Nick of Time
Elle James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Copyright

2004 Golden Heart Winner for Best Paranormal Romance, Elle James started writing when her sister issued the Y2K challenge to write a romance novel. She managed a full-time job, raised three wonderful children and she and her husband even tried their hands at ranching exotic birds (ostriches, emus and rheas) in the Texas hill country. Ask her, and she’ll tell you, what it’s like to go toe-to-toe with an angry three-hundred-and-fifty-pound bird! After leaving her successful career in Information Technology Management, Elle is now pursuing her writing full-time. She loves building exciting stories about heroes, heroines, romance and passion. Elle loves to hear from fans. You can contact her at ellejames@earthlink.net or visit her website at www.ellejames.com.

This book is dedicated to my daughters, Courtney

and Megan, who love reading as much as I do, and

to my son, Adam, who shares my love of fast-paced,

action-packed adventures. I love you all.

Chapter One

Nerves prickled on the back of his neck as Nick St. Claire climbed the steps in the Brooklyn apartment building two at a time. The heavy smell of garlic and onion filled the air in front of apartment 12-C, masking any other scents. His stomach growled, but he kept moving down the hallway to 12-H. He hadn’t eaten in twelve hours, but now wasn’t the time to remember unnecessary details.

His boss and friend, Royce Fontaine, moved on silent feet behind him. As a Stealth Operations Specialist, trained in all forms of warfare, including military operations in urban terrain, Nick understood the necessity of speed and surprise.

This mission wasn’t dictated by the government as usual with the SOS agency. The unauthorized, late-night flight on the SOS private Learjet had been in response to an e-mail message from Royce’s old Army buddy. Need your help. Life or death. Come now.

Royce had dropped everything, including an important case regarding death threats against a U.S. senator. He’d grabbed Nick on his way out the door of the SOS offices in downtown D.C., shouting for Tazer, one of the very capable female SOS agents, to cover for him while he flew to New York.

When Nick arrived at the door to 12-H, splintered wood didn’t bode well for what might be inside. He pulled the SIG-Sauer from the shoulder holster beneath his leather jacket and nodded to Royce. Then he plastered his body against the wall and pushed the door open wider.

Every piece of furniture was turned over or ripped; the room was a shambles. Nothing stirred in the living space, but a noise from a back room alerted Nick that they weren’t alone.

He slipped in first, followed by Royce. In a low crouch, Nick swept the room with his gaze for bogeys before he entered the hallway.

A weak moan echoed off the walls in the bathroom to the right.

Glass shattered, followed by a metallic clanging in the room to the left.

Nick pointed at Royce and then to the bathroom. He then pointed at himself and the room with the clanging noise. Without waiting for his boss’s response, Nick leaped over scattered clothing, books and tables and burst into a bedroom, weapon at the ready. Whoever had broken the window was probably down the fire escape by now.

“Not without backup, St. Claire!” Royce hissed behind him.

Nick ignored Royce, not stopping until he reached the window. He paused beside the broken glass, peering around the wooden frame, careful to limit his exposure to gunfire, not at all anxious to take a bullet. The clang of feet jumping down the fire escape stairs reassured him that whoever was on them was in a hurry to be gone.

Using the barrel of his weapon, Nick swept the jagged window glass to the side and leaned out just in time to catch a glimpse of a broad-shouldered person dressed in black moving down the steps of the three-story apartment building. Nick swore. Almost to the ground, the guy would escape into the maze of dark city streets before Nick or Royce could do anything about it.

To hell with that. Nick slid through the window and descended the steps two at a time. The noise of his shoes hitting the steel was deafening, but not so bad that he didn’t hear the ominous popping sound of shots being fired or the ping of bullets ricocheting off the brick near his head. He kept moving. If he stopped, the shooter would have time to make good his aim.

A bullet glanced off the metal railing next to his leg. Another sprayed pieces of masonry over his head.

Nick didn’t slow. Gun ready, he hit the ground feet first and performed a perfect airborne drop and roll, grateful for the thick leather jacket covering his elbows and back. He clambered to his feet and took off in a zigzag run, bullets flying around him.

The man in black rounded a corner, disappearing out of sight.

Nick stuck to the shadows and ran the length of a building to the same corner. He stopped, poked his head out and saw nothing.

Streetlights shone down on an empty avenue. The only movement was a lone car heading his way at a slow speed. Nick ducked back behind the building in case the car contained the assailant. When it pulled to the curb and shut down, an old man dressed in khaki slacks, a light blue sweater and orthopedic shoes climbed out and reached into the back for a bag of groceries. He carefully locked the door and headed into the building.

Nick stepped out into the street, tucking his weapon back in the holster under his arm. He kept his hand on the grip, ready for anything.

He walked quickly down the street searching for the man dressed in black, but didn’t see him. Damn, he’d slipped away. Nothing he could do about it now but go see if Royce needed help.

Retracing his steps, Nick found his way back to the apartment and entered through the front door, climbing the steps to the third floor.

When Nick entered the destroyed apartment, Royce was on his cell phone to the local police giving enough details to get them started. When he’d completed the call, he flipped his phone shut and slipped it into his pocket. “Got away?”

“Yeah, he had a head start.”

“The gunfire. Yours or his?”

“His.” Nick didn’t fire his weapon randomly, especially not in populated urban areas where stray bullets could take innocent lives. “Who was the moaner?”

Royce’s jaw tightened. “Frank Richards.”

“The guy we came to help?”

A snort was Royce’s only answer.

“Damn. Did he give you a clue as to who might have done it?”

His boss shook his head, a frown drawing his brows together. “He died without uttering another word. But I found this and a pen lying on the bathroom floor close by.” Royce held up a small pad of paper with a page half ripped off. “I think whoever shot him took the message.”

“Let me see that.” Nick took the pad and tipped it back and forth until the light cast enough shadow over where the pen had dented the pages below the missing one. “What does it say?”

“North Pole, AX or AK. Help Santa.”

Nick barked out a mirthless laugh. “The man was clearly delusional. Already in the throes of death.”

“No. He wrote it before he was shot. There’s no blood on the pad or the pen and his fingers had blood on them when he died. I think he means for us to help someone.”

“There is a town in Alaska named North Pole. It’s close to Fairbanks. You suppose that’s what he was talking about?”

