Storm's Cage Mary Stone (classic reads .TXT) 📖

Zane stifled a yawn. “I could use a little coffee, actually. Thanks, Artie.”

Amelia couldn’t tell if her brain was playing tricks on her or if Zane’s faint Jersey accent had gotten stronger after spending a few days on the East Coast with his family.

Though she had been prepared to sit in the relative silence of the unadorned waiting area for the next twenty-five minutes, the temptation of liquid energy was hard to resist. “I think I could use some too, now that you mention it.”

Dropping back to his office chair, Artie grinned. “Sounds good. I’ll see you when you head back over here, but if I don’t buzz you in right away, just hit the call button.”

She shot the older man a little salute. “Oh, we’ll be buzzing all right.”

Snickering softly, Zane strolled toward the doors and pushed the first set open.

Amelia shot her partner a why are you laughing at me glance. “What?”

He shook his head as they stepped out into the cool, albeit humid, morning air. “You and your terrible puns.”

Amelia would have socked him in the arm if they hadn’t been in public. “Coffee. Buzz. It’s punny.”

“If you say so.” He readjusted his silver and black striped tie before smoothing a hand over his tailored suit jacket.

She nudged him with her elbow. “You laughed.”

As they strode toward a crosswalk at the end of the block, Amelia gestured to Zane’s tie. “Is that new? I swear I’ve never seen you wearing that particular one before. Since I see you pretty much every day, I think I’ve got a good handle on your tie collection.”

Snorting out a laugh, he stopped a few feet behind a cluster of people. “No, I’ve had it for a while. Guess it just got buried under the pile.” He glanced at the black and silver fabric, running a hand over the length to smooth it down.

“A pile?” Amelia’s eyebrow arched sharply. “You keep your ties in a pile? Aren’t you supposed to hang them up or something?”

Zane snorted. “Only the expensive ones, or only if you care about them.”

He was the most perplexing man she’d met, and the more quirks she learned about him, the more intriguing he became. “So, you’re saying that you sometimes wear cheap ties, huh?” The light changed, and the little crowd began its procession across the street. Though Amelia assumed their trip to the neighboring donut and coffee shop was just to pass the time, the first whiff of roasting coffee was like the embrace of an old friend.

The morning breeze rustled Zane’s sandy-colored hair, but as always, not a single strand seemed out of place. “I’ve never spent more than ten bucks on a tie. I don’t see the point. I honestly couldn’t tell the difference between a hundred-dollar tie and a four-dollar one, not even if someone paid me.”

Wondering if he was lying, Amelia inspected the fabric. “I don’t disagree. I just didn’t figure a guy in an Armani suit would wear something off the discount rack.”

As they stepped onto the sidewalk, Zane shook his head. “This one was on clearance for five bucks, I’ll have you know.” He patted his black jacket. “And it’s Tom Ford, not Armani.”

She nudged the door to the little coffee shop, opening it with her shoulder. “Armani was the only brand I could think of. I’m not much of a men’s fashion connoisseur.”

Before they reached the short line of patrons, Zane had retrieved a worn but expensive looking wallet from an interior pocket. Unlike Amelia, Zane Palmer came from money.

She’d gathered that his childhood was marked with its share of strife, but finances had never been an issue for Zane and his family. At least not after his mother had landed a spot at one of the East Coast’s premier financial management services.

Anne Palmer had managed assets for some of the world’s wealthiest families, which had sent her own net worth skyrocketing. Though she no longer worked as a hedge fund manager, Zane claimed she was still a sharp investment wizard. If someone gave Anne a dollar, within thirty days, she’d turn it into a hundred. In a year, she’d have increased that to many thousands.

Six months earlier—after they’d both transferred to Chicago—Amelia and Zane had been assigned as partners. During those awkward early days, Amelia felt slighted by Zane’s attempts to pay for her coffee or lunch. It wasn’t until they’d gotten to know one another during the Leila Jackson case, that Amelia came to understand that Zane’s acts of generosity were not meant to show off or flaunt his financial status.

The truth behind Zane’s kindness was simple…he was a kind person. Rather than live a life of luxury in the financial industry, he was here, in the same stressful line of work as Amelia. Her year and a half as an FBI agent paled in comparison to Zane’s near-decade, but she’d been with the Bureau long enough to understand what a toll the job could take.

He flashed her a grin, and the weariness she’d sensed in him disappeared.

Once they’d received their orders, they headed back across the street. As promised, Artie buzzed them into the building as soon as the doors at their back had latched into place.

Amelia and Zane took a pair of seats in a row of cushioned chairs lining a wall. For the first time since they’d left the FBI office that morning, they were out of earshot of any potentially curious bystanders.

“So.” Even though they were the only two occupants of the drab room, Zane’s voice was hushed. “What do you make of Enrico’s sudden change of heart? You think he’s stringing us along?”

Taking a sip of her coffee, Amelia prayed it was the former. The last thing they needed was to chase down dead ends. “It’s hard to say. He might have heard ‘death penalty’ and had a change of heart.”

Tapping a finger against his paper cup, Zane nodded. “Could be. But he’s given us jack shit so