When the Storm Breaks

A serial killer has one obsession . . .

Claire Lambert walked into a nightmare on a rainy night in Washington, D.C. Stumbling upon a killer in the midst of his latest bloody crime, she ran for her life -- but not before a head injury caused her to lose her memory, along with her purse and ID. Now a monster knows who Claire is . . . and where she lives.

Waking up in a hospital room the day after being attacked -- her mind stripped of all memory of what happened to her -- Claire can only listen with horror to the scenario Detective Sean Richter unfolds before her. A law officer fiercely dedicated to ending the wave of brutal killings that has struck the city, Sean knows that this brave and beautiful woman holds the key to stopping the murderer before he can strike again. Claire is the only victim who has seen the killer's face and lived -- which is why Sean needs her help and will risk everything to protect her . . .

And why a depraved, relentless animal is determined that Claire Lambert must die.

Heather Lowell was born and raised in Southern California. She attended Georgetown University in Washington, D.C., where she began her love affair with foreign languages, international politics, and off-the-beaten-path travel. She's journeyed by bus, train, and boat throughout the developing world, meeting local people and practicing her language skills -- the occasional face-to-face encounter with livestock was an added bonus. While her "list of things to do before settling down" is still quite long, Heather has already crossed off hiking the Andes, going up the Amazon River, backpacking through Australia and New Zealand, SCUBA diving, bungee jumping, white-water rafting, caving, and jumping out of an airplane.

In the 1990s, Heather studied in Brazil, volunteered as an English teacher in Hungary, and earned a Master's degree in International Development. She briefly considered becoming a professional traveler before deciding that defaulting on her student loans wasn't a lofty career goal. Instead, she served her time in a cubicle as a project manager in Information Technology, where her life closely paralleled that of the comic strip Dilbert. When the tech bubble burst and the stock market plummeted, Heather took it as a sign that she should get out of the corporate world and follow her dream of writing. She hasn't looked back since that day.

Despite an adventurous past, Heather Lowell now considers herself to be a dedicated homebody -- with a car, mortgage, and dog to prove it. She currently lives in Arizona, where she is working on her next book.

Washington, D.C.

July

Friday evening

“W
hat do you think, dear?” Peggy Gallagher looked over the table at her new client.

Claire Lambert shifted in her chair, struggling for a response that wouldn’t offend Peggy. She turned to her friend Afton for assistance, since she had been the one to talk her into joining a dating service in the first place.

“Doesn’t that caption sound like something to grab a man’s attention, Marie Claire?” Peggy pressed.

Deciding Afton wasn’t going to help, Claire thought about her options. She might have been tired after a long day—a long week, really—but not tired enough to let that gem get by her untouched. Joining the Gallaghers’ dating service was humiliating enough, but having a blurb like the one Peggy had suggested appear next to her picture would be pathetic.

Besides, she hated being called Marie Claire.

Claire worked hard to look serious. “I was thinking more along the lines of ‘
Businesswoman, thirty, has castle, seeks prince to help with upkeep and provide occasional foot massage
.’”

Claire’s deadpan expression was angelic. She had spent her formative years tormenting the nuns at Our Heavenly Savior Catholic Girls School in New Orleans, so getting Peggy’s back up was easy.

Peggy drew herself up straight in her chair, inhaling through her flared nostrils, while across the table, her daughter and business partner covered laughter with a cough. Afton Gallagher truly enjoyed seeing someone make her mother pucker up—it happened so rarely.

“Mom, why don’t you make sure the computer is set up for Claire to view the eligible candidates. She and I can work on her bio later,” Afton said, careful to not meet Claire’s gaze.

Peggy surveyed them both for a long moment. “All right. But really, Marie Claire, you should put more thought into developing the caption to go with your picture in the catalogue. It’s the first impression the male candidates will have of you, and you certainly don’t want to come across as too flip. Or assertive. Men don’t care for that in a young lady.”

Peggy pushed back from the table, straightened her skirt with a practiced move, and went out the door of the conference room. Claire looked closely at her departing figure, trying to see if Peggy was, indeed, wearing nylons and a slip in the sweltering heat of a Washington, D.C. summer.

Claire looked up and caught Afton rolling her eyes.
They shared a moment of silent humor over Peggy’s stodgy approach to both fashion and romance in the twenty-first century.

Then Claire straightened in her chair, turning dancing black eyes to Afton. “Hey, I left out the part about ‘providing foot massages in exchange for the occasional blow job.’”

Afton laughed out loud. It was just like Claire to say something outrageous and make her forget that it was after nine on a Friday evening, and she had been working without a break for the last seven days. She’d had to stay late tonight to accommodate Claire’s busy schedule, but she didn’t mind doing her friend this favor. Besides, it had been Afton’s nagging that had convinced Claire to give the dating service a try in the first place. The least she could do was offer moral support.

“I’m suddenly not sure about signing up for a dating service,” Claire said once she’d stopped laughing. “It seems so, I don’t know, sad. Needy.” That was one word she would never use to describe herself. She hated being in a situation where that particular shoe might fit.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Afton said quickly, not wanting Claire to back out now that she had finally dragged her in. “We went over this before. You’re paying for a service—special friend’s price, I might add—just like getting your carpets cleaned or your car washed. We’re providing you with something you don’t have time to do yourself. It’s as simple as that.”

“Maybe, but I never had to fill out my preferences for eyes, hair, and build on the carpet cleaner or car wash guy before.” Claire’s eyes were serious, yet she gave a half smile. Afton had become a very close friend in the past six
months because Claire admired intelligence, guts, and determination. She didn’t want to wimp out and waste everyone’s time. “Oh, never mind. Let’s go look at our selection of eligible studs in the catalogue before I lose my nerve completely.”