“It might be enough to start looking at Senator Spencer Correll more closely.” He reached down for his bag and unzipped it. “In the meantime, let’s eat.”
She peeled back the plastic wrap on the sandwich he’d handed her and spread a paper napkin on her lap. She took a bite and raised her eyes to the ceiling of the bus. “I never thought cold turkey on white bread would taste so good.”
“Sorry, that was the only kind of bread available.” He unwrapped his own sandwich and took a huge bite.
“I’m being serious. It tastes great.”
He popped open a bag of potato chips and shook the bag in front of her. “Want one?”
“No, thanks, but do you have my soda in there?”
“Be careful.” He pulled it from his bag. “It’s been through the ringer.”
She twisted the cap and the bottle hissed at her, so she settled for another bite of her sandwich while the bubbles fizzed out. “I can’t wait until this is all behind me. I’ve been living with it for so long—my husband’s death, my mother’s death, my suspicions, walking on eggshells around Spencer. I just want a normal life, a safe space to raise my son.”
“You’ll get there, Claire, if I have anything to say about it.” He crunched another chip and she laughed.
“Somehow you don’t inspire a lot of confidence with potato chips all over your face.” She reached out to touch a crumb on his bottom lip at the same time his tongue darted from his mouth to catch it. When his tongue touched her fingertip, their eyes met for a split second, and she jerked her hand back as if scorched.
“Sorry.” The fire continued in her belly and she made a fuss of opening her tamed soda. “I should keep my hands to myself. You’re not a five-year-old.”
“No, I just had food on my face like a five-year-old.” He sucked the salt from the tips of his fingers, which did nothing to quell the warmth that was infusing her entire body.
He balled up the chip bag and cracked open his bottle of water. “You don’t happen to have any hand sanitizer in that huge bag you call a purse, do you?”
“Would I be the mom of a five-year-old if I didn’t?” She pawed through her bag, happy for the diversion. “Got it.”
He held out a cupped palm. “Hit me.”
She squeezed the clear gel into his palm and he rubbed his hands together.
“Tell me about Ethan.”
“Really?” She dropped the sanitizer into her purse. “You’re just trying to get my mind off of things, aren’t you?”
“Partly, and partly I want to hear about Ethan. Maybe I’m trying to get my mind off of things. I had switched gears into retirement mode, and now I’m on the run to another safe house in a long line of safe houses.”
She huddled into her coat. “I’m sorry. You’re so good at your job, I forgot this was a second-thought, last-minute assignment for you before retirement. Now you’re in it.”
He shrugged. “I’ve learned not to take any job for Prospero lightly, but I do want to hear about Ethan.”
“You don’t have to twist my arm to talk about my son.”
As the bus rumbled north into the night, she slid low in her seat and spoke softly about Ethan. And Mike was right, just as he was right about so many other things—the day’s fears and anxieties receded, replaced by warm memories of her son.
Several hours later, as they reached the end of the line, she jabbed Mike in the arm. This time she’d woken up first, which gave her the chance to raise her head from his shoulder. She was pretty sure she’d tipped her head toward the window as she began to doze off, but Mike just had that kind of shoulder—the kind a girl could lean on.
She owed Lola Coburn big-time for sending him her way.
Mike was alert in an instant. “We’re here?”
“Yes.” She twisted her head around. “And we’re among the last few passengers. What next?”
“We pick up our next mode of transportation and then get a good night’s sleep.”
“We just slept.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I said a good night’s sleep, and we still have some work ahead of us before we reach that point.”
Mike hadn’t been kidding. Once they got off the bus, they picked up what looked like an abandoned car at a junkyard. The keys had been stashed on top of the visor, and Mike had retrieved a black bag from the trunk.
The car didn’t have chains, but the snow tires had enough traction to get them safely to a cabin tucked in the woods at the end of a harrowing journey on a two-lane road, just beyond a small town.
Mike pulled the car around to the back of the dark cabin.
“I’m hoping this place has heat and light.” She dragged her purse, much lighter without the cash, into her lap.
“It has everything we need for at least a month’s stay. Our support team is top-notch.”
“A month?” She grabbed her coat from the backseat of the junker. “I hope we’re not going to be holed up here for a month.”
“It’s like the end of the earth up here, isn’t it?” He opened the door a crack and the cold air seeped into the car. “Ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” She swung her legs out of the car, her high-heeled boots, ridiculously unsuited for a cabin in the middle of the Vermont woods, in the snow.
She slogged through the white stuff in Mike’s wake as he trod a path to the back door of the cabin.
He jingled the key chain that he’d picked up from the car. “Our key to paradise.”
Tipping her head back to take in the log cabin, she twisted her lips. “You’ve got a funny notion of paradise, Becker.”
“Let’s put it this way.” He inserted the key in the dead bolt at the same time he punched a code in the keypad she hadn’t noticed before. “We have food, water, heat and a bed. Sounds like heaven to me.”
He must’ve heard the breath hiss from her lips because he jerked his head around.
“I mean two beds, of course—clean sheets and everything.”
Shoving open the door, he stomped his boots on the porch mat and then reached for a switch on the wall. “Welcome to paradise.”
