Secret Agent Santa

by Carol Ericson

  “Just so you know, Mitchell Brown is not my real name. It’s Mike. Mike Becker.”

  “Suits you better.” Crossing her arms, she tapped the toe of her glittering sandal. “When did this fiancé stuff all go down, Mike Becker?”

  He put a hand in the pocket of his dress slacks and toyed with his coat-check ticket. “From the look on your face when I walked in, I figured you hadn’t received Lola’s final text.”

  “She told me she was sending someone from her husband’s agency, but I didn’t know the details. I certainly didn’t know I was acquiring a fiancé.”

  “I didn’t even give Lola all the details.”

  “I have a five-year-old son. To him, you’ll be nothing but a friend, got it?”

  The mama-bear attitude surprised him coming from this glittering goddess, but it figured she’d be protective of her son. He knew all about the boy and the tragic demise of her husband, Shane Chadwick.

  “I know about...your son, and I have no intention of playing the doting fiancé or future stepdad in front of him.”

  She blinked and brushed a wisp of blond hair from her eyes. “Ethan’s going out to his grandparents’ place in a few days, anyway. I’m glad Lola gave you some background, although I’m sure you did some checking on your own.”

  “Of course.” Didn’t she realize that every covert-ops agent at home and abroad knew the story about her husband? Hell, didn’t the entire world know? Mike cleared his throat. “Jack Coburn isn’t too pleased you contacted his wife directly, but when you mentioned a connection between Correll and a terrorist group, we thought it best to investigate. You have some video proof?”

  “I do. I’m sure it proves...something. You’ll see.” She’d hooked her finger around a diamond necklace encircling her neck, and the large pendant glinted in the low light of the library.

  “When can I see it?” Jack wasn’t all that convinced Claire had any proof of anything, but he didn’t want to leave any stone unturned—especially when that stone involved his wife’s friend.

  “I have it in a secure location. I’ll show it to you tomorrow.”

  “Your stepfather would be playing with fire if it’s true. He has access to the highest levels of government.”

  “That’s the scary part. My stepfather is a member of the Senate Intelligence Committee and was on the short list for director a few years ago. He still may be on that list.”

  “We’ll get to the bottom of your suspicions one way or another.”

  Claire tapped her chin with two fingers, and a diamond bracelet matching the necklace slipped to her elbow. “I have more than suspicions. I’m almost positive Spencer is involved in terrorist activity.”

  “You’ll have to give me more of the details, including that video, and I’ll start digging around, but let’s play the loving couple to establish my cover first—just not in front of your son.” He straightened his bow tie as she wandered toward the window to gaze at the winter wonderland. “You weren’t going to jump from that balcony, were you?”

  “So you did know that was me.” She met his eyes in the glass of the window.

  “Not when I first saw you outside, but I figured it out when I saw your dress. It’s rather—” his gaze meandered from the hem of her full skirt to the top of the dress that had a deep V slashed almost to her waist “—distinctive.”

  “Well, I would hope so. I paid enough money for it.” She tapped a manicured fingernail on the windowpane. “I was hiding from Spencer. I had been in his office trying out passwords to unlock his computer when he and some smarmy donor decided to have a meeting.”

  Whistling through his teeth, Mike joined her at the window. “Claire, why are you really after your stepfather? Most people don’t see a few odd signs, a meeting on video with someone suspicious and immediately think ‘terrorist plot.’”

  “Just wait until you hear the whole story and see the videos before jumping to conclusions about me and my motives.”

  “Deal.” He held out his hand and they shook on it. Still keeping her hand in his, he said, “Now, let’s go downstairs and pretend to be a newly engaged couple.”

  Pointing out the window, she pressed her forehead against the glass. “Speaking of terrorism, there’s the director down there. Isn’t he technically your boss?”

  “Technically, although I’ve never met him and most of what we do at Prospero is under the CIA radar.” He glanced into the street, where a balding man was exiting a town car as a valet held open his door. “I’m surprised to see him at your party. Didn’t you have some beef with him a few years ago?”

