Secret Agent Santa

by Carol Ericson

  Chapter Seven

  The familiar streets of Brooktown passed by in a blur. Mike had slowed the car down a few blocks past the bank to give Claire a chance to close the door and loosen her death grip on the seat.

  Now only their heavy breathing filled the silence between them as Mike maneuvered through the streets at high speed. His gaze darted between his rearview and side mirrors, and then he suddenly screeched to a stop before the bridge.

  He charged out of the car, disappeared in the front and then popped up holding the tracking device.

  He stepped away from the car and chucked the device into the water. Then they sped across the bridge.

  After another five miles or so, he balanced his palms on top of the steering wheel and flexed his fingers. “What happened back there?”

  “I opened my safe deposit box to put the drives back and found this.” She unzipped her bag, plunged her hand inside and withdrew the packets of neatly stacked bills. “Money.”

  Mike swore. “How much is it?”

  “I didn’t stop to count it, but there are six stacks of varying denominations.”

  “So, your natural response was to stuff the cash in your bag and run from the FBI?”

  She jerked her head around. “I was scared. How do I know those two aren’t working for Spencer?”

  “We don’t know anything at this point. I saw them enter the bank, and it gave me pause. In fact, it set off low-level alarm bells in my head.”

  “Exactly.” She formed her fingers into a gun and pointed at him. “When I discovered the money, I freaked out. How could a bank make a mistake like that? I didn’t want to leave the stacks in there for one minute and there were no bags in the room, so I put the bundles in my bag, and I was going to bring them to Dorothy.”

  “Who’s Dorothy?”

  “She’s the bank employee who has the safe deposit box keys.” She dropped the money in her lap as Dorothy’s words flashed across her mind. “Mike?”

  “What is it? Do you think Dorothy put it there?”

  “No, but she made a comment that didn’t make sense to me at the time. She mentioned something about how she remembered my box number because she’d just opened it earlier this morning. I thought she was confused, since I’d been in yesterday, not this morning.”

  He picked up on her thought. “Unless she opened your box for someone else this morning.”

  “She can’t do that, can she?”

  “If that someone has a key, she can. Anyone can get into a safe deposit box with the right key and the box number.”

  Her nervous fingers creased the corner of a thousand-dollar bill, one of many. “Why would someone put all this cash in my safe deposit box?”

  “Why would the FBI be questioning you about a man you contacted five years ago?”

  “Do you think they’re linked?” She sucked in her bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

  “If you hadn’t had the same suspicion, you never would’ve run out of that bank.”

  “As soon as I found the money, I knew something was off—not just that the bank had made a mistake, but that the money represented something sinister. When I walked out into the bank and saw those two talking to Dorothy, I panicked.”

  “That’s understandable.” Mike checked the rearview mirror for the hundredth time. “They didn’t show up to help you count your money.”

  Shoveling the bundles back into her purse, she said, “They came to arrest me, didn’t they?”

  “I don’t want to scare you, Claire,” he said as he brushed the back of his hand against her arm, “but I think so.”

  Her mouth felt dry even though Mike wasn’t telling her anything she hadn’t suspected already. Maybe she’d suspected it from the moment Agents Finnegan and Glotz showed up at her house this morning, flashing pictures of Hamid.

  She bolted forward in her seat. “Mike.”

  “Don’t worry, Claire. We’ll figure this out.”

  “It’s not that. What about Hamid?”

  “What about him?”

  “If they’re setting me up, they’re setting up Hamid, too.”

  “He’s their fall guy.”

  “But he didn’t do anything. Hamid is a good kid, a university student. He tried to help me.”

  “He must live in the States if they’re fingering him as the valet. Is he visiting, or does he reside here?”

  “H-he lives here...now. Remember, I told the FBI agents that I’d helped him with a student visa.” She stuffed her hands beneath her thighs.

  “And he’s still here? How long has he been here?”