“Maybe.”

“Why there? Santa a code word for something?”

“I don’t know. What I do know is that whoever did this was after something, and I’d bet my reputation they didn’t find it.”

“And they weren’t afraid to kill for it.” Nick stared down at the man lying on the floor, his face pale and tinged gray. “You think our shooter will look in North Pole, Alaska, next?”

“Perhaps.” Royce’s gaze fell to the man lying on the floor. He wore a New York Knicks sweatshirt and jeans.

“How did you two meet?” Nick moved to the living area.

Royce followed, the pad in his hand. “I met Sergeant Major Richards during my Navy SEALs training. He was a member of the Army Special Forces assigned to participate as a subject matter expert in a joint exercise we were involved in after Vietnam. We had a few beers after the training and since then, I’ve always kept in touch. When I’d come up to New York, I made it a point to look him up.”

A computer sat on a desk in the corner, with several bullet holes in the CPU.

“Look at this.” Nick bent to examine it. “Any reason why a shooter would target a man and his computer?”

“I’ll have Tim look into it.” Royce jerked the cord out of the wall and unhooked the CPU from the monitor. “In the meantime, I want you up in Alaska. If they were after something and didn’t find it, there’s a chance that’s where they’ll look.”

Nick shivered just thinking about the cold. “Couldn’t he have chosen Florida or Texas?”

“Whoever killed Frank might kill in Alaska.” Royce pushed back his shoulders and stared toward the bathroom where his buddy lay. “I want you there ASAP. I’d go with you, but I’ve got another case on the hot plate. Soon as I can, I’ll join you.”

“What am I looking for?”

Royce glanced at the pad. “Start with Santa.”

“FIRST NAME, PLEASE.” The agent behind the counter stared at the computer, fingers poised for input.

“Mary.”

“Last name.”

Mary sucked in a deep breath and let it out. When you had a last name like hers, you did a lot more explaining than if you were christened with a name like Jones, Smith or Henderson. “Christmas.”

Both clerks working the busy Fairbanks Airport car rental counter looked up at once, a smile on their faces. Even the goodlooking guy in the black Stetson next to her shot a glance her way.

Why couldn’t her parents have given her a different name? Did they know how hard it was growing up with a name like Mary Christmas?

Mary sighed. If her father hadn’t been so supportive, full of energy and the spirit of Christmas, she might have been a lot less adjusted. But the truth was she was a member of the family who owned a store called Christmas Towne in North Pole, Alaska, and that was how things were. Or they were until her mother died. Then it had been just her and her father to carry on the Christmas Towne legacy. Mary had tried hard to fill the void her mother left to the point she’d forgotten to have a life of her own.

“Here’s your keys.” The clerk waiting on the man next to her handed him a map. “Do you need directions, sir?”

“Yes, how do I get to North Pole from here?”

Mary cast another glance his way. Nice. Very nice. And going to North Pole. Too bad his hat would blow off the first second he stepped out into the Alaska wind. And too bad she wasn’t interested. Nice-looking men tended to lie and break girls’ hearts. Or at least this girl’s heart.

She’d almost refused to come home for Christmas this year, preferring to stay in the tiny apartment she’d rented in Seattle. If not for the desperate message from her father insisting he needed to talk to her, she’d have skipped Christmas altogether. She hadn’t even bought a tree for her apartment. The whole season, once a happy occasion to be enjoyed with family, was now a depressing time of the year. Christmas without her mother had never been the same. Without her father…well, she might as well skip Christmas altogether. Her dad had Kim now. He didn’t need Mary anymore. Mary should be happy she had a stepmother, but the word stepmother made her grind her teeth.

Not that her stepmother had done anything specifically to earn her distrust; there was just something about the woman that set Mary off. Somehow she had maneuvered her way between Mary and her father from the first.

The devil in Mary’s conscience nagged at her. Could it be because Mary couldn’t get used to the idea of another woman in the house? Or was it because her father had known Kim before he’d ever met Mary’s mother? Kim had been sure to share that information with Mary whenever they were in the same room, claiming she’d known him long before he settled in Alaska. A time Mary’s father had never shared with her.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t seem to have a reservation for a Mary Christmas,” the clerk said.

“I know. I flew space A. I didn’t know I was coming until this morning.”

“Because it’s so close to Christmas, we’ve been booked solid. We don’t have a single car left.”

Mary’s shoulders sagged and her heart sank into her boots. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, ma’am. I wish I wasn’t.” He glanced down the line of rental car counters. “Have you tried the other services here at the airport?”

“Yes, and they all said the same thing.You were my last hope.”

“We just rented out the only car we had left to that gentleman.” He nodded to the man wearing the ridiculous cowboy hat walking away with the last set of keys. “I’m sorry. Perhaps you could find a hotel shuttle to get you to a hotel for the night and see if someone turns in a vehicle in the morning.”

“That’s not an option. I’m not staying in Fairbanks.” Her gaze locked on the man with the last rental car key. Hadn’t he said he was heading for North Pole? If she hurried, maybe she could catch a ride with him. Once she was there, her father would make sure she had a vehicle to get around in.

Balancing her bag of presents in one hand, she turned her rolling suitcase and raced through the airport.

She caught up with him just as he stepped out the door into the continuous twilight of an Alaskan December afternoon. “Sir!”

A bitter wind blew her words away, or the man was ignoring her. He didn’t slow one bit until his cowboy hat flipped off his head and blew straight at Mary.

She let go of her suitcase handle and dove for the hat, catching it before it dropped into a pile of dirty snow. She held it out, pasting a smile on her face. She could have tripped on her own snow boots when the man turned his brown-eyed gaze onto her.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She bit back a smart remark about how most people didn’t wear cowboy hats in December in Alaska. She didn’t know if he had a sense of humor and she definitely didn’t want to make him mad when she planned on begging a ride from him. “Are you headed for North Pole?”

He plunked his hat on his head and didn’t answer for the first five seconds. “Yes.”

Good. He was headed her direction as she’d thought. Mary breathed in a gulp of the icy air. “I’m headed that way myself and you just happened to get the last rental car in the airport. Is there a chance you could give me a lift there?”

His frown deepened. “Yes.”

“I’ll pay you half of your daily rate for today.” Mary stopped and stared at him. “You will?”

