Secret Agent Santa

by Carol Ericson

  They burst out onto the street and merged into the foot traffic, still heavy at almost eleven o’clock at night. People rushing home with their packages, filled with Christmas spirit, leaving no dead bodies behind in clubs. A curbside Santa rang his bell and they both jumped. Mike took a deep breath.

  “You’re doing great, Claire. Just keep on moving.” He steered her toward the subway entrance and down the stairs, cranking his head over his shoulder.

  He hadn’t noticed anyone following them, either from the bar or picking them up on the street, but there must’ve been someone in the bar. Someone had spiked Hamid’s drink. Maybe their own beers had been drugged. Someone had either followed Hamid to that location or they’d picked up on his communication with Claire.

  Grabbing Claire’s hand, he kept her close as he jogged down the stairs. He fed money into the machine to buy two single-ride tickets, the blood pounding in his ears, lending urgency to his actions.

  A man rounded the corner behind them, clutching something beneath his long black coat. Mike curled his hand around his own weapon in his pocket while yanking Claire in his wake. “We need to hurry, Claire.”

  He nudged her through the turnstile and the clattering sound seemed to rouse her from her petrified state.

  Her stride lengthened until it turned into a jog, and they ran together toward the train squealing to a stop. The doors flew open and they jumped on as one.

  Mike continued moving, dragging Claire along with him, making a beeline for the next car as he kept one eye on the other passengers boarding. The man with the coat was not among them.

  The train swayed into motion, and Claire grabbed on to the bar above her. She swung into a seat and closed her eyes.

  Mike took the seat next to her, still assessing the other passengers.

  He finally let out the breath trapped in his lungs and took Claire’s cold, stiff hand in both of his. She must’ve left her gloves in her pocket. He rubbed some warmth back into her flesh.

  “I’m sorry, Claire.”

  Her eyes clicked open like a doll’s and shifted sideways to his face. “We got him killed.”

  “We don’t know that.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “They’d made Hamid. They knew just where to find him.”

  She shook her head, dislodging the lock of hair again. “They couldn’t have known about that message board. No way.”

  “If they tapped into his computer, they’d know his every keystroke, or maybe they put a tracker on his phone. I have a hunch they didn’t realize he’d be meeting you.”

  “Why do you say that?” She finally turned her head and met his eyes.

  “I could be wrong, but my guess is that his first drink was already drugged. They wouldn’t want him dead before we even got there.”

  “Maybe our drinks were drugged, too. I didn’t even have a sip of mine, did you?”

  “No, thank God.” He slipped an arm around her. “I just can’t believe they’d let us get away that easily if they’d still been there.”

  “They drugged all our drinks and left.”

  “There’s no way of knowing at this point.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek and she made no move to catch it, so he brushed it away with the pad of his thumb.

  “Don’t blame yourself, Claire. It’s the fault of those who dragged him into this, set him up and then murdered him. I’m not sure he would’ve come with us, anyway. He was too spooked.”

  “H-he betrayed me. He’d been lying to me all this time.”

  “You mean about the man who executed Shane?”

  “He knew. He knew who he was all along, or he at least knew more than he was telling.” She pressed her fingertips against her temples. “I was so naive. Hamid was using me, probably to get into the US.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Claire, or on Hamid.” He caressed her shoulder. “You two helped each other at the time. Maybe he protected you by keeping you away from the truth. He understands that world better than you do.”

  “Did you hear what he said? He called him the Oxford Don.”

  “We knew he was English from his accent. That’s not a surprise, and I’ve never heard that name before, so it must’ve been just among the locals.”

  “But at the end. He whispered something to me before he...died.”

  His pulse quickened. “He actually whispered something that you understood?”

  “I leaned forward to catch what happened to be his last words.”

  “I didn’t realize he’d said anything to you. What was it?” The corner of his eye twitched and he rubbed it.

  “I’d asked him about the Oxford Don. I asked him where he was now.”

