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He yanked off his sweats and crawled into the bed beside her. Crossing his arms beneath his head, he peered through the darkness at the ceiling.
They had to get something on Spencer Correll, and if he was involved with Tempest, he’d get the details of the White House Christmas Day plot out of him one way or another.
Mike let out a long, slow breath. Two days until Christmas...two days until redemption.
* * *
CLAIRE LAID A line of kisses down the length of Mike’s very long back. If she thought she could slowly awaken him with her kisses, she had the wrong spy.
He turned to face her with a suddenness that had her gasping for breath, her lips against his stomach.
Plowing his fingers through her hair, he growled, “Did you think you could toy with me?”
“A girl can hope.” She flicked her tongue against his bare skin and he sucked in a sharp breath.
“You fell asleep last night before I got back from the kitchen. I thought I’d lost my touch.”
She rolled up the T-shirt, baring her breasts to his hungry gaze. “So, touch and let’s see if you lost it.”
Before the last word left her lips, Mike pounced on her and made thorough love to every inch of her body.
They showered again—together this time—and then raided Jase’s sister’s closet.
Claire fingered the silk Prada jacket. “Nice stuff, but if I’m going to be someone else and try to blend in, I’d better not wear flashy clothing like this.”
Mike jerked open another closet door. “We have the cold weather on our side. Jackets, scarves, hats—just like you dressed up when we went into that town in Vermont. We even have the sun out today to warrant a big pair of sunglasses.”
Claire dangled a pair of black leggings from her fingers. “I can wear these with the boots I bought in Vermont, pile on a long sweater with a scarf, hat and sunglasses. It’s not like Spencer’s going to be on the lookout for me, right?”
“Right. Maybe we can avoid the office altogether. Is there someplace you can meet Fiona outside the building?”
“There are a couple of cafés on the street, although they’re frequented by a lot of politicians. I’d hate to have to hide in plain sight with someone I know looking at me.”
“Most of those politicians are out of town for the recess.” Mike yanked a long blue coat from a hanger and held it up. “Is there any place Fiona goes at lunchtime? Does she get her nails done?”
“I know.” Claire dropped the leggings. “Fiona goes to a psychic in the area.”
“Like to get her fortune told? Do people really do that?”
“I think it’s tarot cards and astrological charts, and Fiona’s been seeing this psychic, Madam Rosalee, for a while. She was going on and on about the psychic when she gave me Spencer’s password, about how Madam Rosalee had predicted the end of her relationship.”
Mike shrugged. “It takes all types. Do you think Fiona will meet you there?”
“I’ll talk to Madam Rosalee first and have her get Fiona down there on her lunch hour.”
“I’m assuming you’ll need some money to make that happen?”
Claire rubbed her thumb across the tips of the rest of her fingers. “I’m going to need money for all of it.”
“That I have.” Mike tossed the coat at her. “I don’t have to be there, but I’ll be nearby. You know what to ask Fiona, right?”
“If she knows anything suspicious about my stepfather and if she’s willing to spill.”
“Let’s do this.”
Mike borrowed the least flashy car in the Bennett stable—a black Mercedes sedan—and drove them back to DC.
He had his own disguise, as he’d let his beard grow out and now sported a substantial scruff, liberally streaked with gray. Before they left the house that morning, he’d also cropped his longish black hair and then shaved his head down to a stubble.
Claire stole a sideways glance at him in the driver’s seat of the car and clicked her tongue. She’d loved the way that long lock of hair had fallen over one of his eyes, but the shaved head and beard gave him a decidedly dangerous look.
“Why are you clicking your tongue at me?”
