“The normal stuff—wallet, compact, checkbook, house keys.”
“Did you have a driver’s license or other ID in your wallet?” Sean asked.
“Of course.”
Sean’s eyes narrowed. “Did it have your current address on it?”
Claire nodded. “I’ve lived there for over five years. Why?”
“We need to get your locks changed,” Aidan interrupted. “It’s a good idea after you lose your keys.”
“You’re right,” she said, nodding absently as she thought about it. Great, some punk off the street could have her keys and address—another thing to worry about. Then she picked up on the undercurrents of what Sean and Aidan weren’t saying. “You guys think the killer has my stuff?”
“We don’t know that,” Sean tried to reassure her.
Mentally he cursed her quickness. They would have to work fast to stay ahead of her, but he admired the fact that she was picking up his unspoken worries despite her concussion. He’d always found smart women sexy.
Steady, man. You’re working, not trolling.
Sean reminded himself that Claire was a witness in a homicide investigation. His job was to work with her to close the case, nothing more. That was the way it had to be, regardless of how attractive she was to him, with her wild raven hair and intelligent black eyes.
And he’d always thought he preferred blondes.
“We don’t want to assume anything here,” Sean began. He was interrupted by the sound of a commanding voice in the hall.
“I’m here to see Claire Lambert. Which room is hers?”
“Olivia,” Claire said to the men.
Aidan walked to the door. “I’ll explain to her what’s going on.” He left it to Sean to reassure Claire.
Sean leaned toward her and waited until she looked at him. “I don’t want you to jump to conclusions. I’ll have foot patrols at the murder scene search for your purse. We’ll need a description of it, plus a list of your credit cards so we can track whether they’re being used.”
“Okay.” She met his reassuring eyes but didn’t feel any better. In fact, as she thought about this new threat, her headache came back with increased intensity.
He looked at her closely and thought she seemed less vibrant than she had a few minutes ago. “Is your head hurting?”
Claire nodded once, carefully.
“Then let us worry about the purse. We’ll talk later about the description and your credit cards.”
She nodded again, looking away from the eyes that saw right through her to read her thoughts. He knew she was deeply disturbed by the idea of the killer having access to her home—knew, too, that her head had started its dull throbbing again. She looked out the window and tried not to think about Sean’s ability to read her like a book. It had a disturbing effect on her.
Silence grew in the room.
Sean was tempted to break it, but Claire’s body language didn’t invite conversation. He settled back in the chair and planned the next steps in the investigation.
Chapter 9
Washington, D. C.
Saturday afternoon
The chunky heels on Olivia Goodhue’s loafers clicked loudly in the quiet hospital corridor. She turned the corner and walked as fast as her short legs would allow. Her adrenaline was still racing from the phone call she’d received.
“I’m here to see Claire Lambert. Which room is hers?” Nerves made her tone sharper than usual, though her Southern accent still came through clearly.
A nurse briefly verified Olivia’s visitor badge, then pointed to a room on the right. Olivia approached, then paused before opening the door. Claire needed a calm and supportive presence, not fear and nerves. Olivia didn’t know what had happened, but if Claire had a head injury severe enough to require hospitalization, then she certainly didn’t need an emotional friend.
Olivia had been worried when Claire had missed their lunch date. It wasn’t like her at all. The phone call Olivia had received half an hour ago had been a nightmare come true, and it had jolted her to the core.
She reached for the door handle again, only to have it pulled right out of her hand. She found herself staring at a man’s chest as he stood in the doorway. She looked up. And up. Lord, he was tall. It wasn’t fair that some people towered over six feet, while Olivia had to stand up poker-straight in order to top five foot one at the doctor’s office.
“You’re going to get a crick in your neck,” an amused male voice said.
Olivia narrowed her eyes in annoyance. Did the man read minds, or did he just naturally go for the jugular? She was forced to step back as he gently crowded her into the hall and pulled the door shut behind him.
