When the Storm Breaks

by Heather Lowell

  “How can you joke about this?” Claire asked.

  “It’s that or start busting furniture,” Sean said, squeezing her hand.

  “But I won’t see you until this is over. Who knows how long that will be?”

  “It should be very soon now that we know he’s trying to follow me.”

  “But he’s dangerous! You could be hurt or—God, Sean. Why don’t you remove yourself from the case entirely? It scares me that the killer is focused on you.”

  “Better me than you.”

  She knew she couldn’t change his mind. Nor should she continue to try. His job was hard enough without having to worry about her weeping and clinging to him.

  Still, she tightened her grip around his hands, painfully aware that she didn’t know when she would see him again. She tried to speak, to tell him about the emotions that were shaking her, but her throat closed with the tears she refused to shed in front of him.

  “It’s going to be all right,” he said.

  He released one of her hands to cradle her cheek and kiss her gently, sweetly. Her breath came in on a sob, so he kissed her again before forcing himself to stand up. He kept Claire’s hand clutched tightly in his as he pulled her to her feet and turned to face his partner.

  “Take good care of her,” Sean said in a strained voice. He looked at Claire again. “You do what Aidan says. Be strong, and remember—no regrets.”

  She nodded. Sean brought her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss into her palm, then turned and walked away.

  She watched as he left, feeling lost, scared, and guilty as hell for seducing him.

  “Hey,” Aidan said, putting his arm around her and guiding her back to the conference room where Olivia waited. “Show me some of that ass-kicking spirit all you Louisiana girls seem to have.”

  Claire reached deep inside her for a strength she wasn’t sure she had, telling herself that she wouldn’t—would not—cry. If Sean could crack jokes instead of breaking furniture, she could suck it up and make jokes with the best of them.

  “So does this mean we’re partners now?” she asked, her voice husky with the emotions she was suppressing.

  “Why the hell not? I’ve never had a female partner before,” Aidan said.

  “Can I drive the squad car?”

  Aidan laughed and pretended he didn’t notice Claire’s trembling lower lip.

  Chapter 60

  Washington, D.C.

  Tuesday morning

  The man sat in his apartment dining room and carefully arranged his breakfast and newspaper before him in what had become a daily ritual. Today he added the noise of the local morning news show. He was looking for updates on the murder investigation, and was sure there would be something in one of the lead stories of the broadcast.

  His efficient kitchen was air-conditioned almost to the point of being cold, so the steamy morning outside had no impact on him as he sat in his business suit. His hand was steady as he flipped through the newspaper, looking for any article on the case. Nothing in the main section. He set it carefully aside and forced himself to cut a piece of cantaloupe and eat it before reaching for the metro news section. He turned the pages slowly, then faster, as he found nothing of interest. He finally pushed the newspaper aside with a controlled motion and switched his attention to the television.

  It had been three days since he’d last seen Marie Claire.

  He’d been close enough to touch her on Saturday evening but hadn’t been able to find her since. Her disappearance was starting to make him very angry. He’d come to rely on the feeling of anticipation and pleasure that seeing her gave him. It was so enjoyable that he’d been driven to take the almost crazy risk of delivering a body to Claire underneath the nose of her police guard.

  He’d almost gotten caught and knew he had only himself to blame for it. This is what happened when he broke the rules.

  There had always been rules, and he’d always followed them. But lately his own rules had bored him, so he’d changed them. First there was that night with the pretty schoolteacher, when he’d chosen a location that was different from the others, more public. Because of that, he’d run into the complication of Marie Claire.

  Marie Claire had ruined everything for him that night, and everything since then. He hadn’t even enjoyed killing the whore and stuffing her hair into a blonde wig. It was all Marie Claire’s fault. He spent too much time following her and figuring out how to get her attention without getting caught.

  Dropping a body at her feet had been risky. Speaking directly to her afterward had been undisciplined. And following the cop’s truck had been just plain stupid. But he’d been desperate to keep tabs on Marie Claire.

  Nothing would be right until he killed her.

  The longer she was out of his sight, the more panicked he felt. He had to find her before somebody noticed how long he’d been gone from his job. Even with his cushy figurehead position at his father’s company, an unplanned “vacation” that stretched into five weeks would start people asking questions.

  When he realized he’d begun to sweat, he used a napkin to wipe his forehead.

  Think and plan. Logic and discipline are the only way to make things right.

  First, he would assess any known threats, then take appropriate steps to neutralize them. Since there were no new stories in the paper, it didn’t seem like the police were following any hot leads that might bring them to his door.

  The man’s attention shifted to the television, where the local news was finally broadcasting an update on the murder investigations. He listened as the morning anchor reported that the police had no new leads, nor had they made any official comments since a press conference on Sunday afternoon.

  He sat up in his chair as the footage switched to tape, and he saw the familiar face of the dark-haired cop standing in front of a cluster of microphones. He smiled as the cop’s identity was confirmed by the small type at the bottom of his television screen.

  Detective Sean Richter.

