A/N: Got a late start at proofreading this chapter, so I'm posting it first & proofreading it after. Excuse any typos, which I'll hopefully catch and fix before I embarrass myself too much, heh. Dedicating this chapter to sheepish123, whose birthday is tomorrow. Happy birthday, my friend! I hope it's awesome, and here's a (mostly) happy chapter for you. :) Merry Devilishverse Christmas to everybody as well, lol. The next four chapters were all one before I edited; I think the breaks work pretty well, though. This is the only one I think ends a little abruptly, but that's probably because I'm used to reading the whole thing together. Okay, I'll let you go read now. Enjoy.

CHAPTER 17: Neither the Angels in Heaven Above

. . .

The presents that had taken hours to wrap took no more than five minutes—although, it felt more like five seconds—for the kids to tear through, ripping and clawing like a trio of rabid wolves. Olivia had never in her life seen such a sight. Last Christmas had been livelier than she was used to, with just the two children, but Matilda had still been young enough to need help opening her gifts, and Noah had loved playing the helpful big brother. This year, Matilda grasped the concept of unwrapping (and new toys!) much better, and with Jesse added to the mix, it was a veritable free-for-all.

Throw in two excitable pups and a moderately healed Amanda, who was ecstatic that her mother would soon be returning to Georgia, and it was the most animated Christmas morning Olivia had ever known. The holiday had been one of the better ones from her childhood—Serena loved it and put more effort into the festivities than at any other time of year—but sedate compared to this madness, and more like a performance than a family celebration. The one day a year Serena acted like a mother and Olivia got to be the doted upon only child. Spending an entire day together had been so awkward for both of them, they actually blushed when they took turns opening their presents while the other watched.

None of Olivia and Amanda's children had that problem. In fact, Olivia had yelped and took a step back after the last gifts were handed out, the go-ahead was announced, and the melee commenced. Amanda laughed and assured her it was perfectly normal for kids, especially siblings, to turn into a bloodthirsty mob on Santa's big day, as she called it. According to the detective, she and her sister had once knocked over the tree in their excitement, starting a minor fire that left a scorch mark in the living room carpet.

"This is what you get when you join the Rollins clan, my darlin'," Amanda said, tugging Olivia into her lap and grinning as they watched the flurry of colorful wrapping paper, ribbons, and bows whirling around them. "Sure you don't want to get out while you still can?"

"Not on your life," Olivia had replied, stealing a soft kiss before shifting aside to sit thigh to thigh with her fiancée on the couch. It had more to do with Amanda's wound needing a couple more weeks of recovery than it did with Beth Anne giving them the stink eye from her seat in the armchair.

If you only knew what I did to your daughter in that chair, Olivia thought smugly, and draped her arm around Amanda's shoulders. Not the most effective response, but she was fed up with being judged in her own home by a woman who made it clear she despised Olivia every chance she got. And always while wearing that bratty little grin. The more Olivia saw it, the more it reminded her of some sharp-toothed, jeering carnivore—a crocodile or a hyena. Something that smiled while it ate you, bones and all.

The one good thing to come from the older woman's continued presence was how closely it had driven Olivia and Amanda together in opposition to her. Rather than fighting with each other about Beth Anne, they were bonding over their mutual dislike of her. In a juvenile and catty sort of way, it was almost fun to gang up on her when she wasn't looking. Olivia had never had that option with her own mother. The few times she'd tried to defy Serena or stand up to her drunken, verbal abuse, it had ended badly. Usually with Olivia getting hurt—and not just by words. Eventually, she learned to stop trying, although by that time, it didn't really matter anymore. Serena's favorite pastime while drunk had been picking fights with her teenage daughter and proving how thoroughly she could win them. By any means necessary.

Knowing Beth Anne could be verbally or physically reduced to dust at any moment, if Olivia said the word (for it was Amanda who most longed to put the woman in her place, and only held back for the children and Olivia's sake), was comforting. But try as she might to ignore the rejection, to laugh it off as her very own "monster-in-law" tale or to simply rise above it as she normally would when treated with disdain, it still hurt. What was it about her that made it impossible to ever know a mother's love? Serena had her reasons, as difficult as they had been—and still were—for Olivia to understand, but Beth Anne seemed to hate her just for sport. It bothered her far more than she cared to admit.

