan could stay at Crabapple Farm. Moms had agreed, of course, but they both knew that it was bound to raise the tension level between Trixie and her brothers.

Trixie restlessly turned over, tucked her leg back under the covers, and tried to envision Christmas at Crabapple Farm. Presents under the tree, family, friends. Her restlessness grew more acute. Okay, maybe thinking about the strained relationships in my life isn’t the best way to relax.

Maybe thinking about work will do the trick. Our latest case is wrapped up. The bad guys are in custody, the weapons seized, and even the paperwork is almost complete.

Paperwork. Trixie frowned and kicked off the covers. We still haven’t made any headway with Bill’s files. She rolled onto her back and stared into the darkness. Her bedside table and dresser were faintly illuminated by a streetlight. Trixie closed her eyes and played her old game of trying to remember as many details of her room as she could.

What’s on the bedside table? My digital clock, cell phone, and charger. A book. On the chair? The clothes I was wearing today. She grimaced, and resolved to keep her room tidier. My dresser? A basket with make up. A box of tissue. A jewellery box.

No good. I’m still wide awake. Be more specific. Which book is on the bedside table? The Xibalba Murders, by Lyn Hamilton. Which clothes are on the chair? Navy suit from work. White blouse. Thank goodness it doesn’t crease easily. Navy and orange UVA sweatshirt. Jeans. What’s in the make up basket? Brown eyeliner. Black eyeliner. Eye shadow that I never use. Mascara. Blush. Lipstick. She frowned. What’s the name of the shade of lipstick? Right. Pretty in Pink. She shuddered. What was I thinking? Sunbronze suits me much better. What’s the picture on the box of tissues? Children playing in the snow. Two girls and a boy. One girl has blonde hair and is wearing a red jacket. The other girl has brown hair and a green sweater. The boy is dark and is wearing blue.

Pleased with her memory recall on the tissue box, Trixie moved on to the jewellery box. The black onyx necklace Diana brought me from Mexico. The silver identification bracelet from Jim. Trixie quickly moved on to the next item. The daughter ring my parents gave me on my sixteenth birthday. The chain and cross Bill gave me.

Trixie drew in a deep breath and slowly released it. She could see each item in the jewellery box clearly. The black onyx necklace is interspersed with silver squares, and white gems. Pearl? She paused. Not good. She’d taken a course in identifying jewellery and was able to tell the difference between real and imitation stones. She knew that the necklace from Diana was made of genuine, but relatively inexpensive stones. She just couldn’t remember what the white stone was.

She moved on the silver identification bracelet from Jim and subconsciously rubbed her bare wrist. Sturdy flat surface with Jim’s name. Thin but strong links. A broken clasp.

The daughter ring caught her inner eye next. Two green stones on the outside, a diamond in the middle. My birthstone is emerald, Moms’ is peridot, and Daddy’s is diamond. The emerald should be in the middle, but it looks better this way.

Trixie moved on to the last item in the jewellery box. Almost reluctantly, an image of the simple, yet beautiful cross filled her mind. Smooth, yellow gold. Each piece of the cross is slightly bevelled. As she concentrated on the picture in her mind, she could almost feel the weight of the cross in her hand. It’s heavier than it looks. She paused. What made me think of that? I haven’t held it since Saturday, and that was only to put it in the jewellery box. I wasn’t even thinking about it, really. I just wanted to put it away so I could read the files. She shook her head and brought her focus back to the cross. Smooth, bevelled, heavy gold with scratches on the underside. She paused. What am I talking about? It can’t be smooth if it’s scratched. Frowning, Trixie tried to recall if there really were scratches on the back. It was only a minor detail, but it irritated her that she couldn’t remember.

She turned over again and told herself that she had actually done quite well in remembering the details of her room, but the idea of scratches on the back of the cross continued to tantalize her mind. After several minutes of ordering herself to go to sleep, she finally threw off the covers and turned on the lamp on her bedside table. Forgot to list the lamp when I was thinking about the table. She stumbled to the dresser and quietly opened the jewellery box. She quickly seized the cross and went back to bed. She studied it carefully, but the dim light of her bedside lamp revealed no scratches. I wonder where that idea came from. Her mind at ease, Trixie placed the cross on the table beside her book and turned the lamp off. She drew the comforter around her and soon drifted to sleep.

