Summer Rain (Lightning Strikes Book 3)

by Barbara Freethy

  "It's hard to believe that no one would have found evidence of any of this during the FBI investigation," he muttered. "Someone at MDT is operating a shadow company and the guys in charge don't know about it? Are they stupid? Are they complicit in some way?"

  "I don't find it so difficult to believe that this side group exists, not after what my brother saw in Mexico. Those weapons were taken out of the company by someone, and it seems like more than a one- or two-person job, yet they've never been able to figure out who was responsible."

  "I'd like to talk to the FBI about it."

  "Good luck. From my experience, they like you to talk while they say nothing."

  "From your experience?" he echoed.

  "They came to my apartment when Jake and Katherine brought TJ back into the country. The FBI met them there. I heard a few things, and they asked me a few questions. Obviously, I didn't know anything. So, what do you want to do now?"

  "Hell if I know."

  "Maybe I should go back to work," she suggested.

  "Or we could go back to my hotel and regroup," he said. "It's almost seven. Isn't your workday over?"

  "I often work later than seven."

  "We need to talk about everything, Dani. I would really appreciate your insight."

  "All right. I'll check my work email when we get to the hotel and make sure there's nothing important I'm missing. I really don't want to believe that Senator Dillon knows about any of this, but it is true that MDT has gotten a lot of contracts over the last eight years. They went through a bad couple of months with the congressional hearings, but they seem to have repaired their reputation and are getting back in business." She let out a sigh. "That company is huge and the people who run it are very powerful, with a lot of contacts and a lot of money. It won't be easy to bring a case against them."

  "I like to take things one step at a time. Seeing a huge mountain in front of you can defeat you before you even start climbing, but if you just look down and keep moving forward, it's amazing how far you can go."

  She smiled. "Is that your philosophy for life?"

  He tipped his head. "It is."

  "Not bad. But even taking it one step at a time, this mountain could be too big for us. Maybe we should go to the FBI."

  "Not yet. We need proof, Dani. A random call from a nameless guy won't take us too far, and our conversation with the pilot who missed the trip was inconclusive. It's too early. We need more evidence, and we need to be sure who we can trust. This isn't just about me and my mother anymore; it's also about your family and maybe your boss. We need to keep digging."

  "I can't help thinking we may dig ourselves into a hole we can't get out of."

  She might be right, but he hoped not.

  Thirteen

  "So was this the way your room looked when you came back here this morning?" Dani asked as she walked around Patrick's hotel room. Everything was neat and organized, not a pillow out of place.

  "Yes. It didn't appear anyone had been inside," he replied.

  "That's so odd. Why search my apartment but not your hotel room?"

  "Maybe they didn't know where I was staying."

  "Whoever they is," she said with a sigh, as she sat down at the round table by the window. "Before we get too deep into research, what are your thoughts about food?"

  He smiled. "I'm in favor of it."

  "Me, too. There's an Indian restaurant down the street. They have a really good chicken curry, and they deliver."

  "Sounds perfect."

  "If you want to look at the menu, I can pull it up on my computer," she said, taking her computer out of her bag and setting it on the table across from him.

  "Just order whatever you like, and we'll share."

  As Patrick got on his computer, she ordered dinner. Once that was done, she checked her work email, happy to see no pressing emergencies. She gazed over at Patrick, who was frowning at his computer.

  "What are you working on?"

  "Our source. He's sending us down a particular path, and we don't know anything about him."

  "How are we going to find out? We don't know his name, his age, his location…"

  "True, but I think he knows the guy who gave us the phone."

  "That makes sense. Or the cashier at the store could have been Ann's contact. She's the one who sent you there."

  "No, I think our whistleblower would only be willing to give his phone number to someone he trusted implicitly. He's clearly paranoid. That's why he didn't have Ann give us the phone. He must not trust her, either. In fact, maybe he wonders if she's the one who blew the whole story up eight years ago."

  "But then he wouldn't have given her a number that she could contact at him at. I don't think he mistrusts her."

  "Maybe not. The store where we got the phone is owned by the Cammerata family." He turned his computer around so she could see the screen. "This is their website. Recognize the guy in the middle?"

  "That's the clerk."

  "Vincent Cammerata. The other two men are his father George and his brother David."

  "You think one of them is the source?"

  "No, but I think that Vince knows our source. He's either a best friend or a relative or both."

  "I'll look on social media, see who pops up in Vince's friend feed. I've researched a few dates over the years, so I have an idea what to look for."

  "Proactively or after you went out with them?"

  "Both. You can't tell me you haven't done the same thing," she said dryly.

  "Never. I prefer to get my information firsthand."

  "Well, it's different for guys." She paused. "I've got his profile page. He has three hundred plus friends."

  "You can exclude the females. Concentrate only on the men and those in his age range, which appeared to be late thirties."

  "He's divorced," she said, reading through some of the posts. "Looks like it's recent, about a year ago. He has a seven-year-old daughter."

  "Does Cammerata have any Texas friends?"

  "Not that are obvious. It would take some work to figure that out. Shall I focus on that?"

