When the Storm Breaks

by Heather Lowell

  “Looks like it might storm later tonight,” she said.

  “Uh-huh. Excuse me for a minute. I have to check on something. I wasn’t really expecting to be out tonight…”

  In disbelief, then amusement, she watched while he downloaded e-mail and flicked through it on a PDA. “E-mail, huh?” she asked for Sean’s benefit.

  “Yeah.”

  She studied Taylor in the dim light. He was handsome enough, with straight features, dark brown hair, and blue eyes. He just didn’t do it for her. Besides, he didn’t need a date, he needed a data port.

  She looked at his mouth and tried to find signs of the killer’s distinctive smile, the cruel twist that she remembered so well. But Taylor wasn’t a smiler. Settling back, she decided she would have her work cut out getting a humorous reaction from him.

  Two cars behind them, Sean was grinning. What a putz. He gets alone with her and the first thing he does is check in with the office.

  Nothing in Sean’s opinion changed during the next hour as he watched—and listened—while Claire tried to interest Taylor in something besides the stock market updates that came in on his PDA. If it hadn’t been for the guy’s eyes glued to Claire’s breasts every time he looked up, Sean would have sworn he didn’t have anything but a spreadsheet between his legs.

  Locking her jaw against a yawn, Claire pushed salad around on the plate in front of her and hoped the waiter would bring the main course soon. Maybe then Taylor would be forced to change the subject from the importance, the absolutely vital importance of good tax shelters. Apparently it was so important that it was some kind of crime to smile, much less laugh, about anything else.

  If there was any humor in Taylor’s soul, she hadn’t found it. As a sense of humor was one of her top three requirements in a date, she was glad this wasn’t a real Camelot match—she would have raised hell and gotten her money back. She wondered if another stiff drink would make Taylor’s company more appealing. Unfortunately, she suspected there wasn’t enough alcohol in the bar to make an evening of discussing Taylor’s stock portfolio and financial planning strategies entertaining. The only real amusement in the date so far was looking at her butter knife and wondering if it was sharp enough to slit his throat. Or her wrists.

  She realized he’d asked her a question, and she tried to cover her inattention with an inquiring sound.

  “I’ll tell you why I didn’t lose my shirt when the market tanked. Diversification,” he said emphatically. “It’s the key to any successful portfolio. You don’t want to be too heavily invested in any particular sector, though of course you want to focus on the profitable ones.”

  God, we’re back to the portfolio again. I suppose that’s an improvement over tax shelters.

  At this point she was about one hundred percent certain that Taylor wasn’t the killer—unless the other women had died of boredom.

  Claire looked up and smiled brilliantly when the waiter took her salad plate away and said their entrees were coming out shortly. She let her eyes wander to where Aidan was seated alone at a table for two about fifteen feet away from her. She continued to glance around, scanning the bar and getting a jolt as she collided with Sean’s intense blue gaze.

  She knew she wasn’t supposed to look directly at him, but she could feel his eyes practically burning into her. It was impossible not to glance over at him occasionally. Every time it happened, she grew more tense.

  Deliberately pulling her attention from the bar area, she continued to casually look over the rest of the diners. A large party of women was just being seated at a corner table. Claire smiled when she recognized Olivia with some of her coworkers. Apparently Très Chic was a popular location for weekend nights out. Claire hoped her friend was having a better time than she was.

  When their meals arrived, she made another valiant attempt to pay attention to Taylor. Hopefully, he had finally exhausted the topic of his two-, five-, and ten-year plans for diversified investing and financial security.

  She forked in a mouthful of tender chicken and decided that the evening wasn’t a total loss.

  “Tell me about your portfolio,” Taylor said.

  Now he remembers me, when my mouth is full. Claire swallowed hard. “I have stock options in the company where I work.”

  “One company? That’s it?” Her date looked horrified at the thought and set aside his fork and knife. “That’s foolish. You would be wiped out financially if anything happens to them.”

