Storm Redemption

by Magda Alexander

  “Elizabeth.” His voice gravels as he reaches for me.

  Knowing we have a topic to discuss, I take a step back. “We need to talk.”

  “About?”

  “You know I got the letter of acceptance from my school back home.”

  He pauses for a second before tacking on the aquamarine pin, the one that matches his eyes, to his tie. “Your home?”

  Oh, geez. Now I’ve put my foot in it. “Sorry. D.C. I’ll need to finish one last semester there.” I remind him, like he doesn’t know.

  “So when do you need to be in D.C.?”

  “Classes start in three weeks.” I twist my hands and take a deep breath. “I’d like to take Andrew with me.”

  A shadow falls over his eyes. “No.”

  I didn’t think he’d agree, but I’ve marshaled arguments to counter his opposition. “I’m still breastfeeding him.”

  “He’s nearly six months. Old enough to be weaned from breast milk.”

  “He’s my baby, Gabriel. How am I supposed to leave him behind?”

  “You’ll have to if you want to continue your studies.”

  “Is this your way of punishing me because I want to further my education?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Regardless of what you believe, I’m doing what’s best for him. I can protect him here.”

  “You can protect him in D.C. Send whatever guards you wish. I’ll be so very careful with him.”

  “I know you believe you can, but it’s not a risk I’m willing to take. Not with my son. I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but the answer is no.”

  “Is there no room for compromise?”

  “Not in this case. No.” He strolls to me, cups my chin. “I’m sorry.”

  The last thing I want to do now is go out. But if I’m to have any hope of changing his mind, I need to maintain the status quo. So I grab my clutch and my wrap and follow Gabriel to the private elevator which takes us straight to the garage.

  Memories of the first time I’d visited The Brighton flash inside my head. I’d moaned and screamed while he’d given me one of the best orgasms of my life. But now, we ride down in silence, like strangers.

  Dinner is not much better. He’d chosen La Reve. Impeccable service, delicious food, and a wonderful ambiance. But even so, we don’t exchange more than polite pleasantries.

  It’s when dessert is served that the food turns to ash in my mouth. A woman walks into the restaurant, Dr. Chris Langenfeld. Her escort is a much older man who bears a strong resemblance to her. Must be a relative of some kind.

  When Gabriel sees them walking in our direction, his glance darts to the woman. Her eyes widen in recognition. As she walks by, her hand brushes against his, and she drops her purse. He picks it up and hands it to her.

  “Thank you. That was clumsy of me.”

  “You’re welcome.” And then she’s past us and seated at a table to our right.

  “Who is she?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Don’t know.”

  I bite down on my lip to keep my emotions from spilling out. That touch, that glance. They know each other. Intimately. That tiny spark of hope I’d guarded deep in my heart flickers and winks out, leaving behind the acrid smell of betrayal.

  Somehow I get through the rest of the meal without breaking down. But he notices my mood, because on the ride to the theater, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

  Words beat against my breast, dying to get out. Ask him, you fool. But I can’t. If I have any hope of taking Andrew with me to D.C. I can’t afford to get him angry. So I lie. “A small headache, that’s all.”

  “Should we skip the theater?”

  “No. It will pass.” He insists on me taking a couple of aspirins from the car’s first aid kit. I take them just to keep the peace. When we arrive at the theater, Jonathan, who’s been riding shotgun, holds the door open for us. Gabriel gets out, and I follow him. We’re running a little behind because of the dinner. Only a few people stand on the sidewalk in front of the doors. A couple at the box office are getting their tickets. A man glances impatiently at his watch as if whoever he’s meeting is late.

  Taking my elbow, Gabriel leads me toward the entrance where an usher holds the door open for us. We’ve barely taken a couple of steps, when Jonathan’s voice sounds from behind. “Mrs. Storm, your wrap.”

  Given my emotional turmoil, it’s no wonder I left it in the car. Both Gabriel and I turn and reach for it.

  And all hell breaks loose.

