Secret Agent Santa

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.

He kissed her long enough for whoever was outside that door to walk away—and then some. He raised his head, and she blinked her violet eyes.

Reaching around her, he opened the door. In a loud voice, he said, “Go back to Ethan. I’ll be right next door all night.”

“I’m so glad you’re here, Mitchell.” She peered down the hallway and shook her head. “I’m just sorry it couldn’t have been a happier reunion.”

He clicked the door behind her and fell across the bed, inhaling the sweet musky scent she’d left behind.

His first meeting with Claire Chadwick couldn’t have been any happier.

Chapter Three

Claire fluffed Ethan’s hair as she sat on the edge of the bed where she’d spent a sleepless night next to her squirmy son. If Mike had let her fling open the door, she might’ve caught Spencer in the act of eavesdropping.

And then what? He’d be alerted to her suspicions. Right now he suspected her only of nosing around his finances, and she wanted to keep it that way. Mike had been right to stop her.

But did he have to stop her by kissing her silly? She traced her mouth with her fingertips. Not that she’d minded.

Her son fluttered his long lashes and yawned.

Typically, Ethan woke up with the early birds, but last night’s commotion had him sleeping late. Commotion? Was that what you called the murder of a CIA director by the man who would replace him? She had no doubt that was what had gone down. Now she just had to convince Mike Becker.

She hadn’t trusted Spencer Correll since the fourth or fifth year of his marriage to her mother. She’d been in college at Stanford when her mother married Spencer. Claire hadn’t given him much thought. He was the type of man her mother had dated since Dad’s death—charming, a few years younger, in need of some financing.

Despite her wariness, nothing set off any alarm bells until that phone call and then her mother’s accident.

“Mommy?”

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” She skimmed her fingers through Ethan’s curly brown hair. “It’s late.”

His eyes grew round. “Can I look at the accident now?”

“I think that’s been all cleaned up.” At least she hoped to God it had been. “Let’s have some breakfast. Are you hungry?”

“Uh-huh.” He smacked his lips. “Is Mr. Brown eating breakfast, too?”

“You remember Mr. Brown from last night?” She tilted her head, wrinkling her nose. Mike must’ve made quite an impression on Ethan, which meant she couldn’t get her son out of here and with his grandparents fast enough. She didn’t want to confuse him or get his hopes up.

“Mr. Brown was giant, like Hercules.” Ethan raised his hand over his head as far as he could.

“Yeah, he’s tall.” She grabbed him under the arms and tickled. “Now let’s go eat.”

The smells of bacon and coffee coming from the kitchen lent an air of normalcy to the house after Claire had made her way through the cleaning crews in the great room. The giant Christmas tree she’d lit up with a thousand bulbs last night had shed its gold ornaments in the blast and now stood in the corner, a forlorn reminder of the Christmas spirit.

Ethan had shoved through the dining room doors first and came to a halt in front of Mike, his plate piled high with eggs, bacon and Jerome’s flaky biscuits.

Mike eyed Ethan over the rim of his coffee cup. “Who are you, the cook?”

Crossing his arms, Ethan stamped his foot. “I’m Ethan. I saw you last night.”

“Oh.” Mike snapped his fingers. “You looked a lot smaller in bed. I thought you were a little boy, but you’re not. You’re a big boy.”

Claire pulled out a chair with a smile on her face. Mike must have kids of his own, and if he wasn’t divorced, he should be after the way he’d kissed her last night. No happily married man would be kissing a woman he’d just met like that—assignment or no assignment.

Ethan climbed into the chair next to Mike’s, studied his plate and proceeded to ask Liz, the maid, for the same food Mike had.

Claire tilted her head at her son. “Are you sure you can eat that much?”

“I’m hungry.” Ethan patted his tummy.

“How’s your nose? Any sniffles or coughing?”

“Nope.”

She turned to Mike. “Ethan’s been having some problems with allergies, and the doctor is thinking it might be asthma.”

“He looks good to me.” Mike winked at Ethan.

“Ms. Chadwick, do you want anything besides coffee this morning?” Liz poured a stream of brown liquid into her cup.

“Just some orange juice.” When Liz finished pouring the coffee, Claire tipped some cream into her cup and dipped a spoon into the white swirl.