  “Did he answer you?” The air between them stilled.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She lifted her shoulder. “He said something that made no sense at all.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Caliban. He said the Oxford Don was with Caliban.”

  * * *

  CLAIRE JERKED BACK from the expression on Mike’s face. His jaw hardened and his dark eyes glittered with an emotion she couldn’t fathom...but it scared her.

  “What? What is it?”

  The train lurched into the next station, and her gaze bounced from the sign outside to the map of the line inside the car to make sure they weren’t missing their stop.

  Mike’s body had tensed up beside her, and she bumped her shoulder against his. “Mike? Does Caliban mean something to you?”

  “Claire, I can’t believe this.” He dragged his long fingers through his hair until it stood on end. “This is all linked somehow—Shane’s execution, the car bombing the other night, Tempest.”

  “Wait.” Icy fear gripped the back of her neck. “What are you talking about? How is Shane’s death linked to Tempest? What is Caliban?”

  The train screeched to a stop, and Mike took her arm. “Let’s get back to the cabin. Are you up for driving all night?”

  “Maybe it’ll take that long drive for you to explain everything to me.”

  They linked arms, huddling together against the cold night and the dark forces that seemed to be closing in on them.

  When they got back in the car, their first stop was a drive-through coffee place, where Mike ordered a large black coffee and she got a decaf hot tea.

  She had a feeling that Mike’s story would be enough to keep her awake on the long drive back to their cabin in Vermont. She also had a feeling that after hearing the story, she’d want to stay in that cabin forever, keeping both Mike and Ethan close to her side.

  When they got back on the road, Mike slurped at his hot coffee and turned down the radio. “Caliban is the head of that agency I told you about—Tempest.”

  She drew in a quick breath. “And the man who killed Shane is now connected to Caliban, to Tempest?”

  “It would seem so if that’s the name Hamid gave you, and it doesn’t mean that Tempest was responsible for Shane’s kidnapping and murder. Caliban could’ve recruited this Oxford Don later. Tempest wasn’t active five years ago.”

  “Who is this Caliban? Does anyone know? Does Jack know?”

  “We think he’s former US military.”

  “Spencer knows him.”

  Mike jerked his head toward her. “How do you know that for sure?”

  “I’m just guessing, but it makes sense. He probably knew him before Caliban became the evil mastermind behind Tempest.”

  “There has to be some way to tie Correll to Tempest and stop this attack against the White House.”

  Claire stretched her cold hands out to the vent on the dashboard blasting warm air. “And to clear me, right? I mean, that’s still a priority for you, or is it all about stopping the attack on the White House?”

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel and his knuckles turned as white as the snow outside the car window. “Of course it is. That’s still my number one objective.”

  Or it was until he found out he was poised to foil one of the mo
st significant terrorist attacks in the world. She didn’t want to delve too deeply into Mike’s priorities right now.

  Reaching for his cell phone in the cup holder, she asked, “Is it okay if I check your phone for some news?”

  “I don’t think you’re going to find anything about Hamid in the breaking news right now—too soon—but hold up the phone and I’ll punch in my code.”

  She complied and said, “I’m just wondering if I’m in the news yet. If I’m not, you know Tempest plans to take me out just like Hamid.”

  He finished his code and she swept her finger across the display to wake up the phone.

  “Claire, we can’t even link Correll to Tempest or Tempest to Hamid.”

  “But all the puzzle pieces are there, aren’t they?”

  She tapped the screen and scrolled through various news sources as Mike drove on through the night and the falling snow. On the way in to the city, even though they’d been coming in to meet Hamid, the mood in the car had been almost festive. The music, the conversation, the scenery had all contributed to a sense of normalcy, but all that had changed with Hamid’s death and his dying words.

  The name of Caliban had dropped between them like a curtain. It had propelled Mike back into his covert world, where he kept secrets from her.

