Secret Agent Santa

by Carol Ericson

  He then brushed his own teeth and killed the lights in the room. Tugging on the covers, he nudged Claire’s body aside and then pulled the covers over her, tucking them beneath her chin.

  He yanked off his sweats and crawled into the bed beside her. Crossing his arms beneath his head, he peered through the darkness at the ceiling.

  They had to get something on Spencer Correll, and if he was involved with Tempest, he’d get the details of the White House Christmas Day plot out of him one way or another.

  Mike let out a long, slow breath. Two days until Christmas...two days until redemption.

  * * *

  CLAIRE LAID A line of kisses down the length of Mike’s very long back. If she thought she could slowly awaken him with her kisses, she had the wrong spy.

  He turned to face her with a suddenness that had her gasping for breath, her lips against his stomach.

  Plowing his fingers through her hair, he growled, “Did you think you could toy with me?”

  “A girl can hope.” She flicked her tongue against his bare skin and he sucked in a sharp breath.

  “You fell asleep last night before I got back from the kitchen. I thought I’d lost my touch.”

  She rolled up the T-shirt, baring her breasts to his hungry gaze. “So, touch and let’s see if you lost it.”

  Before the last word left her lips, Mike pounced on her and made thorough love to every inch of her body.

  They showered again—together this time—and then raided Jase’s sister’s closet.

  Claire fingered the silk Prada jacket. “Nice stuff, but if I’m going to be someone else and try to blend in, I’d better not wear flashy clothing like this.”

  Mike jerked open another closet door. “We have the cold weather on our side. Jackets, scarves, hats—just like you dressed up when we went into that town in Vermont. We even have the sun out today to warrant a big pair of sunglasses.”

  Claire dangled a pair of black leggings from her fingers. “I can wear these with the boots I bought in Vermont, pile on a long sweater with a scarf, hat and sunglasses. It’s not like Spencer’s going to be on the lookout for me, right?”

  “Right. Maybe we can avoid the office altogether. Is there someplace you can meet Fiona outside the building?”

  “There are a couple of cafés on the street, although they’re frequented by a lot of politicians. I’d hate to have to hide in plain sight with someone I know looking at me.”

  “Most of those politicians are out of town for the recess.” Mike yanked a long blue coat from a hanger and held it up. “Is there any place Fiona goes at lunchtime? Does she get her nails done?”

  “I know.” Claire dropped the leggings. “Fiona goes to a psychic in the area.”

  “Like to get her fortune told? Do people really do that?”

  “I think it’s tarot cards and astrological charts, and Fiona’s been seeing this psychic, Madam Rosalee, for a while. She was going on and on about the psychic when she gave me Spencer’s password, about how Madam Rosalee had predicted the end of her relationship.”

  Mike shrugged. “It takes all types. Do you think Fiona will meet you there?”

  “I’ll talk to Madam Rosalee first and have her get Fiona down there on her lunch hour.”

  “I’m assuming you’ll need some money to make that happen?”

  Claire rubbed her thumb across the tips of the rest of her fingers. “I’m going to need money for all of it.”

  “That I have.” Mike tossed the coat at her. “I don’t have to be there, but I’ll be nearby. You know what to ask Fiona, right?”

  “If she knows anything suspicious about my stepfather and if she’s willing to spill.”

  “Let’s do this.”

  Mike borrowed the least flashy car in the Bennett stable—a black Mercedes sedan—and drove them back to DC.

  He had his own disguise, as he’d let his beard grow out and now sported a substantial scruff, liberally streaked with gray. Before they left the house that morning, he’d also cropped his longish black hair and then shaved his head down to a stubble.

  Claire stole a sideways glance at him in the driver’s seat of the car and clicked her tongue. She’d loved the way that long lock of hair had fallen over one of his eyes, but the shaved head and beard gave him a decidedly dangerous look.

  “Why are you clicking your tongue at me?”

  “I sort of liked your shaggy hair.”

