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73
Savich, Sherlock, and Ruth crouched over as they moved quickly away from the long driveway to skirt the big colonial house. Savich nodded to Sherlock and she slipped around the side of the house to look through the front window. She backed up, whispered, “They’re packing up, moving fast. A man and a woman just walked out of the living room carrying boxes.”
They watched the man and woman carry out two boxes each and lift them into a large white van, the Bexholt logo on the side.
Savich whispered, “Let’s get these two out of the way, then we’ll deal with the others inside.”
Cricket squeaked when she felt Sherlock’s gun pointed at her temple. Sherlock whispered in her ear. “Don’t move. Do as I say and you won’t get hurt.”
“Wh-who are you?”
“I’m FBI. Who are you?”
Cricket shook her head. “I could tell you, but I know I shouldn’t.”
“I guess that makes sense from your point of view, but not much,” Sherlock said. “Walk with me and don’t make another sound or I will have to hurt you.” She looked over to see Ruth perp-walking the man toward the back of the house. They flex-cuffed their wrists and set them down behind a maple tree. Savich said to them, “Tell me now, what are your names?”
Craig gave Cricket a look, then, “I’m Dr. Craig Cook. She’s Cricket Washburn.”
“You both work at Bexholt?”
“Yes.”
“Does anyone have a gun inside?”
Cricket whispered, “Claire Farriger does, she always has a gun. Are you arresting us? Craig and I haven’t done anything, well, hardly anything.”
Ruth said, “Yes, you’re under arrest.” And she read them their rights. “Now, if you try to warn them, like yelling, you’ll be charged additionally with obstruction and have gags stuffed in your mouths.”
Craig said, “No, please, we won’t say anything.”
She stood over them a moment, shaking her head. “I guess it’s because you two are so young it pains me to see what bad decisions you’ve made. We’re all going to stay right here until more of our people arrive. Very soon now.”
Sherlock crept back to look through the window again. Nikki Bexholt and Claire Farriger weren’t working any longer, they were arguing.
Jasmine Palumbo suddenly shouted, “Look, on the security camera! They’re here!”
“No choice, we’re going in.” Savich was fast. He backed up and sent his foot into the front door. It was unlocked and the door flew inward. They rushed through the entrance hall, their Glocks at the ready. “FBI! None of you move! Farriger, drop your gun. Now. Bexholt, Palumbo, down on the floor, hands behind your heads.”
Farriger grabbed Jasmine, hauled her up against her, one arm tight around her neck, her other hand holding her weapon pointed at Jasmine’s cheek. Farriger’s face was set, her expression hard, her eyes filled with determination. “Not you two again. How?”
Sherlock said, her voice infinitely calm, “You don’t want to die, Ms. Farriger. Put down your weapon and release Ms. Palumbo. There doesn’t have to be any violence. You have no backup. Lance Armstrong is now in custody. Cook and Washburn are bound outside. Oh yes, Justice told Alan Besserman everything you did to him. He’s safe as well. To round it all off, Agent Lucy McKnight is fine. It really is all over, Ms. Farriger. Let Palumbo go.”
Farriger tightened her grip around Jasmine’s neck. “It will be proved Cummings is a liar. Now, Jasmine and I are leaving together. Any move on your part, and she’s dead. I know you’re well trained, but so am I. I will kill her. Do you understand me?”
Savich said, “Even if you manage to get away, there is no place for you to hide. Your best move is to try to make a deal with the federal prosecutors. You haven’t killed anyone, have you?”
Nikki said, “All of us believe she killed Ellie or had her killed by that lover of hers, Lance Armstrong.”
“Shut up, Nikki! Now, I know you’re never supposed to give up your weapons, but if you don’t, I will shoot Jasmine dead right now, in front of you. Glocks on the ground. Get down on your bellies, hands on your heads. Do it, now!”
Savich and Sherlock knelt down, placed their Glocks on the hardwood floor, then went down on their bellies, hands laced behind their heads.
Jasmine was white as a sheet. She knew Farriger would shoot her as soon as she got her into her car, maybe sooner. She had nothing to lose. She kicked down with her boot, got Farriger hard in the shin, grabbed her arm with both hands, and jerked with all her strength. Farriger shouted, “Stop it or I’ll shoot you right now!”
But Jasmine wasn’t about to stop.
Time slowed. Savich went for his Glock as he saw Farriger’s finger tighten on the trigger, saw Jasmine trying to free herself, panting, her face turning red as Farriger’s arm tightened around her neck. He wouldn’t be in time. Then, to his surprise, Nikki Bexholt whirled about, grabbed a laptop from a table, and brought it down as hard as she could on Farriger’s head. Jasmine jerked away from her just as the gun fired. Jasmine went down. And so did Farriger.
Savich moved to Farriger, peeled one of her eyelids back. She twisted, tried to grab her gun from the floor, but Nikki was faster. She bashed her on the head again with the laptop.
Jasmine Palumbo moaned, slapped her hand to the side of her head. Nikki was at her side in an instant. “Jasmine! Oh no, Jasmine!”
“No, Nikki, keep back.” Sherlock pulled Jasmine’s hand away, studied the wound. “You were lucky, Ms. Palumbo, it’s only a flesh wound.” She stilled, then turned to blink up at Savich.
