Nick of Time. Elle James
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help Santa.”
“Like some kind of saint from heaven?” Mary snorted. “North Pole’s very own St. Nick?”
“I’m no saint.” All humor disappeared from his face, leaving his eyes dark and fathomless.
She glanced at the gun in his hand. “How do I know you’re not here to kill my father? How do I know you didn’t kill Frank Richards?”
“You don’t.” He set the gun inside a dresser drawer and scooped her elbow into his palm. “Now, are you going to your room, or would your rather sleep here?”
Mary’s heart flip-flopped in her chest at the thought of staying in the same room with this man who was sexy enough to be a model and with just enough mystery to be dangerous. A deadly combination for her underexercised libido. If she didn’t leave now, it might be fatal to more than her tenuous hold on self-preservation. Who was to say he wouldn’t kill her? Her skin chilled. “I’m going.”
She couldn’t hustle across the hallway and into her room fast enough. When she turned to close the door, she noticed Nick leaning in his door frame. Having shed his jacket and with his black hair falling over his forehead, he could crank up any female’s blood pressure and she was no different. Damn.
Mary glared at him. “I intend to learn more about you and what’s happened to my father tomorrow. So don’t go anywhere.”
His lips twisted. “Don’t worry. I’m not. I’m just as interested in finding your father as you are.”
After closing the door with a sharp click, Mary leaned against it and wondered if Nick’s reasons were much darker than hers. She tested the lock on her window, and shoved her dresser in front of the door. When she fell into bed, she lay with her eyes half-open, jumping every time the heater kicked on or the walls settled. Questions raced through her mind, keeping her awake into the wee hours.
Who had bumped into her in the hallway? Was he after her father? Why hadn’t her father tried harder to contact her once she was in North Pole? And what did the sexy mystery man across the hall have to do with her father’s disappearance? Most of all, what did her father’s clue mean?
The incessant theme from Mission: Impossible jarred Nick from the light doze he’d fallen into after lying awake all night, listening for any sound from the room across the hall.
Mary might have been certain about the intruder in her room being her father, but it didn’t account for the man who’d plowed into her in the hallway. Probably the same man who’d chased her father away on a snowmobile. Since her father had left a clue, what would keep the other man from coming back to claim it?
Nick grabbed for the cell phone on the nightstand. The display screen indicated a private number. “Yeah.”
“Tim did a name search into Alaska state records.” A pause lengthened as if an acknowledgment was required.
It took two full seconds for his boss’s voice to register. Tim was their techno-guru back at the SOS office in D.C. Royce Fontaine didn’t waste words on simple pleasantries.
“You awake?” Royce asked.
Nick scrubbed his hand down his face and glanced at the clock. The bright green digits indicated five-thirty, Alaskan time. “What did you find?”
“Not what, but who. Charles Hayes.”
Nick shook his sleep-clouded head. “And Charles Hayes should ring a bell?”
“Frank Richards had contracted with a NewYork publishing house to sell his Vietnam War memoirs. Tim hasn’t been able to tap into Richards’s computer. The motherboard looked pretty much like swiss cheese. We also learned that Frank Richards had recently been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. His doctor gave him three months to live, four months ago.”
“Could his memoirs be some kind of confession?”
“If so, it wasn’t just his actions he’s confessing. He’s got someone else scared.”
“What do Richards’s memoirs have to do with Santa?”
“Tim checked his phone records. He’d made two calls to North Pole, Alaska, in the past two weeks. The phone number he called belonged to our Santa Claus, aka Charles Hayes. Mr. Hayes had a legal name change over thirty-five years ago upon his arrival in Fairbanks. Your Santa’s fingerprints also match the military records of Hayes.”
“Why change his name?”
“That’s what we have to figure out. Do you need help on this one?”
“No. It’s still early in the investigation.”
“Yeah, but we have one man dead and another missing. I already have Tazer running a scan through military records to see if we find a connection between Hayes and Richards. I lay you odds they were in Vietnam together. I’ll alert Kat Sikes from the Anchorage office to head your way.”
“How is Kat?” Nick asked. He’d worked with Kat on a mission involving a terrorist element in Florida. The woman was a top agent until her husband was killed in an embassy bombing in Africa a couple of years ago.
“She and Sam should be back tomorrow from their delayed honeymoon in Nome.” Kat had helped keep Sam alive when an SOS agent-gone-bad had tried to end Sam’s life during last year’s Iditarod dogsled race.
Nick rolled to the side of the bed and sat up. “Nome, Alaska in the winter? Whatever happened to honeymooning in Hawaii?”
“They never made it to Nome when they were competing in the Iditarod. Sam wanted to go, Kat went along with him.” Royce laughed. “Me? I would have gone for a tropical beach, not a frozen coastline. I’ve got another assignment for Sam, but I can send Kat when they get back. Can you hold out for a day or two?”
“Sure. I’m working an inside connection.”
“You are?”
“Yeah.” Nick stood and walked across the room. “Santa’s daughter.”
“Santa’s daughter, huh? What’s her name? Want Tazer to run a check on her?”
“No. I think she’s genuine. Her name’s Mary…Mary Christmas.” Nick grinned, imagining Royce’s expression.
“I’m sorry, there must have been some static in the line. Did you say Mary Christmas?”
“That’s right. These people really get into the whole Christmas theme up here.” Something completely foreign to Nick.
“I knew that, but…Mary Christmas?” Royce paused. “Is she normal?”
Normal? Mary Christmas? Nick envisioned the long silky blond hair and even longer, silkier smooth legs he’d glimpsed peeking out of her robe last night. His groin tightened. “Yeah, she’s normal,” he grunted.
“Well, keep an eye on her. If Richards thought Santa was in danger, Santa’s daughter might be a target as well. Keep me informed. Kat will be there in the next day or so.”
Nick slid the cell phone shut. He’d already considered Mary as a target for whoever was after Santa. Thus the restless night, listening for sounds.
The best way he could protect her and learn more about the town was to get close. A pinch of irritation gnawed at his gut. He liked working alone. Liked keeping a distance from the subjects of his mission. It spared messy goodbyes. And face it, he would be saying goodbye once he’d located Santa and neutralized the threat to the bearded elf and his family. Nick St. Claire didn’t stay long in any one place. Get in, solve the problem and leave. Passed from foster home to foster home as a child growing up in Texas, he’d learned emotional ties only weighed you down.
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