  She stumbled upon an article about the White House gathering to honor the director and as she skimmed it, she let out a snort.

  “This is interesting.”

  “What’s that?” Mike smacked his cheek and took another gulp of coffee.

  “Are you okay to drive? Do you want to switch?”

  “A Florida girl driving in the snow? I can handle it.” He jerked a thumb at the phone. “What’s interesting?”

  “I’m reading a short news brief about the ceremony honoring the director. It’s more of a name-dropping puff piece, but it looks like Spencer is taking Julie Patrick.”

  “Who’s Julie Patrick? The name sounds familiar.”

  “She’s English, the widow of Benedict Patrick, and a major shareholder in Brit-Saud Oil. She’s a big political donor and philanthropist.”

  “Sounds about right to me. If she’s a mover and shaker in political circles, it doesn’t surprise me that Correll knows her.”

  “Oh, he not only knows her—” she dropped the phone back in the cup holder “—he dated her. It looks like my stepfather is zeroing in on another rich widow.”

  Mike snapped his fingers. “The secretary.”

  “Huh?” She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “What secretary?”

  “Correll’s secretary—Fiona, the one who got you into his computer before, allowing you to copy that trashed video, the video that started it all.”

  She blinked. Maybe she should’ve gotten some coffee. “What about her?”

  “Claire.” He tapped his temple. “She gave you that info before when she’d believed Correll had moved on. If that’s the case again, maybe you can use that to tap into more information. Would she help you again if she felt Correll had used her and was moving on to greener and richer pastures?”

  She scooted forward in her seat, her fingertips tingling with excitement. “She might. Fiona is all about Fiona.”

  “If you contacted her, would she tell anyone?”

  “Not if we sweetened the pot with some money. If she can make money on the deal and stick it to Spencer, she’ll be all in.”

  “We can do that, offer her money.”

  “I’ll contact her tomorrow and see what she can do for us.” She slumped down in the seat, bunching the coat into a pillow and stuffing it between her shoulder and the window. “I’m going to make myself comfortable for the rest of the trip. Let me know if you need a break from driving.”

  “Relax, Claire. I’m good.”

  She drifted in and out to the monotone of talk radio and Mike’s hushed call to Jack, the slick material of the coat whispering under her cheek every time she shifted position.

  She wanted to be Mike’s priority. She wanted to be someone’s priority for a change. She squeezed her eyes shut against the self-pity. She usually didn’t indulge...must have been the exhaustion.

  Just as she found a good spot, Mike brushed her cheek with his knuckle. “We’re almost at the cabin. Did you sleep?”

  “In fits and starts. You must be exhausted.”

  “I had my thoughts to keep my mind busy—and the caffeine to keep me awake.”

  He pulled around to the back of the cabin, and Claire pressed her palm against the car window. “We just left here this afternoon, and I feel like it was a lifetime ago.”

  “Hamid’s lifetime.”

  The cloud layer had cleared and the sun was poised to make its full ascent. The snow sprinkled on the tree tops sparkled under the early morning rays.

  She crunched up the pathway to the back door behind Mike. What now? It was too early to contact anyone. Mike had already called Jack to fill him in on Hamid and Hamid’s last words, and the gulf had widened between her and Mike.

  All she wanted to do right now was curl up and get warm, on the inside as well as the outside.

  Mike ushered her inside the cabin and turned up the furnace. “Let’s warm this place up.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I can’t even...” She covered her eyes with one hand. “No.”

  “What happened to Hamid—not your fault, Claire.”

  “I—I...” Was that what he thought, that she still blamed herself? That had been her immediate response when Hamid collapsed on the table in front of her, but she’d long ago given up feeling guilt for the horror that seemed to dog her steps.

  But the concern in Mike’s eyes? Addictive.

  “I just can’t help feeling that if we’d never contacted him, he’d be alive right now.”