Aidan looked down at the tiny, redheaded woman in front of him. He could tell that he’d annoyed her with his comment about her height. Or lack thereof.
He smiled as he looked over the rest of her—irritated navy blue eyes set in a triangular face. Her slim, petite frame had just enough curves to be interesting, but her real glory was the thick red hair brushing against her shoulders. The sleeveless tank she wore revealed milky-white skin with a generous sprinkling of freckles on her arms and chest. No freckles on her face, though, which meant she either wore a hat outside or had covered them with makeup.
He imagined she must be Irish, then lost that train of thought when she crossed her arms over her dainty bosom.
“Um, Ms. Goodhue? I’m Aidan Burke. We spoke on the phone earlier.”
“Oh, yes. Are you Claire’s doctor?” Olivia latched onto the man, hoping for more information about her friend’s condition.
“Doctor? Ah, no.” Aidan was amused at the idea. “Look, Claire is fine, Ms. Goodhue—”
“Olivia, please. Ms. Goodhue makes me think of my mother.” She smiled, and a dimple appeared on her right cheek.
“Olivia.” He rolled the name off his tongue, though he was unable to say it as she did, with a slight Southern flavor. “I’m a detective with the DCPD Homicide Division.”
“Homicide?” Olivia’s face turned gray. She grabbed Aidan’s wrist. “You said Claire was going to be fine.”
“She is fine—in fact, I was just speaking with her. I’m sorry to have alarmed you, but another woman was murdered last night. We believe Claire was a witness.”
“Jesus, you scared me half to death. You’d better give me the whole story, and don’t drop any more bombs. My heart can’t take it.” Olivia let go of Aidan and put a hand to her chest as if to slow the wild pounding there.
He could see the pulse beating in her throat. Olivia obviously cared about her friend a great deal, so he gave her a brief, careful summary of last night’s events to put her mind at ease.
“Dear God, you mean she actually saw this man kill a woman?” Olivia’s eyes were huge.
“We don’t know for sure. Claire can’t remember any details of what happened. The doctor says she’s probably suffering from traumatic amnesia. He’s hopeful that as her brain repairs itself her memory might return.”
Olivia said nothing, just looked at Aidan’s big body as if trying to see through it to her friend. Her lips trembled as she thought of what could have happened. Her first impulse was to rush into the room and gather Claire up in a tight hug, but she needed to get control before she saw her friend.
“Hey.” Aidan gently touched Olivia’s arm. “She’s going to be fine, really. She was cracking jokes with me not half an hour ago.”
Olivia smiled, though it was a bit wobbly. “That’s Claire for you. She’s as solid as they come.”
But Olivia knew that Claire’s tough exterior shielded a tender heart.
The two had been friends since their first day of kindergarten, and there was no one alive who knew Claire better. Certainly no one who would understand just how devastating something like this would be to Claire’s quiet, predictable life.
Olivia bit her lip as she thought about what would need to be done to help her friend get through the next few days.
&n
bsp; “Olivia? I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go in there if you’re going to fall apart. Claire needs some calm right now.” Aidan’s tone was bracing. He really hoped the redhead wasn’t going to start crying.
“What?”
Olivia pinned Aidan with a glare worthy of Miss Throckmorton, the never-married schoolteacher who had been the bane of his high school years in small-town Wyoming. He opened his mouth to defend himself but never got the chance.
“I am not going to fall apart, Detective Aidan Burke. Nor do I appreciate you telling me what my best friend does or does not need. I know her better than you, and I realize she needs me to be strong and supportive. Especially after having to deal with the police all day.”
She snorted and looked him up and down. Her tone left no doubt she was referring to Aidan, and that she felt it would be a real hardship to spend the day in his presence. Part of her understood she was snapping at him because he was right, but right now she wasn’t feeling charitable enough to admit that out loud.
Aidan raised his eyebrows, silently stepped aside, and motioned Olivia into the room.