  The name matched the registration he’d stolen from the truck on Saturday night. He’d thought the cop would lead him straight to Marie Claire once more, but Detective Richter had changed the game. The bastard had actually hidden her away somewhere new.

  That hardly seemed fair.

  The man considered the problem for a while, running through a number of possibilities and evaluating them based on speed, risk, and magnitude of mess. He finally decided he’d have to take a chance on quick and messy, because he really was running out of time.

  He looked at his watch and pushed back from the table decisively. He’d have to hurry to be on time for his appointment at Camelot this afternoon.

  Chapter 61

  Washington, D.C.

  Tuesday afternoon

  “Your noon appointment is here,” Afton’s receptionist said.

  Afton glanced up from the work she was doing on the database and rubbed her forehead. “Isn’t it Friday yet? Or at least time to go home?”

  “Sorry, it’s only Tuesday. Do you want me to have your appointment wait in the conference room?”

  “No, show him back here.” She stood and stretched her tight muscles. Since the newspaper had run the story about the murders and linked Camelot’s name to the case, she’d been buried in calls. More new clients had come in during the last two days than in the previous month.

  A tall, dark-haired man stepped into her office, and she walked around the desk to greet him. “Mr. Wilson, I’m Afton Gallagher, owner of Camelot.”

  “Please, call me John. I’m not much on formality.” The man smiled at her briefly, then took the seat she indicated.

  “How can I help you?” Afton asked.

  “Well, it’s a little embarrassing, but I’ve just moved here and I’ve been having a lot of trouble meeting women. I thought about joining a matchmaking agency to jump-start the process. I’m an engineer, so of course I felt the need to research all the dating services in the area. I’m currently in th
e middle of interviewing their owners to find the one that best suits me, but I’m getting a little anxious for results.”

  “I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have about Camelot.”

  “How long have you owned the business?”

  Afton hesitated. “I inherited it from my sister when she died a few months ago.”

  “Oh. Well, you seem very organized. What I’d really like to do is take a look through your list of eligible candidates,” Wilson said. “I’d like to see the caliber of woman your service attracts before I commit myself to membership.”

  “I can certainly understand that. However, we’ve recently implemented new security policies, and only members are allowed to review the catalogues.”

  “None of the other agencies had any problems giving me a quick peek.” The man raised an eyebrow. His blue eyes watched for any signs of flexibility.

  “I’m sorry. With all the publicity the whole dating service industry has had in the city, I have no choice but to support the rules.”

  “Yes, I recall reading something in the paper the other day.” John leaned forward, as if to invite her confidences. “Is Camelot under investigation or something?”

  “Absolutely not. We’ve done everything we can to assist the police, even though it hasn’t helped any that I can see. But the whole affair has underlined the importance of having firm security policies.”

  “Yes,” he said, “I suppose you can never be too careful.”

  “We’re a very thorough company,” Afton said. “Your satisfaction is our goal. If you join the service and for any reason are not happy with the female clients in our catalogue, we’ll gladly refund your money.”

  “All right, you’ve convinced me.” He reached into his coat pocket for his billfold. “I’ll pay for the membership right now.”

  “Wonderful. I just need to have you fill out this questionnaire, including some of your personal information. Once we get a routine background check done, you’ll be able to go through our catalogue and contact any of the ladies listed there.”

  Wilson put his billfold back. “Questionnaire? Background check? How long does this whole process take?”

  “Usually about three days.”

  “But I don’t have that much time. I have a dinner party at my vice president’s home tomorrow night. If I don’t come with a date—” The man broke off and winced.

  “I’m really sorry. We could possibly expedite the background check, but we couldn’t get it back before tomorrow night.”

  He shrugged sheepishly. “I guess I put things off too long. Isn’t there any way around this little glitch?”

  “I don’t see how,” Afton said regretfully.

  “Even if it means losing business?” The man’s smile invited her to understand that a background check really wasn’t necessary in his case.

  “I’m afraid so. I wish there were some way I could help you.”

  “It’s my fault for letting things go so late.” Wilson stood and walked out of the office without letting his feelings show.

  While he hadn’t been able to verify that Marie Claire was a member, at least he’d learned the dating service hadn’t been able to provide the police with any concrete information for the investigation. Hopefully the attention would shift away from Afton Gallagher’s company entirely. Even if it didn’t, the only person who might have tipped off the police about his link to Camelot was dead.

  Now, finally, it was time to find where his sweet prey was hiding.

  Chapter 62

  Fairfax County, Virginia

  Wednesday morning

  Aidan was in the kitchen of the safe house, reviewing his computer files of the three suspects Sean had culled from hundreds of possibilities in a three-day work marathon. Sean was interviewing one of them this morning. The other two were slated for the afternoon—assuming Sean stayed awake that long.

  When the portable phone rang, Aidan picked it up quickly and looked at the caller ID. Sean’s home number appeared in the display.

  “I wanted to pass the updates along before I try to catch a few hours of sleep,” Sean said, yawning.

  “Did you just get home?”

