Blowout (28 page)

G
EORGETOWN
W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.
S
ATURDAY NIGHT

I
T HAPPENED SO
fast that Sean, playing with Legos on the floor, didn't have time to react. Fleurette was sitting on the sofa, laughing at something Callie had said, when suddenly, one of the front windows shattered and a bullet slammed into the wall not six inches above Fleurette's head.

Savich was just coming through the kitchen door, carrying tea and coffee on a tray. “Everyone down! Sherlock, get Sean!” He dropped the tray, ran to Fleurette, and dragged her off the sofa. He fell on top of her, drawing his gun at the same time. He looked toward the shattered glass in the front window. Close, too close. He said, “Nobody move. Sherlock, you've got Sean. Ben, yeah, kill the lights, then pull all the drapes, call 911.”

“Got it.”

“Callie, get your nose pressed into the floor.”

Callie was already down, in front of the sofa, not moving.

Sherlock had Sean beneath her. He was howling under her, but she didn't let him up, kept pressing him into the carpet, covering all of him. Ben crawled to the switch, went up on his knees, and punched off both light switches. There was still light arrowing in from the kitchen. He was crawling to the front windows to pull the heavy drapes when another shot rang out, shattering what was left of the front glass window, hitting low, then another and another.

Finally it was silent, except for the breathing in the living room. Savich said, “Everyone okay?”

Sean's yell was muffled from beneath his mother, “Daddy!”

“Sean is, but he sounds pissed,” Ben said, and punched 911. They heard him give fast, terse instructions.

“They'll be here soon. Savich?”

“I'm dialing my boss right now.” Jimmy Maitland answered on the first ring. Then another shot burst into the living room, ripping the back out of one of Savich's favorite chairs. “I heard that,” Jimmy Maitland said. “What the hell is going on, Savich?”

“Günter's paying us a house call,” Savich said.

“This guy crazy or what?”

“Bet on it,” Savich said. “Hurry.”

“Half the city will be there in a minute. Keep everyone safe.”

Savich punched off his phone, and wrapped his arm around Fleurette's head again. “Okay, now, everyone stay as close to the floor as possible. Slow and easy, elbow your way out of the living room to the staircase. The kitchen light doesn't reach there. There aren't any windows near the staircase. It's the safest place in the house.” He lifted most his weight off Fleurette. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

But she didn't sound okay. “I'm going to stay over you. Let's shimmy on our elbows together now. I'm right with you. Sherlock, you okay with Sean? You need any help?”

“Nope, got him.” She nearly had to yell to be heard over Sean's howls. “We're okay. I'm dragging him beneath me. We're right behind you.”

Ben said, “You guys stay down. Savich, Sherlock, you've got your guns. Callie, you sucking the floor?”

“I'm sucking,” she said from outside the living room. “It won't need vacuuming for a week. I'm nearly to the staircase.”

Another shot rang out, this one shattering a lamp next to a big sofa. Then another, blasting obliquely through a side window, going wild.

Ben said. “Okay, everyone stay down. I'm going out to see if I can find Günter. See if he'd like to dance with me.”

“No!” Callie jumped to her feet and landed against him, knocking him back against the wall. She grabbed his shirt. “You're not going anywhere. Are you crazy? We're going to wait for help.” She actually pulled him tight against her, hanging on for dear life. “Do you want to get yourself killed?”

“For God's sake, Callie, I'm a cop.” He grabbed her hands, trying to pull her off him, but she held on tight. “Stop trying to strangle me. Listen to me, it's what I do for a living—serve and protect. Now get back down on the floor and crawl over to that staircase.”

Her fingers dug into his shirt. “If you want to be a damned hero, I'm coming with you.”

Sherlock gave Sean to her husband, and simply tackled Callie, took her down. Callie didn't stand a chance, black belt in karate or no, and now she was helpless, couldn't move. “I can't believe
you're actually doing this to me,” she gasped, her face in the carpet. “You really shouldn't be able to.”

“I learned from the best. Be quiet, Callie, and don't move or I'll hurt you. Ben, go, and be careful. As soon as I get Callie to listen to me, I'll let her up. Dillon, you got Sean? Fleurette's down?”

“Yeah, we're fine. You keep Callie's face in the floor.”

“Why did he try to kill me?” Fleurette whispered, coming up on her knees, clutching Savich, her breath hot against his neck, Sean trapped and crying between them. “I don't know anything, but he fired into your house. To kill me. Why? I really don't know anything that could harm him. Why would he come after me?”

“He obviously believes you do know something,” Sherlock said over Sean's yells, “and it doesn't look like he's going to stop. Now, Callie, you got it together, or do you need to get more splinters in your face? Sean's crying, in case you hadn't noticed, and it really pisses me off that I'm not comforting him right now.”

“I'm okay,” Callie said, “or very nearly. I'm sorry. Ben's already out the door, the idiot. I swear I won't go after him. Go get Sean, Sherlock.”

“Fleurette and I have him,” Savich said. “Get yourself together, Callie. Don't make me regret bringing you into this investigation.”

Callie drew a deep breath, hiccuped, and said, “I'm sorry, it's just that Ben—”

“I know. But it's his job. Let it go. Get yourself together.”

“Okay, okay, I'm trying but, he's such a macho moron, saying he's going to go out there and dance with that monster.”

“That particular macho moron is an excellent cop,” Sherlock said.

“That was just a touch of cop humor,” Savich said.

“He knows what he's doing. Now, Callie, we're going to glide slowly across the floor to sit next to Dillon and Fleurette. I'm going to hug Sean. We're going to wait for the cavalry. You just stay down, you got that? Ready?”

