Eye of the Storm Read online

  Before Cassie could say anything, Mandy sliced the vest down the back. Drake stood and steadied Cassie’s arms as Mandy slid the vest, the chains, and padlock, now dangling useless, over her head.

  And she was free.

  Mandy carefully packed the vest into her bombproof container and rolled it out. “Follow me out,” she ordered. “Drake, you know the way. We still need to get the dog in and clear the building of any other IEDs.”

  “We’ll be right behind you,” Drake said.

  Cassie tried to move but her legs rebelled. “I can’t stand.” Her words came out as a stutter while chills shook her entire body. Drake took his windbreaker off and helped her into it.

  “I’ve got you,” he said as he raised her in his arms, cradling her against his chest. She threw one arm around the back of his neck and hung on. “I seem to recall having to carry you like this when we met at our first crime scene.” He carefully followed Mandy’s route past the offices toward the side door. “Is it going to be a habit?”

  “I vote for no,” she answered, too exhausted to come up with anything clever.

  As he turned down the short corridor leading to the exit, she glimpsed movement from the corner of her eye. Natasha rushed forward, holding a dagger, eyes wide with fury.

  “Drake,” Cassie called out a warning.

  He spun around. But of course he couldn’t reach his gun—he had his hands full with Cassie. She stretched her hand down to where his gun was holstered over his kidney and slid it free. Natasha screamed incoherently as she lunged toward them.

  Cassie brought the gun up over Drake’s shoulder and fired it just as he’d taught her, aiming for the center mass and not stopping until the threat was taken care of.

  The booming sounds of the shots fired in the cramped space were deafening. Natasha staggered forward despite the first shots hitting her chest, then finally fell to the ground. Cassie realized she wasn’t the only one shooting; Mandy was taking aim from beyond them in the doorway.

  Drake rushed Cassie outside as Mandy and her teammates moved in to check on Natasha. Jimmy met them at a junked-up Impala that was missing its doors but still had its rear seat. He helped Drake lower Cassie onto the seat.

  “You two okay?” he asked as he pried Drake’s gun from Cassie’s hand.

  His words reverberated through Cassie’s brain, mixing with the pound of the gunshots. She frowned at Drake. “You didn’t drop me to go for your gun.”

  He grinned down at her. “Of course not. There was no time. I knew you could handle it.”

  “Have to say,” Jimmy said, “that was some pretty good teamwork in there.”

  Cassie glanced at the gun in his hand. They wouldn’t know until the autopsy if she’d killed Natasha or if Mandy did. She wasn’t sure if it mattered. “How are the kids?”

  Jimmy answered. “Paramedics said it looks like some kind of sedative. They’re using a reversal agent. Said they should be okay. We got to them just in time.”

  As if hearing that relieved him of the burden of remaining professional, Drake sank down to crouch in front of her, tears in his eyes. If she had the strength left, she’d be crying as well. She took his hands in both of hers; they were trembling. The aftermath of adrenaline… and more.

  She tried to lighten the mood. “See what happens when you insist on a wedding? Your mom is going to kill me when she sees this dress.”

  Chapter 39

  THEY’D JUST GOTTEN back home from hours of debriefing and barely had a chance to shower and greet Muriel when Adeena called. “You need to get over here. Tessa’s having a fit, says she has to talk to you and Drake. Now.”

  Drake had resisted, but Cassie knew the trauma of having your home turned into a violent crime scene. “It’s the least we can do.”

  And so, with the dawn light shimmering down, they drove to Tessa’s house. On the way there, Drake got a call from Jimmy, who was at the hospital with the children. It was a quick conversation, mainly him listening as Cassie waited impatiently. Finally, he hung up.

  “Are the kids okay?” she asked.

  “Docs say they’ll all be fine. A few are talking—filling in the blanks. Sounds like Kasanov and his daughter had a love-hate relationship. She adored him, would do anything for him, and he treated her like dirt. To him, the only thing Natasha ever did right was to have a son to carry on the family bloodline.”

