The FBI Thrillers Collection (128 page)

“I see you think you’ve been pretty smart about this, don’t you,” Sheriff Harms said, eyes hot and dark. “But it won’t do you any good, you fucker. Your little wife either, if there even is a wife.” He looked again into the deserted street outside and raised his gun. “Okay, Austin, I don’t want to do it here, but it looks like I have to. What could I do, what with you coming in here and going crazy on me?”

A man’s deep voice said from behind him, “I don’t think so, Sheriff Harms.”

The sheriff whirled around to face the man he’d worried himself nearly sick over since that snowy night two and a half weeks before, the man who’d claimed to have seen Samantha Barrister. “You!” He started to raise the pistol, but Savich was faster. He turned, kicked out his leg so fast it was a blur, and sent the pistol flying into the front window with such force it shattered the glass and skidded on the sidewalk in front of the sheriff’s office.

Sheriff Harms yelled from the pain in his wrist, at the unfairness of it all, and lunged toward Savich.

Martin grabbed the sheriff’s injured arm, jerked him around, and sent his fist into his jaw. The sheriff staggered, but didn’t go down. Martin hit him against the side of his head, then landed a punch in his belly. The sheriff fell hard against his desk, landing facedown on the floor.

Savich stepped over him and tapped Martin’s shoulder. “Looks like you laid him right out. Good job.” He was grinning as he shook Martin’s hand. “Well done, Martin. Do you feel you got everything we came for?”

Martin grinned back as he rubbed his knuckles. “Yeah, I do.”

A Pennsylvania state trooper, Sergeant Ellis Wilkes, stepped in from the back of the office where a door led to three jail cells, then three more state troopers crowded in behind him. He stared down at the sheriff. “Imagine,” he said, “this man has been the sheriff of Blessed Creek for more than half of his life, and all of it because of a vicious, cold-blooded murder.”

Martin said, “Are you sure we’ve got enough on him?” He handed the small gold bracelet to Sergeant Wilkes.

“With the witnesses we have here today and that recorder, Sheriff Harms is toast. Oh yeah, he’s going down big time.”

“Good,” Martin said. “Good.” There was more relief in his voice than satisfaction. Finally, for him, it was over. Except for his dad.

He and Savich watched the state troopers haul out Sheriff Harms’s unconscious body. When they were alone, Savich laid his hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Your father, Martin. I spoke to the Boston police yesterday. In addition to everything else, they also
have the evidence of over twenty years of payments to the sheriff. You can bet that Sheriff Harms will roll hard on him.

“The Boston police are waiting for me to call again before they pick him up.”

“You knew my father had to be in on it, didn’t you, Dillon?”

“Yes, it was the only thing that made sense. I have to call them, Martin.”

“But you didn’t say anything about it to me.”

“No.”

“Because you didn’t think I could handle it.”

“No, I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d have doubts. It had to come from Sheriff Harms.”

Martin Thornton nodded as he said without hesitation, “He paid this man to murder my mother. Make the call, Agent Savich.” Martin heard Janet’s voice, and turned to see her running ahead of Sherlock into the sheriff’s office. He was smiling as he caught her up in his arms.

G
EORGETOWN
W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.
END OF
J
ANUARY

S
AVICH SAID
, “Who was that on the phone?”

“Lily. She and Simon have decided to get married in March.”

“Why March, for heaven’s sake?”

Sherlock shook her head, smiling. “She said it just felt right and besides, she’s made him suffer enough. She laughed, said Simon’s agreed they’ll live here in Washington for six months and New York for six months. We’ll see how long that lasts. Oh yes,
No Wrinkles Remus
has been picked up by
Newsday
.”

“Good. Someone there’s got a brain. It’s one of the best political cartoons I’ve ever seen. And what a relief. She’s finally picked the right man, thank the good Lord.”

Sherlock handed him a sleeping Sean, who gave a little snort when he felt his father’s big hand stroke his back.

“I heard from Janet and Martin Thornton today. They’re doing
fine. Martin’s on some meds, as you know, but he said his shrink doesn’t think he’ll need them for much longer, given what’s happened. I think he’s smart and insightful. Best of all, he’s got Janet. She’s working on getting him to contact his stepmother and his two half-sisters. Maybe they can help each other. Hey, sweetheart, you ready for bed?”

“Well,” Sherlock said, “Sean certainly is. I was thinking about a nice hot shower. You know, I haven’t scrubbed your back in a while. Not since Wednesday night when you came in all sweaty from the gym. What do you think?”

Savich kissed her ear. He was whistling quietly as they walked upstairs. In the shower, Sherlock soaped up her hands and washed his back. He was leaning against the tiled wall, feeling almost relaxed enough to collapse and drown, when she said, “Are you satisfied we did the right thing about Günter?”

Savich stilled a moment. “Yes. I’m very glad you suggested we discuss what happened before we talked to anyone else. We saved Margaret Califano and Callie endless pain, and protected Justice Califano from a scandal that would have destroyed his name and harmed the Supreme Court itself.”