Yellow light flooded the small room decked out like a snug getaway—a trio of love seats hugged an oval braided rug in front of a stone fireplace. End tables carved from logs stood sentry on either side of the love seat facing the fireplace, and a huge set of antlers graced the space above the mantel.
She swept her arm across the room. “Nice setup...except those antlers. I can’t help thinking about the poor buck who lost them.”
“Not my thing, either, but I didn’t decorate the place.” He dropped his bags by the door, closed it and reset the alarm. “Are you hungry? Tired? There’s a kitchen, and I’m almost positive there are toiletries in the hall closet—stuff like toothbrushes and combs. Probably none of the high-end stuff you use.”
“Hey, beggars can’t be choosers, but I’m not all that tired.”
“Hungry?”
She eyed the kitchen on the other side of the room. “What’s in there, astronaut food?”
“I’m sure we’re low on the fresh fruits and vegetables and the free-range chicken.”
She shrugged the strap of her purse from her shoulder and placed it on one of the log tables. “I’ll check it out. You want something?”
“I’m starving.”
“When aren’t you starving?” She moved into the kitchen and started throwing open the cupboard doors.
“I’m six-four. That’s a lot of space to fill. Check the freezer.”
She opened the freezer door and the stack of colorful boxes almost made her dizzy. “What do you want? We have lasagna, French-bread pizza, chicken wings, taquitos and a bunch of other stuff. This truly would be heaven for Ethan.”
“Make an executive decision.”
She peeked around the freezer door at Mike setting up his laptop.
“Are you going to call Jack now?” She grabbed two French-bread pizzas from the middle of the stack and steadi
ed the leaning tower of frozen goodies with her other hand.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Are you sure there’s internet and cell reception out here?”
“Unless the weather has interfered, we’ll have reception. We make sure of that before we set up shop in any area. Even going as far as installing our own tower.”
“I’m sure the neighbors are thrilled to have you.” She placed the two pizzas in the microwave and set the time.
“If we had neighbors. That bus stop was in the nearest town.”
While she’d been in the kitchen, Mike had cranked on the furnace and started a fire for good measure.
She sauntered out from the kitchen and sat on the arm of the love seat where he’d set up his computer.
He tapped in a number on his phone, followed by a series of other taps.
“It’s Mike.” He tapped his display once more. “Jack, I just put you on speaker, and Claire’s in the room with me.”
Jack’s low voice reached out from the phone. “Claire, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. D-do you know what’s going on?”
“I know that the FBI suspects Hamid Khan of placing the car bomb that killed the director of the CIA.”
“No way, Jack. Hamid is innocent, according to Claire.”
“The Fibbies are citing communications between Claire and Hamid, but they haven’t named Claire as a suspect yet.” He cleared his throat. “And then there’s the small matter of the escape from the two agents sent to pick up Claire at the bank.”
“Is that what the FBI is reporting?”
“I haven’t seen anything official about that from the FBI.”
“I’m still working that one out. In the meantime, some guy pulled a gun on Claire at a bus station outside Philly. That means the money in Claire’s box had a tracking device hidden in it. You know the FBI doesn’t work like that.”
Jack whistled. “This has gone beyond informing on Claire to the FBI.”
Claire leaned forward. “I knew it was a setup, Jack, and my stepfather’s fingerprints are all over it.”
“We’re working on that, Claire. Where are you, Mike?”
Claire poked Mike in the arm and drew her finger across her throat. Jack Coburn might be married to one of her oldest friends, but he still worked for the US government, the same government that just might be trying to set her up.
Mike scowled at her. “We’re at a safe house, Jack. I’m assuming we can’t come in yet.”
“No. It’s one thing for you to be on the run with Claire, since everyone still thinks you’re the hapless fiancé, the cover, but we can’t let the intelligence community believe we have any part in this. We can’t offer Claire any official protection.”
Claire couldn’t wait any longer, so she ducked her head and whispered in Mike’s ear, “Ask him about the videos.”
“Any news on those videos I sent you?”
“Nothing yet, although the evidence is compelling.”
Claire sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Finally.”
“I thought so, too.” Mike squeezed her knee. “No ID yet on the man with Senator Correll?”
“Not yet. If the guy spent most of his career as a terrorist covered up, we might have a hard time linking him to any cells or groups.”
“But his eye. That means something.”
“Means a lot, Mike. Like I said before—compelling.”
Mike picked up the phone as if by speaking into it directly, he had a better chance of convincing Jack. “If we can tie Spencer Correll to terrorist activity, the Agency and the FBI are going to have to look into him for this hit on the director. He’s going to step into Haywood’s shoes any day now.”
“He’ll need confirmation first, and that’s not gonna happen before the holidays. The deputy director will run things for now.”
“We need to make that connection, Jack. Isn’t there still a heightened alert at the White House for Christmas Day?”
Claire sucked in a breath. This was the first she’d heard of that.
“There is, or there was until McCabe discovered all of Tempest’s plans.”
Claire folded her arms and tapped her fingers against her biceps. They’d just lost her. She didn’t know a McCabe and had no ideas what a Tempest was, except that she was in one.
