Secret Agent Santa

by Carol Ericson

  “Mitch? Nah. He works for an international conglomerate that makes plastic coffee-cup lids, stir sticks and sleeves. Grew up in Chicago, went right to work in sales.” He yanked open the closet doors and dropped to his knees in front of the safe.

  “Where did we meet, sweetheart?”

  He cranked his head over his shoulder and she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

  “We should’ve had this discussion last night. In fact, I was planning on it until that car bomb exploded.” He turned back to the safe and punched in some numbers.

  “It’s a good thing Spencer didn’t ask this morning. I think Ethan’s presence at the breakfast table saved us.” She crossed one leg over the other and tapped her toe. “So, where did we? Meet, I mean.”

  “Don’t you remember? It was that fund-raiser for the girls’ school in Yemen. My company committed a million bucks to the cause.”

  “Was it love at first sight?”

  “For me, it was.” He held up his laptop and crossed the room to place it on the table next to her. “That’s why I fell so fast.”

  “And you were so different from anyone else I’d ever known—politically obtuse, culturally challenged, a breath of fresh air.”

  He chuckled as he fired up the laptop. “Don’t get too carried away.”

  He turned the computer away from her as he tapped on the keys, probably entering passwords. Then he inserted the thumb drive, waited and continued clicking away.

  Blowing out a breath, he powered down the laptop. “All done. Let’s see if Prospero can get a line on this guy. It’s not like agencies besides ours haven’t tried to discover the identity of your husband’s executioner. The English accent alone has puzzled us for years, and I’m sure others have noticed the eye, but they’ve never gotten another possible look at him—until now.”

  “So, we wait?”

  “The least exciting aspect of my job.” He held out his hand. “The other drive? I’ll put everything in this safe since it’s too late to return to Brooktown, and I’m sure you want to see Ethan when he gets home from the party...and I want my cupcake.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.” She dropped the thumb drive into his cupped palm. “He’s five. He tends to forget anything that doesn’t relate to his immediate happiness.”

  “Ah, to be five again.” He placed the items in the safe and locked it. “Do you want to watch the news for a while before we go back? I haven’t seen any coverage on the director’s murder since I tuned in to the morning news shows.”

  “Are you going to tell Jack what we saw last night? The valet placing the device beneath the car and running off?”

  “I already told him, but that story is out anyway. There were a couple of other witnesses who got a better look at the man than we did.”

  “I’m sure he’s a low-level guy who’ll never talk even if they find him. He’s not going to be implicating Spencer or anyone else.”

  “Maybe.” He aimed the remote at the TV. “It remains to be seen how much Prospero will be involved in the investigation. We come into play once the person has been identified, except...”

  “Except what?” She averted her gaze from the images shifting across the TV screen—Jerry Haywood’s life in review.

  “We’ve been tracking a...situation for the past four months, one that involves the assassination of high-level officials, but these hits have all been on foreigners so far.”

  “This might be related.” She rose from the chair and took a turn around the room.

  “Anything is possible.”

  “That means Spencer was involved with those other murders, because there is no doubt in my mind he’s responsible for what happened last night.”

  “Slow down.” He turned up the volume on the TV. “We wait.”

  While Mike soaked up the news of the day, she retreated to the bathroom, washed her hands and splashed some water on her face. She returned to the room to find Mike sprawled across the sofa, his long legs hanging off the edge.

  “Anything new?”

  “The talking heads have nothing, but while I was listening to my stomach growl it occurred to me that you haven’t eaten anything today. I, at least, had a big breakfast.” He shook a finger at her. “You can’t run with the big boys on a couple cups of coffee.”

  She placed a hand on her stomach. “I forgot all about food.”

  His gaze raked her from head to toe. “That happen a lot?”

  “Are you implying I’m skinny?”

  “You look like one of those high-fashion models who wear the weird clothes—not that you’re wearing weird clothes—and eat two olives a day.”

