Power Play (An FBI Thriller) (17 page)

Georgetown

Thursday, late afternoon

S
avich and Sherlock spotted the stolen Kia on a quiet residential street six blocks from Metzer’s Grocers, neatly parked between two big SUVs. Savich called it in. He was certain there’d be no fingerprints. Blessed had never been stupid.

“Blessed is long gone,” Sherlock said. “I’ll bet when Ben Raven’s people canvass the neighborhood, they’ll find another car’s been stolen close by. I forgot to tell you, Blessed mentioned a man he called a bum. We need to check with Ben, see if they’ve found a homeless person murdered very recently either here in Washington or in Atlanta.” She mumbled something under her breath and looked like she wanted to holler.

“What?”

She shook her head at herself. “Blessed got my Glock. I can’t tell you how angry I am about that.”

“The first rule is to stay alive. I’d say what you did was brilliant. Forget the Glock.”

Savich was on the phone to Ben Raven when they walked through their own front door. Gabriella and Sean were in the
kitchen, Sean still flying high after a hard-fought basketball game with Marty next door, quite an accomplishment, since Marty was a killer. Sean was dirty and sweaty and kid-happy about winning, and so they let him regale them with a play-by-play until it was time for him to wash up for dinner. Then he wanted to talk about Marty’s little brother, who was a real pain in the patoot.

Sean wasn’t upset there would be no Cheerios in the morning, since Sherlock promised to make him his favorite pecan pancakes. Only after Sean was down and out for the night and they were alone in their bedroom, Savich unbuttoning his shirt, was there mention of the world outside. “Ben got back to me. Sure enough, there was a report of a murdered homeless man in Columbia Heights. His name was Ernest Tubbs, age sixty-six, and he was found dead from a knife wound through his heart. According to the fellow in the crib next to his, all that was missing was his only valuable possession, his coat.”

“The coat, I’d wager, was a camel wool coat, good and warm. Blessed was wearing that coat today over his old-lady clothes.”

He stepped into their closet, punched a combination into their safe, and brought out a Stoeger Cougar Compact, a sidepiece that had belonged to his father. “Dad never liked the company SIG. I bet he’d be pleased the Bureau’s switched over to the Glock. He handed her the pistol. “Use the Stoeger until they issue you a replacement. It’s got lots of mileage on it, but I’ve kept it in good shape. You shouldn’t have any problem.” He handed her a couple magazines. “Nine-millimeter, thirteen plus one rounds.”

She hefted the Stoeger, got the feel of it. “I’ll bet it doesn’t have much kick. I can’t wait to try it out at the range. Thank you, Dillon.”

He grinned at her. “I might as well give you an early birthday present.” He picked another gun out of the safe and handed it to
her. “It’s an S-and-W 380. Feel how light it is, lighter and smaller on your ankle than the Lady Colt.”

She took the pistol from him and nestled it into her hand, felt the small grip. “Oh, goodness, it’s a beauty.” She jumped to her feet, cupped his face between her hands. “First the loan of your dad’s Stoeger and now this baby for my birthday. Thank you, Dillon. I can’t wait to try both of them out on the range. Maybe if I really like the Stoeger I can talk Mr. Maitland into keeping it,” and she gave him a loud smacking kiss.

“Hold that thought,” he said. He took both guns from her and put them back in the safe along with his Glock, and locked it. He turned back to Sherlock, smiling. “How about a hot shower? Do you want to scrub my back?”

She looked up into the face of one of the people she’d willingly give her life for. She put her fear of Blessed away, and felt the familiar leap of her pulse as she watched him unzip his pants. “Among other things,” she said. They were out of their clothes and under the shower in thirty seconds.

•   •   •

Outside, hunkered down
in a pile of box hedges close to the house, Blessed thought he heard laughter. But how could that be? That woman almost died today. They had no right to laugh when his mama was dead, when Grace was dead, when he was all alone. His niece, Autumn, was a little kid. There was no way to make her understand, no way to make her forgive him, particularly since he knew he’d have to kill her mother and that damned sheriff. He’d do what his mother said; he’d find himself a woman, maybe have kids and become the Father. Why not? A man had to have a reason to live, a reason to make his feet move in the morning.

He was cold, despite the warm coat. He was tired, too, and angry with himself that he’d failed again. He’d let her get the better of him with those tall storage racks. Who’d have thought she’d be strong enough to shove one over? And she’d been lucky when she’d hurled that can at him, really lucky. He touched his fingers to the knot on his forehead. That can had dazed him pretty good.

Blessed rose, all stiff and frozen, and stretched. They were in for the night, no chance to get at them now. It was stupid to try to get past the alarm system; he’d get himself shot.