  "If you don't mind. I'll get into Tania Vaile."

  "Deal." She actually liked having something specific to work on. It helped keep her mind off Patrick and the fact that they were alone in his hotel room with a comfortable-looking, king-sized bed not too far away. They'd been so busy chasing down leads that it had been easy to keep her attraction at bay, but any time she looked at him too long her brain turned to mush, and she started thinking about other things—like touching him, kissing him, maybe taking off his clothes, seeing what muscles lay beneath the shirt and the jeans, because it was clear that Patrick was fit. He might not play football anymore, but he still moved like an athlete.

  "So have you done any dating here in DC?" Patrick asked.

  His question startled her out of her distracted reverie, which was good. "I've gone out with a couple of guys, but no more than a few dates with any of them."

  "Why not?" he asked, interest in his eyes.

  "There wasn't any chemistry," she said with a shrug.

  "Well, it's important to have that."

  "We also either didn't have anything in common or too much. One guy worked for another senator. Even though his boss and mine are in the same party, it felt too close. I was never sure if we were just talking, or if he was looking for information."

  "What about the other guys?"

  "One was a cyber geek. He was fascinated by technology, and he talked a lot about it. My eyes glazed over by the end of the night. The other man was a dentist. Nice guy, but he was looking to move to the suburbs, open his own practice, and have a bunch of kids really, really soon."

  "I thought women liked a man who was ready to get married," Patrick teased.

  "That's a myth perpetuated by men who think every woman wants the same thing."

  "So you don't want a husband and kids?"

  "I do—someday. But not right now. What about you?"

/>   "I'd like to have a family—someday," he said, repeating her word with a smile. "But I'm not in a rush. Doing what I do, it's nice to have the freedom to be flexible and to work long hours if I need to."

  "Exactly," she agreed.

  "I will say that after my mom died, the holidays have been depressing," Patrick said. "Our family was always small, but losing my mom created a huge void. My father has never really recovered from the loss. I worry now that the park is done that he won't have anything positive to focus on. It's been his goal for so long; it's what he's lived for."

  "He'll find something else. And he has his job, which he enjoys, right?"

  "Yes, he likes teaching."

  "Does he know what happened to you in the park?"

  Patrick nodded. "He came to the hospital that night with my aunt and my cousin, and he's called me a few times since then, but I haven't returned his calls. I should do that. I just don't want to get into details."

  "Like the fact that your attacker overdosed behind a gas station under suspicious circumstances."

  "Exactly."

  "When are you going to tell him that you're investigating your mother's death?"

  "When I have something specific to tell, but not before then. I don't want him to worry or to try to stop me."

  "Would he do that?" she asked curiously.

  "I'm not sure. To protect me—maybe."

  She looked down as her cell phone buzzed with an incoming text. "The food is downstairs in the lobby."

  "I'll get it," he said, getting to his feet.

  "I already put it on my credit card, including the tip."

  "You didn't have to do that."

  She shrugged. "Not a big deal." After Patrick left, she turned her attention back to the computer. She checked out several other social media sites to see if Vincent Cammerata was more active online somewhere else. He seemed to have a fondness for boating and fishing on Chesapeake Bay. He was a Washington Redskins fan during football season and followed the Nationals for baseball. But what tie did he have to MDT? Or even to Texas?

  She couldn't see an obvious link.

  She jumped onto another site and saw photos of Vincent at a bar for a St. Patrick's Day pub crawl. She was about to move on to the next picture when a familiar face caught her eye.

  Her heart leapt into her throat at the picture of Stephen Phelps standing just to the right of Vincent. Were they together? Was it a coincidence?

  Her lunch conversation with Stephen earlier in the day returned to her head. He'd known an awful lot about her movements and about what had happened in Texas. She'd thought it was because Erica had filled him in. But did Stephen have some other connection to everything that was going on?

  But that was crazy. Wasn't it?

  Vincent Cammerata had just handed them a phone. What did he have to do with anything?

  The door opened, and she jumped, her nerves on edge.

  "What's wrong?" Patrick asked quickly, as he strode across the room.

  "I found a picture of Vincent in a bar. Stephen Phelps, the senator's press secretary, is in the shot."

  Patrick gave the screen a closer look.

  "It's hard to say if they're even together," she muttered. "But it seems weird."

  "It does." Patrick set the bag of food on the table. "Phelps was at the gala last night. I saw him with Erica."

  "Yes, and I had a conversation with him earlier today. I was going to tell you about that. He asked me to go to lunch and then as we were eating he made sure I knew that he'd seen you and me together last night. He said he was going to offer me a ride home when he saw me walking down the street, so he followed me. He saw me get into your car. It felt very creepy to know he was watching me like that. And why go to all that trouble? Up until last night, I hadn't exchanged two words with him. Suddenly, he wants to dance and give me a ride home and take me to lunch?"

  Patrick's troubled gaze didn't make her feel any better. "I wonder if he had anything to do with the break-in at your apartment last night."

  "How would he have known we weren't going straight to my apartment, though?" she asked.

  "Good point."

  "And he's a press secretary. Would he break into my home? That seems like a stretch."

