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Jack cleared his throat. “Just a warning about Claire Chadwick. She’s had it pretty rough the past five years with the gruesome death of her husband and then her mother’s accident. She blames her stepfather for her mother’s death. You know that, right?”
“Lola mentioned something about it. Do you think that makes Claire’s suspicions about Correll’s current activity invalid?”
“Not invalid, but she does have another agenda, a definite ax to grind. Her troubles have led to some...instability. Just be careful, and don’t get sucked in by her beauty. From what I remember, Claire Chadwick’s a real looker.”
He’d remembered right. “Duly noted, boss.”
“You sure you still want to retire, old-timer?”
A soft knock at Mike’s door saved him from reciting all his reasons for retirement again to Jack. “Someone’s here. Gotta go.”
He pushed off the bed and padded on bare feet to the door. He cracked it open.
Claire, her disheveled hair tumbling over one shoulder, crossed her arms over her animal-print pajamas and hunched her shoulders. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” He swung the door open and stepped to the side.
“You weren’t sleeping.” Her gaze swept over his slacks and unbuttoned white shirt.
“I was on the phone.” He closed the door behind her. “How’s your son?”
“He’s fine—sleeping. All he knows is that there was an accident that broke a bunch of windows in the house.” She sat on the foot of the bed and then fell back, staring at the ceiling, her blond hair fanning out around her head. “Spencer did it. He’s responsible.”
As much as he wanted to join her on the bed, he parked himself on the arm of a chair across from her, resting his ankle on one knee. “You have one video of him meeting with a suspicious person and all of a sudden he’s guilty of killing the CIA director?”
“It’s more. It’s a feeling.” She hoisted herself up on her elbows.
“Whether Correll is responsible or not, this attack is bold, hits right at the heart of our security. If they can kill the director of the CIA in the middle of Georgetown, what else do they have planned?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Something more? Do you think other attacks are planned?”
“There has to be some endgame here, and if your stepfather is involved somehow and can lead us to—”
“Shh.” She put a finger to her puckered lips.
He cocked his head, holding his breath, and heard the wood creak on the other side of the door.
Claire bolted from the bed, launching herself at the door, but Mike caught her around the waist before she reached it. He swung her into his arms and sealed his lips over hers.
He groaned, a low guttural sound that was only half pretense as he felt her soft breasts beneath her silk pajama top press against the thin cotton of the T-shirt covering his chest.
He moaned her name against her luscious lips. “Claire. Claire.”
She sighed and answered him in a breathy tone. “Mmm. Mitchell.”
The board outside the room squeaked again, but he tightened his hold on Claire as she made a move toward the door.
Would he have to kiss her again to keep her from bursting into that hallway? It was better to err on the side of caution, so he backed her up against the door and took possession of her lips once more.
She placed her hands against his chest as if to push him away, but her fingers curled against the material of his T-shirt instead.
He kissed her long enough for whoever was outside that door to walk away—and then some. He raised his head, and she blinked her violet eyes.
Reaching around her, he opened the door. In a loud voice, he said, “Go back to Ethan. I’ll be right next door all night.”
“I’m so glad you’re here, Mitchell.” She peered down the hallway and shook her head. “I’m just sorry it couldn’t have been a happier reunion .”
He clicked the door behind her and fell across the bed, inhaling the sweet musky scent she’d left behind.
His first meeting with Claire Chadwick couldn’t have been any happier.
Chapter Three
Claire fluffed Ethan’s hair as she sat on the edge of the bed where she’d spent a sleepless night next to her squirmy son. If Mike had let her fling open the door, she might’ve caught Spencer in the act of eavesdropping.