She and Amanda had tried multiple times, subtly and tactfully, to encourage Beth Anne to either return to Georgia or relocate to a hotel for the remainder of her stay. Each time, Beth Anne somehow finagled "one more night" out of them, whether it was by fretting over the price of a Manhattan hotel room (Amanda still wouldn't let Olivia foot the bill) or with a sob story about being alone on Christmas. Before they knew it, three weeks had gone by, and their houseguest hadn't budged. It was three of the longest weeks of Olivia's life, and she couldn't wait for it to be over. In the meantime, she would just enjoy watching her children play with their new toys while she snuggled with her bride-to-be.

She was chuckling at Noah's attempt to moonwalk in the patent leather dance shoes he'd desperately wanted, when Amanda reached over the arm of the couch, bringing forth a small but heavy gift bag Olivia didn't recall seeing before now and placing it in her lap.

"Merry Christmas, city girl," Amanda said, deep fondness in her tone and in those brilliant blue eyes, which rivaled the tree lights in warmth and sparkle. She was as excitable on Christmas morning as the kids, and had spent the last half hour sneaking presents out of various hiding spots and slipping them to Olivia like contraband.

Thus far, the stack at Olivia's side contained a pashmina scarf in such a delicate shade of gray it resembled mist, a pair of pajamas that were equally soft and irresistible to touch, a collection of Toni Morrison's most popular works, an expensive red she'd been eager to try, a candle scented like chocolate covered strawberries (it smelled good enough to eat), and reservations for two at a spa Amanda had sworn she would never set foot in. Olivia hadn't scrimped on gifts for her fiancée, but she was beginning to feel embarrassingly spoiled herself. She'd told Amanda not to go overboard—one or two presents were more than enough. So much for that theory.

"Amanda Jo Rollins," she scolded lightly. But she couldn't keep the corners of her mouth from twitching, and when she picked up the bag, giving it a playful little shake next to her ear, she broke into a wide open grin. "What is it?"

"Look inside and see, you cotton-headed ninny muggins."

"Cotton-headed ninny muffins!" Jesse echoed, and fell into a pile of ransacked wrapping paper, clutching her belly and giggling. It was her favorite line from the movie Elf, and the one she'd been repeating—and misquoting—incessantly since family movie night last weekend.

When the kids were in bed that evening, Amanda had requested her favorite holiday movie, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, which she and her mother cackled over from beginning to end. Slapstick comedy was the one thing they seemed to agree on. That, and their disinterest in black and white movies. They had both fallen asleep during Olivia's favorite Christmas film, the original Miracle on 34th Street.

She hadn't watched it in years, but as a kid she'd been glued to the screen whenever it aired in the days leading up to December 25th. Now she remembered why she had loved it so. Maureen O'Hara as the single parent of sweet little Natalie Wood had, to six-year-old Olivia, seemed like the perfect, most beautiful mother in the world. She took booze away from an inebriated Santa and didn't drink it herself (even at six, Olivia had trouble suspending disbelief for that one); she showed affection for Natalie every chance she got, pulling the girl into her lap, playing with her hair, and never yelling or hitting; and when Natalie befriended the man next door, Maureen didn't throw a fit and tell her daughter the man wanted to do bad things to little girls—instead, she fell in love with him, and Natalie got a daddy!

For years Olivia had harbored a secret wish that her life could be like that movie. She'd finally put it to rest around the age of thirteen, but the ache was always there forever after. At the age of fifty-two, it had quieted to a sad, nostalgic longing, like the memory of past Christmases themselves. She had been glad Amanda and Beth Anne were asleep, so they didn't see her cry.

"Mimmy nubbins," Matilda sang out, trying to imitate Noah's ballet moves as he cavorted around Jesse, leaping and twirling and kicking up scraps of paper and shiny bows.

'Twas the dance of the sugarplum ninny muggins.

A thought occurred to Olivia then, and she had to blink rapidly to keep the tears from falling again—she had it better now than the mother and daughter in some old black and white movie ever did. She smiled warmly at the scene in front of her, at Amanda, and hugged the gift bag to her chest, in her contentment forgetting that she hadn't looked inside yet.