“I said yes.” He continued toward the nearly empty rental car parking lot.

Mary scurried after him, wrapping her woolen scarf around the lower part of her face and pulling her hat more firmly about her ears. She’d forgotten how unforgiving the wind blew in Fairbanks.

When they’d settled in the front seat of the sedan, Mary tugged her glove off her right hand. “I’m Mary Christmas. And you are?”

Instead of taking her hand, he stuck the key in the ignition and started the car. “Nick.”

“Nick?” She closed her eyes so that he couldn’t see her rolling them. “Do you have a last name?”

At first she didn’t think he was going to answer. He pushed the shift into Reverse and brushed her arm when he braced his hand on the back of her seat. He was close enough that Mary could smell his aftershave, a potent woodsy, spicy scent. His brown eyes glowed in the light from the dash. “St. Claire.”

Mary caught her breath and stared straight forward.

When Nick had the car in gear, he asked, “Do you know how to get to North Pole?”

“Yes, I lived there most of my life.”

“Then you can navigate.”

“Fair enough.” Mary gave him directions and leaned back in her seat, letting the heat warm her hands and cheeks.

A small smile curled the corners of Nick’s lips. “Aren’t you afraid to ride with strangers?”

“If we’d been in Seattle, I would never have imposed on you, but here in Alaska, it’s probably a fair bet you’re not a mass murderer.”

“I thought people with questionable pasts moved to small towns in Alaska to escape their lives in the Lower 48.”

Mary snorted. “They might think they can escape, but the population is so limited in smaller communities, everyone knows everyone else.”

“Therefore, if a stranger comes to town, everyone would know him as a stranger?”

“Right.” She smiled his way. “You’d definitely stick out as a stranger, especially this time of year. In the summer, not so much. Droves of tourists visit North Pole in their RVs and on tour buses, but they eventually leave. Not many people come in the darkness and freezing temperatures of winter.” Her smile slipped. Some people left Alaska on business trips to warmer climates and greener pastures.

Her lips pulled into a straight line. She’d been so naÏve. That was old news. She’d since moved to Seattle and two years had passed. Mary shook her head to clear the cobwebs and concentrated on the man beside her. “Why are you coming to North Pole? Looking for a place to escape?”

“Would you believe I have business with Santa?”

“Maybe.” Mary stared hard at him. Something about the way he said the words didn’t ring true, but she hadn’t heard much from her father in the past few months. Since her father had found a life of his own and the new wife. Kim.

Nick glanced at her. “What’s Santa’s real name?”

The smile returned to Mary’s face. “Santa Claus.”

“No, really. What’s his real name?”

“For as long as I can remember, he’s always been Santa Claus. I’ve asked him hundreds of times what his real name was, but he never told me. He signs his name as Santa and his Social Security card and driver’s license all say Santa Claus.”

Nick shook his head, a frown dipping between his brows. “I don’t get it.”

Mary shrugged and settled back against her seat, refusing to fall into the trap of trying to explain the whole North Pole, Alaska, and the Christmas Towne phenomenon. Some people didn’t get it. The man next to her probably never would. His loss.

Bradley, the two-timing-bigamist, never understood it either. He’d laughed at the whole concept. He’d probably been laughing at her all along as well. Look at the dumb bumpkin from the sticks of Alaska, too stupid to see through his lies.

The fifteen miles to North Pole flew by. Her heart banged against the inside of her chest when her hometown came into view. Colorful Christmas lights sparkled year-round on the houses and the candy cane lampposts. She never tired of bright colors. Living in Seattle, she missed the cheery lights even in the summertime. As the Christmas Towne store came into view, tears welled in her eyes. Red and white diagonal stripes graced the boxy entrance. Pictures of reindeer and Santa’s sleigh stretched across the whitewashed exterior walls. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed home until she came back.

“This is my stop.” She stared at the building trying to imagine the first impression of a stranger to what she considered home. It looked like a red and white fantasy castle in the middle of the Alaskan landscape. The house beside the store was painted brown and trimmed with fake gumdrops and candy canes; the two buildings could have been out of any child’s most elaborate dream. The little cottage beside the store looked like a gingerbread house good enough to eat, covered in a fluffy foot of snow with drifts up to the windowsills.

A light still shone inside the store. Had her father kept the store open late for the Christmas season? Several cars and a North Pole police SUV stood out front. Christmas Towne had some of the best coffee in North Pole. Many people came all the way out from Fairbanks to eat dinner and buy gifts from the diner and store. They made it a shopping expedition complete with small children anxious to sit in Santa’s lap and tell him all their wishes.

“If you’ll park in front of the store, I’ll introduce you to my fa—Santa.” When he shifted the car into Park, she grabbed for the handle and jumped out, anxious to ask her father what was so important she had to fly home at the drop of a hat. At the same time, she didn’t want to let Nick get away without finding out what business he had with Santa.

Nick popped the latch on the trunk and lifted her suitcase as if it weighed nothing. “I’d appreciate that introduction.”

She led the way to the glass doors and entered. Inside, it wasn’t a mob of shoppers she ran into. Instead, she was met by North Pole police officer Trey Baskin and Chris Moss, one of Christmas Towne’s employees, Betty Reedy, the Christmas Towne baker, and her stepmother, Kim Claus.

They stared at her, their gazes shifting to the man beside her as though seeing her with a man was so unusual they were stunned into temporary silence. Mary sighed. So it had been a while since she’d brought a man home to North Pole—two years to be exact. And this one wasn’t even her man. “Trey Baskin, Chris Moss, Betty Reedy and Kim Claus, this is Nick St. Claire. He was good enough to give me a lift from the airport.”

Chris Moss, the teenager her father had befriended and hired on as full-time staff, was first to stumble forward, his face creased in a worried frown. “Mary, I’m so glad you’re here.” The pale tinge to his young skin set off alarms in Mary’s subconscious. Chris had been the most optimistic teen she’d ever known since her father took him under his wing.

“What’s going on?” Mary grabbed his hand and held tight, her stomach doing full gainers in a sea of airport food and acid.

“It’s Mr. Claus.” Sixteen-year-old Chris squeezed her hand, tears welling in his eyes. He opened his mouth to talk and closed it again.

Betty stepped forward, her happy face drawn and looking all of her fifty-five years. “Your father is missing.”