She nodded against his shoulder. “I still wonder, though, if Günter acted alone.”

“Remember Günter said he’d tell us a bit of truth? And so, I think, he did. Let it go, sweetheart. I have.”

He turned around to face her. Hot water cascaded down over them. “I decided to label that file Pandora’s box to remind me that Mr. Maitland is satisfied that Günter acted alone. So, yes, I’m going to keep that box tightly closed.”

She let the water pulse against her back as she lathered her
hands to scrub down his chest. She raised her face. “I sure don’t want the key to that box. Let’s forget there is one, Dillon, okay?”

I
T WAS LATE
, deep in the night, when Savich shook his wife’s shoulder. “Wake up, Sherlock, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

Sherlock jerked awake, blinked at his face above hers. “What? Dillon? What’s the matter?”

“You were moving around, dreaming. A nightmare?”

Sherlock shook her head back and forth on the pillow. “No, no nightmare. Actually, for the very first time, I dreamed about Samantha.”

He pulled her tightly against him, and said against her hair, “I dreamed about her as well. Did she say or do anything in your dream?”

“No, she was there, in my line of sight, and she was smiling. What was your dream about Dillon?”

He turned over on his back, his arms crossed under his head. “She gave me a beautiful smile, too, and then nodded to me and patted my arm. I felt this wonderful feeling of warmth and contentment come over me. Then she was gone, and I woke up to hear you thrashing about.”

“Do you think you’ll tell Sean about her someday?”

Savich laughed. “Doubtful, but who knows?”

“I wonder if there were things your father never told you that happened to him.”

“I’d bet the bank on it.”

Sherlock settled back down for sleep, her head on her husband’s shoulder. “The oddest thing, Dillon, I think I smell jasmine.”

Savich didn’t say anything. He wasn’t about to say the words out loud. He breathed in the subtle scent, and closed his eyes.

C
ALLIE
M
ARKHAM
’
S
A
PARTMENT
G
EORGETOWN
T
HAT SAME EVENING

B
EN RANG
the doorbell.

A good three minutes later the front door opened and Callie stood there, wearing old sweats and thick socks on her feet. Her hair was uncombed, and her face was scrubbed clean. She squeaked. “I should have known you’d catch me looking like the rag queen. You’re early. I haven’t put on the little black dress yet.”

He stepped in, pulled her against him, and kissed her. “I don’t care. I wrapped up a case early and I wanted to see you, maybe celebrate with a good-quality beer.”

“I’ve got some Coors stashed in the fridge for our Super Bowl party.”

As he followed her through the living room and into the kitchen, he was struck, as he usually was, by the number of books. They were everywhere, on every surface, overflowing every bookshelf, even though three entire walls of the living room were covered with built-ins. And there were flowers, three vases of them, Christmas cacti blooming wildly, and at least half a dozen different kinds of ivy, all trailing happily over surfaces to the floor. A good dozen bright pillows were tossed on every chair and sofa. Even the rugs that covered the wooden floor were bright, each a different style. It was warm and inviting. He liked being in the room, watching TV, reading, making love with Callie. It felt like
home. He lightly touched his hand to her shoulder. “Have I told you how much I like your apartment?”

“Sounds to me like you’re laying down some pretty broad hints here, Ben.”

“It’s bigger than my place. You’ve got a guestroom, and your office is really too big for you. You need another body in there to make it feel like home.”

“You mean like Dillon and Sherlock’s?”

“Something like that. Remember you told me I was a natural?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“What did you mean by that?”

She looked at the white curtains splotched with red poppies covering the kitchen windows that Janette had sewn for her. She closed her eyes a moment, drew a deep breath, and looked down at her nails. She needed a manicure.

“Well? What do you say? You want to marry me?”

Very slowly, she turned back and stepped against him, wrapped her arms around his back. She said against his neck, “For such a guy, that wasn’t a bad proposal at all. I’ll think about it.”

“Fair enough. Then I’ll tell you I love you if you’ll say it at the same time. On three?”

“I’m counting,” she said, and clicked off her fingers. They were both laughing when they shouted out at the same time, “I love you!”

Later, when they were sitting on the sofa, Callie on his lap, leaning against his shoulder, Ben said, “I know you’re grieving for your stepfather, but I was wondering if there was something else, Callie.”

“What do you mean—?”

He talked right over her. “Sometimes you look a million miles
away, like you’re thinking about something that’s taking you elsewhere.”

She was silent.

“I hope you feel you can tell me anything, Callie.”

She raised her head and looked him squarely in the eyes. “What happened, Ben—Günter dying like he did—it was for the best. I know that.”

He nodded, waited.

“I guess I mean that it’s over. All of it, and there’s only the aftermath to deal with and I’m doing that.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Did I tell you that I am very happy you’re in my life?”

She watched his expression lighten, saw humor come back into his eyes. He was grinning as he said, “Tell me every day, okay. You want to know something?”

“Since I’m maybe even practically engaged to you, I guess I can handle anything you want to tell me.”

“I think you’re a natural too.”