  "He wouldn't do the dirty work himself. Where did Phelps come from? Is he a Texas boy?"

  "No, he's from New York, and he's been in DC for at least ten years. He's been around politics for a while, but he didn't start working with the senator until Erica came on board. They're tight with each other. Anyway, it could all just be a coincidence and perfectly harmless behavior."

  "You like coincidences, Dani, but I don't. It's too easy to say something is just fate or luck or a random event, but that's rarely the case."

  She frowned, his statement echoing words her sister and brother had said many times before. She closed her computer. "Fine."

  "I didn't mean that as an insult, Dani."

  "Sure you did. I've heard it before from my siblings. I'm in denial. I don't like to face the truth. I dismiss anything that doesn't fit with my life. I'm selfish and I don't care about my father's death."

  "Whoa," he said, putting up a hand. "I didn't say any of that, and if they did, I'm sorry, because the last thing you are is selfish. I know you loved your father."

  She felt somewhat better by his vehement response. "I did love him. And sometimes I distance myself from that whole situation. It's been ten years. How long do I have to live in grief? How long do I have to ask questions that can't be answered?"

  "You don't have to live in grief. Believe it or not, I understand how you feel."

  "I don't see how you could. You're just like Jake and Alicia in your drive to get to the truth about your family mystery."

  "But I understand the emotional cost of that pursuit. It can be extremely high, with no reward."

  She felt a little better. "Thank you."

  "Don't leave, Dani."

  "I'm not leaving. I'm too hungry to go." She offered him a little smile, and he smiled back.

  "Good," he said, relief filling his eyes. He opened the bag as she put her computer on the bed. "It smells great."

  "It is great. I love all the food choices in this city. One week, I had a different ethnic dish each night. It was like a world tour of cuisine: China, Thailand, India, Vietnam, Germany, Japan, and France."

  "That's quite a week. What was your favorite?"

  "I liked it all."

  "I noticed you left off Mexican," he commented as he removed the lids on two containers.

  "You can't beat Texas for Mexican food," she replied.

  "Very true. I've never found anything better than Maria's Cantina on Forrester Street."

  "I love that place. It's one of my favorites. I probably ate there once a week last year. I'm surprised we never ran into each other. Or maybe we did, and we just didn’t know it."

  "I don't think so. If I'd seen you, Dani, I would have remembered you."

  She probably would have remembered him, too.

  "So what did you get?" he asked.

  "There's butter chicken and shrimp curry. Which do you want?"

  "You pick. I'll take the other."

  "Then I'll go for the chicken. But I think we should each eat half and then switch."

  "Deal," he said with a laugh. "See, you're not selfish at all."

  She liked that they could tease each other and that they could take a break and just be normal for a few minutes.

  As they ate, Dani decided to get a little more information on the man sitting across from her. "I told you about my adventures in dating—what about yours?" she asked.

  "I wouldn't call any of my dates adventures."

  "When was the last time you had a serious relationship?"

  "Years."

  "Can you be more specific?"

  "Let's see. I had a girlfriend in college and for most of the year after that. We were together about two and a half years."

  "You were with her when your
mother died?"

  "Technically yes, but we hadn't been getting along that well. We were both twenty-two, just out of college, trying to figure out what we wanted to do with our lives and whether we could do them with each other or in the same place. Amanda was actually on a job interview in Los Angeles when my mother's plane crashed. I was working in Chicago at a local newspaper. I went to Corpus Christi as soon as I got the news. At first, there was some hope that there would be survivors, but that didn't last long. Amanda flew back from LA to be with me. She stayed through the funeral. But when it was over, she told me that she'd gotten the job, and she wanted to move to Los Angeles."

  "Did you consider going with her?" she asked curiously.

  "I did, but Amanda said she wanted to settle in first, concentrate on her job. I didn't fight her. I was in such a shocked state that I felt numb about everything. As you can probably guess, I never did move out to LA. In fact, we never saw each other again. She broke up with me in a text a few weeks later."

  "That's cold. She had to understand you were grieving for your mother."

  "I was partly to blame. I wasn't much fun anymore, and Amanda didn't want to be dragged down into my darkness. Who would? I can't blame her. She was young, and I suddenly felt a million years old."

  She understood that. "I was eighteen when my father died. I was living in a dorm on campus. I'd been at a party that night, and I was actually a little drunk when Jake called me to tell me my father's plane was missing. I sobered up really fast. He picked me up, and we went home. Alicia and my mom were hysterically crying when we got there. It was a really long night and an even longer few days. Our hope went on, because no one found the plane. In some ways, that just made it worse, because when do you give up?"

  She paused, swallowing back a knot in her throat. Patrick reached across the table and put his hand over hers, his fingers warming her all the way through.

  "You don't have to keep going if you don't want to," he said.

  "It's fine." She drew in a breath and let it out. "We all wanted to give up at different times, and it split the family apart. Sometimes tragedy brings you together, but for us it did the opposite. We were all so angry, I think we took it out on each other. We drifted apart for a long time. It's kind of ironic that Alicia's lightning strike last year brought her back into the family."