A Raging Storm (9 page)

Herself.

His cell phone rang.

“Someone’s been in my room,” Showers said, in an exasperated voice. “While we were with Petrov. I thought you should know in case someone followed you and searched your room too.”

“Thanks for caring enough to call,” he said.

“I told you, I play by the rules,” she said. “Even if you don’t.”

“Where are you calling from?”

“The Marriott lobby. I assume they bugged my room. I didn’t bring anything with me to check. Since you’re a private eye and part-time spook, I thought you could come over and remove them. Either that or I’ve got to call in a team from the embassy.”

“I’m coming over.”

Storm grabbed his backpack and made the five-minute walk to the hotel. He waved her out of the lobby onto the street.

“Let’s walk,” he said. “It will be safer.”

For fifteen minutes, they crossed through a series of streets, often doubling back and then going down a different route. When they were convinced they were safe, he asked, “How do you know someone was in your room?”

“I left papers on the desk in a loose-leaf binder. They were FBI press releases about the senator’s murder. I put a penny on page six.”

It was an old trick. When the intruder picked up the binder, the penny fell to the floor. Even if he spotted it, there was no way for him to know what page it had fallen from
.

“Are you certain the maid didn’t move the papers?” he asked.

“Haven’t you insulted me enough today?” she said.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been thinking while we were walking,” she said. “Should we clear it of bugs or use it to misdirect them? Whoever ‘them’ is.”

He was impressed. She was thinking more like an intelligence officer than a cop
.

He saw they were passing by a pub. “Let’s go inside and get a drink. It’s been a very long day. I’ll pay.”

“Do you really think buying me a drink is going to make me feel better about what you did today? About cutting me out and going behind my back?”

“A couple drinks might be the only things that do help,” he said. “Besides, I’m hungry and thirsty. C’mon. What happened wasn’t personal. If there’d been a better way to handle it, I would’ve.”

“Just one drink,” she said with a sigh. “And only because I could use it.”

It was a neighborhood joint with dark wood paneling and a regular crowd who noticed strangers. He ordered fish and chips and Showers had a chicken poppy-seed wrap. He told the waiter to bring them drafts of London Pilsner.

She seemed to relax after she’d finished her first beer.

“First time someone’s bugged your hotel room?” he asked.

“They taught us about it in the academy,” she said. “But this is the first time.”

He raised his second glass of beer and tapped it against hers. “Welcome to the cloak-and-dagger side.”

“I can see why you enjoy this. It’s more entertaining than writing down questions for Petrov and faxing them to him tonight.”

“Why are you bothering to send him anything? He’s not going to admit he was involved. He’s playing you, trying to find out what you know.”

“And what makes you think he’s not playing you—in whatever you’re doing?”

“Oh, I’m sure he is. Everyone is after something.”

“I don’t expect Petrov to confess,” she said. “That’s not how the game is played. My goal is to get him to say something that I can later prove in court was a lie. Then we can indict him for lying to a federal agent and for being part of a criminal conspiracy.”

Storm shook his head in disbelief. “April,” he said tenderly, calling her by her first name, which he’d never done before. “Do you really think the Justice Department is going to charge Petrov with a crime? He has influential friends. He’s an oligarch. He lives in London.”

“I know you think I’m naïve,” she said. “But I told you before and I’ll say it again because I genuinely believe it. No one is immune from justice. Yes, our system is flawed. Yes, it is much harder to bring down wealthy and well-connected criminals. But it can be done, as long as there are people who believe in our system and don’t give up. As long as we fight for it. Truth eventually triumphs.”

Storm smiled.

“Do you think this is funny?” she asked.

“Oh no, I wasn’t laughing at you. I was thinking about how the words ‘And the truth will set you free’ are inscribed in the lobby of the CIA.”

“Saying those words and believing them are two different things.”

Storm said, “Why are you so sure that justice triumphs in the end? Who taught you that: a Sunday school teacher, a minister?”

He suddenly noticed tears welling in her eyes. “Actually, my father did. He was the most honorable and bravest man I’ve ever known.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. What was he like?”

“Why? So you can make him the butt of some half-witted joke?”

“No,” he said. “Because I really would like to know.”

“My father was a Virginia Highway Patrol officer,” she said. “I adored him. I was a daddy’s girl. One night, he pulled over two men who were hopped up on drugs and speeding in their car. He could tell something was wrong with them and then he heard someone whimpering. He made the driver open the trunk and there was a naked ten-year-old girl in it. The men had followed her from a convenience store, kidnapped her, and both repeatedly raped her. The passenger came out of the car with a handgun and shot my dad. Even though he was mortally wounded, he managed to kill them both. My father died saving that girl’s life.”

“Then your father was a brave man.”

“He’s why I decided to go into the FBI. People like those two men are monsters, predators. They destroy the weak, the innocent. People like my dad are all that stand between the public and the predators. They’re the real heroes. They put their lives on the line every day helping others.”

Storm raised his glass and said, “A toast to your dad.” She could tell he was serious, so she joined him.

They ordered another round.

“What about your father?” she asked.

“Actually, this might surprise you,” Storm said. “In fact, I know it will. Are you ready?”

She gave him a puzzled look.

“My father is a retired FBI agent.”

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed.

The pub’s owner appeared at their table with two shot glasses and a bottle of whisky. “You two are Yanks, aren’t ya?” he asked in a booming voice that echoed throughout the pub.

