When the Storm Breaks (10 page)

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.

Washington, D. C.

Saturday morning

“W
e’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.

Washington, D. C.

Saturday morning

T
he man sat outside the gourmet coffee shop on Wisconsin Avenue, sipping his iced latte. Despite the heat, humidity, and scattered rain, he wasn’t alone at the chic metal tables with their canvas umbrellas. He’d been playing with the latte for half an hour. In that time he’d seen Marie Claire’s redheaded friend enter the building with bags from a local grocery store. Little Olivia.

He’d traced her name through the license plate on her car last week, which had also given him her full address. The fifth-floor apartment facing the street was hers. Right now she was going through the room opening blinds. No sign of his target yet, but he was confident Marie Claire would appear soon.

He thought about his little surprise and wished he could be there to see how she reacted. Impossible, really, so he’d just have to imagine what she would do. That was almost as good.

He was prepared to sit outside for the rest of the day if necessary, camouflaged with his massive book on the history
of Western civilization and his Georgetown University baseball cap. Just another grad student nursing a latte and eating biscotti while he crammed for summer finals.

He smiled at the thought.

Washington, D.C.

Saturday morning

S
ean and Aidan sat at a scarred table in the precinct coffee room, their chairs tipped back as each topped off on scalding coffee despite the sultry heat of the day and the room.

“The more we dig into Mendes, the less we find,” Sean said.

“Everything we’ve found out about Claire indicates that she’s a law-abiding citizen from New Orleans, working as a white-collar professional in D.C. for the last eight years. She’s trustworthy, mentally stable, financially solvent, and an all-around good citizen who would be happy to work with the police to lure—”

“No,” Sean said stubbornly. “I found four more murders within a two-hundred-and-fifty-mile radius that remain unsolved, all involving Hispanic prostitutes or semi-pros stabbed with a large blade. The cases span the last ten years, with the most recent murder committed two years ago.”

“If they really are connected to our guy, he’s been at
this for some time. I’m surprised the FBI hasn’t picked up on the case yet.”

Sean shook his head. “Different jurisdictions, large geographical area, and a long break between murders. Plus the victims were all turning tricks—not the type of victim who’s going to inspire shock and outrage in the community. It’s not surprising that no one has put the pieces together.”

“But now the killer is escalating,” Aidan said.

“Yeah. At first there were years between the killings. Now we’re talking six months between Renata Mendes and Cristina Herrera,” Sean said grimly.

Aidan shook his head. “Not good.” And it would just make Captain Michaels more determined to solve the case before another agency could step in, which Aidan didn’t need to point out.

“What did you come up with on Afton and Camelot?” Sean asked.

“Camelot is a legitimate operation, running at a decent profit. No outstanding debts, no lawsuits. Seems solid. Afton was registered as the owner just under three months ago, shortly before her sister’s death.”

“What about Afton herself?”

“Up until about ten months ago she lived outside of Boulder, Colorado. She taught theater and literature at a fancy boarding school for gifted teenagers. I guess she moved here when her sister was diagnosed with leukemia.”

“What about the father of her kids?” Sean asked.

“They were never married. Apparently the guy was murdered on a business trip to South America. Neither her coworkers nor her neighbors had ever met the man, though the neighbor across the street had seen him a couple of times.”

“Murdered? What happened?”

“I don’t have any details. Afton’s former colleagues reported that she missed a month of school just over a year ago. All the principal could tell me was that Afton’s boyfriend had been murdered on a trip to Ecuador or something, and she took some personal time afterward. She moved to D.C. to be near her sister within a couple months of that, selling everything she had in Boulder.”

“Poor kid.” Sean shook his head, wishing he could shield Afton from a homicide case that would doubtless bring up bad memories. He liked her straightforward approach and admired anyone who took on family responsibilities without complaint.

“Yeah. She’s been through a lot already. The last thing she needs is to be involved in a murder investigation.”

The door swung open and Teresa leaned in. “I knew I’d find you hiding in here,” she said to Sean. “Claire Lambert is here to see you.”

The front legs of his chair came down with a bang. “She out front?”

“No, I showed her where you and Burke sit. She’s waiting for you.”

“Thanks. We’ll be right there,” Sean said.

“Think she’s still mad at you for kicking her out of Camelot yesterday?” Aidan asked slyly as they walked to their desks.