Chapter Two

Nick schooled his face to show no shock. So, Santa was missing and Mary Christmas was his daughter. He really shouldn’t be astonished that the petite blonde next to him was Santa’s daughter. Not with a name like Mary Christmas and in a town called North Pole with streets like Santa Claus Lane and Snowman Lane. Why shouldn’t Mary’s father’s real name be Santa Claus? And given that Nick was sent by a dead man to help Santa Claus, it all made sense in a weird, surreal way.

Whatever the case, he knew his job remained here. If the dead man in Brooklyn had wanted Royce to help Santa, Nick was the first line of defense to find the man and protect him from the fate of his buddy back East.

While Mary questioned the officer and the tearful Mrs. Claus, Nick studied the people gathered.

He started with the boy, Chris, with his shaggy brown hair hanging down past his collar and a skater look to him. Dark circles smudged the skin beneath his eyes and his gaze darted around the room in nervous jerks.

Betty Reedy, the woman with salt-and-pepper hair, slightly rounded figure and soft blue eyes wrung her hands, her mouth pressed into a grim line. She reached out and pulled Chris into the curve of her arm and whispered something into his ear.

Chris nodded, jammed his hands into his pockets and stared down at his shoes.

Mrs. Claus was the most unusual of the group milling about the front of the store. She stood no more than five feet tall, her slanted eyes and pale skin marking her as of Asian descent. She carried herself ramrod straight, making good every inch of height she could, her sleek brown hair combed into a smooth chignon at the back of her head, exposed a long, thin neck.

Then there was the cop, doing his best to document the details of Santa’s disappearance. Trey Baskin, in his police uniform, jotted information into his notebook, a frown pressing his brows into a V over his nose. He’d probably never handled anything more violent than a knifing in a bar fight.

And Mary Christmas stood among them shooting questions at each, her voice strained. She reached out and pushed a long strand of silky blond hair back away for her face, exposing a delicate ear studded with a single pearl earring.

The curve of her jaw and the smooth line of her neck captured Nick’s attention more than then should have. When he realized he was staring at her, he turned away and wandered around the spacious shop. Decorated like an old-timey general store with rough wooden beams and wooden barrels filled with toys, the place was a treasure trove of delight for children and adults alike. In one corner was a work space littered with wood pieces that once assembled would be a toy train set. An apron hung on the wall behind a stool. The whole setup looked like Santa’s workshop where he demonstrated toy making.

In the center of the store stood a large chair resembling a throne, decorated with red, white and gold paint. A fuzzy red jacket trimmed in white fur hung on a peg beside it. Santa’s chair where he entertained the hopes and dreams of hundreds of small children each year.

Nick snorted beneath his breath.

A camera and several lighting umbrellas stood among fake Christmas trees and giant candy canes. Get your picture taken with Santa…for a charge.

On closer inspection, Nick noted tiny cameras in each corner of the building. A fairly elaborate security system for a place so far north, but then maybe Santa had problems with the locals hiking through several feet of snow to steal Christmas gift items during the endless winter nights.

“Can I help you?” The voice behind him with its hint of an Asian accent sounded as cool as the wind outside.

He turned toward the tiny, thin woman. She wore a deep red velvet dress trimmed with white fake fur at the wrists and neckline. Her slanted, brown eyes were red-rimmed and her face was smooth and porcelain-pale.

Mary had introduced her as Kim Claus. Santa’s wife? She didn’t look anything like Mary. Was she a stepmother? Santa’s new wife? “When did you discover Mr…Claus was missing?” Nick stumbled over the name, feeling more than just a little ridiculous. How long had it been since he’d stopped believing in Santa Claus? Had he ever? Growing up in foster care in Texas wasn’t the best environment for misplaced beliefs.

The woman touched a tissue to the corner of her eye and sniffed. “What was your name again?”

“Nick St. Claire, a friend of Mr. Claus.” Nick moved back toward the others standing in the center of the store.

Kim followed him. “My husband never mentioned you.”

“It’s been a long time.”

“I’ve known Mr. Claus a long time. I have no memory of your name.”

“We don’t know each other well. How long did you say you knew Santa?”

“We’ve known each other since back when we were much younger.”

“Really?” Nick lifted a nutcracker in the shape of a wooden soldier from a shelf and pretended to study the cracking mechanism. “I thought you were newlyweds.”

“We are. I—we just recently found each other again.”

Nick glanced up and caught Mary’s gaze.

Her long blond hair framed a pale face and beautiful blue eyes glassy with tears.

He found himself drawn to her, crossing the floor to her side before he realized what he was doing. The tug of concern pulling at the muscles in his chest was foreign to Nick. He didn’t know this woman.

Until yesterday, he didn’t know a man named Santa Claus existed other than in the movies and fantasies of children. Why should he care about how the woman next to him felt about her missing father? His primary focus should have been on finding Santa Claus. The man and his daughter were nothing more than another assignment. Emotions weren’t part of an SOS agent’s authorized equipment list.

“This whole situation is crazy. Santa is probably fine. Perhaps he stayed at a friend’s house or something. In the meantime, I have to let people know the scheduled deliveries might be delayed if we can’t find my husband soon.” Kim sniffed and dabbed at her eyes, moving toward the checkout counter. “If you have any more questions concerning my husband, ask Officer Baskin. I have calls to make, and I need to close the shop.”

The front door to Christmas Towne slammed closed and everyone turned to see who entered.

A stout man with gray hair and brown-black eyes hurried through carrying a microphone in one hand. He was closely followed by a man hefting a camera on his shoulder with NEWS printed in large block letters on its black plastic casing.

“Ah, Mary. I’m so glad you’re here,” the man with the microphone said.

A soft groan escaped Mary’s mouth. “Please, not now, Silas.”

He crossed the floor to stand in front of the petite blonde.

Too close for polite conversation. His stance appeared more threatening than casual.

Nick took a step forward before he could catch himself.

“As soon as I heard the news, I hurried over.” Silas waved the cameraman closer.

“With the media?” Mary closed her eyes, her lips moving as if she were counting to ten.

The man she’d called Silas raised his brows. “The public has a right to know the most famous man in North Pole is missing.” He rubbed his hands together like a kid anxiously awaiting a new toy. “What we want to know is why? After thirty years of playing Santa, why has he disappeared? Could it be a mysterious criminal past caught up with him? Is Santa on the run from the law?”