  “I also have a modest number of shares I inherited from my father. You know, blue-chip stocks in companies that have survived for generations and will be around when I need them.”

  “Old-fashioned and outdated. You need to dump those and invest in more progressive companies, ones that will determine the future of their respective industries.” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “I’d be happy to give you some pointers.”

  “Actually, the portfolio as a whole is doing well. I’m very comfortable with things as they stand. But thank you for the offer.”

  Taylor made an understanding sound and smiled. “I know the stock market can seem very intimidating to women. Their urge is to buy conservative stocks they know and understand. Particularly in a volatile market.”

  Claire narrowed her eyes. Very intimidating to women my ass. “My portfolio has consistently outperformed the leading funds and the market as a whole. I invested my father’s life insurance settlement, and in a few years was able to buy a house here in Georgetown. Daddy always told me if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” she drawled.

  “Yes, well, that’s a nice Beaver Cleaver approach to investing, and if you’re happy with it—” he began.

  “I am,” she interrupted, setting her drink down hard.

  “Well, that’s just so yesterday,” he said. He started writing on the back of the linen napkin. “Look, if you just take some of that stock and transfer it into one of these high-yield funds, in five, ten, or twenty years you’ll…”

  Claire tuned out, because if he kept on patronizing her, she was going to come across the table and commit murder under the interested eyes of two homicide detectives. Death by forced ingestion of PDA and cell phone. She would plead justifiable homicide.

  From the amused look on Sean’s face, he would back her.

  Hoping to be able to eat her meal in peace, Claire interrupted, “So tell me, do stockbrokers have 401(k) plans?”

  “Usually. Of course, it depends on whether they’re working as independents or with a large firm, like I am. The 401(k) is a core element of my ten-year plan for personal financial freedom.”

  She smiled and made encouraging noises as she ate the excellent dinner. Her date had managed to numb her mind, but her taste buds were doing fine. If he noticed her lack of attention, it didn’t bother him. He lectured over the steak going cold on his plate. The only good news was that he didn’t talk with his mouth full.

  As soon as Claire finished eating, she cut Taylor off in full flight on the difference between a 401(k) and something whose rank and serial number escaped her.

  “Sorry, I have to…” She gestured toward the rest rooms.

  “Huh? Oh. Sure.” He looked at his plate like he’d just noticed it. “Guess I should eat something. I get carried away when I talk about my work.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Laughter came from the direction of the bar.

  As she passed Aidan’s table, she dropped her small cocktail purse in a prearranged signal that she was going to end the evening as soon as she got back from the ladies’ room. When Aidan handed her the purse, she gave him a polite social smile and walked on.

  Aidan signaled the waiter for his check. He had to get back to Camelot to be in position before Claire and her date arrived.

  Sean told himself it was petty to feel so good about what had obviously been a lousy evening for Claire. Even without the small earpiece he would have known that the date was a dud. Her body language screamed I’d rather be
home watching a Discovery Channel special about hyena population growth in Kenya than here!

  If this guy was the serial killer, Sean would eat Taylor’s stock portfolio—assuming Claire didn’t feed it to him before the date was over. One down, four to go.

  Sean’s good humor evaporated. The thought of sitting through four more nights of guys ogling Claire made the mineral water in his glass taste like horse piss.

  I love my job, he thought grimly, signaling the bartender to prepare his check.

  When Taylor and Claire stood up to leave, Sean was ready to follow Claire and her date back to Camelot’s building. Aidan would already be in position near the entrance, overseeing the good-night chitchat and waiting to take Claire home. At this point neither detective planned to jump in the cab after Claire went inside and strike up a conversation with the date about what deceitful bitches women were—almost always a hot-button topic for men who murdered prostitutes.

  No small talk came through the mike as Sean followed the taxi to Camelot’s building. When the cab stopped at the curb to let out its passengers, Sean went on one block, circled around, and parked across the street from Camelot.