  He ran a hand over his scalp. “Good disguise, though, right?”

  “It makes you look...different for sure, kind of lethal.” She stuffed her hair beneath her hat. “Do I look different enough?”

  “It’s hard to tell what you look like since you’re all covered up, but then so is everyone else in this cold spell we’re having.”

  She directed him to Madam Rosalee’s and he laughed every time she said the psychic’s name.

  “Stop.” She smacked his thigh. “It’s as good a name as any for a psychic.”

  “Do you believe in that stuff?”

  “No, but that doesn’t matter. Fiona does, and I know she’ll jump at the chance to see Madam Rosalee, especially now that she’s on the outs with Spencer.”

  She pointed out the psychic’s small blue, clapboard house between two office buildings. The sign on the house sported a yellow hand with the words Psychic Readings in squiggly blue script in the middle of it.

  Mike dropped her off in front and went looking for parking.

  Claire cupped her hand over her eyes as she peeked in the window. She saw no one, so she opened the door and a bell tinkled her arrival.

  The smell of sandalwood incense permeated the air, and a few shelves contained decks of tarot cards, more incense, candles and other psychic accoutrements.

  Claire called out, “Hello? Madam Rosalee?”

  A beaded curtain clicked and clacked and an enormous woman bedecked in flowing scarves and a green peasant skirt threaded with gold emerged into the room.

  Claire pressed her lips together to vanquish her smile. Mike would’ve gotten a kick out of the cliché that was Madam Rosalee.

  Madam Rosalee stopped and spread her arms, closing her eyes. “I sense an aura of danger. Are you safe?”

  The smile on Claire’s lips died and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, I’m safe. I didn’t come here for myself.”

  “They never do.” Madam Rosalee’s heavily lined eyes flew open. “What can I help you with?”

  “I need to talk with one of your clients, on the sly, and I thought this might be a good place to do it.”

  “Why would I lure one of my clients here on a false premise?”

  “I’ll give you m-money.” Claire faltered at the look from Madam Rosalee’s dark, slitted eyes.

  “You think you can come into my establishment and give me money to get one of my clients here so you can ambush him or her?”

  “I’m sorry.” Claire blew out a breath. Would Mike have been able to handle this any better? “It’s really very important. It’s crucial that I talk with her. I can’t go to her office and I’m afraid to meet her in public.”

  Afraid? Where had that come from?

  Madam Rosalee held up one pudgy finger with an extremely long red nail on the end and a ring that snaked over her first knuckle.

  “You’re afraid to meet her in public?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.” Claire held her breath.

  “Then this is related to the danger and fear that are coming off of you in waves.”

  “It must be. I guess it is.” Who said Madam Rosalee was a fake?

  “I don’t want your money.”

  “Is that a refusal? I’m begging you, really, to contact Fiona Levesque. I need to talk to her. Sh-she may be in danger, too.”

  “I don’t want money, but you’ll give me something else.”

  “Anything, just ask and I’ll get it for you.”

  Madam Rosalee approached her slowly and circled her, waving her silky scarves around Claire’s body
. Claire felt as if she’d landed in the middle of someone’s magic show.

  “What? What do you want?”

  Madame Rosalee trailed a scented scarf over Claire’s head. “I want to do a reading for you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Claire’s shoulders sagged. She’d almost expected Rosalee to ask for her firstborn child. “Of course, if that’s all you want. But can we hurry so we can get Fiona here on her lunch hour?”

  “I’ll take care of that right now.” She picked up her cell phone and gestured to the small table covered with a black velvet cloth. “Sit.”

  Claire took a seat at the table, stroking the soft velvet with her fingertips, and listened to Madam Rosalee’s call to Fiona.

  “Yes, something very important, my dear. Your very life could depend on it.” She ended the call and placed her phone on the shelf next to the small table. “Fiona will be here just after noon. Are you ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Claire folded her hands on the table and gave Madam Rosalee a tight, polite smile.

