The Black Madonna (28 page)

Storm sensed this running commentary was his way of keeping her from asking any questions. She broke in with, “Do you have any idea who is behind the attacks against me?”

He peered at her with the same displeasure he might have
shown a wayward serf. “Your question, young lady, is unreservedly incorrect. What you should be doing is reporting on who dares bid against me.”

“We have a name.”

“Then be so good as to tell me.”

“Vladimir Abramov.”

Sir Julius possessed the ability to frown with his entire being. “Has he not recently suffered a setback?”

“The man is bankrupt,” Raphael said. “Completely.”

“Then what you are telling me makes no sense whatsoever.”

Storm nodded. “I agree.”

“This is not acceptable. If you wish to remain in my employ, I expect you to deliver not merely the merchandise but the opposition.” His farewell was a brushing gesture of those long arthritic fingers, shooing them away. “You may be in touch when you have something of value to offer.”

They were shepherded downstairs and ushered with polite firmness out the front doors. They exited the building to discover a light rain had settled upon the city.

Raphael peered through the gloom. “I don't see our car.”

The footman stopped in the process of shutting the club's front door and said, “They're quite strict about stopping here, sir. I saw him make a circuit not long back.”

As Raphael took out his phone, Storm walked to the top stair and watched the passing traffic. He joined her and said, “My driver is not answering.”

“I don't mind waiting.”

“You did very well inside.” He studied her. “To be honest, I'm surprised you don't seem more angry.”

Storm sniffed. “My grandfather on a bad day would have fried Sir Julius hard as he liked his eggs.”

“The first time he shooed me off I was livid for a week.”

“He's paying the bills, Raphael. Big ones. He can treat us any way he wants, and he's enough of a snob to enjoy it. That's his problem.”

“Now you're stealing my best lines.”

“If you keep making dimples at me I can't concentrate.”

“Sorry. How's that?”

She wanted to kiss him. Just hurl herself into his arms and kiss him so hard it bruised both their lips. But at that moment a car sliced through the wet night and halted by the curb. Raphael said, “Let's talk on the way to dinner.”

Storm sighed over lost opportunities. “We're going to dinner?”

“I made us reservations at Cipriani.” He halted at the first stair. “Is that all right?”

“Yes, Raphael. It's fine.”

“You look disturbed. I should have asked. Is that it?”

“No . . . well, yes, okay. A girl likes to know if she's going on a date. But that's . . .” Suddenly Storm was glad the footman had slipped back inside, leaving them alone with the night. “I wanted to kiss you.”

“You're blushing.”

“Never mind.”

“I've never seen you blush.” He closed the distance between them. “Or look more beautiful.”

WHEN RAPHAEL FINALLY RELEASED HER
, Storm carried the feel of his arms into the night. As they left the alcove and began to descend the steps, the rain felt marvelous on her face, a veil soft as his scent.

Raphael asked, “Why isn't Bernard out of the car?”

Storm pretended she needed his arm to manage the slick stone stairs. “Who?”

“Our driver. He should be up here with your coat and my umbrella.”

“He might get wet.”

“He might . . . that was a joke.”

“A bad one.”

“No, no, it was actually quite . . .”

“What's the matter?”

“Something is wrong.” He stopped and raised his voice. “Bernard!”

“He hasn't seen us. Let's just get—”

“He hasn't seen us because he isn't looking.” Raphael spun her about. “Move back up the stairs.”

The feel of his lips lingered like the tendrils of deep sleep. Her mind simply refused to accept the change. “But that's—”

He pushed her, rougher now. “Go!”

Raphael's features were taut with feral alarm. He bundled her up, lifting her off her feet like she was weightless, and ran for the club entrance.

Over his shoulder, Storm saw a man rise from the car. Instantly she recognized the attacker from Cirencester. “That's him!”

It was not the clearest alarm she had ever spoken. But it was still enough to spur Raphael to greater speed. The attacker settled his arm upon the Rolls's roof and aimed a pistol at them. The bangs were as sharp as the light, hard flashes of sound and flame.

Raphael jerked and coughed and literally tossed her behind the first pillars.

He collapsed half inside the alcove's protection. Granite chips splintered from the column above Storm's head. She scrambled across the landing before her feet actually found purchase on the wet granite. Someone shouted from the doorway behind her. Storm heard a scream closer at hand. And realized she had made the noise.

The car door slammed and the vehicle sped away. Raphael clutched at his shoulder with one hand and reached toward her with the other.

Storm slipped down beside him, gripping him as hard as she dared. Her hands and her body felt drenched by a slick lava. Raphael arched up, as though the top stair's corner cut into his back.

“I'm a doctor. Are you hurt?” The voice came from above her.

Storm knew she should respond. But it would have meant turning a fragment of her attention away from Raphael.

“Step away, miss. Give me room.”

She did not move so much as allow herself to be slid back. She made no protest until her grip on Raphael's hand was threatened. She must have complained, because the hands allowed her to remain where she was. But she heard nothing. There was no room for anything except Raphael's face.

He blinked slowly, his lashes long nets that captured the misting rain. His eyes tracked her, even as the doctor and two footmen shifted him slightly so as to inspect his back. He tried to speak. She saw him shape her name. Then his gaze drifted up and away.

And he saw no more.

