Very quickly a photo popped up on the screen. Nice enough man, a little older than his bio stated, and smiling like a choirboy.
“Next,” Claire said.
Another photo appeared. No smile.
“Next.”
Claire settled in and concentrated on bringing up memories of having been here before, of seeing the parade of hopeful male faces. Something. Anything. Whenever she spent longer than a few moments on a photo, Afton wrote down the name for further research. She gave up asking Claire why she lingered over any photo. Her friend simply didn’t know.
They had gotten to F when voices from the hall distracted the women.
“I think she’s in her office, even though she’s not answering.” A pause, then a soft knock on the door. “Afton?”
“Come in.”
The door opened a crack and Camelot’s young receptionist popped his head in the opening. “Detectives Burke and Richter here to see you again.”
Claire grimaced and muttered, “Busted.”
Afton sighed. “Let them in.”
The men came through the door, one after the other. Sean stopped abruptly on seeing Claire, and his partner smacked into him from behind.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Sean asked.
Claire’s temper red-lined in a heartbeat, though she kept her expression calm. “Detective Richter, how nice to see you. I’m so pleased you remember me, because I was beginning to think you’d forgotten who I was. Certainly I haven’t heard from you or Detective Burke in days, but I guess even common courtesy must be pushed aside during important police investigations.” Claire’s Louisiana accent was pronounced, the drawling tones doing nothing to hide the fire burning in her eyes.
Well, shit, Sean thought. Who pissed in her chili?
And when had he become Detective Richter, uttered in that nasty, syrupy voice? He knew she’d been raised in New Orleans, but her accent wasn’t usually so pronounced. He exchanged a look with Aidan.
Afton stepped into the yawning silence to offer the men seats and some coffee. Claire continued to work one-handed on the computer. After giving a new command to the database program, she swiveled her chair, looked directly at Sean, and waited for him to make the next move.
Aidan tried to smooth over the tense silence. “You’re looking great, Claire. How’s the head doing?”
“It’s just fine. You’d be amazed at what a few quiet days can do to clear up your thinking and put things in perspective. Especially when your office leaves you alone and all you have to do is think about your personal life.”
“Have you remembered anything?” Sean asked.
“Nothing you would find useful, I’m sure.” She turned back to the computer and began searching the next range of entries.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sean asked. It was better than asking what he really wanted to know, which was why she was mad at him. The composed, angry woman sitting before him had little resemblance to the one he’d last seen in the hospital, with wild curls and shadows in her vulnerable eyes.
“I think she’s pissed about something,” Aidan said.
“Now why would I be mad?” Claire asked, looking over her shoulder at Aidan. “Haven’t you and your partner kept me up to date on what’s happening with my investigation and when I can move back into my home? Haven’t I had twice-daily calls letting me know what y’all are working on, and how things are going and if I could be any help?” Claire picked up Afton’s letter opener and began to tap it on the blotter pad.
Sean’s eyes narrowed.
Aidan started talking fast. If Sean lost his temper things would go to hell real fast. “That would be my fault,” Aidan said. “I’ve been working on the part of the investigation involving you and Afton, while Sean has been buried in archived files for every precinct in the D.C. Metro area. We’ve both been so busy that some days we didn’t remember to eat.” He smiled his most winning smile.
Despite her annoyance Claire had to admit that what Aidan said made sense, if you didn’t examine it too closely.
“Plus,” Aidan added quickly, “your doctor told us to give you a couple of days to rest. Couldn’t go against his orders, now, could we?” Aidan stretched the truth without hesitation. He had spoken to Claire’s doctor as part of his background check, and the man had said the best chance for Claire to recover her memory would be through rest and recuperation.
Claire fiddled a bit more with the letter opener. From the corner of her eye she could see that Sean looked very tired, with deep circles under his blue eyes. His short, dark hair was carelessly combed, as if he had run a hand through it repeatedly.
Never one to hold a grudge, she decided to give the detectives a chance to redeem themselves by bringing her fully up to date on the status of the investigation.
“How have things been going on the Mendes case, then?” she asked.
Sean’s expression became guarded. He resisted the urge to glance at Afton and see her response to the question. They had planned to stop by Camelot today and explain to her in detail why they believed Claire’s attack was related to a series of murders in the area.
“Don’t worry,” Claire said. “Afton knows the whole story about the night of the murder.” She smiled defiantly at Sean. “You didn’t tell me to keep things quiet, did you? Besides, Olivia already knew. I needed Afton’s help, so I told her.”
Sean sat back in his chair and told himself that losing his temper would be stupid. Obviously Claire had been doing quite a bit of thinking in the last few days. While he was pleased she was feeling well enough to be out of the hospital visiting friends, he was uncomfortable with the idea of her revealing information about an active case without consulting him in advance.
“You should have talked to me,” Sean said.
“How? You didn’t return my call. Twice.”
“It’s fine if Ms. Gallagher knows,” Aidan said before his partner could put words to the anger narrowing his eyes. “We’d prefer if neither of you discussed it with anyone else, though.”