  “Mike, I sponsored him. I facilitated his relocation to the US from Pakistan. He’s a student at MIT.”

  “I heard you tell the FBI agents that you’d helped him, but not that much.” Mike groaned and pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. “That’s not gonna look good.”

  “Let’s face it. Nothing’s going to look good at this point. They managed to turn even something as harmless as a safe deposit box into poison for me.”

  “Correll must know you have something on him—something other than suspicions about your mother’s accident, unless he’s using the car bomb as an excuse to get rid of your petty meddling and direct the suspicion away from him.” He snapped his fingers. “He kills two birds with one stone.”

  “I really don’t care what his motivation is at this point. The question is, what are we going to do now?”

  He pointed to the road ahead. “Disappear and regroup.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Vermont.”

  “That’s so far. What’s in Vermont?”

  “A safe house, seclusion.” He patted the dashboard. “We’re going to have to get rid of this sweet ride first.”

  “Get rid of, as in get rid of?”

  “I’m not going to send it to a dismantler, if that’s what you’re thinking. We’ll leave it at the airport in Newark and take a very long bus ride to Vermont.”

  “I want to get to Ethan.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I know you do, but he’s safe where he is, and if you try to see him, they could be waiting for you.”

  “How did this get so crazy so fast?” She massaged her temples with her fingertips. “Once Prospero identifies the man meeting with Spencer as the same one who executed my husband, will this all end?”

  “It’s not as simple as that, Claire. We’d have to get more on Correll than just the meeting.”

  “And I’m supposed to hang out in Vermont—without my son—until you do?”

  “It’s a start.” He tugged on a lock of her hair. “Trust me, Claire. Can you do that?”

  “I don’t think I have a choice, Mike. You’re all I’ve got.”

  And she could do a lot worse than Mike Becker.

  * * *

  THE SWITCH AT the Newark airport went smoothly. He parked Claire’s Lexus in the long-term parking, buried it among rows and rows of cars so it wouldn’t be lonely.

  It had been a stroke of luck that he’d taken his laptop and another bag from his hotel room before going to the bank. The FBI probably would’ve staked out his hotel, and he never would’ve gotten to his computer.

  If that man and woman at the bank were even FBI. He didn’t want to worry Claire with his suspicions—yet.

  He had cash and documents in his bag and more waiting for him at the cabin in Vermont.

  And Claire wasn’t hurting for cash. Guaranteed those bills in her safe deposit box weren’t marked and traceable. Whoever put them there hadn’t expected Claire to make a run for it with cash in hand.

  That was one thing he’d learned about his pretend fiancée in the past few days—expect the unexpected. Her stepfather hadn’t been paying attention all those years.

  The bus slowed to a crawl as it rumbled over the railroad tracks, and Claire turned from the window, her beautiful face pinched with worry.

  He knew her furrowed brow and pursed lips owed more to her concern about Et
han and Hamid than for herself. She could worry about them, and he’d worry about her. Someone had to.

  “Are you doing okay? We can get something to eat at the next stop. We’re not going to be in Vermont until almost ten o’clock tonight.”

  “Food is the last thing on my mind.” She nudged her toe against the bag between his feet. “Are you going to contact Prospero when we get settled in the safe house?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Can you bring up the news on your phone and see if we’ve made the Most Wanted list yet?”

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and dropped it into her cupped hand. “Knock yourself out.”

  He extended his legs into the aisle between the seats and slumped down, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes.

  If Prospero found no link between the men in the two videos, he’d have a problem on his hands. He didn’t believe for one minute that Claire had anything to do with the assassination of the CIA director, who’d been the deputy director when Shane Chadwick had been murdered, but evidence pointed to her involvement, and others might not see it the same way he did.

  Claire nudged his shoulder, and he opened one eye. “I was planning on getting some shut-eye until we hit Philly.”

  She held up the phone in front of his one eye and said, “Look. They have Hamid’s picture out there as a suspect in the car bombing.”

