Free Gold of Kings by Davis Bunn Page B

thrones of chrome and power. “We don’t actually know for certain that your grandfather was doing business in Istanbul.”
    â€œThen why—”
    â€œThe trail went cold there. Jack was fishing.” Emma slapped the car into gear. “You’re sure you’ve never been?”
    â€œNo.” Storm waited for the car to pull away to add, “I’ve never been anywhere.”

TEN
    T HE AFTERNOON PASSED IN AGONIZING sluggishness. The aisles filled with an assortment of South Florida’s snobs. Waiters circulated with canapés and champagne. A trio played show tunes in the hall’s far end. Harry watched helplessly as Storm endured three hours of polite torture. A number of patrons stopped by to offer condolences. Others enquired over the future of Syrrell’s and departed with snide humor in their eyes. Harry could not tell which hurt Storm more. The stench of failure, and Sean’s absence, hung over their booth.
    When it was over, Harry drove them back over the causeway and followed Storm’s terse directions to her gym, where she told him she was going to work out and then run to the apartment. She looked as if she was waiting for him to argue. Harry recognized a good head of steam when he saw one, and didn’t even bother to tell her to take care. He bought a Starbucks coffee, found himself a comfortable spot of shade, and practiced the art of waiting. Forty minutes later Storm came out wearing a sleeveless T and shorts of a very interesting length. She glared in his direction, then set off running. Harry tossed his coffee and dogged her in the car.
    He parked in front of the apartment, then walked down Worth Avenue to the sandwich shop. When he returned he heard the shower running. Harry left Storm’s sandwich on the kitchen counter and took hisown meal down to the waterfront. The yacht club started where Worth Avenue bent to join the river road. Harry seated himself on the first empty bench and watched the waters flame through another tropical display. A couple of the moored boats were interesting—steel hulls, originally designed as oceangoing tugs, refitted as pleasure craft but retaining their ability to handle heavy seas. Harry had nothing but scorn for most of the other vessels. Overpowered palaces with silly lines, designed to cushion their owners against any hint of real life. Harry had long ago split the world into two classes: natives who worked for a living and the breed who lived to buy the flavor of the month. People like Sean, who could handle big numbers and stay focused on life’s important issues, were rare indeed.
    Harry returned to the apartment to find Storm seated on a counter stool, dressed in a white terry cloth robe, her hair done up in a towel. She was still pink from her run and the shower. The sandwich wrapper was open. Storm stared at the untouched meal as he entered and locked the door and walked over and sat down beside her. Up close he could smell the shampoo she had used. Storm looked about twelve years old. And so very sad.
    Harry decided he might as well talk about him, since Sean was on both their minds. “I got to know your grandfather about fifteen years ago.”
    â€œIs this where I’m supposed to say you can’t be that old?”
    â€œOuch.”
    â€œHow old are you, Harry?”
    â€œEat all your sandwich and I might tell you.” When she turned over the top bread and picked up a morsel of meat, he said, “I’m old enough to know better. But stick me in a suit and put a pretty lady on my arm, hey. Suddenly I’m open to arguments to the contrary.”
    â€œHaving you here makes me feel like he’s a lot closer.”
    He found himself swallowing sorrow solid as a brick. “Funny. I was thinking the very same thing about you.”
    They savored a shared silence. Then, “So you guys met.”
    â€œYeah, back before the last ice age. I’d heard about this guy, a