Sean rubbed his neck and told himself to cool off. They should have known that Claire would talk with her friends. If they hadn’t wanted her to, they should have told her so. He couldn’t get mad at her for something that was their own fault.
“Sure, it’s no problem,” Sean said. “Saves us some explaining.” He looked over the desk at Afton. “Now you understand why we want to go through your files.”
“I certainly do. But since I hadn’t heard anything more about the court order, I’d assumed you had, um, abandoned the idea that our files would be useful.” She looked at Claire uncomfortably, seeking support as she became the focus of Sean’s intense stare.
“Why would you think that? We’ve just been working other angles of the case,” Sean said.
“What she means,” Claire said, “is it seemed like the police didn’t believe me about the potential connection between the killer and Camelot’s catalogue. I can understand how she came to that conclusion.”
“It’s not that we don’t believe you,” Sean said. “And we haven’t dismissed any possibilities. We’re detectives, Claire. A lot of what we do would seem pointless to you, but it’s all part of building an investigation.”
“Puh-lease,” Clare said, rolling her eyes. “Look, I understand that an eyewitness suffering from amnesia isn’t exactly a slam dunk for a court order, much less a conviction. That’s why I’m working on finding something more concrete than a feeling I’ve seen this guy’s picture before.”
“What are you up to?” Sean said.
“I’m not ‘up to’ anything. I’m merely pursuing something I believe is critical to regaining my memory.”
Sean shot out of the chair and came around the desk. One glance at the computer screen was all he needed. “You’re looking through the catalogue.”
“Give the detective a cigar,” she said.
Aidan started to say something, then shut up at a look from Sean.
/> “Do you really believe you’re going to find the guy’s picture here?” Sean said, ignoring her attitude.
“What I really believe is that if I don’t do something to get my life back under control, I’ll go nuts.” With that, Claire lifted her chin and scrolled through the next entry.
Sean placed one hand palm down on the desk and the other on the back of Claire’s chair, effectively making a cage out of his arms. “Were you going to let me know if you found anything in the database?”
She was smart enough not to answer a question asked in the deadly quiet tone Sean was using. She also understood body language enough to know that Sean was deliberately trying to intimidate her, so she resisted the urge to squirm in her chair.
Silence continued, punctuated by the occasional click of the mouse Claire used as she worked her way through the photos.
“Were you, Claire?” He leaned closer, frankly looming over her. He was angry and didn’t mind letting it show. “Were you going to let us in on your little side investigation, tell us if you found a suspect? Or maybe you were just going to slip on your Wonder Woman costume and take the guy out yourself, huh?”
Claire leaped to her feet and tried to stare Sean down. It was a difficult task, given the fact that he was more than a head taller. “I’m not an idiot. How come if you look through the catalogues for a suspect you’re just doing your job, but if I do it I’m some kind of nutcase with a Nancy Drew complex?”
“Because it’s my job,” he said.
She drew in a breath that was half sob. Until that instant she hadn’t realized how stressed she was. “Your job. But it’s my life. You go to the office, work on the case, then close your files and go home. I don’t have any place to leave this locked up. Someone else is calling the shots, but I have to live with the results twenty-four hours a day.”
Sean’s anger faded as he tried to imagine what it would be like to have his life turned upside down, then have strangers controlling his attempts to get things back to normal again. He’d be mad as hell.
“I have no idea what progress, if any,” she said, “has been made on a case that has me afraid to stay in my own home. Worse, I feel like I’m being treated as a suspect, when in reality I’ve done nothing except be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Sean clasped her rigid arms gently. “I’m sorry you felt that way.” He waited until she looked up and met his eyes. “But until we’re certain that the murderer was a stranger to Renata Mendes, we have to give that avenue all our resources and attention. Stranger murders—murders where the killer isn’t known to the victim—are damned uncommon. The dead woman is, and has to be, our first concern. But I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel like we didn’t trust you.”
Claire looked intently into Sean’s eyes and sighed. She couldn’t stay angry in the face of his sincerity.
“Don’t be nice to me,” she said. “I’m still mad at both of you.”
Sean let out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding. “No one can stay mad at Aidan for long,” he said with a small smile.
“How about you?” Claire asked, still looking at Sean.
Aidan answered. “He lacks my charm and doesn’t grovel worth a damn. There are probably some outstanding contracts on his life as we speak.”
She smiled faintly at the image of either man groveling.
“So what’s the plan then?” she asked to break the tension. “Afton and I have been through the catalogue entries up to F, and we’ve made a list of some names we think should be investigated. I know you’re not convinced that looking through the database will help any, but how much can it hurt?”
“Can you give us one day before we pursue that?” Sean asked. “We’ll get to the catalogues, I promise. Can you trust me, just for one more day?”
Trust me.
