Secret Agent Santa. Carol Ericson
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A flood of adrenaline surged through her.
Claire shoved through the glass doors and took off down the sidewalk toward the car. Mike must’ve seen her in the rearview mirror because the engine growled to life at her approach.
The man yelled after her, but she had no intention of stopping.
Despite her high-heeled boots, she took off in a run, someone sprinting behind her.
She tugged open the door and scrambled inside the car. The man had caught up with her and made a grab for her coat as it flew out behind her.
“Claire?” Mike’s voice gave her strength and purpose.
“Go, Mike! Just go!”
That was all he needed from her. No questions, no answers.
He floored the gas pedal and the car lurched away from the curb, flinging the door open and shedding the government man hanging on to it.
Secret Agent Santa
Carol Ericson
CAROL ERICSON lives with her husband and two sons in Southern California, home of state-of-the-art cosmetic surgery, wild freeway chases and a million amazing stories. These stories, along with hordes of virile men and feisty women, clamor for release from Carol’s head. It makes for some interesting headaches until she sets them free to fulfill their destinies and her readers’ fantasies. To learn more about Carol, please visit her website, www.carolericson.com, “Where romance flirts with danger.”
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To Margery, hope this Christmas brings you fond memories
Contents
Password Failed.
The message mocked her, and Claire almost punched the computer monitor. She didn’t think it would be easy figuring out her stepfather’s password, but she didn’t think it would take her almost fifty tries over the course of three weeks, either. How did those hackers do it?
Placing her fingers on the keyboard, she closed her eyes, racking her brain for the next possible password. The voices in the hallway stopped her cold, sending a ripple of fear across her flesh.
She had no reason to be in this office, especially with a lavish party going on downstairs—her lavish party. She whipped her head around, the action loosening her carefully coiffed chignon, and lunged for the French doors. She parted the drapes, grabbed one handle and slipped through the opening onto the balcony.
She clicked the glass door shut just as she saw the door to the office crack open. Placing her palms against the rough brick, she sidled along the wall until she reached the edge of the balcony farthest from the doors.
Feathers of snow drifted from the night sky, leaving a dusting of white on the Georgetown streets. DC rarely saw snow in December. Just her luck.
She crossed her arms, digging her fingers into the cold skin exposed by her sleeveless gown. She couldn’t stay here long or her stepfather’s security detail would find her and would have to chip her stiff body from the brick facade of the town house.
The French doors next to her swung open and Claire flattened herself against the wall. Her stepfather, Senator Spencer Correll, must’ve noticed the parted drapes or the chill in the room and had decided to investigate. What possible excuse could she offer for being out