Secret Agent Santa

He must’ve felt her stare burning into him because at that moment, he glanced up, his eyes meeting hers and his mouth twisting into a half smile.

Spencer nudged her from behind. “Don’t be shy now that the cat’s out of the bag. Go greet your fiancé.”

* * *

CLAIRE CHADWICK LOOKED like a ghost at the bottom of the staircase, her pale skin, blond hair and long, sparkling silver dress blending together to form a glittering cloud. Only her eyes, big, round and dark, stood out in relief.

Lola hadn’t exaggerated her friend’s beauty, but Claire didn’t have the look of a woman greeting her fiancé for the holidays. Of course, what did he expect of a novice? He’d have to take the reins here.

He dropped his scarf on top of his overcoat, resting in a maid’s arms, and took the ticket from her fingers. Nudging his bag on the floor with the toe of his dress shoe, he asked, “Could you please check this, too?”

Straightening his cuffs, he descended the two steps from the foyer into the great room, decorated with twinkling lights and crystal stars hanging from the ceiling. An enormous Christmas tree dominated one corner of the room, coated with silver flocking and sporting gold ornaments amid its colored lights.

He made a beeline for Claire, taking tentative steps in his direction, her stepfather, Senator Spencer Correll, almost prodding her forward.

This scenario wasn’t going as planned.

As the distance between them shortened to two feet, he held out one hand. “Sweetheart, I hope you don’t mind that I surprised you like this. My conference ended early.” He took her cold, stiff fingers in his hand and squeezed. “Lola sends her love.”

He pulled Claire toward him and kissed her smooth cheek. At the mention of Lola’s name, her hand relaxed in his. He didn’t know where the communication had failed, but at least Claire had some expectation of his presence here.

Her arms twined around his neck and she pressed her soft lips against his. “Babe, I’m thrilled to see you here, even though you spoiled my surprise.”

His arm curled around her slender waist, and they turned to face Spencer Correll together. Correll’s assistant had joined them.

Mike stuck out his hand to introduce himself to the assistant, just to make sure Claire knew his name...or at least the name and identity he’d devised for this assignment. “Mitchell Brown, nice to meet you.”

Correll clapped his hand on his assistant’s shoulder. “Trey Jensen, this is Claire’s fiancé, Mitchell Brown. Mitchell, my assistant, Trey Jensen.”

He shook the other man’s hand, already knowing his name, bank account balance and sexual predilections. “Good to meet you, Trey. Now, if you gentlemen don’t mind, I’m going to steal my fiancée away from her own party for a few minutes.”

Claire pinched his side. “I thought you’d never ask, babe.”

Spencer chuckled. “You two go ahead. I’ll hold down the fort for you, Claire. It’s not like you’ve spent much time with your guests anyway.”

Claire responded to this zinger by pulling Mike toward the staircase with a firm grip. “We won’t be too long.”

They held hands up the stairs and across the landing until she dragged him into a library, its shelves lined with books and the floor covered by a thick carpet that muted their steps.

She shut and locked the door and then turned toward him, her unusual violet eyes alight with fire. “Fiancé? You’re my fiancé?”

“I thought it was the best cover to keep me close to your side and privy to Correll’s comings and goings. That way I can stay in this house. I even brought a bag. This is still your house, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She narrowed her extraordinary eyes. “Did Lola send me someone I can actually work with, or a bodyguard?”

“Can’t I be a little of both?” He spread out his hands. He liked it better when she had her arms curled around his neck, kissing him, instead of skewering him with a frosty gaze. He needed to get on her good side if he wanted her to give Lola a good report—not that it mattered at this point.

“Just so you know, Mitchell Brown is not my real name. It’s Mike. Mike Becker.”

“Suits you better.” Crossing her arms, she tapped the toe of her glittering sandal. “When did this fiancé stuff all go down, Mike Becker?”

He put a hand in the pocket of his dress slacks and toyed with his coat-check ticket. “From the look on your face when I walked in, I figured you hadn’t received Lola’s final text.”

“She told me she was sending someone from her husband’s agency, but I didn’t know the details. I certainly didn’t know I was acquiring a fiancé.”

“I didn’t even give Lola all the details.”

“I have a five-year-old son. To him, you’ll be nothing but a friend, got it?”

The mama-bear attitude surprised him coming from this glittering goddess, but it figured she’d be protective of her son. He knew all about the boy and the tragic demise of her husband, Shane Chadwick.

“I know about...your son, and I have no intention of playing the doting fiancé or future stepdad in front of him.”

She blinked and brushed a wisp of blond hair from her eyes. “Ethan’s going out to his grandparents’ place in a few days, anyway. I’m glad Lola gave you some background, although I’m sure you did some checking on your own.”

“Of course.” Didn’t she realize that every covert-ops agent at home and abroad knew the story about her husband? Hell, didn’t the entire world know? Mike cleared his throat. “Jack Coburn isn’t too pleased you contacted his wife directly, but when you mentioned a connection between Correll and a terrorist group, we thought it best to investigate. You have some video proof?”

“I do. I’m sure it proves...something. You’ll see.” She’d hooked her finger around a diamond necklace encircling her neck, and the large pendant glinted in the low light of the library.

“When can I see it?” Jack wasn’t all that convinced Claire had any proof of anything, but he didn’t want to leave any stone unturned—especially when that stone involved his wife’s friend.

“I have it in a secure location. I’ll show it to you tomorrow.”

“Your stepfather would be playing with fire if it’s true. He has access to the highest levels of government.”

“That’s the scary part. My stepfather is a member of the Senate Intelligence Committee and was on the short list for director a few years ago. He still may be on that list.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of your suspicions one way or another.”

Claire tapped her chin with two fingers, and a diamond bracelet matching the necklace slipped to her elbow. “I have more than suspicions. I’m almost positive Spencer is involved in terrorist activity.”

“You’ll have to give me more of the details, including that video, and I’ll start digging around, but let’s play the loving couple to establish my cover first—just not in front of your son.” He straightened his bow tie as she wandered toward the window to gaze at the winter wonderland. “You weren’t going to jump from that balcony, were you?”

“So you did know that was me.” She met his eyes in the glass of the window.

“Not when I first saw you outside, but I figured it out when I saw your dress. It’s rather—” his gaze meandered from the hem of her full skirt to the top of the dress that had a deep V slashed almost to her waist “—distinctive.”

“Well, I would hope so. I paid enough money for it.” She tapped a manicured fingernail on the windowpane. “I was hiding from Spencer. I had been in his office trying out passwords to unlock his computer when he and some smarmy donor decided to have a meeting.”

Whistling through his teeth, Mike joined her at the window. “Claire, why are you really after your stepfather? Most people don’t see a few odd signs, a meeting on video with someone suspicious and immediately think ‘terrorist plot.’”

“Just wait until you hear the whole story and see the videos before jumping to conclusions about me and my motives.”

“Deal.” He held out his hand and they shook on it. Still keeping her hand in his, he said, “Now, let’s go downstairs and pretend to be a newly engaged couple.”

Pointing out the window, she pressed her forehead against the glass. “Speaking of terrorism, there’s the director down there. Isn’t he technically your boss?”

“Technically, although I’ve never met him and most of what we do at Prospero is under the CIA radar.” He glanced into the street, where a balding man was exiting a town car as a valet held open his door. “I’m surprised to see him at your party. Didn’t you have some beef with him a few years ago?”