Her color high, Mary moved toward the queen-size mattress. I dont 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 its all the same to you, Id 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 shed learned of her fathers disappearance, denting Nicks 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. Hed 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.
Theyll be my fathers. 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. Thats his writing as well. She squinted as she read the message. The past holds the secrets. What do you suppose that means?
I dont 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. Ill 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, its my fathers handwriting. Id know it anywhere. Mary followed him across the hall and closed the door behind them.
Still, it doesnt 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. Arent those databases geared toward criminals?
Nick would rather she stayed back in her own room, but given the circumstances, he didnt throw her out. Instead, he got down to the business of lifting the prints. Hed send them to Royce back in D.C. and see if they could find a match.
I get it. Youre 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 youre CIA or something like that?
His attention returned to the fingerprints. Something like that.
She shook her head. Im standing here in my bathrobe talking to a stranger, and I dont even know if hes 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 Im one of the good guys, he said, returning his concentration back to his task. For the most part. Though hed 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 youre one of the good guys? Do you have credentials to prove it?
He completed his task before he stood. Im going to wash my hands, and then Ill tell you what I can.
I get it, youre 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 wasnt at liberty to divulge his true duties. By doing so, he placed his entire organization in jeopardy and he wouldnt do that, no matter how pretty the girl was. And Mary was a knockout.
MARY PACED inside Nicks room. Despite her misgivings, she couldnt or wouldnt believe the man was one of the bad guys. So far, hed been nothing but polite and helpful. Although she didnt 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 hed 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 hed carried in both hands and pointed it at him. Now, tell me what you know or Ill shoot you.
Nick smiled, shaking his head. You wont shoot me.
His patronizing attitude only made her angrier. You know so much about me, what makes you think I wont?
He closed the door behind him and then lunged for the weapon, yanking it from her grasp. For one, it isnt loaded.
Deflated and feeling on less firm footing, Mary straightened her back and flicked her drying hair over her shoulder. So, I wouldnt 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 Marys face and a hand fluttered to her chest. I never knew my father had friends in New York. I dont 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 doesnt tell me who you are and why you were with a dead man in New York.
Lets 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 Marys brain.
Never mind the we.