He walked one block over to the stolen Toyota he’d left on the street, started it up, and turned on the heat. He drove toward Virginia and didn’t stop until he reached Mama Taco, right next to the Cranford Motel, and ordered a beef burrito with extra hot sauce.

Back in his room, he turned on the local news and lay back on his bed, shoving the two skinny pillows behind his head. Whoa, what was this? He couldn’t believe it. They had the story about the old varmint he’d killed for his coat, the coat now lying over the back of the only chair in his motel room. Why would that be news? It had been days ago and the old guy was homeless. Who cared? Then, to his shock, his photo appeared on the screen along with his name, asking for information about him, calling him the suspect. How did they know? There’d been no one around, he was sure of it. He felt fear swirl in his belly. No, it’d be all right. They didn’t know where he was, but he knew he’d really have to watch himself now. They said the old man’s name was Ernest Tubbs. Blessed said the name out loud. He saw Ernest Tubbs’s seamed old face in his mind, not saying anything. Then he saw the old man’s finger pointing at his heart.

Perry Black’s condo

Thursday night

P
erry and Davis sat side by side, drinking decaf and watching the small fire in the fireplace smolder and hiss, and spurt out the occasional spark.

Perry said, “I never thought Aunt Arliss would care so little about Mom. They’ve been friends forever. I’m afraid of what it’s going to do to her.”

“It’s not going to do anything. Being asked to resign won’t break your mother. She’s pure steel.”

“What? You’ve known her since Monday. Listen, after Aunt Arliss left, she looked ready to throw in the towel.”

Davis set down his mug, stretched his arms out along the back of the sofa. “It was a tough thing to hear, but she’ll deal with it. If you’d seen her handle that addict who tried to hijack her car on Monday, you wouldn’t be worried. That was your mom in action. If she goes down, it’ll be fighting tooth and nail, and screw Madame Secretary.”

She jumped to her feet. “You’re right, that’s my mom. Arliss may want to throw her to the wolves to save her own hide, but
Mom will do what she thinks is right. And so will I. I don’t think I’m going to call her Aunt Arliss anymore. I wonder what Day will have to say about all this? And listen, you really don’t have to stay here again with me tonight.”

“Yeah, I do, no choice. My boss ordered me to.”

She eyed him. “All right. I cleaned the bathroom.”

“I appreciate it. Monroe has made me real particular about bathrooms, right down to the shower grout.”

She gave him a distracted smile, then began pacing the length of her living room. She paused at the windows and peered out into the darkness, then strode back to where he sat on the sofa, watching her.

“Don’t you have your blog to write?”

She stopped, rubbed her hands in front of the fire. “It seems so trivial, given what’s happening with Mom. And me. I called the insurance adjuster, and the company officially ruled my beautiful Harley totaled. Isn’t it sad that’s what I was thinking about, how I would replace my baby? And what about poor Carlos Acosta? No one has seen him for over twenty-four hours. Do you think he’s dead, Davis?”

Davis didn’t have a clue, but he said without hesitation, “No, Carlos isn’t dead.” He paused for a moment, seeing her slumped shoulders. “I have some better news. Savich didn’t want to say anything about it himself unless it panned out.”

She whirled to face him, eyes a hundred watts bright. “What? Come on, Davis, tell me.”

“All right, but remember, we can’t take it to the bank yet. Savich spoke with Hamish Penderley again today, you know, the big muckety-muck in Scotland Yard? Penderley got word from one of the inspectors who had been checking out automobile repair shops
in the region of Kent where that black sedan collided with your mother’s dark green Jaguar. There was nothing all this time, but yesterday a black sedan was brought in for repair at a small shop in Ashford. The damage matches your mother’s description of the collision. They’re analyzing small paint chips left on the car now to see if they match your mother’s car.”

“We should call my mom, right now!”

“If you do, you’re going to get me in trouble with Savich. Wait until tomorrow, then we’ll know for sure. I only told you because you looked so pitiful. See, Black, you’ve got to have some faith here. So pick your optimism up off the floor.”

She squared her shoulders. The fighter was back. “Yes, all right, that’s better, but I’m going to tell her first thing tomorrow. This is the greatest news.” She pumped her fist in the air. “Let’s hear it for Scotland Yard.”

“Don’t you have a blog to write?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts.”

“What I was going to say was my blog’s in good shape already. Well, there is one thing. I got hold of Marcie’s mom. Marcie Curtis—you remember, she’s Tebow’s girlfriend. The mom wouldn’t talk to me, even got her husband on the phone to burn my ears, but it turns out he’s a huge football fan. Even better, he likes my blog, and he liked the photo of Tim and Marcie I’d posted. After that, I couldn’t shut him up. He even told me his little girl met Tim at a skating rink.”

“I didn’t know Tebow ice-skated.”