  “Have you ever had a tarot reading before?”

  “No.”

  “Your name?” Madam Rosalee settled her massive girth into the winged-back chair across from her.

  “Claire.” She glanced over her shoulder at the window. Had Mike expected her to come outside once she’d convinced Madam Rosalee to set up the meeting with Fiona?

  As if she’d summoned him with one of Madam Rosalee’s charms, Mike burst through the door of the shop, sending the little bell into a tizzy.

  His arrival didn’t disturb Madam Rosalee at all, maybe so she could make the claim that she’d expected him to show up all along.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Are you with Claire?”

  “Yeah, what’s going on?” He dropped a hand to Claire’s shoulder. “I was worried about you.”

  Madame Rosalee nodded. “Could you please turn around the sign at the door and lock it?”

  “Claire?” He put pressure on her shoulder.

  “Madam Rosalee’s payment for luring Fiona over here is a tarot reading for me.”

  “Is that okay with you?”

  She patted his hand still resting on her shoulder. “It’s a tarot reading, Mike. Go switch the sign at the door and lock it.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” He stepped back and locked the door while flipping the sign over to read Closed to the outside world.

  “Nobody’s asking you to, Mike, as long as you sit quietly during the reading.” Madam Rosalee handled a deck of tarot cards, the heavy rings flashing on her fleshy hands.

  Mike shrugged at Claire and took a seat in the corner of the room.

  Madam Rosalee turned over a row of cards in the middle of the table, tapping them, changing their position, crossing one over another.

  The colorful figures and symbols meant nothing to Claire, but the atmosphere in the room grew heavy with anticipation.

  After several minutes Madam Rosalee finally spoke. “You are in danger, but we’d already established that.”

  Mike shifted forward in his seat, and Claire threw a glance his way.

  Claire cleared her throat. “Is the danger imminent or vague?”

  “It’s imminent.”

  “Avoidable?”

  “It’s avoidable as long as you aren’t alone. On your own, the black sword of death hangs over your head.”

  Claire rolled her shoulders. That made sense for anyone.

  “Love,” Madame Rosalee said as she tapped a card, “and death. The two are linked for you and have been for some time.”

  Claire covered her mouth with one hand. “That was true in the past. Is it true in the future?”

  “Just as in the past, in the future and for all time, if love is strong enough, it can vanquish the danger.”

  Madam Rosalee droned on about money and family, but nothing she said could replace the uneasiness in the pit of Claire’s stomach.

  Love? Mike didn’t love her. They’d had a connection and some great sex, but that didn’t equal love—at least not a love great enough to vanquish the evil they faced.

  Madame Rosalee gathered her cards and pushed up from her chair. “I’ll be in the back to give you some time to talk to Fiona.”

  The disappearance of her large presence seemed to suck the life and the drama out of the room.

  Mike got up and stretched. “Pretty generic stuff, huh?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  “Why did she want to tell your fortune?” He peered out the curtains at the front window and unlocked the door.

  “I’m not sure. As soon as I walked in, she sensed the danger of my aura.”

  He turned and grabbed her around the waist. “As soon as I saw you, I sensed the sexiness of your aura.” He nuzzled her neck.

  Leaning back in his arms, she rubbed her knuckles across the black stubble on his head. Annoyance niggled at the edges of her mind. Madam Rosalee had just been telling her how love could stave off the danger, and all Mike could think about was sex.

  He blinked his dark eyes, the lusty gleam dimming. “I’m sorry. The palm reading really upset you.”

  “It was a tarot card reading.”

  “That’s what I meant.” He released her and returned to the window. “Fiona’s coming at noon?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. She’d better prepare herself for Mike’s departure as soon as he single-handedly saved the White House. And if he couldn’t single-handedly save the White House? He’d be unbearable company anyway.

  “A little after, I think.”

  “Is Fiona a busty redhead with a little wiggle in her walk?”

  She snorted. “I suppose a man would describe her that way.”