“She wasn’t really mad, she’s just one of those people who needs to understand the why of any situation. I think now she realizes what we’re trying to do and will leave the job to us.”

Laughing, Aidan shook his head. “Put down the crack pipe, buddy.”

Aidan was still smiling when he walked through the
doorway and saw Claire with an open file folder in front of her.

“Tell me that file isn’t what I think it is,” Sean said softly.

“Shit,” was all Aidan said.

“This is why you asked me for one more day?” Claire asked calmly, without looking up from the file. “So you could have me investigated?”

“You want me to explain?” Aidan asked softly.

“I’ll take care of it,” Sean said. “Give us a minute.”

Aidan grabbed his keys and left without a word.

“Investigating you wasn’t my choice,” Sean said to Claire. “Captain Michaels insisted that we have a full profile of you as a way of judging your reliability as a witness.”

When Claire raised her eyes from the folder and looked directly at him, he was jolted by the emotions he saw in her black gaze.

“You asked for my trust, and then you investigated me. God, you talked to my neighbors and coworkers about my sex life.”

Or lack thereof.

The thought of Sean reading the contents of the file made her want to curl up and die of humiliation. Instead, she drew on years of hard-won poise and got to her feet.

Sean had expected temper, even a shouting match, but she had just shut down. It made him nervous.

“Where are you going?” Sean asked.

“To Livvie’s place.” Claire gathered her purse and raincoat.

“Why did you stop by to see me? Did you have something new?”

“I wanted a report on what you’ve been doing for my
case. I got it.” She closed the folder with her name on it and handed it to Sean. “Trust me.”

“Goddamn it.” He looked around the room, which was scattered with cops who made their living shoving their nose in other people’s business. “We can’t talk here. I’ll drive you to Olivia’s.”

“That’s too kind of you, Detective. I couldn’t put you to so much trouble.” She headed for the door.

He wrapped his hand around her upper arm and said in a low, angry tone, “Lose the attitude. I’ll be damned if you’re going to make me feel guilty for doing my job.”

Without waiting for an answer he steered her down the hall toward the back parking lot. When he stopped at the passenger side of a police-issue unmarked sedan, she pulled away.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to get in a car with you right now, Detective. Too many weapons within reach.”

“The weapons are locked up.”

“The radio cord isn’t.”

“Keep it up and I’ll put you in back behind the cage,” he said.

“This is called kidnapping.”

“This is called getting you to listen long enough to calm down.” He crowded her into the passenger side, locked the door, and closed it hard.

When he got behind the wheel, she didn’t look at him. He leaned over and fastened her seat belt, telling himself that it wasn’t another excuse to touch her.

Claire hung onto her temper because it made her feel less like a victim. The rational part of her mind knew that she wasn’t being reasonable, but nothing about the last few days had been reasonable.

She noticed that Sean turned onto the route that would lead straight to Olivia’s apartment. Undoubtedly it was just one more fact he’d dug up in his investigation of Claire Lambert, victim.

“Are you going to talk to me?” Sean asked after several minutes of silence.

She turned toward him. “Maybe I can understand why you did this, but it’s the way you did it that pisses me off. You said ‘Trust me’ and then you violated my privacy. Next time you want to investigate my money situation, or old boyfriends and lovers, you come to me. Don’t go talking about my private life to anyone who ever looked out their living room window and thought they saw a car parked in front of my place for the night!”

“There’s no need to make this personal.”

“It’s pretty damned personal to me.”

“All right, but don’t ask us to conduct an investigation with our hands tied. Look at it this way—if you were being stalked, we’d be talking to everyone who ever knew you, because you wouldn’t be able to give us objective answers. You might not see an ex-boyfriend or date as a threat, but with our experience we can catch things you’d miss.”

“As I’m sure your little file shows, there’s no one in my past who cares enough to stalk me. I don’t affect men like that.”

“And that’s a fine example of why we don’t ask
you
about your life,” Sean said.

“What does that mean?”

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Don’t you have any mirrors? Of course you affect men like that. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Claire stared out the windshield and didn’t say a word. She was too busy trying to see herself as gorgeous, much
less fucking gorgeous. Unconsciously she shook her head. She couldn’t see it.

Sean tried a different tack. “When you prepare a bid for a client, don’t you thoroughly research a number of different alternatives, then present all the options, along with your recommendation for the best approach?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s the same thing in police work, only it’s more important for us to be thorough because if we screw up someone could die.”

