Carol Ericson - Secret Agent Santa

“What did you discover?” He gripped the edge of the table as if bracing for the next onslaught of crazy.

She reached into her bag and pulled out the envelope containing the picture, the picture she’d taken from the video she rescued from the trash can on Spencer’s computer. She pinched it between two fingers and removed it from the envelope. Then she dropped it on the table and positioned it toward Mike with her fingertip.

Picking it up, he squinted at the photo. “It’s your stepfather talking to another man. Who is he?”

“He’s the terrorist who killed my husband.”

Chapter Four

Mike’s gaze jumped to Claire’s flushed face, her violet eyes glittering with a challenge, her lips parted.

She’d really gone off the deep end. Nothing she had to say about Correll could be of any importance now. A hollowness formed in the pit of his stomach, threatening to engulf him.

How could he possibly save this bright, beautiful, damaged woman?

He toyed with the corner of the picture, a piece of paper really, with the image printed on it. “How do you know this man is the one who killed your husband? On the video, your husband’s executioner was masked.”

“Do you know how many times I watched that video? It’s seared into my brain.”

Swallowing, he grabbed her hand. “Why? Why torture yourself?”

“My torture paled in comparison to the torture Shane endured.” She blinked her eyes, but no tears formed or spilled onto her flawless skin. “I watched that video frame by frame. I memorized every detail about that man, mask or no mask.”

“You really believe this man—” he flicked the edge of the paper “—is the same man in the video with your husband.”

“I’m sure of it.”

Her voice never wavered, her eyes never lost their clarity.

“Why?” He loosened his grip on her hand and smoothed the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. “Explain it to me.”

“This—” she tapped her finger on the picture “—is a still from a video I found on Spencer’s laptop. It’s the video I was telling you about before. I have the entire thing. I can see the way the man moves, the tilt of his head...his eye.”

“His eye, singular?”

She drew a circle in the air over her own eye. “He has a misshapen iris. I researched it, and the defect is called a coloboma. I had blowups made of my husband’s execution video and I had this picture blown up. The man’s eye is the same in both. This is the guy.”

Mike buried his fingers into his hair, digging them into his scalp. What had this woman put herself through for the past five years? What was she willing to put herself through now?

“I can prove it to you. Let me prove it to you. I have the videos and the stills in a safe deposit box.”

He owed her that much, didn’t he? He owed Lola Coburn’s friend an audience for her manic obsession.

“What is the video you retrieved from Correll’s laptop? Who took it? Where was he meeting this man?”

Claire’s shoulders dropped as she licked her lips. “It’s not DC. Florida, maybe—warm weather, palm trees. I don’t know who took the video or why. I don’t know why Spencer had it, but I can guess why he trashed it.”

“Because it’s evidence tying him to this man, whoever he is.”

“Exactly.”

She wiggled forward in her seat, and a shaft of guilt lanced his chest. He didn’t want to give her false hope that he was going along with this insanity, but he had to investigate. He had one last job to do for Prospero, for Jack, and he’d go out doing the best damned job he could, considering his previous assignment was such an abject failure.

“Why would Correll be so careless about the video? Why would he leave it in his trash can?”

She lifted one shoulder. “Maybe he doesn’t realize you have to empty your trash can on the computer.”

He snorted.

“Don’t laugh. Like my mom, Spencer didn’t grow up using computers. I’m sure his assistants do a lot of his work on the computer for him. You don’t think he actually posts those messages to reach the youth vote on social media platforms himself, do you?”

“How’d you get into his laptop? You told me earlier that you were trying to access his computer last night before the bomb blast.”

“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.”