When the Storm Breaks (11 page)

The sound of a door opening and closing down the hall finally got through to him. He couldn’t believe he had lost his head so quickly. Breathing unsteadily, he stepped back and lowered her feet to the floor. He held her shoulders when she stumbled, thrown off balance by the missing shoe.

The change from being kissed senseless to being set aside was like a shock of cold water. Claire took several deep breaths and grabbed for composure. Rather than look at Sean, she glanced around for her missing shoe, giving herself some time to steady. He took an arm to offer support while she slipped her foot into the pump.

“Thanks,” she murmured, and wondered if she looked as shell-shocked as she felt. What do you say after your world has been tilted on its axis with a single kiss?

“That was really stupid,” Sean said, straightening his shirt and studying the top of her bent head. “I’m sorry.”

Okay, those weren’t the words she was looking for. Annoyed, she gave him a sideways look and spoke without thinking. “Never apologize for kissing a woman like that,
cher.
It makes her look foolish and you look like a pig.” She heard the cutting words and winced. “Damn. I didn’t mean the pig part. I guess I’m sorry, too. I, ah, got a little carried away.” She fiddled with the gold hoop in her right ear.

“You didn’t do anything. I’m the one who practically nailed you against your best friend’s front door.” He rubbed his neck in frustration. He’d never felt so out of control in his life. “Look, we’ve been taking shots at each other for the last two days, it’s only natural that there would be some built-up tension between us. But I never should have kissed you,” he said roughly. “It won’t happen again.”

Claire narrowed her eyes at his tone. “Did I just stand there like an inflatable doll while your tongue was in my mouth? You didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to.”

“Claire, the last week has been very stressful for you. Your emotions are all over the place. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you.”

The look she gave Sean made him shift uncomfortably. “Protecting me again, Detective? Or are you protecting yourself?” She shrugged as if she didn’t care. “Thanks anyway, but I’m a big believer in free will. You didn’t take advantage of anything.”

“I don’t normally lose control like that.”

She looked him over from head to toe. “Now that’s truly a pity.”

The key was still in the lock. Claire had the apartment door opened and closed in Sean’s face before he could think of anything to say. Automatically he tugged the light jacket he wore into place. It covered his holster just fine, but did nothing to conceal his hard-on.

He walked uncomfortably down the hall, hoping he didn’t meet any little old ladies taking their trash out.

A
s soon as Claire closed the door in Sean’s face, she walked straight to the kitchen for some cold water, spotted the open wine, and poured herself a huge glass instead. Gulping half of the rich Merlot in one desperate swallow, she followed Olivia and Afton’s idle chatter as they prepared brunch. Claire hoped they would be too busy to notice her own appearance. She was sure her cheeks were on fire, and her lips felt both chapped and swollen.

When she licked them, she swore she tasted spearmint. Groaning, she took another gulp of the red wine.

“Fettuccine Alfredo with garlic bread and Caesar salad coming right up. Not the usual brunch, but that’s what I get for going shopping when I’m starved,” Olivia said.

“How was work?” Afton asked.

“Fine,” Claire said. “I caught up on some things.”

At least she thought she had. Right now she was having a hard time remembering her own name, let alone what she’d done at the office before her world had tilted on its axis.

“Good,” Olivia said. “Oh, the concierge downstairs received a package for you today. I put it on the buffet in the dining room.”

Claire wandered in that direction, her mind still focused on kissing Sean. He’d acted like it was wrong. But all she could think was that thirty years was a long time to go without ever being kissed in a way that made her toes curl.

She sighed and set her wine down on the buffet next to the white box wrapped with red ribbon. A foil balloon bearing the message “Thinking of YOU” was attached to the bow. Claire undid the ribbon and looked inside while the helium balloon drifted slowly toward the ceiling. A folded card sat on top of white tissue paper, which hid the gift.

Wondering if a client had sent the box, Claire picked up her wine and drank as she flipped open the card.

She frowned as she tried to think which of her clients would send her a package without identifying himself. She set aside the card, then pulled out the wadded tissue paper to see what was inside the box. A black leather clutch purse lay at the bottom of the cardboard container, wrapped in what looked to be a rust-colored piece of cloth.

Claire leaned closer. Her breath came in hard when she recognized her own purse, lost since the night of the murder. Breath froze in her chest as she saw that the cloth wrapped around her purse wasn’t really rust-colored, but had once been a white floral sash that was now stained with dried blood.

