Storm Redemption

by Magda Alexander

  Although at first I was highly skeptical about her bid for freedom, I’m now glad. Clipping her wings would have created a rift between us difficult to repair.

  My phone rings. Elizabeth. “Hello, love.”

  “Gabriel.” Just hearing her voice is enough to get me hard. “How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  “Are you? Really?”

  “No. I miss you.”

  “Me too.” She clears her throat. “I have a question for you. And I’d like a straight answer, no matter what it is.” Her voice wavers as if whatever she’s going to ask holds a lot of significance for her.

  “Alright.”

  “What is Chris Langenfeld to you?”

  Bloody hell. I grip the mobile tight. “How do you know about her?”

  A whimper from her end. “So it’s true. You’re seeing her.”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  “Is that why you sent me away?” She screams. “So you could fuck her? How could you?”

  “I sent you away so you’d be safe. And I’m not fucking her. I’m seeing her professionally. She’s my psychotherapist.”

  “Oh, Gabriel. I’m sorry I yelled.” There’s a hitch in her voice and a snuffle. She’s crying. Over me. “But I’ve been worried sick.”

  I want to reach through the phone lines and hug her to me. But I can’t. All I can do is talk to calm her down. “I’m sorry I caused you needless worry. I should have told you.”

  “Yes, you should have. Why didn’t you?”

  Why hadn’t I? Because my damn Storm pride associated the therapy with weakness. I should have been able to work out these problems on my own. Never mind I haven’t been able to do so for the last thirty two years. “I didn’t want you to see me as weak.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No.”

  “Gabriel, you’re one of the strongest men I know. To have gone through the hell you went through as a child and not only survived but triumphed? Not many men could have done what you have.”

  I laugh as a weight lifts off my shoulders. “So I’m still your hero?”

  “Always. I’m curious though. All these years you could have gone to therapy? Why now?”

  “I didn’t want to lose you.”

  “And here I’ve been imagining the worst.”

  “Is that why you were acting so distant before you left?”

  “Yes. Your phone rang one morning. She wanted to reschedule your appointment. And I thought . . .”

  “I was fucking her.”

  “Yes.”

  “Elizabeth, since I met you there’s only been one woman in my life—you. I’m crazy about you. I’m so in love I don’t know which way is up or down any more. You are the best thing that’s happened in my life. You and Andrew.”

  “Oh, I wish you were here or I was there. Please come. I need you.” Her voice turns low. “I need you.” The last need comes across hot and sultry.

  “Wish I could, but I can’t. Not until Brian is safely behind bars.”

  We spend the next while whispering inanities to each other. At one point she puts Andrew on the phone and he offers his ‘dadadada’ spiel. But after thirty minutes, she has to get ready for class.

  “Love you.”

  “Love you right back.” It’s the first instance we’re on the same page at the same time.

  Over the next month, it becomes increasingly harder not to fly to D.C., especially when I get late in the night phone calls and she talks dirty to me. The phone calls usually end with me in the shower wanking off. I’ve never been so clean in my life.

  Something’s got to break because we can’t go on like this. My work’s suffering; she’s finding it difficult to concentrate on school. We need to see each other, be with each other, make love. At this point, I think she wants it more than I do. Not even sure that’s possible.

  My phone calls to Scotland Yard provide no new information. Neither do my private investigations. Brian Sullivan has disappeared. He’s nowhere to be found.

  After a month and a half of eating in, I head out to grab a restaurant meal. I’m just at the elevator when my phone rings. Thinking it’s her, I click on. But it’s not. It’s Inspector Petrie, and the news he reveals chill my blood.

  Chapter 39

  ______________

  Elizabeth

  SATURDAY MORNING I’m waiting for my fellow law students to arrive at the Cathedral Arms. A month and a half have passed since our initial meeting. On Gabriel’s orders, Samuel investigated the lot, and they all passed with flying colors. By now, the guards are infinitely familiar with the group, so they barely spare them a glance when they show up.

