Carol Ericson - Secret Agent Santa

“A great lady, your wife.” The shoe retreated, and Claire never heard Spencer’s response to the compliment to his dead wife as the doors closed on the two men.

She let out a long breath and a new round of chills claimed her body. Even though they’d closed the door, her stepfather and his crony were still in the office.

She turned toward the low wall around the balcony and peered over the edge. She could hike up her dress and climb over and then try to reach the trellis that was positioned on the side of the building. She was just one story up.

“Are you going to jump?”

She gasped and jerked her head toward the sound of the voice from below. A man stood just outside the circle of light emanating from the side of the house. What was he doing out here? More important, why was he yelling? She put her finger to her lips and shook her head.

He caught on quickly. He shrugged a pair of broad shoulders draped in a black overcoat and turned the corner back to the front of the house, his red scarf billowing behind him.

Could this night get any worse? She rubbed her freezing hands together, and couldn’t feel her fingertips.

Then the shadows from the office stopped their dance across the balcony and she knew the two men had left the room. Biting her lip, she tried the door and heaved a sigh of relief. At least Spencer hadn’t locked it. He didn’t need to with the sensors, cameras and security guards monitoring this place—her place.

She tripped back into the room, her feet blocks of ice in her strappy silver sandals. She made a beeline for the door, throwing a backward glance at the computer. She’d finish checking passwords another time.

She crept down the hallway toward the stairs, but instead of heading down to her party, she climbed the steps to the third level of the expansive townhome her mother used to share with Spencer Correll, Mom’s third husband.

She needed to warm up before mingling with her guests, anyway, and a visit to her son was a surefire way to warm both her heart and body.

Pushing open the door next to her bedroom, she tiptoed into the darkened room, the night-light shaped like a train her beacon. She knelt beside Ethan’s bed and burrowed her hands beneath the covers, resting her head next to his on the pillow.

His warm mint-scented breath bathed her cheek, and she traced the curve of his earlobe with her lips.

She whispered, “Love you, beautiful boy.”

His long lashes fluttered and he mumbled in his sleep. She had to get him out of here, out of this viper’s nest. His grandparents had been clamoring to take him snowboarding in Colorado over the holidays, and even though this would be her first Christmas without him, she was making the sacrifice to protect him. He’d be leaving her in two days.

“Claire?” The shaft of light from the hallway widened across the floor.

Her stepfather’s voice always made her skin crawl.

“I’m in here, Spencer.”

“You have a surprise guest downstairs.”

“I hope this guest came with his or her checkbook.”

“Oh, I think he came with a lot more than that.” Spencer stepped into the room. “Where have you been all night? I haven’t seen you since the festivities kicked off with the tree lighting.”

“I had a headache, and then I stopped in to see Ethan. I’m getting in some extra time with him before sending him off to his grandparents.”

“I still can’t believe you’re parting with your son over Christmas.”

“The Chadwicks haven’t had him for the holidays—ever. They deserve that.”

“They should’ve told that son of theirs to stay home once he had a baby on the way. If he couldn’t keep out of harm’s way for you, he owed that to his child.”

“That’s enough.” She straightened up and pulled back her shoulders. “Shane was doing what he loved. His work was important to him. I don’t want you ever to say anything like that in front of Ethan.”

Spencer held up his hands. “I wouldn’t do that. Now, come downstairs. They’re getting ready to serve dinner, and you’ll want to see this guest. Trust me.”

She wouldn’t trust her stepfather if he told her it was snowing outside after she’d just been standing in the stuff. She smoothed her hands across the skirt of her dress, flicking a tiny crystal of ice onto the floor, and joined him at the entrance to Ethan’s room.

He closed the door and placed a hand on her bare back. “You’re cold.”

“I feel like I’m coming down with something.” She shrugged off his clammy hand and headed for the curving staircase with Spencer close on her heels.

Did he suspect something?

With her fingertips trailing along the carved bannister, she descended into the warmth and chatter below. She scanned the room, her gaze skimming over glittering jewels and black bow ties. She didn’t see any special guest—just a bunch of strangers with checkbooks.

Looking back at Spencer, she asked, “Where’s this special guest?”

“You don’t have to pretend anymore, Claire.” He drummed his fingers along her shoulder. “He told us everything.”

A knot twisted in her stomach. What kind of game was her stepfather playing this time?

From the step above her, Spencer leveled a finger toward the foyer. “There he is.”

Claire’s eyes darted among the faces of the strange men gathered in the foyer shedding coats, and then her breath hitched in her throat when she caught sight of a tall, dark-haired man unwinding a red scarf from his neck.

Had he seen enough of her on the balcony to identify her?

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.