"Aw, babe, are you cryin'?" Amanda asked with a fond little laugh. She ruffled the back of Olivia's hair, then lowered that hand to the nape of her neck, idly stroking. "You haven't even opened it yet. I swear, for such a tough cop, you really are a chick sometimes."

"I'm still the chick who could kick your—" Before Olivia could decide which euphemism to use for Amanda's ass, she plucked aside the red tissue paper in the bag and gasped at what she saw beneath it. There, face up at the bottom of the peppermint-striped bag, was her Breitling watch.

The cracked crystal had been replaced with an even finer glass, so clear it was nearly imperceptible, and when Olivia gingerly lifted it for a closer look, she noticed that the wrist strap was new as well. The old one had been solid black onyx; the rich, supple leather of this one had a deep purple undertone, like blackberries. For a moment she thought it might be a whole new watch, but she could feel the inscription from her mother on the back. Long ago, her fingertips had memorized the feel of those words, as if a touch could make them more real, more tangible. As if it made them true.

"Oh my God, Amanda." A hand over her heart, Olivia gazed back and forth between her fiancée and the watch, unsure which to marvel at the most. Then the tears really did come, glistening in her eyes and giving the Breitling and Amanda's flaxen hair a fairytale shimmer. "When did you— How did you—"

"That night we went to the mall," Amanda said, beaming with unmistakable pride. She looked about as delighted as the kids had when they handed out their homemade gifts of macaroni necklaces (the ones Frannie hadn't snacked on, that was) and pipe cleaner ornaments. "And it was just sittin' there in your drawer. Ain't like I had to be very sneaky. Okay, I may have hummed a few bars of the Pink Panther theme, but that was it."

Olivia only half-heard the joke, too busy rubbing the wrist strap between her fingertips, savoring the soft genuine leather, to laugh. It had cost her a small fortune to replace the metal bracelet that originally held the dial in place, and this new strap was nicer than the one she'd splurged on years ago. "But sweetie, it's so expensive. You didn't need to spend that much on me."

The joy on Amanda's face faltered briefly, but it resumed the very next moment with such puckish charm—and that dimple—the fleeting expression seemed nothing more than a glitch. "Sure I did," she said, batting lightly with her finger at a long strand of Olivia's hair that had slipped from behind one shoulder. "And you let me worry about the price tag. Ain't no amount too high when it comes to my girl."

A scoff from Beth Anne cut Olivia short as she was about to counter that, yes, some prices were way too high, despite how much you loved someone. Until then, Olivia had almost forgotten that the other woman was there. She sighed, steeling herself for whatever fresh insult she was about to receive. But the insult, when it came, wasn't directed at her.

"You got something to say, Mama?" Amanda asked, without taking her eyes off Olivia and the watch.

"Oh, it's nothing." Beth Anne fluttered her hand in the air for them to carry on, but not without giving an indifferent shrug and adding, "You just sound exactly like your father. He used to say the same thing to me. It's how we ended up barely scraping by half the time."

"You know what," Amanda said too loudly, her gaze snapping around in Beth Anne's direction. Olivia placed her hand on the detective's knee and nodded to the children, who didn't appear to be listening—but always were. Forcing a tight-lipped smile, Amanda shook her head several times, looking as if she'd just heard a terribly unfunny punchline. "Watches were never really Daddy's style. How 'bout you, Mama? You like watches?"

There was a weight to the words, and to the sly, almost identical smirks on the other women's faces, that Olivia didn't quite understand. By now, she realized they didn't need a reason to be at each other's throats—the mother and daughter argued about everything from television volume to which way the toilet paper should unroll—but their death glares seemed even more loaded than usual. Olivia had spent the last few weeks playing referee between the pair, mostly so the kids wouldn't be subjected to any arguments. It was a daunting task.

"I like them just fine, Amanda Jo." Beth Anne kept a steady gaze on her daughter, not backing down from whatever silent challenge had been laid out before her. "But I can't see spending as much on one as I pay for almost an entire year's rent. It's a waste of good money. Y'all are police officers, not doctors or lawyers."