Mary threw her arms in the air. “Good grief, Silas! My father is not on the run from the law. He’s not the criminal. More likely he’s the victim. Now get out of here before I have you thrown out.”

Kim Claus stood a few feet away, her lip curled in an amused smile. “Really, Silas, that’s a pretty pathetic attempt to slander my husband. Santa is a good man. Everyone knows it.” She crossed her arms over her chest and turned to the man in uniform. “Don’t you agree, Officer Baskin?”

The officer nodded. “Silas, now’s not the time to be a pain. Leave quietly, please.”

“I have a right to know about a man who pretends to be Santa. Imagine all the children who’ve been fooled by a potential criminal. Parents will be up in arms.” He shot a narrow look at Mary as she inhaled deeply. “Notice I said potential. I’m not accusing your father of anything. I’m just a concerned citizen.”

“Silas Grentch, you’re only concerned about getting your hands on the best moneymaking business in town. I thought you couldn’t stoop lower, but you never fail to amaze me.” Mary looked to Officer Baskin. “Can you make him leave?”

The officer smiled dangerously and stepped toward Silas.

“I’m leaving.” Silas held up his hands and backed up a step, one eye on the cameraman. “Are you getting this?”

“Out.” Mary pointed her finger toward the door, her blue eyes flashing.

Nick almost laughed out loud at how quickly Silas Grentch scurried for the exit. “I’m leaving, but the truth will come out. Mark my words. It’ll be a dark day in North Pole when Santa Claus is brought to justice.”

The cameraman paused at the door with his camera pointing at Mary. “Miss Christmas, with Santa missing and Christmas getting close, what will happen with Operation Santa?”

Mary’s eyes narrowed, her fingers curling into tight fists. “We’ll find Santa before the planes leave. Children in the remote villages will see him.”

The cameraman nodded, lowering his camera before he left.

After the door closed, silence reigned inside the cheerfully decorated Christmas store.

“I’m sorry you had to come home to Silas’s shenanigans, Mary.” Betty took Mary’s hands and pulled her into a tight hug.

Nick witnessed the entire strange scene, his mind ticking through all the slurs and innuendos flung at the missing Santa and his family. One thing stood out like a shining beacon. These people knew Mary Christmas, and from the looks of it, they cared about her. His gaze slid to the new Mrs. Claus. Well, almost all of them cared. Kim Claus warranted some looking into.

Officer Baskin touched Mary’s arm. “If you hear, see or even smell anything, please pass it along to me or one of North Pole’s police officers. I’ll start checking with Santa’s friends in town.”

A tear slipped down Mary’s cheek. “Thanks, Trey.”

Nick resisted the urge to reach out and brush the tear away, clearing his throat instead. “I’m new to town. Is there a hotel where I can get a room?”

The police officer dropped Mary’s hands and zipped up his parka. “Try Christmas Towne Bed-and-Breakfast. It’s just two blocks east of here. I’ve got to get onto this. The temperature is supposed to drop down to minus twenty tonight.” Although the officer didn’t add that a man couldn’t survive in that kind of temperature, he didn’t have to. As he left, a chilling wind gusted through the double doors.

Mary’s gaze followed the officer, her skin even paler than a moment before.

Nick’s gut tightened. “Do you have a place to stay?”

“When I left Seattle, I thought I’d stay with my father. I didn’t make any other arrangements.” She turned toward her stepmother.

“I’m sorry, Mary.” Kim’s mouth twisted into a weak smile. “I’d let you have your old room, but I didn’t know you were coming, and I’m in the middle of a huge remodeling effort. Your room is stacked with boxes, the bed is dismantled and leaning against the wall. You could have the couch, but it too is stacked with boxes. You’d be better off getting a room at the B and B as well.”

Mary stared at Mrs. Claus for a long moment, her shoulders stiffening, her mouth pulling into a thin line. “I see.” Then she smiled and turned to Nick. “Thank you for the ride.”

Not that he had any responsibility for the woman, but Nick couldn’t leave her without transportation. “If you’re going to the B and B, you might as well let me take you.”

“It’s only two blocks. I can manage on my own.” She buttoned the front of her coat and tied the sash around her middle with a hard jerk. Then she turned to Mrs. Claus, her expression as serious as a firing squad. “If you had anything to do with my father’s disappearance…you’ll have me to answer to.”

“Mary Christmas!” Kim Claus pressed a hand to her red velvet dress and tears welled in her eyes. “You don’t realize how much I love your father. I’d do anything for him. I crossed oceans and continents for him. I love him more than life. How could you even imply such a thing? I want him back just as much as you do.”

Mary didn’t answer, but turned toward the door, grabbing the handle of her suitcase as she went. “Remodeling, my fanny,” she muttered beneath her breath.

Nick’s gaze zeroed in on the way Mary’s eyes shone suspiciously, as if she were close to tears.

The teenager, Chris, held the door for her and stared hard into her eyes. “It’ll be all right, Mary. Your father will be all right, and we’ll find him.”

She reached out and gripped his hand, glad for one person’s support in this world gone crazy. “Thanks, Chris.”

Nick followed her out into the blistering cold where he snagged her suitcase.

“I told you, I don’t need your help anymore.” Mary reached out to take the suitcase from him.

He backed away, refusing to let her have the bag. “Let me help.”

“I can take care of myself.”

His face softened. “Even two blocks is a long way with a windchill factor of minus thirty. Please, let me take you where you need to go.”

As if to reinforce Nick’s words, the cold wind blasted through Mary’s thick wool coat and winter scarf.

Beyond exhaustion, Mary didn’t argue. Instead, she climbed into the passenger seat while Nick stored her case in the trunk.

When he climbed in behind the wheel, she turned to him. “I don’t want you to think you’re stuck with me. But thanks.” She leaned her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. “I should have known something was wrong. I should have come home sooner. My dad is the only family I have left.”

“Why should you have known?” Nick’s hand paused on the shift.

“Yesterday I got a message on my answering machine from Dad. He said it was urgent that we talk. When I tried to call him back, I got Kim and she didn’t know where he was. That’s when I caught a flight from Seattle to Fairbanks.”

“Did he say what he wanted to talk about?”