  Another valet hurried to the front of the vehicle, stooped over and then continued up the street at a jog.

  The hair on the back of Mike’s neck quivered at about the same time one of the director’s security detail lunged across the car toward his charge.

  Mike instinctively grabbed Claire around the waist and yanked her away from the window just as the explosion shattered the glass and rocked the town house.

  Chapter Two

  Claire landed on the floor with Mike’s body on top of hers. Acrid smoke billowed into the room from the shattered window and her nostrils twitched.

  Mike’s face loomed above hers, his mouth forming words she couldn’t hear over the ringing in her ears. Sprinkles of glass quivered in his salt-and-pepper hair like ice crystals, and she reached out to catch them on the tips of her fingers.

  The crystals bit into her flesh and she frowned at the spot of blood beading on her fingertip.

  Mike rose to his knees over her and dragged her across the carpet, away from the jagged window. She couldn’t breathe. Cold fear began to seep into her blood.

  Rolling to her stomach, she began to crawl toward the door.

  Mike’s voice pierced her panic. “Claire. Are you all right?”

  Cranking her head over her shoulder, she had enough breath left in her lungs to squeeze out one word. “Ethan.”

  Mike jumped to his feet and hooked her beneath her arms, pulling her up next to him. “Where is he?”

  She pointed to the ceiling with a trembling finger, and then launched herself at the door of the library, her knees wobbling like pudding.

  Mike followed her upstairs, keeping a steadying hand on the small of her back. Through her fog, Claire heard shrieks and commotion from downstairs. The noise shot adrenaline through her system, and she ran up the rest of the stairs to Ethan’s room.

  She shoved open the door and rushed to her son’s bed, where he sat up rubbing tears from his eyes.

  “Mommy?”

  She dived onto the bed and enveloped him in a hug, blocking the cold air breezing through one shattered window. “Are you hurt?”

  Shaking his head, he wiped his nose across her bare arm. “That was loud.”

  “That was loud.” She kissed the top of his head, her gaze taking in Mike hovering at the door of the bedroom. “Don’t worry. It was just an accident outside. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Ethan disentangled himself from her arms and fell back against his pillow. “Uh-huh. Can I look out the window to see the accident?”

  “Absolutely not. There’s glass all over the floor. I’m going to move you to another bedroom across the hall, as long as there are no broken windows on that side.”

  Ethan squinted and pointed at Mike. “Who are you?”

  “Pointing is rude.” She grabbed his finger and kissed it. “That’s my friend Mr. Brown.”

  Ethan waved. “Hi, Mr. Brown. Did you see the accident?”

  Mike took two steps into the room accompanied by the sound of sirens wailing outside. “No, but I heard it. You’re right. It was loud.”

  Ethan’s nanny stumbled into the room, her hands covering her mouth. “Ethan? Oh, Claire, you’re here. What was that?”

  Claire held a finger to her lips. “Just an accident outside, Lori. Did the windows shatter in your room on the other side?”

  “No. Do you want me to take Ethan to the room next to m
ine?”

  “I’ll come with you, and then I’d better see what’s going on downstairs.” Claire pulled Ethan from his bed and stood up with his legs wrapped around her waist. “Lori, this is Mitchell Brown, a friend of mine.”

  Lori’s eyes widened. “Oh, I heard...”

  Claire gave a jerk of her head, sending her chignon tumbling from its pins, and Lori sealed her lips.

  “Yes, I heard you were here, Mr. Brown.” Lori spun around and led them down the hall and around the corner to the other side of the town house.

  She opened the door to the room next to her own.

  Mike stayed outside in the hallway while Claire tucked Ethan into the queen-size bed and patted the covers. “Don’t go back to sleep, Lori. I have no idea how extensive the damage is. The fire department may not even let us stay here tonight.”