“Then why are you ignoring the dating service connection? It could be a big lead and you’re just blowing it off! For all we know Renata Mendes could have been a member.”

“Are you saying that the dating service fields sex workers?” Sean asked. “That’s what the other victims were—Hispanic prostitutes. Mendes wasn’t a hooker, but she was Hispanic and in the wrong place at the wrong time. As for being a client of Camelot, that was one of the first things we checked after we talked with you. She wasn’t.”

“You could have told me sooner.”

“The fewer people who know, the better chance there is to keep it out of the headlines.” Sean turned into the driveway of Olivia’s apartment building, released Claire’s door lock, and faced her. “This asshole cuts up women for fun. I want to catch him so bad I can taste it.”

So much for fucking gorgeous
, Claire thought as she undid her seat belt. When Sean looked at her, what he really saw was a case to be solved.

“I believe you, Detective. Thank you for the ride.” She opened the door and bolted.

Sean opened his own door and shot out to follow her.

“Hey, buddy,” yelled the doorman as Claire trotted by him. “Move the car before I call the cops!”

Claire quickly crossed the lobby and pushed into a
loaded elevator just as the doors were closing. The elevator stopped at every floor to exchange passengers. When the doors finally slid open on the fifth floor, she stepped out into the hall and kept walking while she looked through her purse for the key Olivia had loaned her.

Head down, she ran smack into a large male body. She knew without looking up that it would be Sean.

“Most people would be out of breath after running up five flights of stairs,” she said, stepping around him.

“Guess I’m not most people,” Sean replied, falling in step with her.

Claire rolled her eyes. “What do you want?”

Progress
, he thought cautiously. She was no longer calling him “Detective” in that cuttingly polite voice. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay. You haven’t been out of the hospital all that long.”

Claire stopped by Livvie’s door. He was right, which only made the headache that was always lingering in the back of her brain worse. “I’m thirty years old—but then, you know that, don’t you?—and I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, which you also know from reading my file. I’m just fine, thank you.”

“You’ve never been the potential target of a serial killer before.” Sean felt an angry tic begin in his left cheek.

Claire saw the telltale tic and the fact that his icy blue eyes had turned silver with temper. “
Cher
, I’ve survived Mardi Gras in New Orleans every year of my life. This is a piece of cake.”

“Mardi Gras?
Jesus Christ
.”

She clucked her tongue and tapped his left cheek. “You’re going to rupture something if you don’t calm down.” She smiled slightly, feeling much better for his loss of control. She turned and slid the key in the door. “If
I’m that frustrating, why don’t you stop fighting and work with me instead?”

It was her smile that did it. His hand shot out, captured hers, and pulled it toward his mouth.

“This is why,” he said, pressing a hot kiss into her palm. He didn’t take his eyes off hers as he parted his lips and gently stroked her flesh with his tongue.

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a soft sound of comprehension. With her heart pounding, she felt his warm tongue make a second leisurely slide across the suddenly hypersensitive skin of her palm. She moved closer, instinctively pressing her body against his as she came up on her tiptoes. Without conscious thought, she slid her free hand around his neck.

She only had to tug once before he bent his head down to her, stopping with his mouth a breath away from her parted lips.

“Hell,” he said softly, and kissed her.

Claire shut her eyes and savored Sean. As he captured her closed lips in a teasing nip, she decided he tasted like spearmint and coffee. When he stroked the line between her lips with his tongue, her toes curled inside her shoes and she opened her mouth to let him in. A flash of heat shot through her body, bringing with it a restlessness she tried to soothe by pressing against him. She struggled to get closer, but he was too tall to reach the way she wanted to.

Sean felt her arching against him and stopped thinking at all. He wrapped his arms around her back and straightened, lifting Claire off her feet. Unable to believe she was actually kissing him back, he stroked repeatedly into her mouth with his tongue. Her responding moan made him tighten. He shifted his hold, trying to lift one of her legs around him so he could get as close as they both wanted,
but he was frustrated by her knee-length skirt. He wrapped his hand around her hip instead, squeezing and releasing the supple flesh.

When he heard a small thump echo in the hallway, he thought it might be one of her shoes falling off, but was too far gone to care. He pressed her into the wall and continued the drugging kisses, concentrating on her taste, on the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest and her hips arching against his erection.