“No.” Mary sighed. “My father is normally pretty laid-back. He must be in big trouble, that’s all I can think.” She’d been talking to Nick as if he weren’t an outsider, weren’t a man she’d met only a couple of hours ago. Angry with herself for trusting the stranger, Mary turned to him, her eyes narrowing. “Why are you in North Pole? You told Kim you knew my father, you told me you had business with him. I don’t recall my father ever mentioning your name.”

He pulled out of the parking lot, easing onto the snowcovered road. “He probably hasn’t. We don’t talk much.”

“Obviously.” North Pole hadn’t changed much since she’d been gone; the usual snowfall had settled on the landscape, giving credence to the town’s winter wonderland atmosphere. She gestured toward a large old house banked in snow. “This is the B and B.”

After they secured rooms, Nick turned to Mary. “I’d like to help you find your father.”

“Thanks, but you really don’t need to get involved. You’ve already done enough getting me here.” She turned her back to him and jammed her key into the lock on her bedroom door. She liked to think she could handle the situation on her own, but the fact her father was missing and no one seemed to have a clue as to his whereabouts swept over her in an overwhelming wave. Her hand trembled on the metal key.

“At least meet me for breakfast somewhere besides here. I like more than a continental breakfast and I’m new to town.” He paused as though waiting for her response.

Mary couldn’t find her voice to say no, her throat clogged with unshed tears.

“If it makes you feel better, we can go Dutch.”

She glanced over her shoulder, her lips forming the word no. But one look into deep brown, twinkling eyes and she couldn’t resist. Much as she hated to admit, she needed help. Maybe by having breakfast with the man she could get to know him better before she committed to his offer. She swallowed the lump and blurted, “How about the Christmas Towne Diner at eight o’clock? It’s just across the street.”

“Sounds good.” He gave her half a smile. “Good night, Mary Christmas.” Then he closed his door behind him, the deep resonance of his voice lingering in the hallway, warming Mary’s insides.

Their rooms were located across the hall from each other, and for some reason that idea disturbed Mary, not like an irritant, but like a full-body awareness. She was far too conscious of Nick’s good looks, broad shoulders and brown-black eyes. Not to mention, the more she was in his company, the more she seemed to rely on him. And she didn’t want to rely on anyone but herself. She’d relied on her father for so long, she’d forgotten to have a life for herself. The time she’d been in Seattle slammed that observation home. She didn’t know how to be alone and she still didn’t like it, but she was trying.

Mary spent the next hour calling everyone she knew in North Pole, asking if they’d seen her father. Those she managed to speak to replied with the same news. Not since yesterday.

Discouraged, she gathered her toiletries and made a run down the hallway for the bathroom. As she reached the door, it opened and Nick St. Claire stepped out. With a towel thrown around his hips and nothing else, he could melt the heaviest snowfall. Water dripped from his midnight-black hair. A particular droplet landed on his chest and tangled in the dark, crisp hairs.

Mary focused on that drop, her mouth going as dry as Arizona in August.

“It’s all yours,” he said.

Her mouth dropped open and she forced her gaze upward to his eyes.

Nick’s grin made Mary’s face burn. “The shower. It’s all yours.”

Snapping her jaw shut, Mary pressed her brows together. How could this stranger throw her into such a state of moronic confusion? “Of course.” She stepped around him, bumping into his bare arm. The scent of soap and shampoo wafted across her senses.

As she reached the security of the bathroom and closed the door behind her, a soft chuckle echoed in the hallway. Mary snapped the lock over the doorway and leaned against the wooden panels. Surely he didn’t think his bare chest and broad shoulders had her confused. Did he?

Her face burned hotter. Damn, the man was trouble. She should never have agreed to meet him in the morning at the diner. As soon as she finished in the shower, she’d tell him she’d had something come up and that she couldn’t have breakfast with him. Squeezing her eyes tight, she inhaled and exhaled, concentrating on banishing the image of a shirtless Nick from her memory. As if!

She hurried through her shower and teeth brushing. Still practicing what she’d say to Nick, she stepped out of the bathroom.

A big man bulked out in a winter-white parka, ski mask and snow pants barreled down the hall and slammed his shoulder into her before exiting out the rear of the building.

Mary banged into the wall, her breath knocked out of her. Pain smashed into her shoulder blade and radiated through her back and she cried out.

Nick’s door sprang open and he raced out into the hallway. “Mary! What happened?” He reached her in three long strides and grabbed her shoulders, his hands spreading warmth through the thick fleece of her bathrobe.

“I’m all right. Someone just ran into me and left through the back exit.”

Noise from a room down the hallway caught their attention and they both turned. The sound came from her room.

Nick grabbed her hand and ran to his room, shoving her inside. He held out his hand. “Give me your key.”

Wordlessly, she handed him the key from her pocket.

“Stay here,” he commanded, and then he closed his door, leaving her alone inside.

Unable to stand by patiently by herself, not knowing what was going on, Mary eased the door open and peered out into the hallway.

Nick slipped the key into the doorknob as quietly as possible and stepped to the side of the door before he flung it open.

Crouching behind Nick’s door, Mary could see straight into her room. The window stood wide-open, a flurry of snowflakes and wind blew through the confined space, turning the warmth of the quaint little room with its handmade quilts into an icebox. Other than the antique furniture, the room stood empty.

Mary stepped out into the hallway, wrapping the robe around her, chills setting in. Someone had been in her room. The thought made her shake all over.

Nick brushed the snow off the sill and pulled the window closed, latching the lock in place. When he turned to see her, he frowned. “I thought I told you to stay put.”

Her back straightened and she moved into her room with more purpose. “It’s my room. My things are in there.”

“Yeah, but it could have been dangerous.”

Despite her desire not to show any weakness, a big shiver made her shake from her head to her feet. She pulled her robe tighter. “I could see there wasn’t anyone in it.” Her mouth firmed into a tight line. “Besides, you don’t have to yell at me. You’re not my boss or my father.”

“I wasn’t yelling,” he yelled. His forehead creased into a deep frown before the hint of a grin wiped it away. “I’d rather you stayed in my room until we figure this out.” He hooked her elbow and led her out into the hallway.