“I didn’t, either, but given how athletic he is, what couldn’t he do? Marcie’s dad bragged to me that Tim wasn’t as good as his
little girl, but that’d give her something to be better at. All right, I’ll go write it. Truth is, I’ve never had as many comments posted about any of my sports stories.”

Davis reared back. “Why? I mean, she’s only a girlfriend, she’s got nothing to do with football. What’s up with your numb-brain readers? You’re not a gossip columnist, you’re a sportswriter.”

She laughed at him. “I guess I’m a little of both.” She walked back to the sofa and plunked herself down, put her booted feet up on the coffee table next to his. A copy of
Sports Illustrated
slid onto the floor. She said, “I was wondering if I should even be going in that direction, but, Davis, I had that photo. What was I supposed to do? Ignore it? My boss would have kicked me out of his office window if I had.” She leaned forward and rubbed a smudge of dirt off her boot. “Right now in the off-season, all the readers want to hear about is Tebow and his girlfriend.”

“Everyone is wondering if they’ve had sex.”

“That, too, but I won’t touch that unless Bennett John shoves me to the edge of the abyss.”

Davis leaned over and kissed her. She looked at him from less than an inch away, not moving, not speaking. “Well,” he said, “that wasn’t half bad until I saw you looking like a deer in the headlights.”

She laughed, grabbed his face between her hands, and kissed him hard. She jumped to her feet. “Enough of that, even though it felt pretty good—well, close to great, maybe. No, no, don’t you move, I’m going to bed.”

His eyes lit up like a beacon.

“You’re such a guy. I’ll get your blankets.”

He said from behind her, “Is it that idiot Day Abbott?”

That stopped her in her tracks. “Day is not an idiot. He’s sweet, like a brother to me.” He saw the lie perching on the end of her nose.

“Nah, a brother wouldn’t want to put my lights out for talking with you. You went out to a fancy restaurant, you were wearing a sexy dress and stilts. You don’t do that for a brother.”

He had a point, but she shook her head. Would he believe it was simply a habit, since you never knew who you’d see at a fancy place like L’Aubergine, and she didn’t ever want to look like a dog on Day’s arm?

He was looking at her, arms crossed over his chest, waiting. “Oh, all right,” and she decided to come clean. “Day asked me to marry him, if you must know, but I turned him down. It was all a major surprise to me, like who wants to marry their brother? Then I felt so guilty because I hadn’t realized—no, that isn’t quite true. I did know—” She stopped, started rubbing her temples, then, of all things, she grinned at him. “Geez, I get a kiss from you. I don’t suppose you want to marry me, too? I’ll break a record. I swear I’ll post it if it happens, with full details.”

He almost said she should start the blog off with him, but instead he gathered his brain and said, “I forgot to tell you. I’m invited for dinner tomorrow at Sherlock and Savich’s house. Will you come with me?”

She nodded and left the living room. She soon reappeared with two blankets and a pillow in her arms. “You can have the bathroom in ten minutes, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Hey, Perry?”

She paused in the doorway, looked back at him.

“About that kiss—”

“I know, you didn’t mean it. Like I said, you’re a guy, and like
every guy, when you’re close to a female of the species, you lose it, then you get it back real fast.”

“What’s ‘it’?”

“Your sense of self-preservation.”

He gave her a long look, slowly nodded. “Close enough, but I was talking about Day Abbott kissing you.”

“Go to sleep.”

She fell asleep listening to a branch of a big oak tree outside her bedroom window bang against the side of her condo in the late night wind.

She was jerked awake by a soft sound from close by. Her eyes flew open and her heart started to pound, but she stayed still and listened. The bedroom door slowly opened, quiet as could be. She was reaching for the Kimber at her bedside when she realized from the dim outline in the doorway that it was Davis. And she realized, too, that she recognized his scent, and wasn’t that odd? Sort of musky mixed with the soft fragrance of her lavender soap. She came up on her elbows, whispered, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

She saw him put his finger to his lips. He whispered back, “Stay put. No matter what you hear, stay put.”

He didn’t close the bedroom door, but he was gone in the next instant. She grabbed her Kimber from atop the bedside table, saw it was going on midnight, held the gun under her pillow to kill any sound, and racked the slide. She slipped out of bed and eased into the hall before she stopped to listen. She heard it then—someone at the front door, trying to get in. Then she heard the door slowly open. She readied for the alarm, but there was silence. Why hadn’t it blasted out loud enough to wake the neighborhood? She had the best alarm system available, that’s what the security guy had told her when he’d installed it. She heard breathing.
She pressed her back to the wall, taking baby steps over the cold wooden floor.

Whoever had slithered in was through the front door now, his breathing the only thing she heard. And it wasn’t Davis. Odd how she even knew the sound of his breathing. Where was Davis?