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34
WASHINGTON, D.C.
EAST CAPITOL STREET NE
MINNA SAVICH’S HOUSE
MONDAY NIGHT
It was well after midnight. Senator Monroe had left, Savich’s mother had gone to bed, and Sherlock was upstairs in Sean’s bedroom, holding him close as he cuddled an exhausted Astro. Savich wished he were with them, but not just yet. He and Griffin were speaking quietly downstairs in his mother’s living room.
Griffin nodded toward a photo set on the mantel. “That’s your dad, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Savich looked at the large photo in its place of honor. His larger-than-life dad, FBI agent Buck Savich, had been a big-time cowboy in an office full of cowboys in the FBI New York Field Office. In the photo, he was laughing, his arms around Minna and his children. Savich remembered when the photo was taken by one of his dad’s FBI friends. He’d been about twelve. Savich wondered what Senator Monroe thought about Buck Savich being so prominently displayed. He was brought back, his throat closing, when he thought again, Sherlock and Sean could have been killed, burned to death, and I wasn’t there.
However much time Griffin had bought them when he’d awakened Sherlock had helped save their lives. “Griffin, I owe you more than I can ever repay. Thank you.”
Griffin looked down at his smoke-streaked hands. “I’ll tell you, Savich, what I heard, I knew that sound meant fire. It nearly scared me to death. I was afraid I wasn’t close enough to your house to help Sherlock.”
“Where were you then, Griffin?”
“I found myself driving toward your neighborhood, no idea why really, and I called Sherlock, just to check on her. I heard a loud whoosh, sounded like a big-ass grill being fired up, and like I said, I knew. After I called Sherlock, I called 911. She left the line open, and I heard the smoke alarm go off, then after a moment, your security alarm. When I got there, I remembered your grandmother’s painting and ran in to get it and there came Sherlock down the stairs carrying MAX.” He paused. “It was close, Savich, too close. Do you have any idea who’s responsible?”
“No, not yet. But it’s got to be about the St. Lumis case. That’s a lock, after that third part of the puzzle they sent me showed a man burning in a fire the same day someone tried to burn down my house with Sherlock and Sean in it. The question is why.”
Griffin nodded. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Keep protecting Rebekah Manvers.”
Griffin suddenly grinned. “Do you know your mom kissed me and patted my cheek, told me I was an angel, even with a smoky face?”
Savich said simply, “You are an angel. And Mom doesn’t know the half of it.”
Griffin, embarrassed, said, “Ah, but still with an eau de smoke smell. Maybe after I shower I’ll smell sweet enough for your mom to hug me again.”
Savich said, “Our firefighter neighbor told Sherlock it would take at least three rounds of soap and water for people not to cross the street to get away from her and Sean. Of course, Sean doesn’t want another bath. He can’t wait for the other kids at school to smell him.”
Griffin said, “I want a Sean.” He shrugged, looked down at his sooty hands. “Sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”
Savich thought of Anna, Griffin’s former fiancée, who’d broken up with him that past spring and left for Seattle. He said, “Having your very own kid is a life changer. Everything shifts, sharpens. Don’t worry, Griffin, you’ll have your son or daughter, and when you do, you’ll be good at it.”
“That’s what Delsey, my little sister, says about herself. She and Rob Rasmussen are serious.” He looked shocked. “Already talking about kids.” He paused, took a sip of his tea, and set the cup down next to a Sports Illustrated magazine with the whole Warriors team on the cover, set there for Sean, of course. He said, “The fire captain said the house should be cool enough by tomorrow morning for a more thorough investigation. There’ll be a number of experts there, arson specialists. Would you like me there, too? About nine o’clock?”
“Sure. Both Sherlock and I will try to be there, too. There are so many balls in the air right now.” Savich knew he was crashing, could hardly make sense anymore. “Sorry, Griffin, for the life of me I can’t think straight.”
Griffin rose. “I’d give you a hug, but I smell too bad. Go to bed, and kiss Sherlock and Sean. We both need some sleep.”
Savich walked Griffin to the door. “I want to stay involved, Savich,” he said. “So you think it’s connected to the burning man in the puzzle?”
“Got to be. The man in St. Lumis who knocked Pippa out and tied her up did it to pull me away from Washington. The puzzle itself was meant to draw me out there, and when I sent Pippa instead, they had her disappear so I’d go out there after her.”
“So someone could set your house on fire and kill Sherlock and Sean.”
Savich nodded. “I’m thinking it could even be the same man who knocked Pippa out and tied her up. Tomorrow she and Chief Wilde will be working with a local artist to see if they can come up with any sort of decent sketch.”
Savich’s expression never changed, but his voice was cold as an ice floe. “I don’t think he’s the one behind the red-box puzzle. He’s a hired tool. What are they after? To hurt me? By killing my family?” Savich paused, then said quietly, “When I find the person behind this, I’m going to destroy him.”
When Griffin’s car disappeared around the corner, Savich set the alarm and turned off the lights. He paused. Did the arsonist know about his mother’s house? If they stayed here for more than a couple of days, it would be easy to find them. They would have to be very careful.
Soon, he was spooning Sherlock, who was spooning Sean, Astro tucked close. But, despite his exhaustion, he had trouble falling sleep, with Sherlock and Sean in the crosshairs.
When he finally slept, he dreamed he saw the shadow of a woman staring at his house. Even though he couldn’t see her face, he knew she was smiling. He called to her, but she didn’t turn to him, only laughed and pointed. He saw a match burst into flame and watched her hold it up. He yelled at her to stop. But she threw the match, and the house exploded.
He jerked away when Sherlock shoved him. “Wake up, Dillon. You’re having a bad dream, and no wonder. Keep close, all right?”
He fell back asleep, breathing in the smoky smell of Sherlock’s hair.