“The assassination of Haywood could be part and parcel of the same attack.” Mike rubbed his knuckles across the scruff on his chin.
“We considered Tempest as soon as we heard about the car bomb. All I can tell you is we’re on it, Mike. We have your back.”
“And Claire’s?” Mike shifted his gaze to her and watched her beneath half-mast lids.
“As long as you’re with Claire, we have her back, too.”
“I’m with Claire, Jack. I’m staying with her. That’s why you sent me on this assignment.”
“That’s before she became a suspect in a terrorist attack.”
“I’m still on the phone, Jack.” She clenched her jaw.
“I know, Claire. I’m sorry, but we have relationships to maintain. We gave you Mike, and that’s all we can do right now.”
Her tight lips curved into a smile and she dropped her hand to Mike’s back. “And I thank you for that.”
The two men ended the call and Mike collapsed against the back of the love seat. “Life would be so much easier right now if they could ID the man who murdered your husband and link him to the man meeting with Correll.”
“I’ve been saying that for five years.” The sadness tugged at the corner of her lower lip.
Mike dabbed the rough tip of his finger on her cheek. “I’m going to make this right for you, Claire.”
The gesture and the sentiment made her lip turn up again. “You don’t have to fix anything, Mike. The fact that you’re here, on my side, means everything.”
She covered her mouth and jumped from the arm of the love seat. “The buzzer for our French-bread pizza went off a while ago. I hope they’re not ruined.”
He called after her as she scooted into the kitchen. “They’re French-bread pizzas in the microwave. What could possibly be ruined?”
She punched the button that released the door on the microwave and the cheesy smell of the pizzas wafted out. She removed their cardboard cooking containers and slid each one onto its own plate. “Water?”
“Are there bottles in the fridge?”
“Yeah, no beer, though.” She tucked the water bottles under her arm and carried the plates out to the living room. “Since the FBI hasn’t outed me as a suspect yet, is it okay if I use your phone to check in on Ethan?”
He handed her his cell. “Sure, but don’t give anything away.”
She placed the call and chatted briefly with Ethan’s grandmother since Ethan was already sleeping. Nancy Chadwick assured her that Ethan and Lori had arrived safely and mentioned that they’d be out snowboarding all day tomorrow.
Claire ended the call, followed by a long exhaled breath. “Here’s your phone, thanks.”
“Everything okay in Colorado? Nobody sounded suspicious?” He looked up from digging in his bag, his hands full.
“Everything’s fine. I put your water on the table.”
“Yeah, I could use a beer. The safe houses don’t contain any alcohol, but there’s nothing stopping us from picking up a six-pack in town tomorrow.”
“Yeah, nothing but that America’s Most Wanted poster with my face plastered on it that could go up any day now.” She settled on a cushion at right angles to Mike, her knee bumping one of his long legs.
She pointed to the items in his hands as he put them on the love seat next to him. “What’s all that?”
“The stuff from your phony FBI agent’s pockets.” He picked up his pizza and crunched into it.
“He’s not my phony FBI agent.” She placed a paper towel on his thigh. “High-class all the way.”
Mike devoured his pizza with a few more bites and wiped his hands and mouth. “No
ID, but let’s see what this guy deemed important enough to carry with him on an abduction.”
She shivered and picked a triangle of pepperoni off her pizza.
Mike held up a red-and-white hard pack of cigarettes. “Smokes, a key, some change, a little cash—not as much as he has now.”
“Maybe he should take the money and run. I can’t imagine Spencer or his cronies being very forgiving of his failure.”
Mike held up a card, running his finger over the embossed lettering on the front. “Interesting. A plumber’s business card. I think I’m going to have some questions about my pipes.”
He had placed each item on the table at the corner of their two love seats, and Claire picked up the key. “I wonder if this is the key to my safe deposit box. He could’ve been the one to deposit the money.”
“The bank has to have cameras on that room. You’d think the FBI would’ve looked at that tape by now to determine if you really did deposit that money.”
“The fact that they probably did and it didn’t prove my innocence is slightly troubling.” She toyed with the cigarette carton. “This feels empty.”
Mike shrugged and chugged some water from his bottle. “Open it.”
She flicked the lid open with her thumb and peeked inside the box at the crumpled silver packaging. “It is empty.”
Mike’s dark brows formed a V over his nose. “Why would he carry an empty cigarette box in his pocket?”
“There’s this.” She plucked the foil wrapping, which had been rolled into a ball, from the box and bounced it in her palm.
“He’s gotta have something in there. Drugs?”
She pinched the edges of the wrapper with her fingers and pulled it apart. “Maybe drugs or medication.”
“What’s in there?”
She held out her hand to Mike, where five little blue pills lolled in the foil.
Mike’s features sharpened and two spots of color formed high on his cheekbones.
“Mike, what’s wrong?” She could barely form the words in her suddenly dry mouth.
He closed his hand over hers and the blue pills. “If Correll really is behind this action against you, then he’s involved with a terrorist organization—the worst—and the danger to the White House is back on the table.”
Secret Agent Santa Page 9