  “My mom was a model. I inherited her build.”

  “Yeah, yeah, well, you’re not a model, so you can actually eat more than two olives a day.” He turned off the TV. “The restaurant downstairs isn’t bad. Do you want to grab a sandwich before we return to the scene of the crime?”

  “We’re about fifteen minutes away from my house. There’s plenty to eat there.” Narrowing her eyes, she wedged a hand on her hip. “Are you putting off going back there for some reason?”

  “For some reason? Let’s see, I have to pretend I’m engaged, have to pretend I’m someone else, my boss’s boss was just murdered there.” He stood up and stretched. “Seems to me I have a lot of reasons.”

  “Sounds like a whole bunch of whining to me. Besides, what is all that compared to a cupcake?”

  “You have a point there.”

  When they arrived back at the house, everything looked normal—except for the yellow tape that still fluttered in the crisp breeze, the men and women in dark suits and dark glasses milling around, and the press hovering like a bunch of vultures across the street. Completely normal.

  The security detail in front of the house waved them through, and they ducked into the house. Claire tilted her head back to take in the towering Christmas tree at the end of the foyer, which had been restored to last night’s glory.

  Mike whistled. “The Christmas tree is redecorated and all of the windows have already been replaced. Your stepfather must’ve had an army out here.”

  “It took an army.” Spencer jogged down the staircase. “I hope you two had a good day and were able to set this all aside.”

  “We did.” Claire hooked her arm through Mike’s. “Any leads? Did the FBI find the valet yet?”

  “Nothing yet, although they’re splashing a composite of him all over the news. You haven’t seen it yet?” Spencer placed a well-manicured hand on the curved balustrade at the bottom of the staircase. “Where did you go today?”

  Mike pressed his shoulder against hers. “We drove down to Mount Vernon and then to a very special place in Maryland.”

  She stiffened, but plastered a smile on her face and nodded.

  “What’s so special about Maryland?” Spencer cocked his head, but the smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Oh, Mitch.” She tapped his arm. “I thought that was supposed to be our secret.”

  “Now I’m really intrigued.” Spencer leaned against the banister as if he had all day to listen, and panic flared in her chest.

  Mike ran a hand through his dark hair. “Claire and I communicated a lot face-to-face through our laptops, and I proposed to her while she was in Maryland. I wanted to visit the exact spot in person.”

  “Modern technology. I’m glad I’m not dating these days.” Spencer winked.

  Claire gritted her teeth behind her smile. He didn’t have to date. He just bedded half the women who worked for him.

  “Are Lori and Ethan home from the party yet?”

  Spencer raised his eyes to the ceiling. “I was just upstairs getting a detailed account. Lori’s getting him all packed up for tomorrow—that is, if you still want him going out to the Chadwicks’.”

  “Don’t you think it’s even more important now after what happened last night?”

  “I don’t think anyone here is in danger. Some terrorist organization targeted
the director and was successful. We’re not expecting any more hits.”

  Because you got what you wanted?

  “You sound so confident.” Claire hugged herself. “I’m not so sure about that. Has anyone taken credit yet? Director Haywood’s assassination was a huge coup. I can’t imagine the people responsible won’t want to crow about it.”

  Spencer reached out and patted her shoulder, and she tried hard not to recoil. “Don’t concern yourself with it, Claire. You don’t want to go down that road again, do you?”

  Her nostrils flared and her palm tingled with the urge to slap his smug face.

  As if sensing her urge, Mike took her hand and circled his thumb on her palm. “Claire’s just asking normal questions. I think we all wait for the other shoe to drop when something like this happens.”

  “Since you two are engaged, I’m sure Claire told you about her...troubles.” Spencer touched her cheek with the smooth tip of his middle finger. “She’s worked hard to come back from those dark days, but she’s still a little shaky.”

  Claire reared back from him, hot rage thumping through her veins. “I am not...shaky.”