How Beth Anne knew the price of the watch, Olivia couldn't say, but she didn't have time to contemplate, because Amanda was fuming. The detective didn't care how her mother knew the Breitling's worth, only that her judgment was being questioned. And, Olivia suspected, the lawyer comment had hit an extra sore spot. She still hadn't told Amanda about the phone call from Alex that same night they were at the mall. She didn't want to see the look on the blonde's face that was there now.

"Well, she paid to have it repaired, not purchased brand new," Olivia said, aiming the comment at Beth Anne while smiling encouragingly at Amanda. "And it's her money, she can do whatever she wants with it. I love it so much. Thank you, my love."

Amanda's cheeks pinkened with pleasure this time, instead of fury. Her shoulders relaxed inside the red fleece robe she wore over her fluffy white pajamas. She resembled a candy cane, but her voice was pure hot chocolate when she smiled back at Olivia and directed, "Turn it over."

At first, Olivia only saw the inscription from her mother on the opposite side of the watch face. She scanned the old, familiar lines out of habit. Seldom did she read them anymore. She didn't like to dwell.

"Here, baby." Gently, Amanda took the watch and pointed to something on one of the straps, holding it up for Olivia to see.

Even with her glasses on, Olivia had to squint to see the words etched along the dark leather backing. "A little . . . pretty," she sounded out, not quite able to decipher the rest. She cocked her head, striving with every last bit of lens correction to bring it into focus. God, she felt about ninety sometimes.

"For my city girl," Amanda finished, chuckling at the difficulty Olivia was having. She turned the watch crosswise, running her thumbnail under each word for Olivia to follow along. It didn't help much, but it did put their faces closer together, and Amanda took full advantage, pecking her on the tip of the nose. "Love, Me."

And, a moment later: "You like?"

Olivia flashed her widest, prettiest grin, nodding enthusiastically. She didn't much like being on the receiving end of gifts, especially overpriced ones, but this one came from the heart and she truly had missed her watch. It was the best present she'd gotten in a long time. "I love it."

She pulled back the sleeve of her pink reindeer pajamas and held out her wrist for Amanda to fit the timepiece on. When it was in place, one notch off from being tight enough (she would fix the blonde's tentative buckling later), she leaned in to kiss Amanda warmly on the lips. Beth Anne could go right on huffing and puffing like the old bellows she was—Olivia damn well intended to show her fiancée the affection she deserved. "It's perfect," she murmured, sliding her palms up to Amanda's cheeks and cupping them gently for another kiss. "You're perfect."

"Ewww, Mommy's kissing Mama again!" Jesse cried. The little girl seemed to have reached the age when any lip lock between grownups, no matter how brief or chaste, was cause for disgust. But to be fair, she deemed almost everything "gross" or "icky" lately, including boys, frilly clothes, and most food. The only things that didn't make her list of vomitous items were the dogs, pizza, and her little sister, who parroted Jesse so often, Amanda had started calling her Rerun. ("I not wee won," Matilda insisted.)

Right on cue, the toddler piped in with a much less disapproving, "Mommy tissing Mama!" and flitted over to the sofa on her tiptoes. She had developed that habit recently too—walking on just the balls of her feet—and Olivia was trying to encourage her out of it without becoming too concerned about neurological or developmental problems. The pediatrician assured her that Matilda was healthy and hitting all the milestones for a two-and-a-half-year-old.

Sometimes, though, if Olivia let herself dwell too much on what she didn't know about her daughter's genetics (Amelia had been simple enough to research, but Calvin, with his nomadic existence and name changes, was almost impossible), she started to fret. Amanda did well keeping her grounded, reminding her that the birth parents and grandparents had all been physically healthy, despite their untimely deaths. The detective never mentioned their mental health, and Olivia did her best not to think about it. At times like this, with Matilda balanced on tiptoe, craning her neck and leaning over Olivia's knees, lips puckered for a "tiss," it was so easy to forget.