  “Not too surprising.”

  “Anyway, apparently Anton enjoyed being a college student a little too much. Got into drugs—mainly Ecstasy and other MDMA variants, a little heroin as well.”

  “Ecstasy wouldn’t show up in a routine tox screen,” she put in. “And if he hadn’t used heroin in a while, it might not either.”

  “Right. Which explains why the ME didn’t pick up on the fact that he’d OD’d. Natasha panicked, thought he was dead. But she’d already been searching for her father’s other obsession—”

  “Rosa and the treasure.” Cassie could fill in the blanks. “She must have already known about you and me, so she dumped Anton in an area where she knew you’d be called to investigate, thinking that would cover her tracks and keep Kasanov from suspecting what really happened.”

  “Irony is Anton wasn’t even dead. He was still alive when Alicia hit him.”

  “She killed her own son.” Cassie shook her head. “All of this because of a crazy blood feud from over half a century ago. I just don’t understand some people.”

  “I think maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” Drake assured her.

  They pulled up in front of Tessa’s house. Adeena opened the door and led them to the living room. The presents from yesterday were now piled on the floor around the coffee table. Tessa sat in the middle of the couch, an old, hand-carved wooden box cradled in her lap.

  “I told you,” she said, her voice strident. “I need to give you your wedding present.”

  “Tessa,” Cassie said as gently as possible, “can we maybe do this tomorrow?” She didn’t add that right now they had a wedding to cancel.

  “Why?” the old woman demanded. “You’re getting married tonight and Rosa told me to give this to you on the day you married your soul mate. That’s today.”

  Drake sat down beside Tessa and took her hand in his. He met Cassie’s eyes. “I’m sure Rosa couldn’t have envisioned that our wedding would be disrupted by a madman.”

  “Of course she did. Rosa had the Sight. Not as powerful as her own grandmother, but strong enough to know what was coming. Just as she knew that Cassandra’s first husband was not her true soul mate.” Tessa slapped her hand down on the small cedar box, hard enough to rattle it. “Open it. Learn the truth of Rosa’s gold.”

  Drake shrugged one shoulder. Cassie looked to him and Adeena, who said, “You know Tessa. Might as well do what she says or you’ll be here all day arguing.”

  Cassie sank down to sit on the floor, leaning against Drake’s legs, and pulled the box onto her lap. It wasn’t very heavy, obviously hand-made. She traced her fingers over the carvings that covered it.

  “Padraic made it,” Tessa said. “Go on. Open it. See what Rosa and Padraic kept secret all these years.”

  With trembling fingers, Cassie undid the latches and raised the lid. Inside, resting on scraps of faded yellow fabric was a leather journal.

  “Rosa used a code for the people she helped,” Tessa continued. “Diamonds for the soldiers. Silver for resistance fighters. Pearls for the wealthy, displaced persons—what they paid for their escapes funded so many more, the ones Rosa called her special parcels.”

  Cassie lifted the journal out and handed it to Drake. It was old, but the leather had been well-oiled, was still soft to touch. Then she saw what the faded yellow fabric scraps were.

  Stars. Six-pointed Jewish stars. Yellow and gold, some faded, some with Hebrew letters in the center, others with the word: Jude.

  Tears fracturing her vision, she carefully took each star, cradling them in her palm one at a time, and laid them out on t
he coffee table. Forty-nine total.

  “Those are Rosa’s real treasures,” Tessa said. “She and Padraic risked their lives, sneaking into occupied Paris, living like rats in the catacombs beneath the city, came close to being caught by the Gestapo until Rosa led them on a wild goose chase while Padraic spirited their treasure away.”

  And Rosa ended up killing the man who had betrayed her: Bernard Lavelle, Kasanov’s father. That’s what started all this, Cassie realized. That and the fact that Bernard never knew what Rosa’s gold really was.

