When the Storm Breaks (21 page)

Washington, D.C.

Wednesday afternoon

“W
hy would three otherwise sane women pay outrageous prices to sit in a steam room in Washington, D.C. in July?” Claire asked, sweating.

Olivia wiped her face on a towel.

“It gives us the illusion of being in control of the climate,” Afton said.

“Illusion,” Claire muttered. “Great. Just what I need, another shrink.”

Dr. Morton’s analysis still burned. The thought that her actions and emotions might be interpreted in such an unflattering way was humiliating. She’d thought she was being cooperative, working with the police in order to catch a man who had made a very real threat against her life. Could it be that she had other reasons? Like the chance to be close to Sean?

Or worse, was she really waiting to be rescued?

“What did the police shrink say?” Olivia asked. “You’ve been in a terrible mood since you saw him.”

Claire wiped her face. “The Cliffs Notes version is that
I’m a fragile personality. I have hysterical amnesia—if I have amnesia at all—but I continue to participate in the investigation because it feeds my need to be rescued. You see, I’m suffering from White Knight syndrome, meaning that I’m waiting for a man to rescue me from all that’s wrong with my life.”

“What? That is complete
crap.
” Olivia’s voice echoed loudly in the steamy room.

“He said that joining a dating service underlines my desire to be rescued.”

“How on earth does joining Camelot indicate a psychological weakness?” Afton demanded.

“According to him, I’m searching for a man to fix my life.” Claire hesitated. “I can’t honestly say he’s entirely wrong. I was unhappy and lonely, and looked to Camelot to help solve that.”

“Joining a dating service doesn’t mean you’re waiting for someone to rescue you,” Afton said, hands on towel-wrapped hips. “It shows that you’re willing to go out there after something you want, something that’s missing in your life. It’s proactive behavior, not save-me passive,” Afton said.

“Isn’t that the same as wanting a man to solve my problems?”

“No! It means you’re looking for a man to share everything that’s right in your life,” Afton said. “You’re a smart, funny, successful, and beautiful woman who has a lot to offer a man.”

Olivia looked at Claire’s unhappy face. “You don’t really buy into that passive and needy bull, do you?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore. Look at me—I’m a wreck. I’m living in a fucking fishbowl and being analyzed by strangers. I’m being driven slowly insane by one
man I can’t date, and going out every night with a different reject from the gene pool.”

“Forget the stupid shrink,” Olivia said. “Focus on what’s ahead of you.”

“More dates? Kill me now.”

“You can handle it. Repeat after me,” Olivia said. “‘I am a modern, independent woman who can survive another evening of socializing with a perfect stranger.’”

Claire laughed and dutifully repeated the words. But even as she did, she wondered if she
could
survive another evening of socializing under the watchful eyes of a man who felt like anything but a stranger.

Even worse than that was the gut-deep feeling that a deadly stranger was never farther away from her than the darkness at the edge of light.

Washington, D.C.

Saturday evening

C
laire sipped her mineral water and decided that even modern, independent women shouldn’t have to deal with the obnoxious, self-absorbed ad sales executive sitting across the table from her. Randy Klein, a beefy former college hockey player, liked martinis with pickled onions. He liked them a lot and he liked a lot of them. She looked with barely veiled disgust at the wrinkled onions bobbing on a toothpick in Randy’s glass. He was finishing his third drink, and the appetizers had just arrived.

She’d already decided that mineral water would be her drink du jour. While she tried to decide if Randy’s smile reminded her of anything more lethal than a used-car salesman, she kept up her end of the conversation. It wasn’t hard. Randy was in love with Randy, which made her an unnecessary third wheel.

With each martini he’d grown more aggressive and loud, and she’d grown more quiet. He didn’t notice. He picked the toothpick out of his glass, winked at her, and suggestively sucked a pickled onion into his mouth. To
make sure she didn’t miss the point, he stared at her breasts.

Obviously he thought he was going to get lucky tonight.

She focused on his mouth, looking for anything that reminded her of the night of the murder.
He’s the right size.

The thought startled her. Working to hold that thought, she tried to remember more. All she came up with was the fact that her date’s mouth wasn’t right. Sighing, she decided that while Randy Klein made her uncomfortable, he didn’t make her fear for her life. He just had a remarkably coarse way of looking at her.

Claire caught a motion out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see Olivia getting up from the table she shared with Sean. When she headed toward the ladies’ room, Claire excused herself and hurried to catch up.

After making sure the small bathroom was empty, Claire asked, “Did they just give in and deputize you?”

“No. I had my own table, but as soon as Sean came in and saw me, he pulled up a chair. I guess they figure I’m good cover or something.”

“Well, you can relax. The only thing at risk tonight is my virtue, if there is such a thing in the twenty-first century. Have you seen this guy’s moves?”

“Yeah, I can feel the slime all the way over at my table. Sean doesn’t like the way Randy is acting.”

“That makes two of us. I hate martinis, and I hate pickled onions. I can smell them every time he laughs.” Claire made a face in the mirror.

“What do you want me to tell Sean?” Olivia asked.

“Save your breath. He’s listening to every word we say, aren’t you, Detective?” Claire asked the microphone clipped to her bra.