  Lori gripped her arms and shivered. “As if I could go to sleep.” She glanced at Ethan snuggling against the pillows and whispered, “Was that a bomb?”

  Claire nodded.

  Lori slumped in a chair across from the bed. “I’ll stay here until you get back.”

  “I appreciate it, Lori.” Claire closed the door with a snap and leaned against it, closing her eyes.

  A rough fingertip touched her cheek, and her eyes flew open.

  Mike raised his dark eyebrows over a pair of chocolate-brown eyes. “Are you ready?”

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?” She grabbed the lapel of his dinner jacket. “The director is dead, along with his security detail and probably that valet.”

  “Most likely.” He took her hand. “Let’s go see if anyone else is.”

  He kept hold of her hand down the two flights of stairs and into the chaos that reigned in the great room. Even though she’d just met him, the pressure of his fingers kept her panic in check.

  They reached the great room, and the glass that littered the floor crunched beneath their shoes. All the windows had been blown out, and snow swirled into the room.

  Claire staggered, but Mike caught her and tucked her against his side. She cranked her head back and forth, but she could barely make sense of the scene before her.

  Mike grabbed the arm of a passing fireman. “Are there any serious injuries?”

  “Nothing too bad, no fatalities.” He grimaced. “At least not on the inside.”

  She didn’t even have to ask him if the director of the CIA had survived the blast—nobody in his position could have survived.

  “Claire!” Spencer, his shirtfront bloodied, shouldered his way through the crowd. “Claire, are you and Ethan okay?”

  All she could think about when she looked into his cold, blue eyes was that he was at the top of the list to replace the director. “We’re fine. How about you?”

  “Me? I’m indestructible.”

  “What happened?”

  Mike squeezed her waist. They hadn’t even discussed whether or not they’d reveal what they’d seen out the window, but instinct screamed no and Mike seemed to approve of her discretion. She didn’t want to be questioned as a potential witness, and Mike’s real identity would have to be revealed if he stepped forward.

  Dipping his head, Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, my God, Claire. It was a car bomb. Jerry...”

  “Jerry Haywood? It was his car? Is he all right?” She dug her fingers into her stepfather’s arm—as hard as she could.

  He laid his hand on hers. “I’m afraid not, Claire. Jerry’s dead, one of his security guys is dead and a valet.”

  “One of his security guys? Doesn’t he usually travel with two? And is the other one okay?”

  “He’d already stepped away from the car. He’s injured but hanging on.” He patted her hand again and then pulled away from her death grip.

  “What about the other valet?” Mike stepped aside to let an EMT get by. “I noticed two tonight when I arrived.”

  “You know, I’m not sure about him. I’m going to make some inquiries. And stay tuned. The fire marshal may kick us all out of here tonight even though it’s just broken windows.” Spencer chucked Claire beneath the chin and made a half turn. His gaze lit on Mike’s hair, still sprinkled with glass. “Where were you two?”

  “In the library.” Claire kicked a shard of glass to the edge of the floor.

  “That’s at the front of the town house. Were you standing at the window by any chance? Did you see the explosion?”

  Mike slipped his arm around her shoulder and kissed the side of her head. “We were too wrapped up in each to see anything.”

  Spencer’s eyes narrowed briefly before he launched back into the crowd of people, shouting orders.

  Claire blew out a breath. “There goes the new director of the CIA.”

  * * *

  MIKE CUPPED THE cell phone against his ear. “If Senator Spencer Correll becomes the next director and he is involved somehow with a terrorist organization, we’re going to have a major problem on our hands.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Jack Coburn’s voice growled over the line. “How valid are Claire’s concerns? Has she shown you her so-called evidence yet? I sent you out there to appease my wife and calm the fears of one of her best friends. I didn’t believe she had anything—until this car bombing tonight.”

  Mike winced. Why would Jack send him on one last important mission after how badly he’d flubbed his previous assignment? Looking after Jack’s wife’s friend was just about his speed now.