"Uh-oh, Mama, somebody else wants a tissy," Olivia said, scooping up Matilda and settling the child in her lap. It was a world of difference from holding Noah at that age. As lithe and slender as he was now, he had been a lug from the first moment she'd held him at five months old, right up until age three or four. Matilda was as light and dainty as a little bird from the first time Olivia held her at two months old, and that hadn't changed since.

Wrapping her daughter up in a snug embrace, Olivia dotted kisses to the child's delicate alabaster cheeks. They were even fairer than Amanda's, and they always mysteriously smelled of pancake syrup, though Matilda wouldn't touch the stuff. "Mmm, Mommy's girl," she sighed, nuzzling Matilda's auburn curls and leaning her towards Amanda, who wanted in on the snuggles. The detective gathered both of them into her arms, dropping kisses wherever they might land—hair, forehead, neck, one comically misplaced on Olivia's eyelid, another directly to Matilda's nostrils.

Eventually, the pecking became playful biting, Amanda's lips curled around her teeth as she made gobbling noises, like Cookie Monster with a plateful of Chips Ahoy! When the bites turned into tickles, Olivia squirmed and giggled as freely as her two-year-old, twisting sideways to shield them from the attack. It was a hopeless defense. Amanda had called in reinforcements, in the shape of Noah, who literally danced into the battle, jazz hands at the ready; Jesse, who didn't think tickle fights were at all gross, as long as she did the tickling; Frannie, who crash landed in the middle of everything; and Gigi, who didn't know which human to help first and therefore licked them all, tail fanning rapidly. Soon, the sofa was alive with flailing limbs, shrieks of laughter, and a cyclone of dog fur.

Minutes later, they had to call it quits because Amanda was clutching her stomach and groaning, "Good Lord," through pained chuckles and Olivia was in serious danger of peeing her pants ("Ewww," Jesse declared). Matilda had ended up in Amanda's arms at some point during the fracas, and as they all came down from the excitement, panting and spluttering a few final giggles, Amanda gazed over top of the curly-headed little girl and asked in a wry but affectionate tone, "You really want another one of these?"

It was the first mention Amanda had made of a baby in weeks, and Olivia hadn't attempted to broach the subject, either. She was relying on her old tried and true method of refusing to talk about a thing until it finally went away. But as she watched Amanda combing and fluffing Matilda's ringlets with her fingers, just as she was alternating strokes through Jesse's long blonde hair and Noah's golden-brown mop—the two older children had flopped down in front of the sofa to catch their breath—she realized she didn't want the subject to go away. Maybe, just maybe, she did want another child. And maybe she wanted it to be Amanda Rollins' baby.

"Could be fun," Olivia said softly. She tilted her head to one side, the hair swept over that shoulder cascading down her breast in a feminine pose she knew the detective found irresistible. She hadn't set out to charm her way to a fourth child, but Amanda had taught her a thing or two about getting exactly what she desired. "Don't you think?"

Amanda sighed and turned Matilda's face towards her. "Tell your mommy she fights dirty, Tilly," she said solemnly, then turned Matilda back, cheeks squished in her hand. She squeezed on either side, making the child's puckered lips move as if she were a sock puppet, and narrated in a high-pitched voice: "You fight dirty, Mommy. Let Mama at least get her strength back before you knock her up, capeesh?"

"Peesh?" echoed Matilda.

"Amanda." Olivia widened her eyes at the blonde and glanced sidelong, towards the chair where Beth Anne sat. The older woman had been uncharacteristically quiet since her comments about the watch, but Olivia could feel those green eyes boring holes into the back of her head. Even if Beth Anne didn't dislike her so much, she still would have preferred a less graphic discussion in front of her future mother-in-law.

"Wadn't me," Amanda said, putting her hands up in a blameless gesture. She pointed at Matilda. "Talk to the kid."

"Does Mommy need a bath?" Jesse asked, looking up from the Biblical pop-up book that was a gift from—who else—Grammy Beth. Getting a confused look from the adults, she elaborated, "'Cause she fights in the dirt."

Olivia cocked an eyebrow at Amanda. See? Always listening.

Not the least bit fazed by the question, Amanda reached down and tousled the little blonde head. "It was a joke, Jess. Fighting dirty means someone's not playing fair."