  Chapter 30

  ______________

  Gabriel

  A SHOT RINGS OUT, and Jonathan crumples to the ground, as an ugly red stain blooms across his chest.

  “Jonathan!” Elizabeth screams, dropping to the pavement. But before her knees hit the ground, I grab her and toss her back in the car.

  Her arms flailing, she fights me off. “We can’t leave. Jonathan’s been shot.”

  “I know. Go,” I yell to Travis as soon as she’s safe inside. He peels away, squealing tires all the way.

  “What are you doing? We have to go back. We have to help him.”

  “He will get aid. I promise.” Even as I say this, sirens screech in the night. I pull my mobile from my jacket and speed dial Samuel.

  “Mr. Storm.”

  “We were shot at in front of the theater. Jonathan’s injured. Make sure help’s on the way. Find out where they’re taking him and then call the police. I want to talk to the inspector in charge.”

  “Yes, Sir,” he says, unruffled as always. If anybody can get to the bottom of this, he can.

  Elizabeth clutches my coat’s lapels. “We can’t leave him behind. Please, Gabriel.”

  I pull down her trembling hands, hold them within my own. “He’s getting help, Elizabeth.” An emergency vehicle passes us on the opposite side of the road. “See?”

  “There was so much blood. What if he dies?”

  “He won’t.” I have no way of knowing, but maybe my words will give her some peace.

  “Who could have fired that shot? Some crazy person, don’t you think?” Her eyes dart from side to side. She’s going to lose it if I don’t do something. I pull out the bottle of Courvoissier that’s always kept in the Benz, pour her a shot. “Drink this.”

  With trembling hands, she pushes it away. “I can’t. I’m feeding Andrew later on.”

  “Nanny will give him a bottle. Drink. You’ll feel better.” Her rapid, shallow breathing, the clammy feel to her skin tell me she’s in shock.

  She takes a sip, makes a face. She’s never developed a taste for cognac. Before her next nip, she takes a breath, tips the glass and drinks the rest.

  “Good girl.” I swallow a healthy dose myself before I return the bottle and the glass to the hidden receptacle.

  “Now lay down.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re in shock, darling.” When she does, I open a side compartment where we keep a traveling rug and drape it over her. And then I remove her shoes and prop up her legs to get the blood flowing to her head.

  When we arrive home, we’re greeted by chaos. Phones ringing nonstop, every member of our household staff gathered in our living room, talking a mile a minute. But as soon as we step off, the elevator, the room grows quiet.

  In as calm a voice as I can manage, I fill everyone in on the details. Promising an update first thing in the morning, I send them back to their duties or their beds. Before heading into the study, I escort Elizabeth to our bedroom and unzip her dress. It’s the measure of how she’s feeling that she doesn’t protest as I remove every stitch of clothing she’s wearing. Only when she’s swaddled in the cranberry robe she loves does she break down into sobs.

  “Oh, God, Gabriel. What if he dies?” she asks again.

  And I give her the same answer. “He won’t.”

  “Andrew!” Her wild-eyed gaze turns toward the nursery.

  “He’s fine, darling.”

  “I have to know for sure.”

  “Of course.”
Holding her hand, I accompany her to where our son lies sleeping soundly in his crib. “See?”

  “I’ll stay to watch over him.”

  “Of course. I need to call Samuel.”

  Without taking her eyes from Andrew, she nods. “Go.”

  “I’ll be in the study. Come find me when you’re ready.”

  Her head bobs again.

  Once inside my inner sanctum, I shut the door and call Samuel. “Any news?”

  “I’m at the theater getting the lay of the land. Jonathan was taken to City General. He arrived in critical condition and is now in surgery. We won’t know anything more for at least an hour.”

  “Dispatch someone down there to watch over him and report back to us as soon as he knows anything.”

  “Already have.”

  “What about the shooter?”

  “Scotland Yard’s crawling all over the area. Their criminal investigation team’s collecting evidence, talking to witnesses. Hold on, Sir. Someone’s asking a question.”

