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20
Savich House
Georgetown
THURSDAY EVENING
Savich watched Sherlock dab on a touch of pale coral lipstick, his favorite. She looked fit and healthy, but still, he couldn’t let go of the fear that had nearly knocked him flat when he’d first seen her lying unconscious on a gurney. It wouldn’t let go of him. He wished they could be alone this evening so he could hold her and feed her popcorn while they watched a SpongeBob SquarePants episode with Sean. But it was not to be.
Sherlock cocked her head toward the open door and smiled. “Sean’s video-gaming with his favorite Italian plumber, Mario. He’s been smashing mysterious boxes and cross-eyed turtles and mooning over Princess Peach. Sean’s on the moon right now in samurai armor, and he’s going nuts over it. Then I told him the Hunts were coming. He forgot Princess Peach for the moment he was so excited Cal and Gage were coming over, and his goddess, Emma, of course.” She turned from the mirror and Savich saw the diamond studs he’d gotten her for Christmas dancing and sparkling through her curly hair. She looked bright-eyed and energetic, herself again. It was a huge relief, but still— He looked at his Mickey Mouse watch. The Hunts were due soon.
He said, “I like the black turtleneck and the black slacks. You look just about perfect.”
Sherlock frowned at him. “Excuse me. Just about?”
“I had to factor in worrying about you.”
She poked him in the shoulder. “Please, no more worrying.” She rubbed her fingers over his sinfully soft dark blue cashmere sweater. “Very sexy and soft.”
Savich grinned up at her. “I like the sound of some of that.”
She gave him a quick kiss. “Perv. I need to see if Sean’s put away his game, so I should hurry.”
When they were downstairs, waiting, Sean told them in great detail about his samurai armor and the beautiful Princess Peach. “Papa, do you think Cal and Gage are old enough to play?”
“Give them another year or two. I think they’re going to be bringing their own games, Sean. Do you mind playing theirs? Give them some pointers?”
Sean beamed. “Don’t worry, Papa, I can show them what’s what.”
Two hours later, the hamburgers were a memory. Sean and the Hunt twins were huddled together by the front window playing a game that appeared to call for a lot of shouting and fist waving. The adults settled in with tea and coffee.
Ramsey said, “Let me be honest here, Sherlock. When I saw you go down, I was scared spitless.”
“But no worries now, Ramsey, please. All I’m left with is this Band-Aid on my neck for a day or two, that’s all.”
Sherlock noticed Emma was standing quietly against the back of the sofa where her parents sat, listening in. She knew Emma was smart enough to know what they were about to talk about, and mature enough to hear it and so she was pleased when Ramsey called to her. “Come sit between us, Em. You should be a part of this. You should know as much as we do about what happened today.”
Emma eased down between her parents, and they each took one of her hands. Emma said, clear-eyed and calm, “I know that man followed us here and shot a dart in Aunt Sherlock’s neck. I know he meant to shoot me with it and take me.” She drew a deep breath. “Like Father Sonny took me when I was six.” Molly jerked and Emma squeezed her hand. “It’s okay, Mom. It was really scary when I was six, but I know now he was sick. It’s different now, I’m different. I’m almost thirteen.” She looked over at Sherlock and Savich, then at her parents. “Don’t try to take me out of it, I’m going to stay for my concert. With all you guys watching, no one will get near me. I’ll be fine, really, I want to perform. I told Vincenzo how important it is to me and he agrees I should regardless of any stalker, or whatever he is.”
Savich looked at Emma’s defiant, hopeful face. She’d had to grow up too fast, survive looking at every stranger around her as a potential threat even as young child. But she’d not only survived, she’d thrived. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see her tense and frightened, but instead she was composed and adamant about performing.
Ramsey said, “Your mother and I have discussed this, Em, and we agree. You will perform. You’ll knock everyone’s socks off and you won’t worry about any of this, for tonight or tomorrow night.”
Emma kissed each of them on the cheek and beamed.
Sherlock said, “We’ll do our part, Emma. Our friend Lieutenant Ben Raven at the Metropolitan Police Department will be assigning officers to you at Kennedy Center, one at each exit, and a woman officer, Joy Trader, to stay close when I’m unable.” She looked at Molly. “Of course your parents will be there for you as well.”
Molly drew a deep breath. “That’s right. Anyone even looks at you funny and I’ll kick his butt. Now, I called your grandfather, Emma. He’s very concerned. He wants us to come to the compound in Oak Park after you finish your performance at Kennedy Center if Uncle Dillon and Aunt Sherlock haven’t caught this man yet.”
Sherlock wasn’t surprised Molly had called Mason Lord. They’d be safe settled in his compound in the wealthy Oak Park suburb of Chicago for the duration. Talk about a fortress replete with a rotation of guards. If they did go there, Mason Lord would undoubtedly quadruple the guards. But how long would the duration be? Sherlock knew this couldn’t go on; they had to shut it down, whatever it was, and fast. She said, “Four different security cameras at Kennedy Center caught Mr. Dart Gun. But with the sunglasses and ball cap, it wasn’t very helpful. I spoke to two employees who believed they saw him, but they couldn’t provide any more information about him. I asked the security people to send over stills of all the cars in or near the parking lots that were within camera range. There weren’t that many people there, mostly the orchestra and some theater employees because there weren’t any rehearsals going on in the other two Kennedy Center theaters. Ben Raven said he’d have his people look through them as well as nearby traffic cams for any rentals or stolen vehicles. He’s going to call me.”
It all sounded good, but still Ramsey worried. “So a ball cap and sunglasses again, and we’re not any closer to knowing who he is, or who they are.”
Savich said, “That’s right, we don’t even know it was the same man. If it was, he used a different MO than he tried on Emma in San Francisco.” He sat forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees. “Like all of you, I’ve given this a lot of thought and I don’t think he wants Emma for himself. He’s hired to kidnap her. I think it’s someone else who wants her, for a specific reason.”
“That’s what I think, too,” Emma said. “I remember my grandfather had Father Sonny killed in the hospital after he tried to take me that last time on the wharf in Monterey. Don’t look surprised, Mom, I overheard you and Dad talking about it. I remember thinking finally I was safe since he was gone. And then last year Father Sonny’s crazy mother came back and tried to kill you, Dad, and Aunt Sherlock shot him. The thing is, they’re both dead, so how can this man have anything to do with Father Sonny and what happened to me when I was six?”
Savich said, “Emma’s right, I checked. There’s no one close to Father Sonny or his mother left that I could find, and no close friends, certainly no one close enough to want revenge on you or your family, Emma, for what happened to Father Sonny. That would take commitment and money and planning. One of my agents, Jack Crowne, spoke with Warden Clapp of the Billings State Prison where Father Sonny was incarcerated for many years. Warden Clapp hooked him up with two long-term guards who were there the same time as Father Sonny. One of the guards told Jack about an old geezer, a lifer who claimed Father Sonny bragged about a cousin on his mother’s side who was planning on helping him when he got out, a meth head. Jack searched out this cousin’s name, Mennen Lowe, but he couldn’t find him, he’s been off the grid for years.” Savich paused. “Could the man in the ball cap be Mennen Lowe? I personally doubt it. Again, money, planning, commitment. Sherlock?”