They were both breathing hard by the time they could lean against the staircase. Sherlock pulled Sean from between Fleurette and Dillon, and pressed his small face against her shoulder. “It's okay now, champ,” she whispered against his wet cheek, “don't worry, it's okay. Mommy's right here. It was just a loud noise. You can yell louder than that.”

Not even a minute later sirens sounded loud, at least a half dozen of them. When the front door opened, both Sherlock and Savich had their guns aimed at it. Ben called out before he showed his face, “Jimmy Maitland is here along with lots of my guys and FBI agents. They're already spreading out, searching for Günter, talking to every neighbor who'll answer the door. You guys okay?”

“Yeah, we're fine,” Sherlock said.

Ben made his way over to one of the living room side windows, pulled the drapes tight. Once the room was shrouded, Ben turned on the light switches. Everyone blinked. Savich said, “All of you, stay away from the windows. No telling what that maniac might try. Thing is, after that first shot, he knew he was shooting blind, knew we wouldn't just stand in the middle of the living room. So why did he keep firing?”

“He thought he might get lucky,” Ben said.

“But the chance he'd hit Fleurette?”

Sherlock said, “You know, I don't think he cared. I think he
wanted to terrify us, let us know he was close. I don't know about the rest of you, but it worked for me.”

Callie came up on her hands and knees, and stared at Ben. Then she was on her feet, running at him. She grabbed him close and held on, her face buried in his shoulder. “I should kill you, you macho asshole, running out there like that and this madman with a gun, shooting like crazy. He's a good shot, and he would be really happy to see you dead, even if you aren't Fleurette. Dillon is right, he didn't care who he hit, and here you were making that lame joke about dancing with him—if that's an example of cop humor, you need a new writer.”

He holstered his gun in his belt, put his arms around her and hugged her. “Well, he wasn't all that good a shot this time, was he? And he tried six times. If you start crying, I'm going to throw you out the front door.”

“I'm not crying, you jerk.”

Ben grinned down at her. “Good. I'm all right. He's long gone. One thing Günter isn't, is stupid. He knew cops would swarm here within minutes after he fired those shots. He had to know too that it would be a miracle if he got to Fleurette after the first miss. Maybe they'll find his car, or one of the people who lives a couple of blocks over saw him running to his car, got the make. Maybe someone actually got a look at him.”

Sherlock said, looking around the shattered living room and at each of them in turn, “Günter took his shot, missed, but all of you know he'll be back. He wants Fleurette dead and he's not going to stop until it's done or we get him first.”

Savich said, “We were lucky your parents weren't here, Fleurette.”

Fleurette, still plastered against him, shuddered. “If they'd still
been here, he might have shot one of them. I can't stand this. I don't understand why he's doing this. I don't know anything!”

Sean began humming, the sound very loud in the entrance hall. It made everyone smile, which was a good thing. Sherlock was standing to the side, close to the staircase, rocking him from one leg to the other. She said, between kisses on Sean's cheek, “We're all okay, but this was way too close. I'm thinking that to keep you completely safe, Fleurette, we need to take you to Quantico. No one could get near you there. Security could catch a runaway flea there. Little sucker could end up on the firing range.”

Fleurette looked shell-shocked, but she straightened, her eyes blinking as if waking from a dream. She looked toward Sherlock. “That was funny. You guys are so amazing, so—what if he'd hit Sean? I couldn't take that. It would have been my fault.”

Sherlock's voice was calm. “You know something, Fleurette? You're right about one thing. I'm thinking about our boy too. He'll be safer with you out at Quantico. This is the second time violence has come into our home. If it were just Dillon and me, that would be different, but Sean's the important one, and we're supposed to protect him. Now, no more angst from any of you. It's done. I've got to clean up that coffee before it stains the floor, and then you're going to Quantico, Fleurette. You can call your parents from there. They can visit you there for as long as they're in town.”

Savich rose, took Sean from Sherlock, and began rocking him in exactly the same way she had, one large hand going up and down on his son's back. “I really wish we didn't have to tell your parents about this, Fleurette.”

“No choice, Dillon,” Callie said. “It was on the police radio, and soon it will be all over the news. I don't see any choice. The
media will descend any moment. And they'll be all over us if we're still here.”

Sherlock muttered under her breath at the coffee and tea spreading over the floor. She walked into the kitchen to get paper towels to clean it up. “Callie's right, Dillon,” she said as she came back into the living room. “This is Georgetown. If the chef at Pamplona's cuts his thumb chopping a carrot, it's front page in the
Post.
Worse, this is an FBI agent's house, who also happens to be the lead investigator on Justice Califano and Danny O'Malley and Eliza—” Her voice caught in her throat and she dropped to her knees and viciously wiped up the coffee and tea, in wide, heavy strokes, her pain palpable to Savich. Savich handed Sean to Ben, who nestled him into the crook of his arm, gathered up some more paper towels and helped her.

Fleurette and Callie stood silent, watching Ben rock Sean, and Savich and Sherlock clean up the spreading spill. The creamer ran into the seam where the wide oak planks met. “It's a beautiful oak floor,” Fleurette said, and grabbed some paper towels and went after the creamer. “My mom said it was the prettiest floor she'd ever seen and she wondered how you kept it so nice what with Sean running all over the place. Will it stain?”

“No, it'll be fine,” Sherlock said, took a final swipe and rose to her feet. “Callie, we don't need you down here on your knees too. Thank you, Fleurette. There, all done. Hey, Ben, you're a natural. Sean's nearly out.”

Ben paused in his rocking and looked at her. Sherlock wanted to laugh, the expression on his face was so priceless. Then he said slowly, “Yeah, I guess I am a natural. Thing is, I'd be a natural too with a red Porsche.”

Callie laughed, got up, and walked to him. She punched him in
the arm. “You are such a guy.” Then she cocked her head to one side as she looked at Sean, asleep in his arms. “Yeah, I guess you are a natural.”