Storm nodded and the owner said, “We got a bit of a tradition here. You Yanks are always on the telly with your fingers pointed up at the sky screaming you’re lungs out about how your number one—when you don’t even know what real football is. So when we get a good-looking Yank couple like you in my fine establishment, I feel obligated to give you a taste of real English whisky, not that horse piss they serve in the New Country.” He laughed loudly and so did the pub regulars.

“Now,” the pub owner said, “this here is a bottle of whisky distilled in England to commemorate the royal wedding of Prince William and Catherine, and we’d be much obliged if you joined us in a toast to the royal couple and would take great umbrage if the two of you refuse.”

He slammed down the two shot glasses and filled both to the brim. He filled one for himself, too, and hoisted it in the air.

“Will you drink to them with me?” he asked, good-naturedly.

“It’s the least we can do,” Storm said, “given that you lost a war to us.”

The pub owner faked an angry look and announced: “To Prince William and the lovely Catherine, his bride!”

Storm downed it, but Showers hadn’t lifted her glass.

“What’s this?” the pub owner declared.

“C’mon,” Storm said, encouraging her.

She reached for the shot glass and, much to his surprise, downed it easily.

Everyone applauded.

“It would be impolite for me, as host, to let you leave my establishment without also raising a glass to your lovely lady here,” the pub owner said, glancing at Showers. He refilled the shot glasses and quickly lifted them. “To the beautiful young, red-haired maiden sitting here who has to have a bit of Irish in her—judging from her green eyes and fair skin.”

Showers smiled, and the three of them downed the shots as the other pub patrons continued to look on.

“And now,” the pub owner said, “I’m going to leave you alone with a final word.” He broke into a huge grin and said, “Them shots of whisky is five pounds a piece, so I’m adding an additional thirty pounds to your bill. Welcome to London, you Yanks!”

The crowd erupted into laughter and clapping as the pub owner bowed and walked back to the bar, where he declared that it was time for karaoke. A thin man from the bar immediately leaped onto a small platform in the pub’s corner, turned on a portable karaoke machine, and began mangling, “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.”

By the time Storm and Showers left the pub three hours later, they had consumed more shots of whisky sent over by friendly bar patrons in admiration of various British royalty and American presidents. At one point, Showers had seized control of the karaoke microphone and belted out a surprisingly good version of Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” that left the crowd clamoring for more.

As they made their way to the Marriott, they locked arms to support each other.

“I didn’t know you were a Lady Gaga fan,” he said admiringly.

“Some of her lyrics are poetic,” she replied. “Have you ever even heard one of her songs?”

“What sort of music do you think I listen to?” he asked.

“That’s easy,” she said. “Country Western.”

Storm replied, “It’s not that I’m dishonest, I loathe reality.” It was from one of Lady Gaga’s videos.

A stunned Showers began clapping.

Storm raised a finger to his closed lips. “Let’s keep this our secret.”

When they reached the Marriott, she said, “So where is your hiding place?”

“Are you asking me if you can come up to my room for a nightcap?” he said hopefully.

“Maybe,” she replied. “Or maybe I’m just interested in where a spy goes to hide out.”

“I’m not a spy, remember? I’m a private detective.”

“Is that true? Is anything that you’ve told me tonight true?”

Before he could reply, she put her finger against his lips and said, “Just take me to where you’re staying.”

When they reached his room, she collapsed onto the double bed. He shut the door and tossed the room’s key onto the nightstand. She waved him over. He sat on the bed’s edge.

“I do find you reasonably attractive,” she said. She reached over and ran a finger over his hand.

He’d bedded many women. All had been easy conquests. He couldn’t remember most of their faces. The only one who had mattered had been Clara Strike. She had been more than a one-night stand. And she had broken his heart. How did he feel about April Showers? Did he want another broken heart? Where could this lead? When he had finished his job and found the traitor, he would be going back to a life of anonymity
.

She leaned up and kissed him on the lips. He kissed her back, hard and passionately. He followed that kiss with another and felt the heat that always surfaces when a man and woman anticipate making love for the first time. The sheer joy of discovering a new body. Exploring each inch of flesh. To touch and to be touched.

“If we are going to do this,” she whispered seductively, “I need you to do me a favor. I saw a coffeepot downstairs. I want you to go get me a cup of coffee.”

“You want a cup of coffee?”

“Actually,” she said, “it’s an excuse. A polite way to get you out of the room because I’ve got to pee and I’d rather do that in private. It’s a woman thing.”

He rose and started for the door.

She sprang up, and as he stepped out of the room, she slapped him hard on his butt and laughed.

The moment he was in the hallway, she shut the door, locking it behind him. He realized that he’d left the key on the nightstand.

He gently rapped on the door and said in a quiet voice, “I can just go down and wake up the owner. She’ll let me back in my room.”

“Do you really want to disturb her at this hour?” Showers replied from behind the door.

He’d thought she was drunker than she obviously was. She’d outfoxed him
.

She said, “Think of the scandal! A woman in your room. A woman who has been drinking. Who knows what I might say? It might even make the BBC since I’m so famous. What did you tell them? The queen was going to invite me over?”

With his training, it would take less than a minute for him to force open the door. But he didn’t want to force himself on her
.

“You should sleep at the Marriott,” she whispered. “You can use my room if you want. Just be careful, they might have installed secret cameras as well as hidden microphones. You’re naked butt could end up on some Internet site. Good night!”

Someone knocked on her door. She heard Storm ask: “Are you awake? I brought breakfast.”