  “She’s here in three...two...one.”

  The bell on the door jingled and Fiona poked her head into the room. “Madam Rosalee?”

  Claire plucked the hat from her head and shook out her hair. “It’s me, Fiona. It’s Claire Chadwick.”

  “Claire?” Fiona covered her mouth. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

  “Okay? Why wouldn’t I be okay? What story is Spencer floating around town about me?”

  “Spencer.” Fiona spit out his name, which was all kinds of wonderful. “Is he spreading lies about you? I wouldn’t doubt that for a minute.”

  “What’s he saying, Fiona?” Mike wedged a shoulder against the wall.

  “Who’s this tall drink of water?” Fiona batted her lashes. “Oh, wait. Are you Mitch, the fiancé?”

  “Sort of. What’s Senator Correll been saying about us?”

  Fiona flipped back her red hair. “Am I here to meet you? Is Madam Rosalee even here?”

  “She’s here.” Claire tugged on Fiona’s scarf. “I’m sorry, Fiona. She helped me get you here. I need your help.”

  “The same way I helped you before?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know, Claire. I think Spencer found out about the last time.”

  Claire’s heart skipped a beat. “How? You didn’t tell him?”

  “Me?” Fiona’s voice squeaked. “I value my life too much. Trey figured something out. Spencer had him look at his office laptop because someone kept sending him emails with photos and videos. I think Trey figured out that Spencer was just dragging them into his trash can without doing a hard delete on them. While Trey was helping him, he figured out that someone had viewed a video from the trash.”

  “That’s probably when he started tracking you, Claire.” Mike paced the small room. “Maybe that’s when he formed his plan against you, also.”

  He landed in front of Fiona, towering over her petite frame. “You still didn’t tell us. What’s Spencer saying about Claire? How’s he explaining her disappearance?”

  Fiona took a step back, and Claire tugged on Mike’s coat. “Don’t scare her. She’s not the enemy.”

  “Enemy?” Fiona flipped up the lapels of her coat. “There’s an enemy here? I thought this was some ki
nd of dispute between you and your stepfather over money.”

  “It is, and other stuff.”

  “Well...” Fiona glanced at Mike, who had returned to the window and stuffed his hand into his pocket. “Spencer is implying that you’ve had another breakdown.”

  Claire cursed. “That’s almost worse than being wanted by the FBI.”

  “Wanted by the FBI?” Fiona’s blue eyes got round as she shook her head. “He’s not saying that. He said Director Haywood’s murder in front of your house shook you up so much, you started making wild accusations and your fiancé had to take you away.”

  “So, I can walk back into my own house right now without fear of being taken into custody?”

  Fiona lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know anything about that, Claire. You know the man they suspected of putting the car bomb on the director’s car is dead?”

  Claire and Mike exchanged a quick glance. “Hamid Khan.”

  “That’s right. They’re calling him a lone wolf.”

  Mike coughed. “A lone wolf who poisoned himself?”

  “I don’t know all the details.” Fiona waved her hands. “I just know he’s dead and we’re supposedly out of danger, but I can’t wait to get out of this city. It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, and I’m outta here.”

  “Can you help us before you leave, Fiona?” Claire held out the envelope of cash she’d been ready to give Madam Rosalee. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “I’ll take it, but it’s just icing on the cake. Do you know that SOB is taking that rich widow to the White House on Christmas Day? If he thinks he’s going to squire her around in public during the day and end up in my bed at night, he’s dreaming.”

  Claire suppressed a shiver of revulsion at the thought of Spencer Correll in bed with anyone. “He’s a pig, Fiona. Do you have anything you can give us to use against him?”

  “I told you, someone keeps sending him emails with videos and pictures. It freaks him out. I don’t know if it’s blackmail or what.”

  Mike asked, “Has he gotten any lately?”

  “He gets something almost every day.”

  Claire clasped her hands in front of her. “Can you get them out, Fiona?”