She only half resisted, not wanting to stay in her room by herself. Somehow it felt as if the entire B and B had been violated and was no longer a secure place. She let him lead her into his room, where he tossed on a sweater, his winter coat and snow boots.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To follow the footprints.”

“By yourself?” She grabbed his arm, stopping him from zipping the jacket. “What if those guys are dangerous?”

Nick shook off her hand, slid the zipper up to his neck and ducked around her, grabbing a gun from the dresser by the door. “Just stay here.”

The gun sent another wave of chills across her skin and Mary stood where Nick left her, wondering what the hell she’d gotten into by coming home to North Pole. And just who was this gun-toting mystery man named Nick St. Claire?

Chapter Three

A blast of arctic air hit Nick like a freight train. He staggered at the force and bent into it, pushing through three feet of snow to the side of the B and B where Mary’s room was located. Disturbed snow only confirmed his concern. Someone had come through Mary’s window while she’d been in the shower. And from the looks of the footprints leading away, he’d gone back out the same window. Which didn’t explain the man in the hallway who’d run into Mary before exiting through the back door, a much more civilized approach than the window.

Nick trudged through the snow as fast as he could, following the footprints into the woods. Every so often, he looked over his shoulder to keep the light from the B and B in sight. The snow blew sideways in near-blizzard conditions. Although he’d like to catch the guy, he didn’t relish getting lost in the storm. An engine roared to life in the distance and the noise diminished as if moving away. Sounded like a snowmobile. Another engine revved and followed the first. Had the two men been working together? And what did they want with Mary?

Figuring the men were out of his reach, Nick hurried back to the B and B to ensure that Santa’s daughter was safe. He also wanted to inspect her room for any tampering or clues as to why someone would be there.

The blue-eyed woman met him at his bedroom door still wearing her robe. The towel had been removed from her hair, and wet tresses lay finger-combed into sleek, damp strands reaching all the way to her waist. Her rounded gaze darted from him to the exit and across the hall to her room, where her door stood open. “Who was it? Did you catch him? No, of course you didn’t or you’d have been gone a lot longer. You scared me to death.” She pounded her open palm against his chest. “Running out of here like some cop on a mission. And what’s with the gun?” She backed up a step and glared at the hand holding the weapon. “Why are you carrying it?”

He shrugged, stalling. “Doesn’t everyone carry a gun in Alaska?”

“Rifles and shotguns when they’re hunting or out on the trails, but not so much the handguns.” Her eyes narrowed. “Just what are you doing here in North Pole? You don’t really know my father, do you?”

Busted. Now, how did he back out of this? “I don’t suppose this could wait until morning?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “No way, cowboy.”

Nick sighed and cupped her elbow. “Come on. Let’s check out your room, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

Mary resisted only a minute, her eyes still narrowed as if she didn’t trust him any more than she trusted the men who’d invaded her room. The thought disappointed him, although why, he didn’t know. In his line of business, he was always living a lie to infiltrate the situation.

“I’m watching you, Nick St. Claire, or whatever your real name is. And I’m trained in self-defense so don’t try anything.”

A smile tugged at Nick’s lips. “So noted.” Mary Christmas was no pushover and he bet she meant it about the self-defense training. He stepped into her room and stood perfectly still, staring at everything as it lay. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t anything odd or out of place. Her suitcase leaned against one wall, the clothing she’d worn earlier littered the bed, and a minimal assortment of toiletries lay scattered across the dresser. “Can you tell whether anything has moved from where you originally set it?”

Mary’s arms dropped to her sides as she inspected the room. “Everything looks the same except the water on the floor from the melted snow.” She opened the dresser drawers one by one. “No. Nothing in here is different from when I unpacked.”

When Nick caught a glimpse of lacy black panties and a matching bra, his heartbeat stuttered. He could picture beautiful Mary, dark lace resting against pale skin and nothing else. With a gulp, he turned his attention to the rest of the room. “What about the bed?” From one leap of the imagination to the next, he could have stuffed a sock in his mouth.

Her color high, Mary moved toward the queen-size mattress. “I don’t remember turning back the covers.” She touched a hand to the pillow.

Nick snagged her wrist, arresting her movement before she could lift the pillow. “Let me.”

Shrugging off his grip, she stepped to the side enough to allow him close to the bed. “Are you worried someone planted a bomb under my pillow?” she asked, her indignant tone fading with each word.

“Not really, but better safe than sorry.” He lifted the pillow.

Mary gasped.

A small box wrapped in shiny red wrapping paper lay against the crisp white sheets.

The fear Mary had felt only a moment earlier dissipated. “Dad.”

“This box?” Nick frowned. “Do you think your father left it?”

“It has to be him.” She reached out, grasped the gift and tore off the paper.

Nick grabbed the wrapping paper as it fell to the floor, lifting it with the tips of his fingers. He wrapped a tissue around the foil paper. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep this.”

She shrugged, staring down at the small white box resting in her hand. A smile lifted the corners of her lips for the first time since she’d learned of her father’s disappearance, denting Nick’s indifference like a head-on collision.

In a voice almost too soft to hear, she whispered, “We used to play a game called find the present when I was a child. He’d wrap a clue in the gift and hide it somewhere. When I found it, I had to guess what it meant and follow it to the next clue.”

Mary lifted the lid of the box and pushed aside a fluff of tissue paper. Buried inside was a shiny silver key.

“Any idea what the key belongs to?”

“No.” When she reached out, he caught her hand, wrapping his warm fingers around her cold ones.

“Wait, there might be fingerprints.” He continued to hold her hand, his shoulder rubbing against hers.

“They’ll be my father’s.” Mary pulled free of his fingers.

He maintained his hold. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course.” She held up the tissue where words had been scrawled in pencil. “That’s his writing as well.” She squinted as she read the message. “The past holds the secrets. What do you suppose that means?”

“I don’t know, but let me have the key. Maybe we can lift a print off it.” He snatched a tissue from the box on the dresser and carefully lifted the key from the box. “I’ll be right back.” Nick gave her a quick glance and then strode across the hall to his room, where he retrieved a fingerprint kit from his suitcase.

“I tell you, it’s my father’s handwriting. I’d know it anywhere.” Mary followed him across the hall and closed the door behind them.

“Still, it doesn’t hurt to check prints against the databases.”