“Livvie! How many red lights did you run getting down here?”
Claire’s attempt at humor would have been convincing to someone who didn’t know her. Olivia saw right through the casual tone and forced smile. Emotion briefly tightened her throat as she quickly assessed her friend.
“I came as soon as I heard, chère.” Ignoring the room’s other occupants Olivia crossed to the bed and enfolded her friend in a gentle hug.
Claire closed her eyes as she put her own arms around Olivia’s delicate frame. Her friend’s perfumed embrace had always meant unconditional love, acceptance, and support. Claire hadn’t realized just how much she’d needed that until she’d heard Olivia’s voice.
Sean stood up to meet Olivia, pleased to see the tension relaxing from Claire’s face as she hugged her friend, then released her.
Olivia stepped back and pushed Claire’s wild hair from her face, studying what she saw there. She seemed to be satisfied, because she set her huge purse down on the bed and began rummaging inside.
“Livvie, this is Sean, er, Detective Richter. He’s working on my case, I guess you could say.” Claire gestured toward Sean with a shrug, wondering how else to introduce him.
Olivia looked up briefly from her purse to perform a thorough once-over of Sean. She took in the uncompromising masculine strength and rolled her eyes.
“How long has the testosterone brigade been in here grilling you, chère? Did they at least let you take a break to get something to eat?”
A giggle escaped Claire’s lips before she could contain it. Olivia had picked right up on the leashed male energy in the room and wasn’t afraid to put her opinion of it into words.
“They’re cousins, if you can believe it,” Claire said.
Olivia’s sniff said she had no trouble whatsoever believing the two men were related. She waved a hand to dismiss them and removed a large plastic container from her cavernous bag.
“I’ve brought gumbo for your supper. For dessert you can have these beignets I picked up this morning. They’re a little stale, but I’m sure they’ll be better than anything the hospital cafeteria makes.”
Claire licked her lips as the spicy scent of gumbo filled the room.
A hopeless scavenger, Aidan perked up as he sniffed the air appreciatively. “Didn’t you say earlier that you weren’t hungry, Claire? It would be a shame to let that delicious-smelling gumbo go to waste.”
He ignored the elbow Sean dug into his ribs and summoned his most charming smile for the women.
Claire shot Aidan a smug look and took a bite of the rich soup. “Livvie, even my sainted grandmère didn’t make better gumbo.” She settled back on the pillows to get comfortable with her dinner.
“After you finish that, we’ll get you into a real gown, not one of these tacky numbers with the rear ventilation.” Olivia fingered Claire’s thin, hospital-issue nightgown, then studied her friend’s face. “What did they do to your hair?”
The thought of what her corkscrew curls looked like when they hadn’t been tamed into some kind of style made Claire grimace. “I guess it got wet and I slept on it.” She slanted a brief glance at Sean, embarrassed that she looked like a train wreck. Oh, well. I bet I look better than most of the people he comes across in his line of work.
Olivia watched while Claire tried to arrange her hair with one hand. Then Olivia dug a brush and a clip out of her bottomless purse, turned around to face Sean and Aidan, and said, “Gentlemen, if y’all are through here?…”
Sean dragged his attention from Claire’s hair and looked at the redheaded whirlwind who had effortlessly taken control of the situation.
Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry?
The message came across loud and clear. Olivia reminded him of a mama badger—small, surprisingly sturdy, and willing to fight to the death to protect her cub.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said wryly, then turned to Claire. “We’re going down to the station now, but here’s my card. I’ve written my cell number and Aidan’s on the back. Call us if you remember anything, no matter how unimportant, or if you just want to talk. I mean that.”
Sean’s piercing eyes stayed on Claire’s down-turned head until she looked up. After hesitating a moment, she nodded and set the card within reach on the nightstand.
“We’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Sean said. “No big deal, just routine follow-up. Evening, ladies.” He nodded to Claire and Olivia, then followed Aidan out the door.