T
HEY HAD TO RESTART RAPHAEL'S
heart twice on the ride to the hospital. Storm refused to let go of his hand even while the doctor and the ambulance aide worked on him. The ambulance was one of the newer versions that in an emergency could serve as a pre-op unit. Storm knew this because the doctor told her. He was the same man who had knelt beside her on the Athenaeum's front steps, a member of the club who happened to be inside when the shots sounded. He was an older man and quite stout. He had difficulty bending over his belly to work on Raphael. But work on him he did, and with a dogged tenacity that Storm found reassuring.

The second time he applied the paddles, the doctor got down tight in Raphael's face and shouted so loud his voice broke, telling Raphael to hang on. The ambulance aide worked alongside the doctor. His face was bone pale in the flashing lights. Storm gripped the stretcher's steel railing with her free hand and knelt on the vehicle's metal flooring. She was tossed about every time the top-heavy vehicle took a corner. Up ahead a police car wailed, ramming through the city traffic and the rain. Storm knew she shouted at Raphael as well, begging him not to leave her. But she still could not hear her own voice. She could
hear everything else perfectly well. But the only way she knew she was shouting was that her throat hurt worse than her knees.

When they pulled up in front of the hospital, two orderlies threw open the doors and hauled her bodily from the back. “Are you hurt, miss?”

“Leave her,” the doctor barked. “This is the one you want.”

One orderly helped the doctor and the ambulance aide pull out Raphael's stretcher and extend the wheels. But the other man remained by Storm's side. He spoke with a Caribbean accent. “The blood here, miss. Is any of it yours?”

Storm looked down at herself. The silk dress clung to her body. The front was black from neckline to hem.

The strength in her legs simply departed.

The orderly was both experienced and strong. He caught her easily and settled her onto the ambulance's broad rear step. “You steady up, now. Your man in there needs you to be strong for him, you hear?”

Storm watched the stretcher roll through the emergency room doors. “I'm okay.”

“You're more than that, lady. You been strong all this night. You rest easy there; you can't go with him now anyway.” He reached into the ambulance and came out with a blanket that he settled around her shoulders. “You're not hurt?”

“No.” The rain coalesced at the edges of her eyes. “He shielded me.”

“So now you do the same for him, hear?” The orderly pointed to where two police officers hovered. “There's some hard people looking to ask you some hard questions.”

THE POLICEMAN'S ATTITUDE TOOK A
turn for the worse when he established that Storm was linked to an earlier shooting and possible abduction. Storm could not have cared less. “Are you aware that the police have been trying to contact you, miss?”

“Can we please go inside? Raphael is—”

“When we're done.” He was big boned and muscular but so fleshy as to erase all angles. “Wouldn't it seem obvious that someone involved in a shooting should make themselves known to the authorities?”

“I was out of the country.” Storm heard the rain speak to her then, a sibilant whisper that anything she said would only trap her further. She turned toward the hospital's urgent-care entrance.

The policeman's firm grip anchored her to the night. “Not so fast.”

A voice shrilled, “Hold it right there!”

As soon as Storm heard Emma's voice, she released her own tight hold on control. She was already sobbing so hard she could not draw breath when Emma shoved herself between Storm and the policeman and said, “Steady.”

“They shot—”

“I know. Muriel called. She heard about it from somebody called Julian or Julius.”

The policeman demanded, “And you are?”

“Emma Webb. U.S. Homeland Security.”

The woman officer said, “We definitely need to move this lot to the Yard.”

“You go anywhere you like,” Emma snapped. “I am taking this woman inside.”

“We'll move when and where I say and not—”

“You are so far out of your pay scale we're not even breathing the same atmosphere. Now back off.”

The policewoman said, “I'm calling for assistance.”

“You will do no such thing!” Leather heels marched smartly across the tarmac, and a tall shadow inserted himself into Storm's fractured gaze. “My dear young lady. What an utterly dreadful turn of events. And on the front stairs of my club.”

The policeman demanded, “And which part of this circus act do you play?”

“How
dare
you take such a tone with me. I'll have you know I'm a member of the Queen's Privy Council!”

“The lady is soaking wet,” Emma said. “And she's covered in the man's blood and trembling so hard I'm worried she might be going into shock.”

“You don't mean to tell me they've kept you out here in the—”

“Sir, we have every reason to believe this woman is involved in crimes against the state,” piped the blond officer.

“Oh, piffle. She
defines
the very concept of victim,” said Sir Julius. “And at the hands of our own constabulary. Which is why I intend to make your careers vanish in a puff of smoke. Now out of my way!”

SIR JULIUS TOOK CHARGE. EMMA
played the silent friend, a comforting strength who filled the seat beside Storm and held her hand. Eventually the ward sister brought towels and a set of surgical blues. The nurse dismissed the police's objections with a sniff and led Storm back to a private shower.

When Storm returned, the policewoman was talking on her phone and the male officer looked cowed. Sir Julius turned from the doctor speaking with him and said, “This doctor refuses to tell me anything whatsoever of value.”

The doctor explained, “We won't know anything for another few hours.”

Sir Julius flicked the doctor away, much as he had dismissed Storm earlier. “Look here, Ms. Syrrell. I am late for a function where I am the guest of honor. Do be so good as to let me know of any development. No matter what the hour.” Sir Julius turned to the hovering police. “I assume we understand one another now. Yes? Splendid.”

As the tall man strode down the hospital corridor, Muriel Lang hurried toward them. She carried a suitcase and a practical air, despite her red eyes and broken voice. “How is Raphael?”

“Still in surgery.”

“I apologize for not being here sooner. But Raphael left explicit instructions on what steps to take in just such an emergency. I was not about to let him down.” She handed over the valise to Storm. “I stopped by the hotel for your things.”