  Somebody mumbles something and then he’s back on the phone with me. “That was Inspector Petrie. He’s in charge of the investigation. He wants to talk to you.”

  “Of course. Put him on.”

  More mumbling from his end. “No. Not on the phone. He wants to talk in person. He’ll come by in an hour, it that’s all right with you.”

  “I’ll be waiting, no matter when he gets here. Give him my number so we know he’s on his way.”

  “I’ll pass it on.” And with that he clicks off.

  Elizabeth drifts into the study, her glorious hair tussled around her shoulders in an unholy mess. What has she been doing to herself? I open my arms, and she runs to me.

  Her hands clench against my back as she burrows her head into my shoulder. “Jonathan?”

  I report what Samuel said.

  “I won’t rest until I know he’s okay.”

  “Neither will I. Samuel will call as soon as he knows anything about him. Stay with me?”

  Trying hard to keep the tears at bay, she nods. With everything I have, I pray for Jonathan’s recovery. Granted, danger is part of a security guard’s job, but it’s something you don’t expect. Not really. As I sit on the couch with my arm around her, several questions race through my mind. Who could have done this? I don’t believe for a second the shooting was a random one. No. That bullet was intended for one of us. But who did the assassin intend to kill? Elizabeth or me?

  Chapter 31

  ______________

  Elizabeth

  THE BULLET MISSED all of Jonathan’s vital organs. With the quick emergency response and excellent care at the hospital, Jonathan, thank God, will recover.

  Against Gabriel’s wishes who demands I not step foot outside the penthouse, the next day we visit Jonathan at the hospital. I almost break down into tears when he gives me a quick smile and a thumbs up. But when he apologizes for falling down on the job, his attempt at a joke, I can’t contain them any longer. “Oh, Jonathan. You did your job. Much more valiantly than I can say. Thank you.”

  I kiss his cheek and squeeze his hand, and that ruddy complexion of his does him in, reddening his face. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Storm.”

  “Heal fast so you can show me more of those martial arts moves.”

  “I’ll do my best, ma’am.” When he twinges, I know it’s time to go.

  But Gabriel surprises me when he takes my place by Jonathan’s side. “I’ll take care of all your hospital expenses. So no worries on that behalf.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Storm.” Jonathan’s eyelids flicker with exhaustion.

  “No. I’m the one who’s thankful.”

  “Just doing my job, Sir.” He nods off after the last word.

  Monday, I acquiesce with Gabriel’s wishes and remain indoors, but by Tuesday, I’m chomping at the bit. I refuse to hide in fear. So I tell him I’m returning to work the next day.

  “You cannot do this, Elizabeth. Stay home for a couple more days while we investigate, while Scotland Yard investigates.”

  “Can’t do that.”

  “Why for Pete’s sake, would you go out in public when there’s a lunatic out to kill you?”

  “First of all, we don’t know that. It could be someone on a killing spree, or a terrorist. And we just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Second, I know you. If I comply with your wishes, a couple of days will turn into a week, and a couple of weeks will turn into a month. Before I know it, I’ll be housebound. And I will not do that ever again. I’ll be careful. I promise. You can station a guard outside my office if it will make you feel better, but I’m not staying home.”

  He grudgingly gives in, and the next morning, my new guard, Neville, accompanies me into my building. Having phoned Sebastian and gotten his blessing, I don’t foresee any problems with my new security arrangements.

  As soon as we arrive in the office, I introduce Neville to Charlie, my AA. Neville’s quite the charmer, and soon he has her eating out of his hand. We make it clear no one can enter my office without getting approval from me. At first, it’s a little cumbersome, but by the end of the second day, everyone gets into the groove.

  A couple of days later, I need a document from the file room. Charlie is out to lunch and Neville has temporarily stepped away, probably to the men’s room. I think nothing of going to the file room by myself. After all, it’s just down the hall. It being lunch time, there’s only one clerk in the room. I tell him what I need, and he disappears into the bowels to look for the file.