  He coughed. “I agree. After tonight’s bombing, I’d say Claire might be onto something.”

  “Unless...” Jack sucked in a breath.

  Mike’s grip tightened on the phone. “Are you implying Claire set something up to bolster her story? That’s crazy.”

  “After the murder of Claire’s husband, she had it in for Jerry Haywood when he was deputy director.”

  “I know that, but it’s a huge leap to think she’d plan his assassination.”

  Jack grunted. “Why would Correll be involved in an assassination at his own party?”

  “Technically, it was Claire’s party, and that’s what I’m here to figure out, right? That’s why you sent me.” Mike sat on the edge of the bed in the room next to the one where Claire and her son were sleeping.

  Since the bomb hadn’t done any outward damage to the town house except for the broken windows, the fire department had allowed the family to stay the night. Workers had been busy boarding up the windows, and the DC Metro Police, the FBI, the CIA and a swarm of reporters were still milling around at the site of the car bomb.

  Jack cleared his throat. “Just a warning about Claire Chadwick. She’s had it pretty rough the past five years with the gruesome death of her husband and then her mother’s accident. She blames her stepfather for her mother’s death. You know that, right?”

  “Lola mentioned something about it. Do you think that makes Claire’s suspicions about Correll’s current activity invalid?”

  “Not invalid, but she does have another agenda, a definite ax to grind. Her troubles have led to some...instability. Just be careful, and don’t get sucked in by her beauty. From what I remember, Claire Chadwick’s a real looker.”

  He’d remembered right. “Duly noted, boss.”

  “You sure you still want to retire, old-timer?”

  A soft knock at Mike’s door saved him from reciting all his reasons for retirement again to Jack. “Someone’s here. Gotta go.”

  He pushed off the bed and padded on bare feet to the door. He cracked it open.

  Claire, her disheveled hair tumbling over one shoulder, crossed her arms over her animal-print pajamas and hunched her shoulders. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course.” He swung the door open and stepped to the side.

  “You weren’t sleeping.” Her gaze swept over his slacks and unbuttoned white shirt.

  “I was on the phone.” He closed the door behind her. “How’s your son?”

  “He’s fine—sleeping. All he knows is that there was an accident
that broke a bunch of windows in the house.” She sat on the foot of the bed and then fell back, staring at the ceiling, her blond hair fanning out around her head. “Spencer did it. He’s responsible.”

  As much as he wanted to join her on the bed, he parked himself on the arm of a chair across from her, resting his ankle on one knee. “You have one video of him meeting with a suspicious person and all of a sudden he’s guilty of killing the CIA director?”

  “It’s more. It’s a feeling.” She hoisted herself up on her elbows.

  “Whether Correll is responsible or not, this attack is bold, hits right at the heart of our security. If they can kill the director of the CIA in the middle of Georgetown, what else do they have planned?”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Something more? Do you think other attacks are planned?”

  “There has to be some endgame here, and if your stepfather is involved somehow and can lead us to—”

  “Shh.” She put a finger to her puckered lips.

  He cocked his head, holding his breath, and heard the wood creak on the other side of the door.

  Claire bolted from the bed, launching herself at the door, but Mike caught her around the waist before she reached it. He swung her into his arms and sealed his lips over hers.

  He groaned, a low guttural sound that was only half pretense as he felt her soft breasts beneath her silk pajama top press against the thin cotton of the T-shirt covering his chest.

  He moaned her name against her luscious lips. “Claire. Claire.”

  She sighed and answered him in a breathy tone. “Mmm. Mitchell.”

  The board outside the room squeaked again, but he tightened his hold on Claire as she made a move toward the door.

  Would he have to kiss her again to keep her from bursting into that hallway? It was better to err on the side of caution, so he backed her up against the door and took possession of her lips once more.

  She placed her hands against his chest as if to push him away, but her fingers curled against the material of his T-shirt instead.