  Claire was already out of the taxi and going up the steps to the entrance. Just inside the revolving door, Aidan was leaning casually against a wall, seemingly absorbed in a newspaper.

  “Thanks, Taylor,” she said, stopping outside the building door.

  She hoped he’d read in her the universal signals of a woman who wasn’t interested and wasn’t going to be. But somehow, she didn’t think so.

  “I had a great time, Claire,” he said, standing between her and the door. “Here, let me give you my card. Just in case you’re interested in updating your portfolio or…anything.”

  Claire murmured a response and slipped the card into her evening bag.

  Taylor just stood there. “Evening is kind of warm, isn’t it? Hope it rains before morning and cools things off a bit.”

  Oh, God. Now he wants small talk. Claire sighed. “That would be nice.”

  Another moment of awkward silence passed.

  “Well, I’d best go in and get my things,” Claire said, smiling brightly. “I left my laptop inside.” She hadn’t, but she didn’t want him to offer her a cab ride home.

  “Sure. Well, I had a great time.” Taylor made no move to get out of the doorway.

  Claire knew that he was trying to get up the courage to kiss her. She stuck her hand out firmly to discourage his big move and said, “Good night.”

  He took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. Before she could avoid it, he swooped down and landed an open-mouthed kiss on her lips. Her head jerked back in shock.

  “I’ll call you, okay?” Taylor said.

  Jesus, talk about not getting it. Claire slid past him. “Sure. Bye.”

  “Don Juan had better look out,” Aidan said without looking up from his newspaper.

  “Yeah, Taylor’s a real charmer,” she replied, moving briskly toward the ladies’ room off the lobby. “Give me a minute and we can go home.”

  “Take your time,” Aidan said, turning the page of his paper.

  The first thing she did after locking the bathroom stall was to unbutton her dress. “Good night, sweet prince,” she muttered and jerked off the microphone taped to her chest. She winced at losing several layers of skin in the process, then went to work on the remainder of the equipment taped to her waist.

  In the car outside, Sean watched Taylor North get into a taxi. Then the sound of rustling in his earpiece distracted him, followed by something sarcastic he didn’t quite catch. The abrupt silence that followed told him Claire had removed her microphone. The date was over. He got out of the car and jogged across the street to the building.

  Aidan met him at the top of the steps. “Somehow, I don’t think Taylor North is our smooth operator.”

  Sean leaned against the railing. “Don’t think he’s the killer, either.”

  “Agreed. The most we could charge him with is being a boring and self-absorbed asshole.”

  Sean snickered, then straightened as Claire came through the doors and began to descend the stairs. “Any impressions on the stockbroker?”

  “Yeah. He kisses like a fourth-grader,” she shot back.

  Aidan laughed out loud.

  Sean was smarter. He knew that Claire would turn her temper on him if he so much as smiled.

  “Ah, I meant more along the lines of whether you recognized him,” Sean said. “You know, whether he might be our killer?”

  “I didn’t feel any kind of reaction to him but terminal boredom. I managed to get a smile out of him. It wasn’t like the one I remember from the night of the murder.” She sighed and adjusted her purse. Just because the two detectives had witnessed the whole miserable farce of a date was no reason to be mad at them. “Sorry the evening was a bust.”

  “Part of the investigative process is to eliminate suspects,” Sean said cheerfully. “Taylor is off our list. No point in even sharing a cab ride with him to talk about how awful women are in an effort to get him riled.”

  The smile red lined her temper. “I’m glad it was good for someone.” She turned and stalked toward an unmarked police car. “Ready when you are, Aidan.”

  “Whew,” Sean said when Claire couldn’t hear. “Somebody’s pissed.”

  “Yeah. I think I’ll kiss her good night. Someone should do it right.”

  “Fuck me.” Sean’s head whipped around.

  Aidan grinned. “That wiped the smug look off your face.”

  Sean wasn’t laughing. “I’m following you back to Afton’s house.”