  The guard from downstairs calls to announce the arrival of the first two—Maggie and Mike. I walk toward the elevator to greet my friends. Mike will be especially pleased with today’s spread. Jorge surpassed himself, preparing not only a quiche, but pancakes, waffles, bacon, and fruit. The dining room table fairly groans with the weight of the food.

  Sporting an odd expression, Maggie steps off the elevator with Mike right behind her wearing his trademark Nationals jacket and cap.

  Except it isn’t Mike.

  “Brian.” My breath whooshes out.

  “How do you lock the elevator?”

  What is he doing here? “You think I would tell you that?”

  He fishes out a gun from the jacket and aims it at Maggie. “You have three seconds to tell me. One, two—”

  A guard steps out of the command room, gun drawn. Brian doesn’t hesitate for a second. He shoots him, and the guard drops to the floor.

  Maggie screams. Everyone in the place comes running—Jorge, Marisol, Nanny, holding Andrew close to her. Oh, God. No.

  “You press that.” With a trembling finger, I point to the button next to the elevator in the shape of a fleur de lis.

  Keeping everyone in his sight, he pushes it and turns to me.

  “How did you get past security?” I ask.

  “I showed up with Maggie, dressed in her boyfriend’s jacket and cap. The guard downstairs barely glanced at the ID.”

  Whoever it was, he can kiss his job goodbye. If I make it through this. “By now they’ll know something’s wrong.”

  “Probably.” He points the gun at Jorge, Marisol and Nanny. “You three. Go sit on that couch over there. You too.” He waves the weapon at Maggie.

  She skitters away, probably happy to get as far away from the gun as possible.

  My gaze goes to the fallen guard who’s not moving. Did Brian kill him? No. He’s still alive, going by the red pooling on the rug. But if he doesn’t get help quick, he shortly will die. I have to find a way to talk Brian out of whatever he’s doing, for everyone’s sake.

  “You can’t win this one, Brian. They’ve probably called the police.” Even as I say this, sirens sound in the distance. “They won’t let you walk away.”

  A mad light glitters in his eyes. “I don’t want to walk away. The way I figure it. I’m done for. I can’t win. Not any more. You won’t come with me. You’re too in love with your husband. But if I can’t have you, nobody can. I’ll take you with me and your son as well.”

  Terror streaks down my spine. “No!”

  He fishes out a length of cord from inside his jacket.

  I know what comes next, but I have to do something, say something, to stop him. “They’ll break in. Any minute know.”

  “No, they won’t. Think I haven’t cased the place? This penthouse was built like Fort Knox. The only other entrance is through the kitchen. That door’s made from solid steel and locked up tight. And the glass is bulletproof.” He points the weapon at the glass that surrounds the living room and fires.

  Andrew screams. Nanny holds him tight to her chest, but his whimpers continue.

  A satisfied smirk curls over Brian’s lips as he stares at the window. It cracked but did not break. “They built this place to keep criminals out. But what they didn’t count on was somebody sneaking in.” He points h
is weapon at Jorge. “You know how to tie a knot?”

  “Yes.”

  Brian tosses the cord to Jorge. “Tie everyone up. Except Elizabeth.”

  Once everyone’s bound and gagged to Brian’s satisfaction, he orders me to tie up Jorge. I have no idea what I’m doing. But Brian doesn’t let me get away with tying him loosely. “Tighter. Tighter. That’s right.”

  Andrew’s whimpers have turned to downright sobbing. Hoping to calm him down, I cradle him against my chest.

  He points the gun at me and waves it toward the dining room. The beautiful crystal table has been lovingly set with all the food Jorge prepared buffet style. All the plates and cutlery are stacked up at one end.

  “Put your son down in the center. There’s room.”

  “Why?” Like I don’t know.

  “So I can shoot him.”

  “You’d kill an innocent child?”