“Did you get a good night’s sleep despite everything?” Mike broke open a biscuit, and steam rose from the center.

Did he mean despite the murder of the director, or the kiss? She watched his strong hands as he buttered one half of the biscuit, then tore off a piece and popped it into his mouth.

Swallowing hard, she shook her head. “I didn’t get much sleep at all. You?”

“Slept like a baby.” He winked at Ethan again, who giggled.

“You’re not a baby.” Her son jabbed a fork in Mike’s direction.

Claire drew her brows together as she glanced at Ethan’s eyes, shining with clear hero worship. Since he’d started kindergarten a few months ago, Ethan had been asking more questions about his father and had become more aware of the absence of a father in his own life. She didn’t want him getting too attached to Mike, especially since he’d seemed to form an immediate liking for him.

Like mother, like son.

“I don’t even know why anyone would say they slept like a baby when they slept well.” She pinched Ethan’s nose. “Because you certainly didn’t sleep all through the night when you were a baby.”

Ethan giggled again and Mike added his loud guffaw just as Spencer walked into the dining room.

He raised his brows. “What a nice family scene, especially on a morning like this.”

Claire jerked her head around, her finger to her lips. “Shh. Not now.”

Spencer shrugged and refilled the coffee cup in his hand. He took a seat across from her. “When do you plan on telling him?”

“In our own time, Spencer.” She sent Mike a look from beneath her lashes. “Did you learn anything more about what happened last night?”

“The Security Council had an emergency meeting this morning, and the FBI gave us an initial report.”

She folded her hands around her cup, trying hard not to break it. “Anything you can pass along? Has anyone claimed credit?”

“Not yet.” Spencer slurped at his coffee. “Too bad this had to spoil your visit, Mitch.”

Mike reached across the table and curled his fingers around Claire’s. “I don’t plan on letting it ruin my visit. Of course, it’s a tragedy, and I’m sorry it happened in front of your house, at Claire’s event, but nothing can get in the way of our happiness.”

She sent Mike a weak smile. He was really laying it on thick.

“My house?” Spencer folded his arms on the table. “Is Claire hiding assets from you already?”

“Sir?” Mike’s fingers dug into her hand.

“This house belongs to Claire.” Spencer spread his arms. “This house and everything in it.”

“Mitchell and I haven’t gotten around to detailing our assets yet.” Heat crept up her chest and she took a gulp of chilled orange juice to keep it in check. She and Mike should’ve been covering this ground last night. Nothing much got past Spencer.

“Our—” Mike slid a glance at Ethan, busy marching his dinosaurs over a mound of scrambled eggs on his plate “—courtship was fast.”

“I have to admit, when you showed up last night, it was the first I’d heard of you, but then, Claire plays it close to the vest. So your announcement didn’t surprise me in the least, and it was quite welcome.”

“I’m glad you approve.” Mike gave her fingers one last squeeze before releasing her hand. “Are we still on for sightseeing today, or did the...accident change our plans?”

“I don’t see any reason why your plans should change.” Spencer pushed back from the table. “You might find a few monuments closed for security reasons, and you might have to drive through a few security checkpoints.”

“Maybe we’ll take a drive down to Virginia, Mount Vernon.” She tugged on Ethan’s ear. “You’re going to Mallory’s birthday party today.”

Ethan dropped his dinosaurs. “She’s gonna have cupcakes. She told me at school.”

“And pony rides.” She handed Ethan a napkin. “Wipe your face and I’ll help you get ready to go.”

Mike placed his own napkin by the side of his plate and smiled at Ethan. “Will you bring me a cupcake?”

“Yes. What color?”

“Surprise me.”

Spencer hunched forward and whispered, “I think we should send some security with Ethan and Lori to that party. Just to be on the safe side.”

She nodded. One more reason to get Ethan out of this town—and away from Spencer; not that her stepfather would ever hurt her son, but his connections might not be so sensitive.

* * *

FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, Claire was staring out the car window at a gray sky threatening another dusting of snow. She shivered and wound her blue scarf around her neck.

“Are you cold?” Mike’s fingers hovered at the dial of the car heater. “I can turn it up.”

“I’m fine.” She crossed her arms. “I’m just thinking about my stepfather sitting at that security meeting this morning, blood on his hands.”

