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“Neither do I,” I acknowledge. “But if I’m successful you’ll give me a consultancy fee for solving the case and let me have my job back.”
He sits back down on his desk and he steeples his fingers and places them under his chin thoughtfully. After what seems like a long time a little smile comes onto his face.
“Very well,” he says. “Proceed.”
Chapter 7
STORM
By the time he gets off the plane in London, Storm’s blood is boiling. He hates the idleness of travel. He hates that the jet is in use by another team in Europe, and that his team had to fly on a commercial plane that had been delayed by an hour. He hates that he has been feeling riled up ever since Magda’s funeral.
Seeing Diana had brought back the anger and frustration he had felt two years ago. DCK had murdered a woman at Wintersdeep Castle right under Storm’s own nose and gotten away with it. Two years they had kept Magda’s body before the Mystics department had admitted defeat.
That case had been personal. That victim had been Diana Bellona’s mother. Diana who deceptively looked like a playful breeze might knock her over, and whose eyes had been far too sad even after two years. He’d seen those eyes full of mischievous laughter once. If only the darn woman didn’t look so tragic all the time.
Just half a day ago Storm had been looking forward to a well-deserved break. He’d closed off his Paris case last night and been about to give his team a couple of days off when he got the message from the chief early this morning. Two fresh murders in London.
The only upside of a new DCK case is the hope that the bastard might have left behind some evidence this time which would lead to his capture. There had been nothing at Wintersdeep Castle. Not a fingerprint, not a hair filament, no magical traces and not a single lead on why the killer had chosen the woman, Magda.
Since Wintersdeep Castle DCK had killed several more times all over the world, but never within Storm’s jurisdiction. The savagery of Magda’s murder had made that case seem personal for DCK. Storm doesn’t even want to admit this line of thought to himself, but part of the reason he had offered Diana a job had been to keep an eye on her. And then he’d allowed her to mess that job up so spectacularly.
He’d hated firing her, but she’d caused a Hollywood mogul’s head to be blown off, no less. If the guy hadn’t turned out to be a Hollywood villain, Storm would have lost his job too. The Agency hated bad press. Seeing Diana again had brought back feelings that Storm would prefer not to stir up.
As Storm finally leaves behind the long queue crawling towards border control and passport checks he curses the delayed flight. He should have been at the murder scene by now, assessing whether this escalating pattern was something to worry about, not dodging the crowd at terminal five.
He sets an impatient pace through arrivals, with Leo and Remi trotting just behind. He heads towards the train terminal. Even at the tail-end of morning rush hour the tube will be faster than getting a taxi into North London.
This new case could be the one that finally leads to DCK. And it has not escaped anyone’s notice that these fresh murders could be the key to solving the Wintersdeep Castle case. The chief has received a call from Buckingham Palace already. The Agency is not happy about having the British Royal Family breathing down its neck again.
Storm is so focused on getting to the Heathrow Express that he does not at first notice the kid ricocheting through the crowd ahead of him like a football being kicked back and forth. Then the placard the kid is waving catches his eye. It says ‘C. STORM’ in big black letters. The kid comes to a stop in front of Storm, looking utterly relieved to have found him.
“Can I help you?” says Storm bluntly.
“S-sir, ahem, I mean Agent Storm,” says the kid, now beaming. The kid sticks out his hand for Storm to shake. Storm gives it a scathing look.
The kid straightens his suit jacket and nervously pats his extremely straight tie. Despite his best efforts to look grown up, the suit is clearly brand new and it is the first time the kid is wearin
g it. He looks fresh out of university.
“I have your car,” the kid says, pointing vaguely in the direction of short stay parking.
“I didn’t book a car.”
“I-I’m Aiden Monroe,” the kid says hopefully, as if this is supposed to mean something.
Storm glowers at him.
“Agent Monroe,” says Remi helpfully. “New guy, right? Congratulations. I remember your CV.”
She is sucking on a strawberry lace that is dangling out of her mouth and eyeing Monroe with great interest. Monroe does a slight double take before recovering admirably. He looks away, apparently keen to not let Remi’s scarlet-haired good looks distract him.
The news that the kid is a new recruit does nothing to improve Storm’s mood. Storm remembers the CV now, which he himself had short-listed. The chief had been nagging him for months to get a new addition for the team. Since Diana there had been a string of failed hires, each one more irritating than the last, though none had managed to go out in Diana’s spectacular style. Storm had been in no mood to fill the spot again.
Now it looks like the chief has gone ahead and made a choice without him. The last thing Storm wants right now is a fresh-faced newbie who is going to spew at the sight of a corpse. The kid looks like he might be more used to looking in a mirror than at a crime scene.
“You drove here to get us?” says Storm acidly, thinking the act an unforgivable waste of time.
The kid’s cheeks turn ever so slightly pink, but to his credit he manages not to look completely mortified.