  Adeena drew close to the coffee table, kneeling beside Cassie to examine the stars. “This is what Kasanov wanted?”

  “Fool didn’t realize there’s things more precious than gold,” Tessa scoffed. “This is the treasure Rosa and Paddy smuggled out of Paris on that last trip. Forty-nine children, their parents sent east to the death camps, none older than ten. They were only meant to bring eleven, ones with families here in the States who’d paid for them to be transported.”

  “But they couldn’t leave the others behind,” Drake said, leafing through the leather journal.

  “No. So they risked everything to bring them all here.”

  “Why the secrecy?” Cassie asked.

  Adeena answered, “In 1940, the States had a lot of anti-Semitism. If they were brought here as orphans, adopted by gentiles, their heritage could have serious repercussions, war or no war.”

  “Funny to think, but back then, that kind of thing could wreck families, destroy a person’s standing in society,” Tessa said. “Rosa had Paddy record everything the children could remember about their real families. She kept it safe for them in case they or their children or grandchildren ever wanted the truth.”

  “Rosa and Paddy never took credit? Never told anyone?” Cassie asked.

  “Wasn’t their secret to tell,” Drake said. He laid a hand on Cassie’s shoulder, stroking her hair as he read the journal entries.

  “What should we do?” Cassie asked him.

  Tessa shifted in her seat. “Rosa said to give it to you and your intended on the day of your wedding. Said between the two of you, you’d know what to do.”

  “I think the time for secrets is past,” Cassie said. “These children deserve to be remembered for who they really are. We should donate these to the Holocaust museum. They can reach out to the children, see what they want.”

  Drake smiled down at her and nodded his approval.

  “As usual, Rosa was right,” Tessa said. She flounced back, folding her arms across her chest, giving them a haughty look. “And the wedding isn’t cancelled. Why should it be? You’re both here, whole and healthy, and so’s your mom, Drake.” She tsked. “Cancel the wedding? Nonsense.”

  <<<>>>

  DRAKE STOOD AT the end of the aisle, waiting for Hart. He’d been right about the weather; a clear night sky with a half moon and a million stars graced them with their light. The roses and other flowers perfumed the gathering inside the canopy as the children, Antwan, Bridget, and Colton, raced up and down the aisle, showering rose petals on anyone who smiled at them.

  And there were a lot of smiling people in the crowd. Laughter, too. Which was exactly why he’d done this. Hart could care less about an official ceremony; she believed in action more than words. But he’d wanted—he’d needed—this public affirmation. Not to prove to Hart how much he loved her, rather to proclaim it to the world at large.

  Adeena appeared, gave him a smile and nod, and the string quartet began to play music Drake stopped hearing as soon as Hart stepped into view. With a dry cleaner’s help, Denise and Adeena had worked magic and Muriel’s dress looked almost as good as new. Where they hadn’t been able to get the stains out or had to hide their mending, they’d added sprays of freshwater pearls that were a close match to the original ones that trimmed the hem and bodice.

  The shoes had become a last-minute panic. The white pumps that matched the dress had been forgotten at Tessa’s house. It was doubtful Hart could have worn them anyway with the cuts on her feet, so she’d opted to walk down the aisle barefoot, had even tried to persuade the others it was an old Roma custom.

  Then Drake had remembered the Christmas present he’d found while strolling the Strip District. He’d stumbled upon a booth that had lovely silk dancing slippers with hand-sewn beading. He knew they were something Hart would never buy for herself, too impractical. He’d bought a pair in an exquisite shade of mauve that reminded him of the light at sunrise when he’d watched her sleep after their first night together. Turned out, his woefully impractical gift worked beautifully as bridal shoes.

  Her former boss, Ed Castro, at her side, more of an escort than a father figure giving her away, Hart strode down the aisle. She wasn’t the graceful, gliding bride of movies. Rather, she was certain and confident as she moved toward Drake, her gaze fixed on his.