"You mean Mommy's a cheater?" Jesse asked, eyeing Olivia with suspicion. If there had been a record player in the room, it would have screeched to a halt at that very moment.

All three of the children were staring at Olivia now, each with varying levels of shock—none whatsoever from Jesse, rounded eyes and slack jaw from Noah, and a start from Matilda, who reacted to a sudden lurch from the woman holding her.

"Whoa, hey, no." Amanda sat forward quickly, waving her hands for the trio's attention. This time the question fazed her. She cast an apologetic look at Olivia, who was torn between amusement and an uneasy feeling she didn't have a name for (it felt like guilt). The latter was dismissed without much effort, and she settled into a cocky smirk as Amanda tried to talk her way out of trouble. "That is not what I meant. Mommy never ever ever cheats. Mommy is practically perfect in every way."

"That's Mary Poppins," Jesse said, and resumed reading about Jonah being swallowed by the big fish. A whale-like creature sprang up from the page, with a tab that drew the Jonah paper doll into the beast's mouth when pulled. Jesse tugged it and Jonah swam right in.

"Mary Popsins," Matilda agreed, but she stretched out her small arms to Olivia, seeking a calmer lap to cuddle up in. Noah had lost interest and returned to playing with his Hot Wheels racetrack. He made the toy cars dance before fitting them into the launcher.

Everyone had forgotten the discussion at hand, it seemed. Everyone except Beth Anne. "Do you think that's wise?" she asked in an exaggerated whisper, a hand shielding one side of her mouth. She glanced pointedly at each child. "Having another? Forgive me, dear, but you're not exactly in the spring of your youth. By the time college comes around, you'll be . . . what, seventy?"

That comment had been directed at Olivia, and the critical eye she met with now didn't belong to a five-year-old. It swept over her from fuzzy socks to fuzzy, slept-on hair, the green irises a shade darker than they were moments earlier. Viper-scale green.

Inside the precinct and out, Olivia had dealt with her share of pretty, bitchy women who thought they could cut her down to size with a glare like that. She was confident enough in her looks and her authority that it seldom struck a nerve. But this was in her own home and Beth Anne had gone after one of Olivia's tender spots—her age. Especially when it called into question her ability to be a mother.

"And you don't have many childbearing years left," Beth Anne said, turning on Amanda. "If any at all. It gets much harder with age, you know. There are all sorts of birth defects—"

"Okay. That's enough." At the same time she spoke, Amanda clapped once, so loudly and abruptly it made Olivia jump. (For some reason Beth Anne smiled at that.) The children looked up in mild surprise as well, and both dogs jerked their heads up, Frannie uttering a gruff little woof.

The only one not affected was Beth Anne, who went on sipping her tea as if nothing had happened. Those viper eyes gazed over the brim of her tea cup, alight with deviltry.

"How's that ham coming along, Mama?" Amanda asked a bit darkly. Food was clearly the last thing on her mind as she glared at her mother. "Why don't you go check on it?"

And don't come back, though not spoken aloud, was implied. Or perhaps that was just what Olivia heard in her head. She hugged her daughter close as she watched Beth Anne saunter out to the kitchen. The only other good thing about having Amanda's mother as a houseguest was her cooking. They had feasted like kings for the past three weeks, and Christmas dinner promised to be the best Olivia and her children had ever eaten. But she would have settled for pre-made if it meant being rid of the tension and its source—the woman preparing the meals.

"You okay?" Amanda asked quietly, scrunching her fingers around the thick sheaf of hair at the back of Olivia's neck. "Don't let her bullsh— her antiquated ideas about you-know-what bother you. She also believes Elvis is alive and the Confederate flag is a symbol of her Southern heritage."

Olivia offered a weak smile, trying not to let on how much Beth Anne's comments had bothered her. She was well aware she would be in her late sixties by the time Matilda turned eighteen. That realization had very nearly kept her from adopting the little girl. It didn't seem fair to become someone's mother, only for them to see you grow old and die while they were still so young.

It was love that had finally changed Olivia's mind. She had enough love to give her son and daughters to last them a hundred lifetimes. They would be strong, self-sufficient, well-adjusted adults by the time she left them, and they would know that she'd loved them with everything she had. That would be her greatest accomplishment, her legacy.