  Mike put his arm around her shoulders and brushed past Spencer still perched on the bottom step. “Claire’s fine. We’re going to check on Ethan.”

  She preceded Mike up the staircase, her body trembling with anger. When they got to the second-floor landing, she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the library.

  She shut the door behind them and leaned against it, her eyes closed, her breath coming out in short spurts. “Bastard!”

  Mike took her by the shoulders. “Don’t let him get to you.”

  Her eyes flew open at the same time they flooded with tears. “You know what he’s talking about, don’t you? You, Prospero, would’ve checked me out thoroughly before taking this assignment.”

  Pulling her close, he whispered in her ear, “Anyone would’ve had a breakdown, Claire. He’s a jerk for bringing it up, especially when you’re asking honest questions, but we already know that.”

  “Y-you know he had me committed? They took Ethan away from me.”

  His arms tightened around her and she melted against his solid chest, allowing herself a moment of weakness. He rested his cheek against the top of her head. “It must’ve been tough, but I don’t think anyone who knew your situation would think you’re crazy. What you discovered on those two videos has real merit.”

  She pressed her nose against his shirt and sniffled. “I’m sorry. That’s twice today I got weepy and used you as a tissue.”

  Smiling a crooked smile, he looked down into her eyes. “I don’t mind. I’ve been used in worse ways.”

  She quirked an eyebrow at him and he laughed. “Wait. That didn’t come out right.”

  “Okay, let’s go see Ethan.” She took a long, shuddering breath.

  They hesitated outside Ethan’s door, which had been left open a crack, and Claire practiced her brightest smile.

  Mike nodded and gave her a thumbs-up.

  She scooped in a breath before pushing open the door. If she did have another breakdown, at least she had the right man on hand to catch her.

  Chapter Six

  The following morning Mike jogged downstairs, leaving Claire in Ethan’s bedroom. Mother and son should have some alone time before the boy left for the holidays. Claire hoped to be able to join Ethan in Colorado for Christmas, and maybe that was where she belonged, away from this craziness.

  If Prospero came back with any kind of match between the two men in the video, the agents could handle it from there. Claire needed a break from all this, and maybe once he retired he could do a little skiing in Colorado. That wouldn’t be too obvious, would it? He’d already kind of bonded with Ethan last night over that cupcake.

  He pushed through the dining room doors and Correll popped up from where he’d been...hovering over Lori Seaver, Ethan’s nanny.

  “Good morning.” He pulled out a chair across from the two of them as a quick blush stained Lori’s cheeks. Had Correll been putting moves on the nanny?

  “Just giving Lori some skiing tips. Do you ski, Mitch?”

  “I do, took it up as an adult.” In fact, skiing and snowboarding had been part of his training with Prospero. His family could’ve never afforded a sport like skiing. Hell, his family couldn’t have afforded sending him downhill in an inner tube.

  “So did I.” Correll pushed off the table where he’d been parked next to Lori and tapped his nose. “I think you and I are alike in a lot of ways, Mitch.”

  Mitch swallowed a mouthful of coffee too fast and burned the roof of his mouth, but he kept a straight face. “Poor boy making it good?”

  “Something like that.” Correll narrowed his dark eyes as he studied Mike.

  God, the man thought he was marrying Claire for her money. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad cover story.

  Liz, the maid from yesterday, came in from the kitchen bearing a plate of food. Couldn’t these people get their own damned food? He and Correll were nothing alike since it seemed the senator had adapted easily to being waited on by the minions that kept his life running like a well-oiled machine.

  “I remember what you liked from yesterday, Mr. Brown.”

  “Thanks, Liz. After that dinner Jerome made last night, I’m not sure I’m up for a full breakfast.”

  She put the plate down in front of him, overflowing with eggs, bacon and home fries. A basket of Jerome’s biscuits were already steaming on the table. “Give it a try.”

  When Liz disappeared back into the kitchen, Correll chuckled. “You’ll get used to it, Mitch.”