One hour later, she awoke suddenly to a frantic hammering. Her foggy mind refused to make sense of what was happening. All she could feel were her sweaty palms, dry throat, and the blood rushing through her ears. As she struggled to make sense of where she was, she first assumed that the thumping was her own heartbeat. As her senses kicked in, Trixie realized that while her heart was beating rapidly, the banging was actually coming from her bedroom door. Just as she was collecting her wits to identify the person at the door, Dan burst into the room.

Dressed only in jeans and looking decidedly rumpled, he scanned the room before hurrying to Trixie.

“Are you okay?” he asked anxiously, turning on the bedside lamp but still peering into the dark recesses of the room.

Trixie stared up at Dan in confusion. “I’m fine. What’s going on?”

It was Dan’s turn to look confused. “You were shouting. I couldn’t make out what you were saying, but you sounded upset.”

Trixie sat up and frowned. “What are you talking about? I was fast asleep when I heard you banging on my door.”

Dan looked at Trixie sceptically. “But I heard you.” He studied her carefully, noting her flushed face and hopelessly tangled covers. “Maybe you had a nightmare?”

Trixie rolled her eyes. “Be serious. I don’t get nightmares.” Not anymore, at least. She stopped. “Although…”

“Although, what?”

Frowning, Trixie replied, “I don’t know. I felt very strange when I woke up.” She shrugged and began straightening the covers. She paused and slowly opened her hand. Dan frowned and sat down on the edge of the bed beside her.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.” She raised her open hand to reveal the cross and chain that she held.

Dan’s eyebrows rose of their own accord. “Why were you sleeping with that?”

“I wasn’t.” Trixie shivered and placed the cross on the bedside table. “It was right here when I fell asleep.” She let go of the cross, but continued to stare at the hand that now displayed imprints of the chain from being clutched too tightly.

Dan tugged the comforter straight and waited for Trixie to settle herself. When she was lying down again, he took one last look around the room and satisfied himself that there wasn’t any danger.

Her lips twitched. “I’m fine, Dan. I don’t know what you heard earlier, but everything’s fine now. Go back to bed.”

Dan studied Trixie and slowly nodded. “All right then. Sweet dreams.” He switched off the lamp.

Trixie shivered again and lay in bed wide-awake after Dan closed the door.

The next day Trixie awakened with dark circles under her eyes and an inexplicable sense of impending doom. She moved as though in a fog until her daily warm up at the gym was finished and she was preparing to take on her coach, Keith. However, when it came time to engage in combat, her long-practiced focus returned. Studying her opponent intently, Trixie was able to easily deflect Keith’s attempts, and to land several important blows herself. She threw herself into the workout, hoping that whatever was bothering her was of little consequence, and could be cured with a good workout.

An hour later, Trixie and Dan were seated at their desks, reviewing information that operatives in the field had gathered on suspicious persons. Trixie sighed and pushed the file away.

“At the rate this is going, we’ll be able to take an extended vacation. There’s nothing going on!”

Dan smiled. “More time at Crabapple Farm? I could get into that. Your mom’s cooking is A-OK with me.”

Trixie smiled and nervously fiddled with the chain around her neck. “I don’t know. Sure, the food is good, but what about the conversation?”

Dan slid his chair closer to Trixie and forced her chin up. “It’s going to be fine, Trixie. It’s really only Brian and Mart that are being difficult, and you figured out how to press their buttons years ago. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s going to be a wonderful Christmas.” He smacked his lips. “I can taste the stuffing now. And the potatoes, and the gravy, the turkey, the pie...”

Trixie laughed and interrupted. “Is there anything you can’t taste? And since when did you turn into Mart?”

Dan shrugged. “It’s all in the Spirit of Christmas.”

Trixie picked up her file again. “Whatever you say, Danno. And,” she continued hopefully, “at least it will be a change from work. Here’s to a few days with no one shooting at us or trying to blow up a factory!”