  He opened his other eye and studied the earnest face of a young man captured in a black-and-white photo. “Did the FBI pick him up?”

  “No.” She skimmed the tip of her finger along his phone’s display. “They can’t locate him.”

  “Didn’t you tell me he was at MIT? Does he stay in Boston during the winter break?”

  “I have no idea. I wasn’t lying to the agents. I haven’t been in touch with Hamid for a while.”

  “Did the article mention your name?”

  “No.” She held out his cell to him. “Not yet, anyway.”

  He dropped the phone into his pocket and closed his eyes. “Maybe we’ll be in Vermont by the time your name is out there. It’s going to be a long night. Let’s try to get some rest.”

  What must’ve been a few hours later, the low rumble of the bus startled him awake, and his eyes flew open. Claire’s head rested against his shoulder, her blond hair cascading down the length of his arm.

  He inhaled her scent, which held a hint of dusky rose petals. Her proximity gave him crazy ideas, and he couldn’t tell if these ideas were based in reality or had bubbled up as a result of his overriding need to protect a woman in jeopardy, any woman in jeopardy, just like he’d tried to protect his mom all those years.

  “Claire?”

  “Mmm?” She shifted her head and then jerked it up. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay.” More than okay. “The rhythm of a bus ride always puts me to sleep, too. Looks like we’re stopping outside Philly, and I’m starving.” He hoisted his bag from the floor to his lap. “Do you want a sandwich or whatever they have at the station?”

  “I’ll take a sandwich and a diet soda. I’d offer to stay on the bus and watch your bag, but I have to use the restroom.”

  “I’ve got it.” He hitched the strap of his bag over his shoulder and stood up, swaying slightly as the bus came to a halt.

  Mike ducked to look out the window past Claire, and his gut rolled as he took in the multitude of people crisscrossing in front of the station. Anybody could be out there, but the FBI hadn’t gone public with Claire’s picture yet. Maybe they were hoping to shield a sitting senator’s stepdaughter, not that the sitting senator would mind at all.

  He knew a little about the perks enjoyed by politicians and their families. Jase Bennett, one of his Prospero team members, was the son of Senator Carl Bennett and used to talk about the privileges his family enjoyed.

  He followed Claire down the steps of the bus and took her arm. “I’ll get some food, you hit the restroom and we’ll meet back on the bus. Fifteen minutes—don’t be late.”

  He watched her head toward the ladies’ room, and then he turned the corner in the direction of the food concession. He shuffled along in line, and when he got to the counter, he ordered two sandwiches and grabbed a bottle of water, Claire’s soda and a bag of chips.

  He stashed the food in his bag and lingered in the hallway outside the restrooms. He hadn’t noticed Claire going back out to the bus, but then he hadn’t been paying attention. His eye twitched, and he rubbed it. No way had anyone followed them to the airport or followed the bus. He’d double-checked and triple-checked.

  Claire must’ve gotten back on the bus.

  He strode outside where the bus spewed exhaust as it idled. He hopped on, and his step faltered. Their seats were still empty.

  He scanned the rest of the bus and the passengers that didn’t even fill half the seats.

  He cranked his head toward the driver. “Do we still have a few minutes? My wife isn’t back yet.”

  “Yeah, I’ll wait for you, but not too long.” The driver tapped a clock above the windshield. “We’re on a schedule.”

  “Understood.” Mike hopped off the bus, his heart slamming against his chest.

  He entered the station again, swiveling his head from left to right. He jogged toward the restrooms, his bag banging against his hip.

  This time he didn’t wait, he shoved open the door to the ladies’ room. A woman looked up, her brows colliding over her nose.

  “This is the women’s restroom.”

  He bent forward, looking under the doors of all the empty stalls. No Claire.

  “Doesn’t anyone have any boundaries anymore?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m looking for someone.”

  “That’s what the other guy said.”