“I forgot about that,” Olivia said. “They won’t give me an earpiece.”

“You don’t need one and everyone else can relax. I’ve studied this guy’s smile. While it’s as sleazy as he is, it doesn’t look anything like the killer’s. Randy’s not our suspect, so I’ll be ready to go by the time the waiter brings coffee.”

“Why not just end things now, at the restaurant?”

“Because I’m hungry and I haven’t eaten.” She grimaced. “Although if I get a few more whiffs of pickled onions, I’m going to lose my appetite.”

“I don’t like it,” Olivia said. “He’s twice your size.”

“
Chère
, he’ll be skunk drunk by the time we leave. I’ve handled much worse, and so have you.”

“I still don’t like it.”

Neither did Claire, but she was damned if she would run to the cops for help with a situation all single women routinely handled. She sure as hell wasn’t some whining damsel looking for excuses to be rescued.

By the time they finished dinner, Randy had downed seven martinis, pickled onions and all.
Thank God for taxis
, Claire thought. His speech was fine, but his reflexes weren’t.

“Well, it’s been great, but I’m working tomorrow,” Claire said. “Time for me to call it a night.”

Aidan signaled to the bartender to close his tab. Sean and Olivia began to get ready to leave, reminding Claire once again that she had an audience listening to her dinner conversation, and every cheesy line her date was pulling out as well. Sean and Aidan both looked tense. They were watching Randy like a snake.

Claire rolled her eyes. Great. Just what she needed—more testosterone. To prevent any type of confrontation,
she hustled her date out the door. For once there was a cab waiting, and she all but shoved Randy into it.

When the cab stopped in front of Camelot, Claire said briskly as she slid out, “Keep the cab. Good night.”

She was nearly to the top of the stairs when she felt a hand on her arm. For an instant terror swept her—it was too much like her dreams, the ones where she didn’t escape and the killer reached out and caught her. After a few frantic seconds she realized it was her intoxicated date, not a serial murderer, who had grabbed her arm. With a shudder, she pulled her self-control into place.

“Wait a sec,” Randy said, weaving slightly as he stood on the step next to her. “What kind of a good night is that?”

“The only kind you’re going to get.”

“C’mon, no need to be coy. We both know why we joined this dating service, so I’ll still respect you in the morning.”

He grabbed her before she could answer. Onion-laced martini fumes made her gag. She pushed, and he held on harder. Then he pawed her breast and slimed her mouth with his tongue.

To hell with this
. She drove the spiky point of her heel right through soft Italian leather and into the most tender part of Randy’s foot, just as Aidan had taught her during their brief lesson in self-defense. Randy yelped and let go. She shoved him hard. Off balance from a combination of surprise and alcohol, he went over like a felled tree, tumbled down the shallow stairs, and landed in a heap at the bottom.

Two seconds later Sean appeared out of nowhere, flipped Randy over on his face, and jammed a knee in his back. Once he was subdued, Sean searched him roughly.

“What the fuck?…” Randy asked, dazed.

“Is he all right?” she asked. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Get back,” Sean ordered.

Claire caught a glimpse of his furious blue eyes and instinctively took a step back. “It’s all right. He’s not the killer.”

“Let me handle this.” Sean didn’t look up from Randy as he spoke. “Get back up the stairs.”

“But—”

“Go.”
This time it was Aidan giving orders as he ran up to the scene. He took Randy’s sports coat and turned it inside out, searching the pockets.

Claire turned and marched back to the top of the stairs, furious with everyone and everything, and most of all with herself for shaking inside and for being grateful that she wasn’t alone. Dammit, she wasn’t a damsel in distress sniveling for a knight. She’d slain the pickled dragon herself.

Arms crossed over her breasts, Claire watched as Sean called for a backup unit to take Randy to the hospital—and then to jail. Once Sean had finished his call, he turned and looked at her.

“Are you all right?” he asked roughly.

Unconsciously she rubbed her mouth. Ugh. Pickled onions. “Sure. He’s hardly the first guy to make a grab at getting lucky on a date.”

Sean came up the stairs to stand next to her, towering over the extra height her heeled sandals gave her. “Why the hell didn’t you wait at the restaurant? You didn’t give us time to get into place. You got out of range with the microphone.
I couldn’t hear what was happening.
”

“I—I didn’t realize you weren’t behind me.” She lifted her chin and faced his anger. “Contrary to Dr. Freud, I’m not whining for a man to save me. As you can see, I handled Randy just fine.”

“It’s not your job to handle him. You’re supposed to let us do that. If you can’t follow simple instructions, you’re off the case.” Sean’s voice was like his eyes, coldly furious.

“What—”

“Is that clear?” Sean interrupted. “One word, yes or no.”

She wanted to tell him to go to hell, but realized he was angry enough to pull her from the investigation. “Yes.”

Sean saw that her eyes were dark and angry in the building’s outdoor lights. “Don’t glare at me like that. He may be a businessman now, but he’s a former college hockey player who’s used to violence and he’s a hell of a lot stronger and meaner than you are.”

“What the fuck is goin’ on?” Randy mumbled from the bottom of the stairs.