“How can you be so sure he’s responsible, Claire? A few overheard conversations and a few suspicious emails don’t prove anything concrete, and we need concrete.”

“Be patient. You’re here, aren’t you? What I told Lola must’ve been convincing enough for her husband to send you out here to investigate.”

His gaze narrowed. “Do you want the truth?”

“Considering you’re my fiancé, that would be nice.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

“Funny.” He turned down the heat. “The truth is, you’re Lola’s friend. She’s worried about you.”

She clenched her teeth to keep her jaw from dropping. After a few deep breaths, she smoothed her hands over the pressed denim covering her thighs and then clasped her knees. “Are you telling me that none of you believe my stepfather is up to his neck in something nefarious? The CIA director was just murdered—in front of my house on his way to our party.”

“Which may or may not have anything to do with Spencer Correll.”

A sharp pain stabbed her between the eyes, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Are you here to help find evidence against my stepfather, or to play fiancé and protector to the poor, addled widow?”

“A little of both.” He held up his hand when she took a breath, clenching her fists in front of her. “Nobody thinks you’re poor and addled—especially not poor.”

“You’re insulting.” She blew out a breath and flicked her fingers in the air. “Turn around. The engagement is over, and you can leave.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That was insulting? I admit I’m brusque, comes from living in a world of subterfuge and secrets. When I have the opportunity to tell the truth, I take it. You want the truth, don’t you?”

“Lola doesn’t believe me?” Her nose stung. Lola Coburn was one of her oldest and best friends. She knew Lola had been concerned about her after Shane’s...death, but Lola had sounded so sincere on the phone.

“Lola believes you have every right to suspect Spencer of complicity in your mother’s death.”

“But not that he’s involved with a bunch of terrorists?”

“Nobody is dismissing that out of hand, Claire, and yes, the director’s murder is convenient for Senator Correll.”

“But...”

“No buts. I’m here to look into everything.”

“Including my mental health.” She scooted forward in her seat and tilted her head at him. “Why did Jack Coburn send one of his agents on what could very well be a wild-goose chase?”

“The truth again?”

“Why not? We seem to be on a roll.”

“I’m retiring. I’ve been in this business too long, and I’m on my way out.”

She scanned the touch of gray in the black hair at his temples and the lines in his rugged face. “So Jack asked if you’d mind checking in on the poor, addled widow on your way out?”

He reached out as quickly as a cat and chucked her beneath the chin. “Would you stop calling yourself that? You’re not poor or addled.”

“I know, I know, especially poor.”

Tapping the car’s GPS, he said, “Are we still going to Mount Vernon?”

“Why not? I just want to get out of DC, and Mount Vernon’s as good as anyplace. Besides, I’m supposed to be showing you the sights.”

“It’s going to be a madhouse in DC for the next several weeks. Director Haywood’s death is going to affect us, too.”

“I think his assassination serves many purposes. I have no doubt that it was to put Spencer in position, but there must’ve been another reason. Maybe the director knew something.” She squeezed her eyes closed trying to remember the last time her stepfather and Haywood had met.

“This is a lot bigger than you now, Claire. You’re not going to discover anything the CIA or FBI isn’t going to discover.”

“Is that your way of telling me to back off?” She gripped her knees, her fingers curling into the denim of her jeans. “If the CIA and the FBI had anything on Spencer, they would’ve made a move by now. I know things those agencies don’t know.”

He glanced at her as he veered off the highway, following the sign pointing toward Mount Vernon. “That’s why I’m here.”

They rode in silence as he maneuvered the car to the parking area. He swung into a slot, leaving a few spaces between her car and the next one over. “Not very crowded today.”

“Too cold, and maybe people don’t want to be hanging around tourist areas after last night.”

“Do you want to head inside the mansion or get a cup of coffee at the Mount Vernon Inn so we can talk?”

“Since I dragged you out here so we could talk away from prying eyes and pricked ears, let’s get some coffee.”

Claire opened her door and stepped onto the parking lot, the heels of her knee-high boots clicking dully against the asphalt. The bare trees bordering the lot gave them a clear view of the mansion and the shops and restaurant next to it. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it so empty here.”

“That’s a good thing. The last time I visited, I couldn’t get a table at the restaurant.”