  Chapter Eight

  Claire stared at the barrel of the gun. She never should’ve left the ladies’ room with him. He wouldn’t have shot her with that woman in the other stall.

  Would he shoot her now?

  She swallowed as she glanced down the alley with the car parked at the end. He just might.

  “Just keep walking, Claire, all the way to the end of the alley. It’s going to be okay. We don’t really believe you had anything to do with the assassination of the director. We want to talk, to protect you.”

  Her gaze shifted from the gun to the man aiming it, dressed in faded jeans and a dark jacket zipped over a hoodie. Had the FBI changed its dress code recently?

  She shook her head. “I’m not going with you. You’re going to have to shoot me here.”

  A slight movement behind the man caught her attention. Mike’s face appeared in the opening of the door leading to the bus station. She quickly directed her focus back to her assailant’s face.

  “Nobody wants to shoot you, Claire. Just get in the car at the end of the alley, and we’ll discuss this whole misunderstanding.”

  “There’s no misunderstanding on my part. Someone, my stepfather, is setting up me and Hamid Kahn for the car bombing. Who are you? You’re not FBI.”

  Mike had pushed open the door without a sound, but something must’ve alerted the man.

  He spun around, but Mike had anticipated the move. He dropped into a crouch and then flew at the man, his long leg extended in front of him.

  “Get down, Claire!”

  She dropped to the cold ground just as Mike’s foot hit the man midchest. They both fell over with Mike on top.

  The gun skittered to the side of the struggling men and with one fluid movement, Mike grabbed it and drove the butt against the side of the man’s head with a sickening thud.

  Claire sprang to her feet. “Let’s go!”

  Mike had his hands buried in the man’s pockets. “The money, Claire. Leave the money.”

  Her movements shifted to autopilot and she dumped the bundles of cash on the ground next to the inert form of her attacker.

  Mike grabbed her arm and they barreled back through the door and ran toward the front of the bus station.

&nb
sp; The bus had just closed its doors and Mike banged on the glass. The driver opened the doors. “I almost left you.”

  Mike panted out his thanks and they stumbled down the aisle to their row.

  Claire dropped to her seat, pressing her hands to her still-thundering heart. “H-how did that happen? How did he find us?”

  “The money. There must’ve been a tracking device in the money. I was stupid not to check it.”

  “He wasn’t FBI, no way.”

  “The FBI didn’t bug the cash, either. They still think that money belongs to you, that it’s Hamid’s payoff. That must be why someone put it in your safe deposit box.”

  “That guy in the alley? He was Spencer’s guy.” She brushed some dirt from the knees of her pants. “Are you sure that’s how he tracked us down, the money?”

  “It must be. I made sure we weren’t followed, Claire. Now that you dumped the cash, we should be safe.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, shaken up, but fine.” She threaded her fingers through his and brought his hand to her cheek. “Are you okay? I thought for sure he was going to shoot you when he spun around.”

  “I had the element of surprise, thanks to you. Good job not giving away my presence.”

  “I saw you searching his pockets. Did you find anything?”

  “I found a phone, which I didn’t take in case it could be tracked, and a couple of other items, which I’ll take a look at later—no ID, no wallet, nothing like that.”

  “Do you think whoever sent him gave him orders to kidnap me or kill me?” Her muscles tensed. Either way, if she hadn’t had Mike by her side, she’d be dead meat by now.

  He disentangled his fingers from hers and squeezed the back of her neck. “I’m not sure, but this is looking better and better for your story about Correll. The fact that someone other than the FBI was tailing you proves that this is some kind of setup.”

  “No call to your boss yet?”

  “I’ll wait until we get to our destination. By now, he’s probably heard that you took off. He’ll have plenty of questions.”

  She sighed. “Unfortunately, we don’t have many answers for him. If the ID of the man in the two videos comes through, will Prospero have enough information to go after Spencer, along with what just happened in the alley back there?”