  “Think I haven’t done it before? I was in Afghanistan. Kids walked up to the troops, smiling all innocent like, when all the time they’d been recruited as suicide bombers by the Taliban. I learned to shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “That was war. Andrew has done you no harm.” The look in his eyes tells me he won’t change his mind. But I have to play for time, hoping against hope that somehow Samuel and the police will find a way to break in.

  “Lay him down, Liz.”

  “No.”

  He points the gun at me. “Then I’ll shoot you both.”

  I search out the table, hoping to find some weapon to use against him. And I spot something. I circle the table and make a place for Andrew right at the edge.

  “No. Not there. In the center.”

  I push Andrew a millimeter in that direction.

  Brian reaches over the table to grab Andrew. That’s when I fling the carafe of hot coffee straight at his eyes.

  “Aaaahhhhhh.” He screams, falling to his knees.

  A shot rings out.

  I grab Andrew and drop to the rug, covering his body with mine. He’s not hurt and neither am I. How can that be? Did Brian’s gun accidentally go off missing us altogether? I glance toward where he stood and gasp.

  What’s left of him lies on the carpet, his head blown away. Marisol stands behind him, legs spread apart, with a gun in her hand.

  She shot him? “How did you get loose?”

  She walks up to Brian, picks up the weapon still clutched in his hand and clicks something, probably the safety, before she answers. “Jorge and I practice this all the time, Mrs. Storm.”

  “You mean, like bondage?”

  “No.” She offers me her soft smile. “Like ex-CIA.”

  “What?”

  She takes me by the hand and leads me to the living room. Maggie’s passed out from shock. Nanny’s shaking in her shoes. Marisol kisses her husband before she unties him, then looses Nanny’s bonds. “Better take care of the guard.” She points to the fallen man.

  “Yes, of course,” Nanny says.

  Marisol and Jorge have me sit in the living room where I hold on tight to Andrew. Over the next 15 minutes, the security team arrives. So does the police and the EMTs. When Maggie regains consciousness she explains that Brian knocked out Mike, and tied him up. He swore he’d kill her if he didn’t do exactly as he said.

  After she gives her statement to the police, they send a police cruiser to check out her apartment. They call to tell her that Mike is fine with only a goose-egg lump on his head.

  It takes two hours to get everything sorted out. The guard Brian shot is not critical. Thank God. I don’t think I could live with a fatal injury. Needing medical attention, he gets carted off by the EMTs. The coroner shows up to examine Brian’s body and then takes it away.

  “We’ll need new carpeting,” I say to no one in particular. With the guard’s blood in the living room and Brian’s in the dining room, the place resembles a war zone.

  “How are you, Mrs. Storm?” Samuel asks.

  “Fine. I need to talk to Gabriel.”

  “I’ve tried to reach him, with no result.”

  Of all days, why does he pick today not to answer his phone?

  “I fired the guard who let him in.”

  “Thank you.”

  A wave of sadness rolls over his face. “I’m turning in my resignation as well. This should never have happened under my watch.”

  “Oh, no, Samuel.” I cover his large hand with mine. “I couldn’t bear it if you left. Please stay.”

  “I will. For now.”

  Guess that’s the best I can hope for. Maybe Gabriel can talk him out of resigning.

  It’s late afternoon before the hubbub dies down. Everything seems so normal now. Except for the two blood stains and the cracked window that is.

  We gather in the kitchen for an evening meal, my rag tag team of heroes and me. “So you and Jorge are ex-CIA?” I ask Marisol.

  “Yes. Mr. Storm felt better if you had servants with our skill set. Just in case you needed us.”

  “And today we did.” I squeeze her hand. “Thank you, Marisol.”

  “You’re welcome. Now why don’t I go and brew you some chamomile tea. That should calm you down so you can sleep.”

  “I need to talk to Gabriel.”

  “Yes, of course.” She exchanges a look with Jorge.

  What the hell is going on? “It’s been several hours. He should have called by now. Why hasn’t he? Do you know, Samuel?”

  “No, Mrs. Storm. We haven’t been able to reach him.”

  They’re hiding something from me. “Please. I need to know.”