Nobody answered.

Claire stared at Sean for a full minute without answering while the aftermath of fear, disgust, and adrenaline churned in her stomach. If she didn’t leave right now, she was going to lose it, throw herself at him, and confirm every word that smug shrink had said.

“I take it we’re through here, Detective?”

Without waiting for an answer, Claire went through the revolving door. She didn’t look back.

“Well,
shit.
” Sean went back to something that made sense—his job.

“What the fuck is goin’ on?” Randy asked the pavement again.

Both cops ignored him. “When will the backup be here?” Sean asked Aidan.

“It’s Saturday night, he’s cuffed, and we’re overworked. It will be a while. You think he’s the killer?”

“My gut says no, but we’ll run him again while he’s locked up.”

“So, ah, what exactly are you going to charge him with?”

Sean stared at his cousin. “Attempted assault.”

Aidan hesitated. “Did Claire indicate in any way that she was in danger?”

“I saw him grab her and she nailed him with her high heel.”

Aidan grinned. “I told you she was a fast learner.”

“What the fuck is goin’ on?” Randy asked. “I didn’t do anything. Can’t a guy kiss his date good night?”

Sean looked at Randy. “Shut up, fucko.”

“Could it have been a misunderstanding?” Aidan asked. “The guy thinks he’s going to score and his date lets him know otherwise?”

“He pawed her,” Sean said tightly. “He grabbed her and pawed her like she was a ten-dollar whore. Drunken asshole.”

Both of them heard the sound of running water transmitted through their earpieces, which were still activated. Then something glass shattered, followed by more sounds, running water, and something else.

“Is she sick?” Aidan asked. Maybe Sean was right. Maybe they should charge Randy.

“I’ll go check. You stay here with the Hockey Puke. And keep a lid on Olivia,” Sean added, nodding to the small car pulling up across the street.

More liquid sounds came through the earphones as Sean ran through the lobby. He hesitated outside the women’s rest room. More gurgling sounds sent him inside.

“Claire? Are you all right?” He came around the corner just as she spat something green into the sink.

She jumped at the sound of his voice and dribbled some mouthwash down her chin in the process of spitting it out. “Dammit, this is the ladies’ room. And I can assure you, you’re not a lady,” she said, wiping her chin.

“I thought you might be sick or something. I heard these sounds.” Sean stopped at her furious look.

“You heard
sounds
?” She reached into her top, ripped the microphone out of the transmitter, tearing the delicate wires, and threw the mangled equipment at him.

Sean yelped at the feedback and wrenched his earpiece out with one hand. The other hand snatched the ruined mike out of the air before it hit him in the face.

Claire went back to the sink and started cleaning up the glass from the first bottle of mouthwash, which she’d broken because her hands were shaking. Sean watched her, seeing the roiling emotion beneath the surface calm she was desperately trying to maintain.

“What’s with the mouthwash?” he finally asked.

“Randy ate pickled onions out of his martinis all night. When he shoved his tongue down my throat, I got to experience them as well. They’re vile.”

Sean felt his anger leap back at the image of Claire’s date assaulting her in that way. “Goddammit, Claire. You should have waited for us at the restaurant. Then this never would have happened.”

“How do you figure that? It happened so fast I didn’t have time to duck, so I took care of it the old-fashioned way.”

“What if he hadn’t passed out at the bottom of the stairs? What if you’d just pissed him off, and he tried to rape you?”

“Then I would have handled him just like I’ve handled any other pushy guy I went out with before I met you,”
Claire said in a harsh voice. “Just like I’ll handle them when you’re no longer in my life.”

He ground his teeth to keep from protesting at her statement. He didn’t like thinking about her not being around every day. In a few short weeks Claire had made a place for herself in his life, and it wasn’t just the investigation.

The silence in the bathroom grew heavy. Sean knew she was looking for a fight, and with his own adrenaline running high he’d be more than happy to give her one. But fighting wouldn’t solve what was going on between them. Worse, it would undermine his self-control. Then he’d be tempted to do something stupid, like holding her and giving her something to taste besides mouthwash and pickled onions.

Shaking off the erotic images, Sean folded his arms across his chest and leaned his hip against the counter. “Until the killer is caught, I’m in your life and it’s my job to protect you. Get used to it.”

“Or you’ll take me off the investigation?” she challenged.

“Yes. Any questions?”

“No,” she said through her teeth.

“Then I’ll let you freshen up.”

After Sean closed the door behind him, Claire looked back toward the mirror and reminded herself she’d asked for this. She felt trapped, frantic, and a little crazy, but she could handle it. She had to.

“Claire?” It was Olivia’s voice. “Honey, are you in there?”

“Hi, Livvie,” Claire said with a faint sigh, feeling guilty that all she really wanted was to be left alone.

“Are you all right?” The door opened and Olivia walked in.

“I’m fine. I was definitely more disgusted than hurt.”

“I’m glad. Randy’s gone to the drunk tank, and the guys are waiting to take you home.”

Claire thought about being alone with Aidan or Sean and knew she couldn’t do it. “Can I borrow your car? You can catch a ride home with the guys.”