  “Sir?”

  “Getting waited on.” He winked. “You might even learn to enjoy it.”

  Had the man been reading his mind?

  The doorbell chimed deep within the house and Lori jerked her head up.

  Correll patted her hand. “You still nervous, too? You and my stepdaughter need to learn to relax.”

  Mike concentrated on his plate and stabbed a blob of scrambled egg. Correll had a very odd attitude toward an obvious terrorist attack in front of his own place of residence.

  He seemed to be expecting the visitor as he excused himself and left the room.

  Mike swallowed and took a sip of coffee. “Are you looking forward to the trip? That must be a nice perk working for a family like this.”

  “It is, but Claire isn’t one to take her son all over the world. I think she’d planned to raise him in Florida...before she decided to get involved in the investigation of her husband’s murder. Then when she...well, had some problems, she ended up staying here.”

  “Were you here when Claire had her problems?” Lori’s brown eyes rounded, taking up half of her heart-shaped face.

  “Oh, no. When Claire got better, she wouldn’t have that woman—Andrea—anywhere near Ethan.”

  Any more probing came to an end when Correll entered the dining room again with two men in suits following him.

  Not that Mike wanted to go behind Claire’s back and question Lori about her breakdown. If he had questions, he’d ask Claire straight-up.

  Correll gestured to the suits. “These men are from the FBI, and they’d like to talk to Claire before she takes Ethan to the airport. Do you want to get her?”

  “Sure.” He glanced at the older man. “I’m assuming this is about what happened the other night.”

  The older agent adjusted his glasses while the younger one answered. “It is, and you are?”

  Mike thrust out his hand. “Mitchell Brown, Ms. Chadwick’s fiancé.”

  He shook hands with both agents, confident that his cover would stick even with the FBI. “I’ll get Claire.”

  Lori got up from the table. “I’ll come with you to stay with Ethan.”

  Mike took the stairs two at a time, leaving Lori in his dust. He tapped on Ethan’s door as he pushed it open.

  Two faces looked up from the bed where Claire had Ethan in her lap with a book in front of th
em.

  “Hate to interrupt your story, but a couple of men are downstairs and want to talk to you.”

  “Really?” Claire tossed her blond hair over one shoulder. “What kind of men?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way downstairs.”

  As Claire slid off the bed, Lori joined them. “I’ll keep an eye on Ethan, Claire. Is he ready to go?”

  “Yes, are you?”

  “All packed.”

  Claire handed her a book with a bull sitting in a field of flowers on the cover. “We’re right in the middle.”

  “I’ll finish reading the story for you, Ethan.” Lori took Claire’s place on the bed.

  When they were in the hallway, Mike shut Ethan’s door. “They’re two FBI agents.”

  “About the car bomb?”

  “That’s what they said.”

  She put her hand on his arm and lowered her voice. “Are we not admitting we were witnesses?”

  “Nothing to be gained by it at this point, and I don’t want to draw attention to myself.”

  “Got it.” She squared her shoulders and walked downstairs, graceful on a pair of high-heeled boots, her slim hips swaying hypnotically.

  He blinked and shook his head. Snap out of it, Becker.

  When they reached the bottom of the staircase, the agents were waiting for them.

  They introduced themselves to Claire as Agents Finnegan and Glotz.

  Glotz, the younger agent, asked, “Is there someplace we can talk privately, Mrs. Chadwick? Senator Correll suggested the small office off the foyer.”

  “Since that’s my office, that’ll work. You don’t mind if my fiancé joins us, do you?”

  The agents exchanged a glance that made the hair on the back of his neck quiver.

  “No.”

  Claire swung open the door and ushered them all inside the small, feminine office. The seat in the bay window sported rose-colored cushions, and Mike sat in a chair with such spindly legs, he had a feeling that it would collapse beneath him at any moment.

  The agents in the chairs facing Claire’s ornate desk must’ve felt the same way, as they perched on the edges of their seats.