Claire finished the gumbo under her friend’s watchful eye. Then she pushed the empty bowl away and opened the bag of sweet beignets. The familiar taste of the soft, sugared bread filled her mouth as she chewed. There was nothing like a little comfort food to make the world better.
“I’m fine, Livvie. You don’t need to hover like I’m going to fall apart.”
“Sweetie, you’re the strongest person I know. But it’s been a shocking day, so please, let me fuss a little.” Olivia began to tidy items on the bedside tray.
Claire chewed thoughtfully, then took another bite. “Yes, it has been a hell of a day. I’m sure it would be even worse if I could actually remember what happened.”
Olivia picked up the brush and began to tame Claire’s wild curls. “You can’t remember anything?”
Claire frowned. “Nothing very helpful. Just some flashes and images. I remember being scared. Apparently I ran from the scene. My God, there was a woman murdered in front of me and I ran away!”
“And what would have happened if you’d stayed? You’d have been next, that’s what,” Olivia said sharply. “You did the right thing. You escaped and were able to alert the police about the murder and—”
“And haven’t been able to give them a single thing since,” Claire finished.
“Chère, you’re being too hard on yourself. I know we all treat you like the Bionic Woman sometimes, but…” Olivia set the brush down. “Things happen for a reason. And you were somehow meant to get out of that horrible situation. Maybe your memory will come back and you’ll be able to give the police some information that will help them catch the killer. But first you have to concentrate on getting better.”
“I know. I just want to help so much. There’s a young woman who’s dead. And the man who killed her could know where I live.”
“What?”
“My purse is missing. Sean thinks the killer picked it up. My driver’s license and keys were in there.” Claire tried for a casual shrug.
Blowing out her breath audibly, Olivia began to arrange Claire’s hair in a loose French braid. “Then you’ll come stay with me until this is over. No arguments.” Her tone was firm, as if she were dealing with one of her four younger brothers.
“All right.” Claire’s soft agreement sounded exhausted.
Olivia completed the braid and stepped back to examine the results. Claire’s dark eyes had deep purple shadows under th
em, and her skin was paler than usual. Tomorrow or the next day her friend would bounce back, but right now she was too tired to fight.
Hoping to distract Claire, Olivia pulled up a chair and tapped Sean’s card on the nightstand.
“So tell me all about your gorgeous policeman.” She waggled her brows suggestively. “I suppose he spent the whole time at your bedside?”
“Please.” Claire almost laughed. “He’s just doing his job.”
That’s what she kept telling herself every time her thoughts came back to Sean and the look in his concerned blue eyes.
That look is called frustration. He wants something from me and right now I can’t give it to him.
Claire glanced at his business card on her nightstand. She promised herself she’d get a good night’s sleep so that she could do more to help the detectives tomorrow.
And she really hoped she didn’t have any more nightmares about strange men with cruel smiles.
Chapter 10
“Do you have your car?” Sean asked Aidan as they walked out of the hospital.
“No. I left it at the station and caught a ride down here. I figured we could start going over the case on the way back.”
“Roach Coach sound good for dinner?” Sean’s question was absentminded as he walked out of the elevator and across the hospital lobby.
“Bring it on, baby.”
Sean smiled. They’d both eaten worse—and been thankful for it—than the questionable offerings of the mobile catering van that usually parked near the police station.
Sean unlocked the police-issue sedan and folded his long legs under the wheel. His intellect was warring with his frustration as he tried to decide what to do next. He wasn’t surprised that there had been another murder. What he couldn’t believe was that they had an eyewitness who didn’t remember enough to describe the scene of the crime, let alone the murder suspect.
He rubbed his neck tiredly. He hadn’t managed more than a couple of hours of sleep last night, and those had been sitting in a chair next to Claire’s bed. Even worse, the last day had involved one disappointment after another. He was having a hard time coming up with a way to turn things around.
When the Storm Breaks Page 5
