Secret Agent Santa. Carol Ericson

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      “That was his desktop at the house. He has a laptop that he keeps with him. I know the password to the laptop and I was able to get to it one night when he was...otherwise engaged.”

      “Does he keep confidential information on this laptop?” He waved off Betsy Ross as she hovered with the coffeepot.

      “No. Personal emails and games mostly, nothing work-related. I don’t know how that video got on there, but the minute I saw it, I knew Spencer was up to his eyeballs in something.”

      He swirled the coffee in his cup, eyeing the mini whirlpool that mimicked his thoughts.

      “You don’t believe me.”

      He raised his eyes to hers. “It’s a fantastic set of circumstances.”

      “I know that.”

      “Does anyone else know about your...suspicions?”

      “No.” She twirled a lock of blond hair around her finger. “You don’t think I realize how crazy this all sounds? That’s why I called Lola.”

      “Lola’s an old friend of yours from when you and your mother lived in Florida, right?”

      “Yes. We lived there after my father died, with Mom’s second husband.”

      “Correll sits on the Security Council. He must at least know about Jack Coburn even if he’s never met him. Does he realize that you’re friends with Coburn’s wife?” He steepled his fingers and peered at her over the tips.

      “No. Like I mentioned before, he and my mother married when I was in my late teens. Lola and I didn’t see each other for a while. She was busy with medical school on the East Coast, and I had gone to college at Stanford on the West Coast.”

      “How do you know he hasn’t done some kind of background on you?”

      She spread her hands on the table, the three rings on her fingers sparkling in the light from the window. “I don’t know, but he has no clue I suspect him of being in bed with terrorists. He realized I was suspicious about Mom’s death—that’s it, and he thinks I’ve dropped that train of thought.”

      Her jaw hardened, and he almost felt a twinge of pity for Senator Spencer Correll. Claire Chadwick would never relinquish her vendetta against her stepfather.

      Clasping the back of his neck, he massaged the tight muscles on either side. “Can you show me the videos today?”

      “They’re at a bank in Maryland.”

      “Why didn’t you take me there right away?”

      “I wanted to feel you out first. I wanted to see if I could trust you.”

      “Why wouldn’t you be able to trust me? Lola’s husband sent me out here.”

      She lodged the tip of her tongue in the corner of her mouth and studied his face, her violet gaze meandering from the top of his head to his chin. “I was waiting for you to jump up and down and call me crazy, or worse, talk to me like a child and humor me.”

      “And?” Her inventory of his face had kindled a slow-burning heat in his belly. If she brought this same level of intensity to bed, she might be the best lay he ever had.

      Lola had teased him that her friend’s attractiveness would make it difficult for him to concentrate on the job, but he’d shrugged off the warning since a pretty face had never posed a threat to his professionalism before.

      Until now. The combined effect of Claire’s beauty, sympathetic story, passion and those eyes created a combustible mix that had hit him like a thunderbolt.

      He cleared his throat and repeated his question. “And?”

      “And you didn’t do either one of those things. You don’t believe me and you do feel pity for me, but you’re a man of honor and you’re here to do a job.” She leveled a finger at him. “I respect that.”

      He ran a hand across his stubble, wishing he’d shaved this morning and wondering where he’d misplaced his poker face. Did she just nail that, or what?

      “I want to see those videos.” He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill, dropping it on the table. “How long is the drive?”

      “Less than forty-five minutes.”

      “Do we have a way to watch the videos?” He stood up and flicked two more dollars on the table.

      “I have a laptop in the back of the car.”

      He ushered her outside and flipped up the collar of his jacket against the cold air. He welcomed its bite, which seemed to wake him up from a dream state. He threw a sideways glance at Claire in the hopes that the chilly slap had made her come to her senses.

      She charged across the parking lot with more purpose to her gait than when they’d arrived.

      He opened the passenger door of the car. “Unless you want to get your laptop out of the trunk.”

      “I’ll wait.” She shrugged out of her coat and tossed it in the back before sliding onto the seat.

      He settled behind the wheel. “Can you enter the bank’s address in the GPS?”

      “I’ll give you directions verbally. I’m very careful about what I enter into my GPS.”

      He raised his eyebrows before starting the car. “You said you weren’t on Correll’s radar.”

      “For his terrorist ties, but he knows I’ve been snooping around his finances.”

      Rolling his eyes, he said, “There are so many threads here, I can’t keep track.”

      She laughed and then snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Stay with me here, Mike.”

      “You can laugh?” He pulled away from the parking lot.

      “If you can’t laugh, you don’t stand a chance in life. I still have a son to raise who doesn’t have a father.”

      “You’re definitely putting him on a plane to Colorado tomorrow?”

      “He needs to see his grandparents. Shane had brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews, so Ethan will have a big family around him. Besides, I need to get him away from you.”

      “Ouch.” He flexed his fingers. “I don’t have kids myself, but I always thought I was pretty good with them. I even coach some youth basketball.”

      She touched his arm. “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. It’s because you’re so good with Ethan that I want to get him away. Does that make sense?”

      “You don’t want him getting attached or overhearing the gossip about us.” He rolled his shoulders.

      “Exactly. I could tell he thought you were something special.” She turned her head to look out the window. “You don’t have kids?”

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