The wineglass slipped from Claire’s nerveless fingers, shattering on the hardwood floor and splashing crimson
streaks on her pale legs. Her eyes darted to the card, open on the smooth wood surface of the buffet. The once-innocent words became a malevolent threat.

Olivia came out of the kitchen. “Was that breaking glass? Are you all right?”

Dark eyes huge in her ashen face, Claire looked at Olivia but couldn’t force any words past her paralyzed vocal cords.

Olivia rushed toward her, ignoring the shards of glass and wine on the floor. “What is it, honey?”

“Claire, do you feel faint?” Afton asked.

“The gift,” was all Claire could manage.

Olivia reached toward the box.

“Don’t touch it!” Claire said quickly. “It’s from him.”

“Who?” Olivia and Afton asked.

“The killer.”

“What do you mean?” Olivia asked.

Afton grasped Claire’s hand in silent support.

“It’s my purse,” Claire said. “The one I lost the night of the murder. And there’s some kind of fabric wrapped around it with…God, I think they’re bloodstains. And the note. Read the note.”

Silence grew as both women read the note without touching it.

“I’m not imagining things, right?” Claire said. “That’s a threat.”

“Come away from here,” Afton urged, tugging Claire toward the living room.

Claire looked down at the floor as broken glass gritted under her feet. “I should clean that up,” she said automatically.

“Later.” Afton tugged again at her hand. “Come sit down. You’ve had a bad shock.”

“I’m calling the police,” Olivia said. “Do you still have Sean’s card?”

“In the pocket of my raincoat,” Claire responded numbly. “Use the cell number.”

Within moments Olivia was dialing. She waited impatiently while it rang three times. He answered on the fourth, sounding like his mouth was full.

“Yeah?” he said.

“This is Olivia Goodhue. Something’s happened. How fast can you get here?”

“I’m at a deli just down the street. What’s wrong?”

“Someone sent Claire a package. Inside is the purse she lost the night of the murder, along with a pale piece of cloth that looks like it’s been splashed with blood. And there’s a note saying how he can’t wait to see her again.”

“Christ. Listen, don’t touch anything! That’s very important. Lock all the doors. I’ll be right there.”

“Hurry,” Olivia said.

Sean didn’t answer. She was talking to dead air.

Washington, D.C.

Saturday afternoon

S
ean made it in three minutes flat because he didn’t wait for the elevator. Half-eaten deli sandwich in hand, he ran up five flights of stairs and hammered on the door.

“It’s Detective Richter. Let me in.”

The sound of locks opening pleased Sean—good locks and lots of them—even as it irritated him.
Come on, come on, open the damn door.

When a crack of light showed, he didn’t wait for an invitation.

“Where is she?” he demanded as he pushed past Olivia.

“In the living room.”

“Dump this somewhere,” he said, shoving the sandwich in her hands. “And lock the door.”

“Please, thank you, you’re welcome,” Olivia muttered. Again, she was talking to herself. Sean was already gone.

Claire was sitting stiffly next to Afton on an overstuffed couch. Squatting on his heels, Sean took Claire’s icy hands in his. Her pale skin and rigidly composed expression made him realize how vibrant she had been earlier in
the hallway, when she’d kissed him like she’d just discovered sex.

“Claire? You okay?” he asked roughly.

“Fine.” She noted his rapid breathing. “You took the stairs again. There was no need to come storming up here.”

“Just doing my job, ma’am.” He said it in his best cop voice in an attempt at humor.

She smiled briefly, then looked in the direction of the dining room. “It’s in there.”

Sean studied her for a moment longer, seeing the effort she was making to remain calm.
Good girl
, he thought admiringly.

With a gentle squeeze he released her hands and went over to the white box on the waist-high wood buffet. He saw the spilled wine and broken glass Olivia had started to clean up, and stepped around as much of the mess as he could.

Looking down into the box, his jaw clenched when he recognized the bloodstained fabric wrapped around the purse. It matched the dress Renata Mendes had been wearing the night she was murdered. He’d been right—the killer had taken a trophy to remember his latest victim.

Sean carefully examined the black purse. Pulling a pen from his pocket, he used it to shift the fabric aside and open the purse’s leather flap. A cursory glance showed a wallet and compact, but no keys. Next to the box was an open white note card. After Sean read the short message, he began cursing viciously.

When he took a breath, he smelled Claire’s delicate floral perfume. She was standing very close.

