A Brewing Storm: A Derrick Storm Short by Richard Castle Read Free Book Online Page B

consequences.”
    “And the covert mission—the one that you don’t want to discuss—could that be something that Windslow got you and the agency to do for Petrov? Are your hands really clean?”
    Jones raised his palms in front of him. It was a gesture that was intended to show that his palms were washed and also to stop this line of questioning. “Let’s focus on the kidnapping,” he said.
    “'And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free,’” Storm taunted.
    “Sometimes too much truth is not a good thing when it comes to international politics,” Jones replied. “Find out who’s behind the kidnapping. And do it without causing the White House or this agency embarrassment.”
    “One last question,” Storm asked. “Where’d you hide the bug? In the rental car or are you using the cell phone?”
    “You’re the private detective,” Jones said. “You figure it out.”

Chapter Seven
     
    Storm could hear the muffled sounds of a television playing inside his hotel suite as he approached its locked door. Someone was inside. He knew it was her as soon as he smelled her perfume. Swiping his room key through the electronic lock, he walked in, expecting to see Clara Strike.
    But she was not there. It was Agent Showers.
    A coincidence that both women wore the same fragrance? Or was it him? How many times had he and Clara met in hotel rooms? How many sweaty mornings, afternoons, and nights had they made love? Was he having some Pavlov’s dog reaction? Was Agent Showers replacing Clara in his thoughts?
    “You were supposed to meet me at eight o’clock,” Showers said, clearly irritated. “I was scheduled to take you to our FBI command post.”
    She was sitting on the suite’s sofa watching CNN on a flatscreen while sipping a Diet Coke from the recently restocked mini-bar.
    “A bit early to be drinking Diet Coke, isn’t it?” he asked, walking to the minibar. He took out an imported beer.
    “A bit early to be drinking a beer, isn’t it?” she shot back.
    He sat in a chair near the sofa. “I’m glad I finally got you in-suite,” he said, glancing toward the bed.
    “Don’t get your hopes up,” she replied.
    “I was hoping you’d get them up for me,” he answered.
    Ignoring the innuendo, she said, “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting.”
    “Sightseeing.”
    “Are you going to tell me about your meeting this morning with Senator Windslow? How about your meeting with Jedidiah Jones? We’re on the same team, right?”
    So the FBI was tracking his movements, too.
    Storm took a swig and then said, “Agent Showers, when were you going to tell me about Ivan Petrov?”
    She looked surprised. “Did Windslow tell you about Petrov or did Jones?”
    “Neither. This might surprise you, but I am a private detective.”
    “Does Jones think Petrov is behind the kidnapping?”
    “You’ll have to ask him,” Storm replied. “Do you think Petrov had the stepson kidnapped?”
    “Yes, I do. I think that’s why the kidnappers didn’t try to pick up the one-million-dollar ransom in Union Station. Petrov’s a billionaire and he doesn’t need the money. He kidnapped Matthew Dull because he’s pressuring the senator to do something for him—something that I think your buddy Jedidiah Jones knows about. I think it’s all tied to some covert operation they’re fighting about. But every time I ask about it, I’m told it’s 'above my pay grade.’ The same old shitty excuse that I’m always told.”
    “I’m surprised,” Storm said.
    “Why? You think I’m wrong?”
    “No, I think you’re probably right. Petrov is the most likely suspect. And I also think something strange is going on between Windslow and Jones. But the reason why I’m surprised is because you just said the word 'shitty.’”
    She gave him a puzzled look.
    “That’s such rude language,” he continued, “coming from someone who got her undergraduate degree at Marymount University. Isn’t that suburban