In her experience, those were famous last words coming from a man, but she told herself it was just temporary. Twenty-four hours wouldn’t seem like much to most people. But he was asking her not to get involved in an investigation that was now her life. She wondered if he had any idea what he was asking and how deeply it went against her nature. Then she looked at him and realized he did understand, yet asked for her trust anyway.
She reminded herself it was only for a day. “Will you keep me updated on your progress?”
Sean recognized it as the compromise it was. “We’ll tell you whatever we can, especially if it has to do with you.”
Claire gave him a long look. She’d never been around anyone who could be so composed and yet angry at the same time. It was his strength of will more than anything else that angered and intrigued her. She’d never met anyone who could stand up to her when she was really mad. He’d not only done that but he’d also gotten her to agree to a compromise—a word not normally found in her vocabulary.
“All right. But I want regular reports,” she added.
There was the steel that lay underneath the curls and sexy body, Sean thought with a smile. He was getting used to both. “Agreed. Now, why don’t you take the doctor’s advice and go home and rest for a few more days.”
Claire shot him a “get real” look. “Like you, I have a job. Dr. Springer said to let pain be my guide, and I feel just fine. I’m working from Olivia’s home, not sleeping around the clock. I’ll talk to you soon.” She left the room, followed by Afton.
As soon as the door closed behind the women, Aidan turned and raised an eyebrow at Sean. “Wonder Woman uniform?”
“Fuck you,” Sean said with a half smile.
Aidan laughed and tried to remember the last time he’d seen someone get to Sean as fast as Wonder Woman had. “Is that what you’re going to tell Captain Michaels?”
Sean stopped smiling. With every hour he and Aidan didn’t make any progress on the case, the captain got more impatient about not using Claire. And putting Claire in the line of fire was something Sean was not ready to do.
Chapter 20
Washington, D. C.
Saturday morning
“We’re so relieved that you weren’t seriously hurt, Claire. What happened, exactly?” Tiffani Kensit’s voice dropped, inviting Claire to share the juicy details of the night she was injured. “The only thing Mr. Webster said was that you had been attacked near Dupont Circle.”
Claire wished that Tiffani had chosen another day to pile up overtime. Tiffani with an i was a crucial link in the network of office gossip. While the young woman was pleasant and even friendly, she couldn’t wait to tell whoever cared to listen over the wall of the bathroom stalls all about the intimate details of Claire’s life.
That’s what had happened the one and only time Claire had dated someone she worked with. The office rumor mill had gotten hold of the details from Claire’s scorned ex. She hadn’t forgotten the humiliation of having her failed relationship discussed in rest rooms and over the water cooler in the employee lounge.
“Sorry, the police asked me not to talk about it. But I appreciate your concern.” Claire somehow managed to say the words without choking.
After closing her office door so she wouldn’t be disturbed by other people playing weekend catch-up, she made her way steadily through the voice mails, messages, and faxes she hadn’t been able to clear out yesterday. She tried very hard to focus on her clients and accounts, but in the back of her mind a timer slowly counted down, ticking off the minutes in the twenty-four hours she had promised Sean.
At exactly one minute after eleven, Claire still hadn’t heard from the police. No missed calls were listed on her cell phone. She dialed Olivia’s number.
“Hi, Livvie. Any messages for me?”
“No. Don’t forget—late brunch with Afton today. Be ready to do decadent girly stuff. We all need a little break.”
“I won’t forget.”
Annoyance gave a snap to Claire’s stride as she walked to the metro station. She was just in time to catch the train that would drop her close to Sean’s office. The cars were full of tourists and kids,
who ranged from excited to whiny without warning.
Coming to the top of the long escalator exit from the metro, she saw that the skies were threatening rain. She still hadn’t replaced the umbrella she’d lost the night of the murder, so she hurried to beat the storm. She just made it through the door as the rain let loose. Inside the police station, an older man sat behind a desk, chatting with a woman leaning on the counter.
“I’d like to speak with Detective Richter,” Claire said.
The woman turned and gave her an assessing look. “I’ll take her, Frank. Follow me.” The woman turned down a long corridor. “I’m Teresa—are you a salesperson or something?”
“No, I’m Claire Lambert. Detective Richter and his partner are working on my case.”
“Right. Well, this is where Sean and Aidan should be.”
Claire looked at the empty chairs.
“Wait here and I’ll go drag them out of the kitchen,” Teresa said with a wink. She headed for the doors at the other end of the room. “They’re probably mainlining caffeine.”
Claire looked around the men’s work area, trying to guess which desk belonged to whom. She was pretty sure the desk closest to her was Aidan’s, given its cheerfully cluttered appearance. Leaning closer to confirm her suspicion, she saw a file. The tab on the orange folder was labeled Marie Claire Lambert and had a number, presumably a case identification code.
She looked around quickly and reached for the file. As she read, a chill went through her body. Her jaw tensed as she flipped to the next page, and then the next. Settling into the chair with the file in front of her, she decided someone had a lot of explaining to do. She couldn’t wait to hear it.
Trust me.
From where she sat, that looked like another way to say Screw you.
When the Storm Breaks Page 10