  “Yeah, I had an interview at the station with suspect number one. No go on him. He’s got an airtight alibi for the night of Renata Mendes’s murder. It was his birthday, and he was with a group of friends from work until after two in the morning.”

  “Several of the friends confirmed?” Aidan asked.

  “Yes, dammit. Anyway, I’ve already scheduled interviews for suspects two and three this afternoon. Can you make it into the station to do those, or do you want me to go back?”

  “I’ll do it. You’ve been working straight through since you turned Claire over to me. You’ll do something stupid if you don’t get some sleep.”

  Sean had promised himself he wouldn’t ask, but he couldn’t stop himself. “How is she?” He hadn’t talked to her, afraid that it would just upset her even more, and him as well.

  Aidan smiled. “She’s amazing. That’s a very strong woman you’ve got, partner. I can see the strain is wearing on her, but she kicked my ass at Hearts until three this morning.”

  “That’s my girl,” Sean said.

  “Yeah, well just don’t ever play cards with her for money. I think I owe her my next three paychecks.”

  “Is she sleeping now?”

  “Like an angel, which is a clear case of fraud in advertising.”

  Sean chuckled despite his exhaustion. “Who’s doing inside surveillance while you’re at the station?”

  “I’ll bring in the officer parked out on the street. During daylight hours we should be okay with one mobile guy securing a perimeter around the house.”

  “Sounds good, as long as there’s plenty of activity in the neighborhood during the day.”

  “Kids, soccer moms, gardeners and dogs. They should be fine. Captain Michaels approved it rather than assign another body to the case.”

  “Okay, I’m going to catch a few hours of sleep. If one of the interviews looks hot, wake me up. Otherwise I’ll call you after you get back to the house tonight.”

  Sean disconnected and went facedown on his bed, sleeping for the first time since he’d been separated from Claire.

  Chapter 63

  Washington, D.C.

  Wednesday morning

  The man walked confidently through the lobby of the shabby Adams Morgan apartment building. Quickly scanning the area, he noticed several people waiting in line for the elevator. He took the stairs instead. He didn’t want to encounter anyone who could potentially identify him later. Not that he would stand out, with his Georgetown baseball cap and aviator sunglasses, but he wanted to be extra careful.

  Two flights up, he opened the fire door and made sure no one was in the hallway. He tucked his cap into his waistband and headed for apartment 225, at the end of the hallway. His knock was answered after a few moments by a young man with painfully bad hair, and some serious fashion issues as well.

  “Hey, Scott. How’s it going?” The man spoke in a casual, friendly manner, as if they were old buddies. The fact that he’d barely spoken to Scott Lincoln before now was ignored by both.

  “Fine, sir. I was surprised to get your call last night, but I’m happy to do what I can to help.”

  “Why don’t you call me Rich, okay? All my friends do.” He stepped into the apartment and shut the door.

  “Um, sure, Rich. Let’s go over to the computer room.”

  The man looked around and found the usual squalor of an apartment occupied by a single male in his mid-twenties. He knew Scott was paid a good salary for his computer consulting at Wilkes Brothers Software, but it was difficult to tell from the ratty furniture and lack of decorations.

  As they entered a second bedroom, Rich saw where Scott’s paychecks had been going. A huge sound system took up much of one wall, and the computer equipment that filled the remainder of the room required three separate desks to
hold everything. He’d clearly picked exactly the right techno-geek to assist him.

  “Listen, Scott. I want to thank you again for agreeing to miss work this morning to help me with my personal problem. You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

  “No, you said you wanted it private,” Scott replied. “You’re the boss.”

  “Actually, my father is, but I appreciate your help. As I mentioned, the situation is extremely…delicate. I’m going to rely on both your technical skills and your discretion.”

  Scott puffed up a bit. “Sure. What do you need me to do?”

  “Well, the whole thing is quite distasteful, really. But I’m pretty certain my girlfriend is cheating on me with a certain ex-boyfriend. She’s always talking to someone on the phone, then she hangs up when I come in the room. She’s tried to hide it, but a man just knows these things. I’m sure you understand.”

  Scott didn’t understand any such thing, since the only relationship he’d ever had was with his computer. But he nodded manfully and tried to look knowledgeable and sympathetic.

  “I have this guy’s name and address,” Rich continued. “What I’d like to do is have you, um, look into his phone records and see who he’s been calling. I’m sure my girlfriend’s number will be on the list. Then I’ll have the proof I need to confront her.”

  “Phone records, huh? That’s illegal, you know.” Scott was eager to show off his hacking skills, but wanted to make sure his boss’s son knew what was involved.

  The man shrugged and tried to look sheepish. Beneath the sunglasses that he had yet to remove, his blue eyes were as cold as his voice was warmly understanding. “I know it’s probably a little uncomfortable for you to do this, but I just don’t know of anyone else with your technical abilities. I hate to ask, but I’m in a desperate situation here. And I’ll be happy to pay for the inconvenience.”

  “No problem.” Scott sat down at one of the computer screens. “Getting into phone records is a bit time-consuming, but not all that difficult. You just have to be careful not to leave any tracks behind, you know?”