“Now would be a really good time to tell me I’m getting
paranoid and letting my imagination run wild,” she said without much hope.

He turned and met her dark gaze, wishing he could give her that reassurance. He couldn’t. All he could do was offer a comforting squeeze of her shoulder before he pulled out his cell phone and called Aidan. When his partner answered, Sean could hear loud conversation and music in the background. Claire wasn’t the only one who liked midday parties.

“Sorry to crash the fun,” Sean said, “but I need you and a crime scene unit at Olivia Goodhue’s apartment ASAP.”

“What—are they all right?”

“Yeah. Looks like the killer sent Claire a little present.”

“Shit. Not good.”

“Tell me about it.” Sean hung up and steered Claire back over to the couch. “When and how did the package come?” he asked her.

Olivia answered. “The building concierge said it was delivered for her during the morning.” She glanced at the clock. “Their office closes at noon on Saturday. It won’t open until eight on Monday morning.”

“They’ll open for me,” Sean said.

“How did the killer know Claire was here?” Afton asked from her seat on the couch.

“I suppose he could have followed me from work or something,” Claire said unhappily. “My business cards have my work address, and I always carry some in my wallet.”

The thought that she had put her friend at risk chilled Claire. She shot to her feet. “That’s it. I’m going home. I won’t have Livvie in danger.”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Olivia said loudly, hands on hips.

“I’m leaving and that’s all there—”

“No way in hell you’re going home.” Sean’s deep voice cut through the argument.

Claire turned on him. “Somehow I’ve led a killer right to Olivia. I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Think,” Sean shot back. “He’s still got your keys, and he knows where you live. But you’re right about leaving here. You’ll have to stay at a hotel. Staking out a public place like that will take a lot of manpower, but…” He shrugged. “Has to be done.”

“She can stay at my place,” Afton said. “I have a house in Georgetown, which would be much more comfortable than a hotel. There’s an alarm and new locks.”

“No. I won’t put anyone else at risk,” Claire said.

Sean ignored Claire and spoke to Afton. “That would be better than a hotel. Much easier to secure.” He turned to Claire. “Can you arrange for time off?”

“They owe me three weeks of comp time and three weeks of vacation, but—”

“Good. Take care of it with your boss.”

“You really think that’s how he found me? He followed me from work?”

“Did you have business cards in your purse?” Sean cut in.

Claire shuddered. “All right. I’ll arrange to work from home for a while, wherever ‘home’ is.” She looked at Olivia. “I’m so sorry to drag you into this.” She glanced back at Sean’s grim features. This icy, analytical man wasn’t anything like the one who had pressed her up against the front door and kissed her until her toes curled.

Dangerous territory. Hormones kill brain cells
. She
took a deep breath and tried to be as analytical as he was. “What about Afton and her babies? It’s too big a risk.”

“We’ll stay with my mother,” Afton said quickly. “She’ll be thrilled. She never wanted me to buy my own house in the first place.”

“I can’t let you—” Claire began.

“Hush,” Afton said. “You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me.”

Sean turned to Olivia. “I don’t know how long you’ll be out of this apartment, but it will be at least a week.”

Olivia was already making lists in her head. “I’ll start packing.”

Claire’s objection was lost as the doorbell chimed and Aidan’s voice called out. “Detective Burke. Let me in.”

Sean went through the locks faster than Olivia had.

“Forensics team is right behind me,” Aidan said, breathing more deeply than usual. “They took the elevator with all their stuff.”

“The box is in the dining room if you want to take a fast look.” Sean shut the door behind Aidan. “And watch out for the broken glass.”

Aidan raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He went into the apartment, talked briefly with everyone, and walked to the dining room to study the package.

With a sense of unreality, Claire watched as Sean opened the door again for several evidence technicians, each carrying cases of equipment. Very quickly the apartment was a hive of activity. She started when she realized that Sean was calling her name in a patient voice.

“What?” she asked.

“We’ll take a formal statement from you later. For now, pack your things. An officer will be here in half an hour to take all of you to Afton’s house.” He didn’t add that an unmarked
car would make sure no one followed, and that he really hoped the killer was stupid enough to try it.

“An escort,” Claire repeated. “Great. Just great. What’s happening to my life?”

Sean opened his mouth, only to be cut off.

“Oh, never mind,” she said. “That’s what I get for letting my toes curl.”

She stalked off to pack her suitcase.