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
