Free The Black Madonna by Davis Bunn

imagined so many different parts of him could shriek all at once.
    The problem was, now that he had started, he couldn’t stop. And every cough only racked his poor body further, wrenching out more pain.
    The nurse hustled the two cops away. Harry would have begged her for something to ease his situation, only just then he couldn’t find the air to breathe, much less speak. Which turned out to be for the best. The nurse rushed back over, this time holding an old-timey glass syringe with metal loops like trigger guards for her fingers and an oversized ring for her thumb. Harry noticed all this because he watched the needle find his vein like a starving man inspecting a slab of prime rib.
    The drug flooded his system like ice. He could actually feel it swoosh through his veins, a huge rush that just plucked him up and carried him away.

EIGHT

    T HE SPANISH AUCTION WAS PROVING to be a rolling three-day circus. None of the first day’s items had interested Storm. But there were worse places for a girl to have a day off than Marbella, even if she did share the old city with a million beer-swilling Brits. She did a little shopping, then retreated to poolside. But an early night did little to prepare her for Emma’s surprise arrival with world-wrecking news.
    â€œAre you sure he’s gone?”
    â€œAs sure as I can be with nothing to go on.” Emma paused long enough to reapply her handkerchief. “Nobody can tell me a thing.”
    Storm was making do with Kleenex. She had gone through the little packet in her purse and was now working on Emma’s. The space around her chair was littered with damp white blotches. “Did you speak with the archeologist in charge?”
    Something about the question caused Emma’s eyes to leak more. “Twice.”
    â€œWhat did she say?”
    â€œYou don’t want to know.”
    â€œTell me, Emma.”
    Her neck was so taut that Storm could watch her pulse. “They can’t identify enough remains to bury.”
    That silenced Storm for a time. “How can they be sure?”
    â€œThey tracked Harry into Hebron. The last time we spoke, he said he was on the trail of a master counterfeiter.” Emma blew her nose. “I could wring his neck for taking such risks.”
    â€œBut if they haven’t actually found—”
    â€œLet’s not forget the mystery guests who demolished my last afternoon in Washington.”
    Marbella’s main theater was filling for the auction’s second day. Storm and Emma occupied a pair of chairs at the back of the foyer. New arrivals broke and swirled about them like dark-suited fish avoiding some tragic shoal. Storm said, “If they haven’t identified Harry it means he could still be alive.”
    Emma gave her the look of a woman afraid to hope. “I’ve been trying to tell myself that very same thing for a day and a half.”
    Storm needed both hands to pry herself out of the seat. “It’s time for us to go be corporate.”
    Emma rose in stages. “I’m not sure how much good I can be.”
    â€œI can’t handle this alone. Not now.” Storm gave her face another wipe, pushed back her hair, and said, “Let’s do this so we can get out of here.”
    Storm knew she looked a wreck and didn’t care. The cloak of mourning was evident enough to silence all conversation as they passed through the crowd. The other attendees glanced over and then swiftly turned away, as though Mediterranean etiquette said it was impolite to watch two women fall apart.
    The four men and one woman surrounding Aaron Rausch fled as though Storm and Emma’s sorrow were contagious. Jacob Rausch’s father, however, was made of sterner stuff. “My son will be most displeased to learn you are here, Ms. Syrrell.”
    Storm ignored the rebuff and said, “This is Emma Webb.Emma is a senior agent with Homeland Security. Emma, show the man your