  Marisol pushes a cup in front of me. “Drink your tea, Mrs. Storm.”

  I drink it down to its last dregs. Unwilling to let Andrew out of my sight, I crawl into bed with my son. I’m so exhausted I go down like a rock. And in my dreams I dream of him.

  Chapter 40

  ______________

  Elizabeth

  SOMEONE SCOOPS ANDREW FROM MY ARMS.

  Oh, God. “Please don’t take my baby.”

  “Don’t worry. He’s safe.” A disembodied voice whispers in the dark. Did Brian return to steal Andrew from me? No. That can’t be. He’s dead. The coroner took him away. I struggle to wake up, but my brain won’t cooperate. Marisol must have put something in my tea. My empty arms fumble about in the bed. In the dark. But they find nothing. My baby’s gone. A sob escapes me as a well of grief pulls me under.

  And then a warm body materializes out of nowhere and slips into bed with me. The scent tells me who it is. “Gabriel.” Clutching him to me, I bury my head in the crook of his shoulder and breathe in the intoxicating alchemy of him. “I missed you.”

  “Me too.”

  “Andrew?”

  “Safe. Sleeping.”

  “Ahhh.”

  He drops kisses on my shoulder. He seems so much more real than my usual dreams, probably the result of my fevered imagination. “Make love to me.”

  He slips into my welcoming heat, moves right along with me, his body swaying to the rhythm of our lovemaking. I moan and curl my hands, my arms, my legs around him while he surges into me. Our loving has never been sweeter. It doesn’t take long for me to come. How could it when I’ve missed him so damn much. After I climax I fall into a soundless sleep where nothing touches me, not even regret of everything I’ve lost.

  A bounce on the bed wakes me. I try to open my eyes, but the bright light of day pierces through the curtains, momentarily blinding me. When I finally pry them open, the most wonderful sight greets me. Gabriel holding Andrew. Here in my bed.

  “Look, mommy’s awake.”

  Happy to see me, Andrew bounces up and down in his arms. I’m not quite sure if I’m still dreaming or if it’s real, this vision in front of me. “Gabriel. What are you—? How did you__?”

  “I got a call from Inspector Petrie. They’d discovered Brian had flown out of London under a fake passport two weeks ago. I knew he’d streak straight to you, so I phoned Samuel. He assured me you
and Andrew were fine. But I had to be by your side, so I ordered the company jet fueled. Within an hour we were in the air. Only then did I discover I couldn’t phone out. Something about a solar flare was interfering with communications. It wasn’t until I landed at Dulles that I found out what happened. I’m sorry this happened and I wasn’t here.”

  “You’re here now. And that’s all that matters.” I take Andrew from him and put him to my breast. As soon as he latches on, he calms down and settles into the serious business of eating. I brush back his hair, so happy to have him in my arms, and drop a kiss on his brow. The warmth of my baby against my breast. The look in Gabriel’s eyes as he watches him feed. Life doesn’t get any better than this.

  “Why didn’t the D.C. police look for him?”

  “They didn’t know he was here, until yesterday. And by then, he’d broken in. It wouldn’t have mattered if they’d searched his house. Turns out he has a cabin in the Virginia woods. That’s where he holed up.”

  Where he lived is no longer important. “Marisol shot him.”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t tell me she and Jorge were CIA.” Can’t help it if my tone sounds accusatory.

  “You enjoyed Jorge’s cooking so much. I didn’t want you to know they were something else.”

  “Remind me never to get on Marisol’s bad side.”

  He laughs. “I doubt you will. She’s very protective of you and Andrew.”

  “Yes. She made that abundantly clear last night.”

  He brushes his hand across Andrew’s curls who’s now finished eating and is patting my breast. “The police will be here in an hour. Better shower and have some breakfast before they get here.”

  I laugh. “I don’t know if I’ll ever look at Jorge’s cooking again without thinking about what they are.”

  “He’s prepared your favorite. Blueberry waffles.”