  And then she was there. In front of him. Adeena had pinned a spray of the tiny pearls onto a barrette and fastened it to hide the surgical staples holding Hart’s scalp together. Bruises that couldn’t be hidden by makeup blossomed over her cheek and chin and one eye was swollen. But she was there. For Drake no bride—no woman—had ever looked as beautiful.

  Somehow, he managed to make it through the ceremony without blubbering, although by the end, even Hart’s eyes were misted by tears and most people, Jimmy included, were audibly sobbing. These were good tears, though. Tears of joy.

  Then it was over. They kissed, the crowd cheered, rose petals floated all around them, and they were bound forever as one.

  Hours later, after everyone had eaten and toasted and danced the night away and then gone home again, after the musicians played one more waltz for him and Hart alone as they danced beneath the starlight, he sat with Hart on the roof’s parapet, legs dangling over the edge, arms entwined, her head on his shoulder as they looked out at the city’s lights.

  “Happy?” he asked.

  She made the sound a cat does when it’s too content to bother purring and nuzzled her face against the crook of his neck. “Ecstatic.” She kicked her feet gleefully. “These are the most comfortable shoes I’ve ever worn. I’m never taking them off.”

  He turned his face to hers and stole a kiss. “We’ll see about that.”

  “I wish it could always be this way. I want to take this one perfect night and put it in a snow globe, keep it forever.”

  “We’ll have it forever. And we can make as many nights like this one as we want.”

  “That’s right. We can.” She turned her face up, the light and her grin giving her a childlike innocence. Except for her eyes. She had her grandmother’s eyes, ancient beyond her years.

  Drake was pleased to see that tonight, in this moment, even those solemn, serious eyes gleamed with a smile.

  “We can do anything. As long as we have each other.”

  <<<>>>

  Thanks for reading EYE OF THE STORM! I hope you enjoyed Hart & Drake’s wedding story and Rosa and Padraic’s adventures in France.

  A quick note on the historical facts. Varian Fry, mentioned briefly in EYE OF THE STORM, is a true hero who was responsible for rescuing thousands from Marseilles. He worked with an eclectic team including Albert Hirschman, who infamously said, “I always make it a practice to clear out when the head of a fascist state comes to town.”

  Varian and his team were imprisoned on the Senaia, as were six hundred other potential “troublemakers” when Marshal Petain visited Marseilles on an inspection tour. Unlike the fictional version of the Senaia presented here, the real ship remained docked until Petain departed the city three days later.

  There were several rescue routes run by the French and Belgium Resistance, including one run by a girl almost as young as Rosa. Andrée Eugénie Adrienne De Jongh was in her early twenties when she established the Comet line that saved over four hundred people. She was eventually imprisoned in Villa Chagrin, Fresnes, and Ravensbruck.

  Also, a group of daring, young Americans did use a purloined ambul
ance to whisk captured British soldiers and French Resistance fighters from Gestapo- and Vichy-run prison hospitals—not once, but several times. They also worked with Varian Fry for a time.

  To learn more about Varian Fry and his adventures, read A Hero of Our Own by Sheila Isenberg. More information about the Roma’s entanglements with the Nazis can be found in The Nazi Persecution of the Gypsies by Guenter Lewy.

  For the purposes of fiction, I have changed many of the situations and none of the characters are based on any real-life person other than historical figures who are mentioned briefly.

  As always, thanks for reading!

  CJ

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  Thank you for joining Hart & Drake on their adventures! Want exclusive content, news of special deals, chances to win AND a FREE copy of her international bestseller SNAKE SKIN? Sign up for my Thrillers with Heart newsletter HERE

  Join CJ as she returns to her medical thriller roots with a Novel of Fatal Insomnia:

  In the chaos of the ER, functioning without sleep is a prized skill. But even Dr. Angela Rossi will admit that five months is far too long, especially when accompanied by other worrisome symptoms: night sweats, tremors, muscle spasms, fevers. Then a dead nun speaks to her while Angela is holding the nun’s heart in her hand.

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