Secret Agent Santa. Carol Ericson
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?”
Another valet hurried to the front of the vehicle, stooped over and then continued up the street at a jog.
The hair on the back of Mike’s neck quivered at about the same time one of the director’s security detail lunged across the car toward his charge.
Mike instinctively grabbed Claire around the waist and yanked her away from the window just as the explosion shattered the glass and rocked the town house.
Claire landed on the floor with Mike’s body on top of hers. Acrid smoke billowed into the room from the shattered window and her nostrils twitched.
Mike’s face loomed above hers, his mouth forming words she couldn’t hear over the ringing in her ears. Sprinkles of glass quivered in his salt-and-pepper hair like ice crystals, and she reached out to catch them on the tips of her fingers.
The crystals bit into her flesh and she frowned at the spot of blood beading on her fingertip.
Mike rose to his knees over her and dragged her across the carpet, away from the jagged window. She couldn’t breathe. Cold fear began to seep into her blood.
Rolling to her stomach, she began to crawl toward the door.
Mike’s voice pierced her panic. “Claire. Are you all right?”
Cranking her head over her shoulder, she had enough breath left in her lungs to squeeze out one word. “Ethan.”
Mike jumped to his feet and hooked her beneath her arms, pulling her up next to him. “Where is he?”
She pointed to the ceiling with a trembling finger, and then launched herself at the door of the library, her knees wobbling like pudding.
Mike followed her upstairs, keeping a steadying hand on the small of her back. Through her fog, Claire heard shrieks and commotion from downstairs. The noise shot adrenaline through her system, and she ran up the rest of the stairs to Ethan’s room.
She shoved open the door and rushed to her son’s bed, where he sat up rubbing tears from his eyes.
“Mommy?”
She dived onto the bed and enveloped him in a hug, blocking the cold air breezing through one shattered window. “Are you hurt?”
Shaking his head, he wiped his nose across her bare arm. “That was loud.”
“That was loud.” She kissed the top of his head, her gaze taking in Mike hovering at the door of the bedroom. “Don’t worry. It was just an accident outside. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Ethan disentangled himself from her arms and fell back against his pillow. “Uh-huh. Can I look out the window to see the accident?”
“Absolutely not. There’s glass all over the floor. I’m going to move you to another bedroom across the hall, as long as there are no broken windows on that side.”
Ethan squinted and pointed at Mike. “Who are you?”
“Pointing is rude.” She grabbed his finger and kissed it. “That’s my friend Mr. Brown.”
Ethan waved. “Hi, Mr. Brown. Did you see the accident?”
Mike took two steps into the room accompanied by the sound of sirens wailing outside. “No, but I heard it. You’re right. It was loud.”
Ethan’s nanny stumbled into the room, her hands covering her mouth. “Ethan? Oh, Claire, you’re here. What was that?”
Claire held a finger to her lips. “Just an accident outside, Lori. Did the windows shatter in your room on the other side?”
“No. Do you want me to take Ethan to the room next to mine?”
“I’ll come with you, and then I’d better see what’s going on downstairs.” Claire pulled Ethan from his bed and stood up with his legs wrapped around her waist. “Lori, this is Mitchell Brown, a friend of mine.”
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