  “No need.”

  “Like hell.”

  Aidan was still laughing when he caught up with Claire.

  Chapter 36

  Washington, D.C.

  Saturday

  Less than twenty-four hours after her last date, Claire found herself once again seated at a table for two in Très Chic, suffering the tortures of the damned. Luis Cardinale, technical support supervisor for a major local software firm, had spent the entire evening so far—from introductions at Camelot to appetizers at the restaurant—talking about his ex-girlfriend.

  Claire took a healthy swallow of her vodka on the rocks and decided that she would rather hear about Roth IRAs and municipal bonds as tax shelters than listen to one more word about how Lydia Cockburn had screwed over poor, innocent Luis. If she hadn’t known that Sean and Aidan would roll off their chairs laughing, she would go to the rest room, climb out the window, and run for it.

  “That’s how I knew you and I were going to hit it off right away,” Luis told her.

  “Huh?” Claire blinked at her date.

  “Because you weren’t wearing provocative clothing. Lydia always wore strapless tops and tight pants, or teensy little dresses whenever we went out. She wanted other men to look at her, be aroused by her body. She loved how upset that made me.”

  “I believe I’ll have another drink.”

  “But you still have half of yours left,” Luis said.

  “Not for long.” Claire picked up her drink and chugged the remainder. She set the glass down and flagged someone over to their table. “Vodka rocks,” she said to him.

  “You know, Lydia used to drink too much when we went out,” Luis began.

  Gee, I wonder why. “Make it a double.” She smiled brilliantly at the waiter.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Claire bit her tongue and wondered when she’d become ma’am instead of miss. Maybe it was the vodka. It wasn’t her normal drink, but this wasn’t her normal evening. She’d first ordered an icy margarita, only to have Luis point out sadly that it was Lydia’s favorite drink. Claire had told the waiter to bring something with vodka instead.

  “The last time Lydia drank too much in a club, she hit on one of the bouncers like I wasn’t even there.”

  Smart lady. “What a shame. Do you suppose she just forgot?”

  Luis blinked. “I didn’t like
it when she drank.”

  “Really? Why?” Claire looked at the butter knife. No help there. It was as dull as it had been last night.

  As the waiter set Claire’s new drink down in front of her, she caught Sean’s warning look from a nearby table. She’d forgotten he and Aidan were listening to everything she said, because for this date the police technician had found smaller, lighter equipment. She hardly realized she was wearing anything extra under her little black dress.

  Meeting Sean’s gaze directly, she lifted her glass in a subtle mock toast, took a delicate sip, and set the drink back down. She hadn’t forgotten why she was on a date with the lousy Luis. Unfortunately she was almost certain he was not the man they were looking for. He’d smiled several times—usually on relating some memory of Lydia—and it looked nothing like the cruel smile Claire remembered from the night of the murder.

  Even so, she was beginning to think her date needed psychological help getting over his ex-girlfriend. His obsessive, possessive personality would probably be of interest to the police.

  With a mental sigh, Claire decided to keep the date going on the slim possibility that Luis might fit at least some aspects of the killer’s profile.

  “So, how long have you been working in tech support?” Claire asked.

  At that same moment, the song playing over the speakers changed to a slow, quiet number. Couples gradually moved from tables to the tiny dance floor set to one side of the restaurant, and began swaying gently to the soft music.

  “Me and Lydia used to love this song. It was, like, our song,” he said, staring forlornly at the dance floor. His eyes shimmered suspiciously.

  Claire briefly pinched the bridge of her nose before looking over to Aidan and Sean for assistance. She simply couldn’t go through a whole evening of the ex-girlfriend blues, especially if Luis started sniveling.

  Aidan studiously avoided her gaze and stayed in his position at the bar. She turned to Sean, who seemed to be staring intently at her. After several moments she realized he was looking behind her. She turned her head discreetly but didn’t see anything worth his attention.