How could she not want to share that with another child—a perfect, innocent soul she helped bring into the world? Age and fear and the desire to do something important with her life had taken one child from her already. She couldn't let that happen again. And now she had Amanda, the only person she trusted to take up the mantle for her, when and if she ever had to lay it down.

"Yeah, I'm okay," she said, her smile more genuine this time. She rested her hand on the lump under Amanda's fluffy robe, approximately where a knee should be, and squeezed lightly. "Are you? She went after you a little bit there, too."

"I'm all right. She's had a bug up her butt about age ever since she hit fifty. Wants to make everyone else feel old right along with her." Amanda rolled her pretty blue eyes heavenward. "Not sure who said 'misery loves company,' but I think they'd met my mama."

Glancing up from the pride of lions that were menacing a boy inside their paper den, Jesse inquired, "Why doesn't Grammy like you, Mommy?"

Noah paused in the middle of loosing a car from the cannonlike device that shot it onto the track. He accidentally hit the detonator anyway, and the car spiraled through a series of loops and careened across the room, landing somewhere inside the Christmas tree. "Oops," he said sheepishly, then forgot about the toy altogether, his focus on Olivia.

The only child not looking to her for an answer was Matilda; worn out from playing with her new rocking horse, the toddler was now nodding off, her tiny fingers curled around the collar of Olivia's pajama top. She often fell asleep with her hand tucked inside of Olivia's blouses, comforted by the warmth and skin-to-skin contact. It never failed to make Olivia feel loved and needed.

She tried to think about that as she answered her children. "I'm not sure, sweet girl. I think your grammy just needs some time to get used to me. It's harder for grownups to get along sometimes."

Amanda scoffed, muttering under her breath. "Especially when one of them is a total bi—"

"But the important thing is," Olivia said hastily, raising her voice and tightening her grip on Amanda's knee, "she loves you kids. And she's a good grandma. It's okay if someone doesn't like me, but they better be nice to my girls and my guy, or else they're in big trouble."

"How big?" Jesse asked, suddenly enthralled. In her excitement, she stood up and boxed at the air like a tiny blonde prizefighter. She had never looked more like Amanda than that exact moment. "Will you kick her butt?"

"Yep." Olivia gave a matter-of-fact nod, only realizing a second later what a mistake it was, when she saw the pensive look on Noah's face. All those lectures about not expressing himself with violence, never shoving or hitting girls, never shoving or hitting anyone—and then she threatened to do just that. Facetiousness was lost on seven-year-olds.

Five-year-olds, too. Before anyone had time to grab her by the train of her nightgown, Jesse ran for the kitchen at full tilt, hollering, "Guess what, Grammy? My mommy is gonna kick your butt!"

"Oh, shit," Olivia muttered, then cringed when Noah went bug-eyed. She and Amanda hardly ever cursed in front of the kids, although the detective was far more likely to slip. Most of the time it was "sonuvabitch," but apparently "shit" had made an appearance or two as well, judging by the recognition on Noah's face. They would need to have another one of their special talks when Christmas was over.

"I'll take care of it." Amanda pushed up from the couch, grunting with effort and holding her belly. She wavered in place for a second, the other hand on her head as if she'd gotten a rush from standing too quickly. Then she was off, bellowing Jesse's full name and hurrying after her.

Olivia regarded her son, debating whether or not to dampen the Christmas mood after all with a hypocritical speech about the evils of swearing, when a text message decided for her. She reached for her cell phone on the end table, next to Amanda's, and brought up her messages just as another one buzzed through. Both were from Alex Cabot, and the gray ellipsis bubble winked underneath, indicating another text was in progress. Olivia couldn't help feeling relieved that she'd set the phone to vibrate the night before. She hadn't expected any interruptions today—no family members were going to call and wish her happy holidays—but she'd wanted her first Christmas morning with Amanda to be perfect. Texts from Alex, no matter how brief, would shatter the illusion almost as certainly as Beth Anne's unwanted presence already had.

Sighing, she read:

Merry Christmas, Liv (and family)! I hope you're having a wonderful day.

Are we still on for New Year's?

. . .

. . .