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“I don’t think you’re going to find anything about Hamid in the breaking news right now—too soon—but hold up the phone and I’ll punch in my code.”
She complied and said, “I’m just wondering if I’m in the news yet. If I’m not, you know Tempest plans to take me out just like Hamid.”
He finished his code and she swept her finger across the display to wake up the phone.
“Claire, we can’t even link Correll to Tempest or Tempest to Hamid.”
“But all the puzzle pieces are there, aren’t they?”
She tapped the screen and scrolled through various news sources as Mike drove on through the night and the falling snow. On the way in to the city, even though they’d been coming in to meet Hamid, the mood in the car had been almost festive. The music, the conversation, the scenery had all contributed to a sense of normalcy, but all that had changed with Hamid’s death and his dying words.
The name of Caliban had dropped between them like a curtain. It had propelled Mike back into his covert world, where he kept secrets from her.
She stumbled upon an article about the White House gathering to honor the director and as she skimmed it, she let out a snort.
“This is interesting.”
“What’s that?” Mike smacked his cheek and took another gulp of coffee.
“Are you okay to drive? Do you want to switch?”
“A Florida girl driving in the snow? I can handle it.” He jerked a thumb at the phone. “What’s interesting?”
“I’m reading a short news brief about the ceremony honoring the director. It’s more of a name-dropping puff piece, but it looks like Spencer is taking Julie Patrick.”
“Who’s Julie Patrick? The name sounds familiar.”
“She’s English, the widow of Benedict Patrick, and a major shareholder in Brit-Saud Oil. She’s a big political donor and philanthropist.”
“Sounds about right to me. If she’s a mover and shaker in political circles, it doesn’t surprise me that Correll knows her.”
“Oh, he not only knows her—” she dropped the phone back in the cup holder “—he dated her. It looks like my stepfather is zeroing in on another rich widow.”
Mike snapped his fingers. “The secretary.”
“Huh?” She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “What secretary?”
“Correll’s secretary—Fiona, the one who got you into his computer before, allowing you to copy that trashed video, the video that started it all.”
She blinked. Maybe she should’ve gotten some coffee. “What about her?”
“Claire.” He tapped his temple. “She gave you that info before when she’d believed Correll had moved on. If that’s the case again, maybe you can use that to tap into more information. Would she help you again if she felt Correll had used her and was moving on to greener and richer pastures?”
She scooted forward in her seat, her fingertips tingling with excitement. “She might. Fiona is all about Fiona.”
“If you contacted her, would she tell anyone?”
“Not if we sweetened the pot with some money. If she can make money on the deal and stick it to Spencer, she’ll be all in.”
“We can do that, offer her money.”
“I’ll contact her tomorrow and see what she can do for us.” She slumped down in the seat, bunching the coat into a pillow and stuffing it between her shoulder and the window. “I’m going to make myself comfortable for the rest of the trip. Let me know if you need a break from driving.”
“Relax, Claire. I’m good.”
She drifted in and out to the monotone of talk radio and Mike’s hushed call to Jack, the slick material of the coat whispering under her cheek every time she shifted position.
She wanted to be Mike’s priority. She wanted to be someone’s priority for a change. She squeezed her eyes shut against the self-pity. She usually didn’t indulge...must have been the exhaustion.
Just as she found a good spot, Mike brushed her cheek with his knuckle. “We’re almost at the cabin. Did you sleep?”
“In fits and starts. You must be exhausted.”
