Читать книгу Nick of Time - Elle James - Страница 9

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.

Another glance at the clock. He’d promised to meet Mary at eight, two and a half hours from now. Going back to sleep wasn’t an option. Going for a run was. He slipped into socks, tennis shoes and several layers of clothing before stepping out into the darkness of an early winter morning. With the cold wind biting at all exposed flesh, Nick reevaluated his decision to jog. After ducking back inside and donning his snow boots and a solid white snowsuit, goggles and hood, he left his room, feeling a bit more prepared for a brisk walk and a chance to learn the layout of the town.

MARY MUST HAVE FALLEN asleep sometime after three because she didn’t wake until thirty-five minutes after five, when she looked at her clock again. Nightmares had plagued her. All involving her father and some dark menace lurking in the shadows of the town, of her home and the bed-and-breakfast where she and Nick St. Claire were staying. Had she scared herself awake or had something disturbed her sleep? Maybe a noise? She sat up and held her breath, straining to hear it again.

A door opened and closed in the hallway, and from the sound of it, right across from hers. She flung the covers back and ran barefoot across the carpeted floor. She took a moment to shove the dresser aside before she could yank open the door.

A man in a white snowsuit stood in the hallway, bundled up from head to toe.

Mary opened her mouth to scream, but before she could utter so much as a squeak, the man reached out, grabbed her arm and spun her around, clamping a hand over her mouth.

Her heart pounded in her chest so hard, she thought maybe she’d pass out, but she couldn’t. This could be the man who was after her father. Barely able to breathe, she fought with all her might against the arm crushing her breasts beneath the thin flannel of her pajamas. No matter how much she wiggled and kicked, his hold didn’t loosen.

Over the sound of her own muffled grunts, a deep baritone penetrated her frightened mind. “Be still. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Too late, her foot had been in midswing and she couldn’t stop her heel from gouging the man’s shin. Her heel radiated pain from the force.

The man grunted. “It’s me, Nick.” He let go of her so suddenly, she almost collapsed on the cool tile of the hallway floor. She spun and faced him, ready to kick again, her breath coming in ragged pants, anger replacing fear. “Why the heck did you grab me?”

“Did you have to go and kick me so hard?” He bent, rubbing his shin, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead, exposing those brown-black eyes that sparkled like a moonlit oil spill.

“What did you expect? My room’s broken into—”

“—by your father, so you said—” Nick straightened, a frown denting his forehead with fine lines.

“—my father’s missing, and last night a man almost runs me over in the hallway—”

The corners of Nick’s lips twitched. “—who could have forgotten to turn off the stove in his house—” And the jerk had the audacity to grin.

“—and you aren’t wearing your cowboy hat—” She knew she was floundering, but the man had her tied in freakin’ knots!

“—which I couldn’t fit under my parka hood—” His grin widened.

Mary glared at Nick, unable to stop now. “—and you expect me to welcome you with a kiss?” She jerked her bare foot back and kicked him again, hopefully in the same spot as the first time.

He yelped. “Hey, what was that for?”

“For laughing at me when, for all I know, you could be the man my father’s having to hide from.” She flattened both her palms on his chest and pushed. “You could have been feeding me lies all along and be the root of my problems. Give me one good reason why I should trust you.” She pushed him again until his back hit the wall behind him. “Just one good reason.”

His eyes darkened and his hand grasped her flannel-covered shoulders, jerking her forward.

She gasped, drawing in a deep breath to scream, only for the sound to be muffled by the force of his lips crushing hers in a lip-lock that defied breaking. Even if she’d wanted to push away from him, she couldn’t. Her knees buckled and she fell against him, her breasts pressed against the cushiony thickness of his insulated jacket.

At first hard, his mouth softened, his tongue darting out to trace the line of her lips until she opened them on a sigh. He plunged in, past her teeth to her tongue. The gloves he’d had in his hands hit the floor as his fingers rose to thread through her hair, gripping the length. With a gentle tug, he tipped her head backward, exposing the long line of her throat.

Just when she thought she might never breathe again, his lips slid off the end of hers and traced a path along her jaw and downward to the pulse shooting blood up in her ears. Her fingers moved between their bodies and she slid them inside his jacket, letting his skin warm hers. When his hands rubbed down her sides and slid beneath the hem of her flannel shirt, his warm fingers against her naked skin, Mary’s body flared with red-hot desire and she moaned.

Just as quickly as he’d drawn her to him, he set her away, a smile curling his lips as his hands dropped to his sides.

Mary pressed the back of her fingers to her ravaged lips and stared up at him, too shaken to move away. “That wasn’t a reason,” she said, her voice a husky remnant of her prekissed tone. When she realized how weak she sounded, she forced her shoulders back. “Don’t ever do that again. Just because you’re stronger doesn’t mean you can force unwanted advances on me.”

His gaze shifted from her eyes downward to the flare of her nightshirt, where the turgid tips of her nipples pressed against soft flannel. “Unwanted?” Dark brows angled upward.

Mary crossed her arms over her chest, heat rising in her neck to fill her cheeks. Best to defend with a good offense, her daddy always said. “Where were you going anyway?”

“For a walk.” He stepped forward.

Mary stepped back. “At this hour?”

“Yeah.”

“Honey, this ain’t Virginia, or wherever you’re from. It’s probably minus twenty outside. Are you nuts?”

“I need air.”

She purposely stood in his way. “If you’re going out to snoop around, I’m going with you.”

“I work alone.”

“Not as long as I’m around.” She narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at his chest. “Stay. I’ll be back in two minutes.” She ducked into her room, slamming the door behind her. She dressed, shoved her hair into a ponytail and covered her body from head to toe in cold-weather gear. All the time she dressed, she prayed Nick hadn’t left the building. With the snow still falling, his tracks would disappear within minutes.

