When the Storm Breaks (16 page)

Washington, D.C.

Friday night

“S
o tonight’s the big date, huh?” Olivia asked. She was watching Claire get ready in Afton’s small guest bathroom.

“I’d hardly call it a date. The police are going to be listening to every word we say. It’ll be more like an evening of ‘Voyeur TV’or something.” She winced as she reached up to fix her hair. “That tape bites.”

“What tape?”

“The stuff plastered over me to hold the microphone in place.”

Olivia studied her friend. “Doesn’t show.”

“It better not. I’d have a hard time explaining about the mike and the earphones Aidan and Sean are wearing and the machinery recording everything we say.”

“Hey, if you let the stockbroker get into your dress, he won’t be thinking about anything but your boobs.”

“Ha, ha.” Claire carefully blotted her lipstick. “I’m not looking for anything like that right now.”

“What are you talking about? You joined a dating service
not two weeks ago, plunking down God knows how much money to be set up with dates like this one.”

“That was then. This is now. I’m not looking for Mr. Right.”

“Why, because you’ve already found him?” Olivia said. “And don’t look at me like that. Somehow I think you were cooking more than gumbo that night I walked into the kitchen.”

Claire blushed and pointed at her hidden microphone, even though she wasn’t in transmission range. “I told you that I’m not about to get involved with anyone when my life is in chaos.”

“We can’t always pick the time and place, sweetie.”

Claire rolled her eyes and touched up the dark liner underneath one of them.

Olivia sighed. “Keep an open mind on your dates. You could have something in common with one of them.”

“Ever the optimist.” Claire dabbed on perfume.

“Listen, you don’t need to find the love of your life in the next few weeks. Just be open to finding someone who’s good company and who shares some of your interests. What’s to prevent you from having fun?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A serial killer, perhaps?” Or maybe a certain police officer who would be watching her every step of the way. And listening.

Olivia’s blue eyes darkened with worry.

“Hey, it was just a joke.” Claire touched Olivia’s arm, then reached out to adjust a lock of her friend’s upswept hair. “You look all dressed up yourself. Headed out?”

“Ah, yes. Some coworkers and I are going to get together for drinks and dinner. In fact, I should leave soon.”

“Where are you guys going?” Claire asked.

“We haven’t decided yet. Probably some place in Georgetown,” Olivia said vaguely.

“Have fun. I’m off to Camelot to meet my Prince, or catch a frog. Something like that,” Claire said with a wry smile. A horn blew outside, telling her that the taxi had arrived. “Wish me luck.”

Washington, D.C.

Friday night

S
ean had won the coin toss, meaning he would follow Claire and her date to the restaurant. Aidan was there already, staked out at a table with an excellent view of the area where Claire would be sitting.

Sitting behind the wheel of his beige sedan, Sean watched Claire leave the taxi and listened while she introduced herself to Taylor North, stockbroker.

Taylor—what the hell kind of name is that, anyway?

Sean ran his eyes over Claire, taking in every bit of her appearance. Just so he’d be able to keep tabs on her throughout the evening, of course. Her hair was up in a twist, leaving her neck bare. She wore a cocktail-length dress in dark blue, with a matching short-sleeved jacket. Her legs looked long and lean in the strappy heels she was wearing.

Reading body language, Sean could tell the guy was very interested. Taylor North did a really thorough once-over of Claire while they introduced themselves. Sean
watched as the guy directed her toward the cab, hand lingering on her lower back.
Creep.

Claire was thinking pretty much the same thing as the warm hand settled above her butt. Barely above it. Gritting her teeth, she told herself that Taylor was simply being a gentleman. He didn’t know—and certainly hadn’t guessed—that she hated absolute strangers intruding in her personal space.

She got into the taxi and slid all the way to the opposite side. Desperately she tried to remember his biography. Nothing came to her. So she concentrated on making small talk—weather, sports, headlines, anything to find a common ground.

“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?”