  While I wait by his desk, the door clicks softly behind me. I turn to find Brian Sullivan standing just inside the door.

  “How did you get in? You’re not an employee.”

  “I swiped a card from somebody’s desk. Oh, don’t worry. I’ll return it. She’ll just think she misplaced it.”

  “What do you want, Brian?”

  “I’m sorry to hear about the shooting. How’s your guard?”

  “Jonathan’s recovering. He should be out of the hospital in a few days. He lucked out. The wound missed all his vital organs.”

  “Nothing lucky about it. A trained sniper would never miss.”

  A cold frisson of dread skitters down my spine. “How would you know that?”

  “I trained as a sniper in the army. What I aim for, I hit.”

  Is he the shooter? Had he meant to hit one of us? Or is he just yanking my chain once more as he had with the folder of Chris Langenfeld.

  “Your husband is poking where he shouldn’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “His head of security is asking questions from the staff at the Londoner hotel. You might want to caution him to desist. He might not like the consequences if he proceeds.”

  My breath whooshes from me, and I clutch my throat.

  That ugly grin pops up on his face. “No need to panic, Liz. I would never hurt you.”

  The sounds of the clerk returning reaches us. Brian swivels and is out the door.

  “Found your file. Let me fill in the details and then you can check it out.” He jots down the information on his computer and hands me an electronic pad for me to sign while I shake and shake and shake. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Need to get something to eat, that’s all.”

  After I thank him, I stumble out on shaky legs. Unable to walk, I lean against the closed door and take a couple of deep breaths. Once I find a measure of calm, I head to my office where I find Neville in a state of panic. “There you are. Where did you go?”

  I wave the file at him. “The file room.”

  “Mrs. Storm, you know the protocol. You should have waited for me.”

  “Sorry, Neville. I promise it won’t happen again.” And it won’t. From now on, I won’t go anywhere unless I’m accompanied by him or another security guard.

  After grabbing a quick sandwich from the downstairs deli, I hole up at my desk, barely glancing at the file I risked everything
to get. Should I tell Gabriel about Sebastian’s veiled threat? Or should I keep quiet? There’s no proof he or anyone’s the shooter.

  By determining the trajectory of the shot, Scotland Yard pinpointed the location from where the shot was fired, a rooftop near the theater. But they only found spent shell casings at the site, nothing to identify the culprit. So no hope to be expected from that direction.

  If I tell Gabriel about that conversation in the file room, chances are he’ll do something about it. If he’d gotten into a fist fight with Sebastian over an imagined insult, he’d do much more to Brian. He wouldn’t just confront him. He’d try to hurt him. And Brian, who acts like a milquetoast, in reality is a cold stone killer who won’t hesitate for a second to kill Gabriel.

  If I keep quiet and let Gabriel’s investigation run its course, he’ll discover hard proof of Brian’s perfidy and bring it to the attention of Smith Cannon. And Brian Sullivan will get fired. He’d surely come after Gabriel then. But there’s really no choice. I have to tell him. Now. Before somebody else gets hurt.

  At home, I’m pacing the floor as Gabriel arrives from work. He immediately notices my upset. “What’s wrong?”

  “Not here. In the study.”

  He accompanies me into the room and closes the door behind us.

  In a few shaky words, I explain what happened today.

  “So he was the shooter.”

  “He seems to be, don’t you think? He never came out and said it, but if he was a sniper with the Army he’d know his way around a high-powered rifle, wouldn’t he?”

  “Yes. From his dossier, I knew he’d been in the army, but not that he’d received sniper training. My mistake. I’ll have Samuel look into his stint in the military. I don’t doubt we’ll find exactly what he said.”

  “I can’t get over it. Before he became obsessed with me, he appeared so meek and mild. And even then I didn’t think there’d be such hidden depths to him. Come to think of it, though, the night we’d landed at Dulles there’d been a look in his eye that told me he was hiding something. But I was so upset about breaking up with you, I didn’t think much about it. Maybe I should have.” I wrap my arms around my middle remembering those few months after my return to D.C.