  “I don’t think so.” Mike took her by the shoulders. “They had him pegged for the fall guy long before you posted that message on the board. I don’t think they even knew he was meeting us last night.”

  “That makes sense, but it still hurts.” She drove a fist against her chest. “It hurts here.”

  And she meant every word. Hamid had been her protégé. In a way, he’d been her lifeline after Shane lost his life in the most brutal way. Even now that she knew Hamid had been holding out on her, she mourned his death.

  Mike’s grip on her shoulders softened. “You have dark circles under your eyes. You need some sleep.”

  She needed him, but her seduction skills were rusty, and dark circles beneath her eyes wouldn’t cut it.

  “I’d like to take a warm bath first. I’m just so chilled.” Again, no lie.

  “Good idea.” He pointed at the kitchen. “Do you want me to make you some hot tea while you run the bathwater?”

  “That would be perfect.”

  They brushed past each other, her on her way to the bathroom and he on his way to the kitchen.

  Once inside the claustrophobic bathroom, she spun the faucets on the tub. Unfortunately, the keepers of the safe houses hadn’t thought to stock bubble bath or scented candles.

  She shed her clothing and almost felt as if she was casting off the past five years of her life, a celibate life paying homage to the memory of a dead husband, a husband who’d never put her first.

  The steam from the tub curled up in welcome invitation. She cracked open the bathroom door and then stepped into the bathtub, sinking into its warm embrace.

  Stretching her legs out, she braced her toes against the porcelain at the end of the tub, bending her knees slightly. She shimmied her shoulders beneath the lapping water and cupped handfuls of it, splashing her thighs.

  The tap on the door set the butterfly wings to fluttering in her belly. It had been a long time since she’d seduced a man.

  “I’m in the tub.”

  “Are you warming up? I have your tea.”

  “I feel like I’m melting.” She turned off the water by gripping the faucets with her toes.
“You can come in with the tea.”

  He pushed open the door and froze as his gaze collided with hers. “Sorry. I thought you’d have the shower curtain drawn.”

  “It was a little too claustrophobic for me.”

  “Okay.” Keeping his gaze trained at the ceiling, Mike shuffled into the bathroom, holding the cup of tea in front of him. “Just warn me if I’m going to trip over the toilet or something.”

  “You’re good, just a few more steps. It’s not like the bathroom is cavernous.” She sat up in the tub, the water sluicing off her body, and held out both hands to accept the tea.

  The toe of Mike’s bare foot hit the side of the tub and he went into a crouch, extending the cup. “Got it?”

  She curled her fingers around the cup, brushing the tips along Mike’s knuckles. “Thanks. Can I ask you two more favors?”

  “Sure.” He backed up, still averting his gaze from the tub.

  “Can you bring me that T-shirt of yours I wore to bed last night, and can you get a fire going?”

  “Absolutely.” He smacked the doorjamb on his way out and called back, “That T-shirt looks a lot better on you than me, anyway.”

  Claire placed the cup on the edge of the tub and slid down until the water lapped at her chin. She blew out a breath, creating a flotilla of bubbles.

  She’d set the stage even though Mike had been too much of a gentleman to take a peek at her bare breasts. She cast her eyes downward. Yep, she still had ’em.

  Mike tapped on the door again. “Here’s the T-shirt. I’ll hang it on the doorknob inside and work on that fire.”

  The white T-shirt swung on the handle as Mike snapped the door shut. Claire’s mouth twisted into a frown. Seemed as if she needed to work on that fire.

  She flicked up the stopper with her big toe and yanked the towel from the rack. She shivered as she patted herself dry. It was time to warm up—for real.

  She pulled Mike’s T-shirt over her head and released her hair from its knot, the tendrils at her neck damp. Fluffing her mane, she leaned in close to the mirror and touched up the drugstore makeup on her face leftover from yesterday.

  A full-on makeup job would look a little ridiculous, but she was no twentysomething who could get by on good bone structure alone, especially after the night they’d just had.