“My father is not a criminal.” Mary crossed her arms over her chest, her chin jutting out at a stubborn angle. “Aren’t those databases geared toward criminals?”

Nick would rather she stayed back in her own room, but given the circumstances, he didn’t throw her out. Instead, he got down to the business of lifting the prints. He’d send them to Royce back in D.C. and see if they could find a match.

“I get it. You’re not going to answer my question, are you?”

“Nope.”

Mary wrapped her arms around the middle of her cottoncandy pink bathrobe. “Are you a cop or FBI agent?”

He glanced up for a brief moment, a flash of memory pulling his lips into a tight line. “Former FBI.”

“So you’re CIA or something like that?”

His attention returned to the fingerprints. “Something like that.”

She shook her head. “I’m standing here in my bathrobe talking to a stranger, and I don’t even know if he’s one of the good guys or the bad guys.” Mary had her bottom lip between her teeth, her brows furrowed into a worried frown.

“I like to think I’m one of the good guys,” he said, returning his concentration back to his task. For the most part. Though he’d crossed the lines more times than he cared to admit.

“Yeah, sure. And I guess it was a coincidence you showed up at the airport when I did, my father disappeared and someone broke into my room.” Her hands fisted and she propped them on her slim hips. “How do I know you’re one of the good guys? Do you have credentials to prove it?”

He completed his task before he stood. “I’m going to wash my hands, and then I’ll tell you what I can.”

“I get it, you’re not going to tell me anything.”

“Pretty much.” He pushed past her, strode through the doorway and down the hall, where he washed his hands in the communal bathroom. All the while he picked through what he knew to come up with what he could tell her. He hoped it was enough to appease her. As an SOS agent, he wasn’t at liberty to divulge his true duties. By doing so, he placed his entire organization in jeopardy and he wouldn’t do that, no matter how pretty the girl was. And Mary was a knockout.

MARY PACED inside Nick’s room. Despite her misgivings, she couldn’t or wouldn’t believe the man was one of the bad guys. So far, he’d been nothing but polite and helpful. Although she didn’t believe he was on the wrong side, she knew he was holding back information and she meant to extract it, one way or another. That he’d avoided the truth made her angry. She stoked her anger, letting it build with each passing minute.

When Nick walked back into the room, she braced herself, ready for anything. She held the gun he’d carried in both hands and pointed it at him. “Now, tell me what you know or I’ll shoot you.”

Nick smiled, shaking his head. “You won’t shoot me.”

His patronizing attitude only made her angrier. “You know so much about me, what makes you think I won’t?”

He closed the door behind him and then lunged for the weapon, yanking it from her grasp. “For one, it isn’t loaded.”

Deflated and feeling on less firm footing, Mary straightened her back and flicked her drying hair over her shoulder. “So, I wouldn’t have shot you anyway. Just give me answers, not more lies.”

“Have a seat.”

Mary glanced around the room, realizing the only place she could sit was on the bed. His bed. Tingling awareness started in her chest, spread south into her belly and lower still. “No, thank you. I prefer to stand.”

He nodded, his expression hardening into an impenetrable mask. “I came because a dead man in Brooklyn, New York, left a note to help Santa.”

“A dead man?” The blood drained from Mary’s face and a hand fluttered to her chest. “I never knew my father had friends in New York. I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I, but if the man took the time to send help to Santa in North Pole, I thought it important enough to check into. Given that your father is now missing, there might be credence to his request.”

Mary sat on the bed and rested her head in her hands, willing a sudden attack of nausea to abate before she made a bigger fool of herself. When she finally had her stomach in check, she glanced up. “That still doesn’t tell me who you are and why you were with a dead man in New York.”

“Let’s just say we received an urgent call from him but arrived too late. By the time we got there, he was already dead.”

“We?”

A smile tipped the edges of his lips, the effect sending danger signals ricocheting through Mary’s brain.

“Never mind the ‘we.’”

“Argh!” She stomped her foot. “I don’t like all the secrets. Can you at least tell me who the dead man was?”

“Frank Richards. Does the name ring any bells?”

Mary scratched through her memory. “I’ve never met a man by that name, nor has Dad mentioned it. My dad and I are very close.”

“What about your stepmother?”

Her jaw tightened. “She’s only been in the picture for the past couple months. Before that, my father and I had no secrets from each other.”

“What do you know about his life before he moved here?”

“My dad’s lived in North Pole ever since I was born.”

“Where did he live before that?”

“I don’t know, I never asked. I knew he’d been in the military, but he didn’t like to talk about it.” For someone who loved her father more than any man in her life, she didn’t know him very well, did she? Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed hard.

“What about your mother?”

“She was from Fairbanks, born and raised.”

“Was?” he prodded, his voice low, but insistent.

Mary turned to stare at the curtained window. “She died fourteen years ago in a car wreck.” Her death had been the reason Mary had stayed in North Pole as long as she did. Her father had loved his first wife completely. Olivia Claus had been a shining beacon, a consistently happy woman, content in her life in Alaska, thrilled to be a part of Christmas Towne and in love with her husband. And Santa had loved her more than life itself.

When Olivia Claus died, Santa needed Mary more than ever.

For the next twelve years, she’d concentrated on making her father happy. She graduated with honors from high school, went to college in Fairbanks and put off her dreams of moving to the Lower 48, indefinitely. Then she’d met Bradley and thought she was in love. When he’d turned out to be a cheat, her dreams of raising her children near her father fell through. That’s when her father arranged for her move to Seattle, to get away from bad memories.

She shook herself out of her morose musings. “How old was the man in Brooklyn?”

“Early sixties, maybe. We’re still looking into his background. I don’t know much about him yet, other than he was a retired army sergeant.”

“You think he might have known my dad before he moved to Alaska? Back when he’d been in the military?” When had her father moved to North Pole? Perhaps she could ask Christmas Towne’s janitor, Mr. Feegan. He’d known her dad about as long as anyone, she guessed. A glance at the clock confirmed it was too late to call now. At nearly midnight, she wouldn’t get a coherent response if she got him to answer the phone at all.

And Nick still hadn’t answered all her questions. “You still haven’t said who you work for.”

“Let’s just say I work for the country. You better get some rest. We want to start fresh and early looking for your father.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Like what?”

“That I still don’t know what you are.”

“I’m just a man here to 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?

Chapter Four

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.

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