Grabbing her gloves, Mary flung open her door and raced out, running face-first into Nick’s chest. “Oh, well…so you stayed.”

“Not that I follow your orders. I was just curious.”

Mary straightened. “What do you mean, curious?”

“Whether or not any woman alive could get ready in just two minutes.” He turned and walked toward the exit door. “By the way, it was three.”

Jerking her gloves on her hands, Mary felt the flash of irritation fade into a chuckle. The man had a sense of humor, warped as it might be.

For the next twenty minutes, they crunched through icy layers of snow along the partially cleared sidewalks lining St. Nicholas Drive, headed northwest past Christmas Towne and the twenty-foot-tall Santa Claus statue. Mary peered into every shadow, wondering where her father was or if there was someone out there watching her and Nick. Surely, even the bad guys didn’t get up and out this early on a frigid morning.

They turned left onto Santa Claus Lane and took another left onto Mission Road, passing Snowman Lane and crossing Highway 2. Mary hadn’t realized it, but she’d ended up leading him past all the most famous of street names like Blitzen, Donner and Kris Kringle, the cheerful memories of her childhood lightening her footsteps and chasing away the demons in the darkness.

They completed the entire walk in silence, much to Mary’s relief. She still didn’t have a response to Nick’s kiss, and the longer she went without one, the happier she was. What could she add without sounding like a prude? The freezing temperature served the purpose of cooling her burning cheeks, her hooded jacket hiding her expression from the man. She tucked her gloved hands beneath her armpits to keep frostbite from setting in, her breath creating frost and ice on the woolen scarf pulled up over her mouth and nose.

When she couldn’t stand another step without turning into an icicle, she steered Nick back toward St. Nicolas Drive and the Christmas Towne Diner. Lights shone through the frosted windows, spreading a warm yellow glow across the fresh layer of gleaming white snow.

By six-thirty, the diner was half-full of morning customers grabbing a cup of coffee and breakfast before work. Mary sat across from Nick in a red, vinyl-covered seat next to the frosted windows and inhaled the scents of coffee, pancakes and bacon. She’d come to the conclusion that avoidance of the kiss was the best course of action. Stick to the facts of her father’s dilemma and stay clear of entanglements. In her limited experience, short-term relationships with men she didn’t really know wouldn’t work. Mary wrapped her hands around the ceramic coffee mug and let the steam rise to thaw her cheeks. “Ahh. Being warm never felt so good.”

“You didn’t have to walk with me.”

“What, and let you get lost in this thriving metropolis?” Mary huffed softly. “Besides, I couldn’t sleep. Not with all that’s happened.”

Nick stared out at the street and the twenty-foot Santa in all his red and white glory welcoming tourists and customers to Christmas Towne. “What’s with the year-round Christmas theme?”

“With a name like North Pole, what did you expect?” She tipped her head to the side and studied the man in front of her. Black hair, neatly trimmed on the sides, fell down over his forehead, giving him that intriguing mixture of dangerous-spy and little-boy-lost. Add fathomless brown-black eyes and impossibly broad shoulders and you had Nick St. Clair, a killer combination to any woman’s self-control, including hers. Another reason she’d been up all night. How could she even be attracted to a stranger when her father was missing, possibly on the run from a killer?

She dragged her eyes away from Nick and stared around at the groggy customers filling their bellies with warm coffee to chase off the chill. The men exchanged weather reports and news. Some chatted with the waitresses or Lenn, the shortorder cook, who ran between the kitchen and the counter with plates of steaming eggs and pancakes.

One man sitting three booths over caught her attention, not because he had a remarkable face or anything, more because she didn’t recognize him. He stared at her for a long time, his dark eyes narrowing just slightly. Eventually, he lifted his coffee mug, breaking off eye contact. He was probably in a sleep-deprived, morning coma, like half the customers pouring caffeine down their throats. A chill slithered down Mary’s spine. She frowned and turned her attention back to Nick.

Nick set his mug on the table and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just don’t get it. Why make a year-round Christmas in a town so small and out of the way as North Pole?”

“It may surprise you to know that throughout the year, people come from all over the world to visit North Pole. Each year, the post office gets tons of mail addressed to Santa. And each letter is answered with another letter postmarked North Pole.” She smiled, thinking of the children who opened their letters, their eyes wide with wonder and excitement.

“Isn’t it carrying the commercialism of Christmas a bit far?” Nick asked, his tone crisp and biting like the wind outside the diner’s door.

Mary’s gaze shot up to his at the hard sound of his voice. “Don’t you believe in the spirit of Christmas?”

He stared through the frost-covered window into the near dawn of the Alaskan winter. “No.”

Interesting. Mary leaned closer. “Let me guess, you’ve never believed in Santa Claus, have you?”

He shot her a hard look. “No.”

Her heart tugged in her chest as she imagined a miniature version of Nick turning his back on the joy of Santa and Christmas. “How sad. Didn’t your parents even put up a Christmas tree?”

“I didn’t have parents.” His tone didn’t invite further questioning on the subject.

“Oh.” What did she say to that?

His eyes narrowed, as if daring her to throw so much as a scrap of pity his way. Nick St. Claire wouldn’t tolerate pity. Pity was for weak men, and Nick was anything but weak. The man looked as though he could chew nails with his teeth.

Anything she might have said died on her lips. Mary sat in silence. The semitruce between them shattered by her unwitting questions. Okay, so she’d hit on a sore subject. Growing up without family had to have been difficult and lonely.