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29
Hay Adams Hotel
Washington, D.C.
SATURDAY MORNING
Molly wanted desperately to sleep a little while longer, just another thirty minutes, twenty maybe, but it wasn’t to be. Unlike Emma and her parents, who hadn’t arrived back to the suite until well after midnight, the twins had enjoyed their regular nine hours and were raring to go at six thirty A.M. They were already on their parents’ bed talking twin talk a thousand miles an hour, hopping up and down, laughing like loons. “Mama! Papa! Waffles, can we have waffles?”
Ramsey cocked an eye open at her and managed to look pitiful, so she rolled out of bed, grabbed the twins, and hauled them out of the bedroom. She ordered a huge pot of coffee and waffles from room service and played Punk the Weasel with them until the suite doorbell rang and a bright young man with red hair in a short ponytail wheeled in a tray, a big smile on his face. “Good morning. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” He broke off when the twins came barreling toward him, shouting, “Waffles!”
“Hey, little dudes. Yep, I brought you waffles, the cook made them himself just for you.” He winked at Molly as he set the plates and silverware, lifted out two covered domes, and set them down with a flourish. “Best waffles in Washington. I’m guessing they got you up early, right?” Molly, her hair sleep tousled, barefoot in a bathrobe, didn’t know whether to punch him for his good cheer or kiss him. She decided on a smile and signed the check. She poured herself a cup of coffee, watching her sons drown the waffles in syrup.
When Ramsey and Emma walked into the living room an hour later, they saw Molly spooning the twins on the sofa, her arms around both of them to keep them from falling to the floor, all three of them asleep. When Ramsey finally woke them, it was because Mason and Elizabeth Beatrice would be due soon, and Savich had called to say he and Sherlock were on their way over to say goodbye.
Molly groaned when he woke her. “Goodness, look at the time. I haven’t finished packing the twins’ suitcases yet. Have you and Emma ordered your breakfasts?”
She was still dressing when Sherlock and Savich arrived, telling the twins Sean said goodbye. He was staying with his grandmother. They were drinking coffee and tea together, and thankfully Emma was playing a game with the twins in the far corner of the living room, when Molly remembered something, and groaned. “Drat, I forgot the twins’ trail mix. It’s a must for any trip longer than half an hour. My dad wouldn’t like the twins asking him to land every five minutes for trail mix.” She called downstairs to the concierge, asked for the closest convenience store.
She punched off, said, “That’s a relief. There’s a 7-Eleven only a block from here. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in plenty of time.”
Emma rose. “I’ll come with you, Mom.”
“Emma, a favor, please. Your grandfather and Elizabeth Beatrice will be here at nine thirty. He’s always on time. I’d really appreciate it if you’d stay here and keep them company. I won’t be longer than ten minutes. You can tell him that.”
Sherlock smiled. “I’ll come with you, Molly. It’s been too long since we’ve had some time together.”
They said good morning to the two guards posted outside the suite and headed to the elevators. Molly said as she punched the down elevator button, “My dad is always on time, so be prepared to move out.”
They sailed through the magnificent lobby. A doorman opened the door for them, gave them a sharp salute, and wished them a fine Saturday.
Molly said, “I figure we’ve still got seven and a half minutes before Dad arrives and starts agitating. He sets a time and that’s it. Only death can get you a free pass.” She laughed. “And it’s not like we’ll miss the flight. We’ll limo to Dulles where his Challenger 650 is hangared at Jet Aviation, then we’ll be off in luxury to Chicago. He told me he upgraded to the larger Bombardier when he decided to marry Elizabeth Beatrice, said it seats up to eleven. I bet he’ll want to put the twins way in the back. Can you imagine flying all over Europe on your honeymoon in your own private jet with two bodyguards?”
Sherlock thought about this. “No,” she said, “I really can’t.”
As they walked down H Street, Sherlock said, “Emma played wonderfully last night, despite everything. That first Chopin prelude opened every heart.”
Molly weaved around a couple of teenagers who were staring at their cell phones. She drew a big breath. “Thank you. But still, though she tries to hide it, the threats these past weeks have taken a huge toll on her. She looks at people she doesn’t know with suspicion and low-level fear. She’s losing trust, Sherlock, wondering if some stranger is going to come up and try to take her. Actually, it’s taken a huge toll on Ramsey and me as well. Even Cal and Gage know something’s not quite right in their world.” Her hands fisted at her sides. “We have to end this but I have no idea how.”
What could Sherlock say that didn’t sound lame? She could only try. “None of you would be normal if you weren’t scared, Emma especially. But you’ve given her valuable skills. She had no one to help her in San Francisco, but she faced down the man at Davies Hall and escaped. She has a lot of people looking out for her now—your dad, all of us, Ben Raven, and Virginia Trolley in San Francisco.” She smiled. “We’ll get to the bottom of this very soon. I just hope your dad doesn’t have Shaker murdered in the meantime, on spec.”
They walked around an older couple talking about visiting the Lincoln Monument, and a family of four, the parents valiantly trying to control their kids. Molly said, “Goodness, there are so many people out and about. It’s Saturday, why aren’t they sleeping in? Kill Shaker on spec? My father promised me he’d never do that, Sherlock, unless Shaker forced his hand. And he does share one thing with Shaker—he doesn’t act unless he’s certain.”
They walked into the 7-Eleven where Molly luckily found the twins’ favorite trail mix. “Plenty of M&Ms,” she said, shaking the two bags. “Each twin has to have his own. Oops, we’ve got to hurry, four and a half minutes before Dad starts frowning and looking at his Patel Philippe.”
They were swept along by pedestrians, primarily tourists, back toward the Hay Adams. Sherlock paused, looked up at the façade, at the doormen tipping their hats, ushering guests to their cabs and packing luggage into trunks. “Look at her, she’s a magnificent old queen, isn’t she, reigning since 1928. Molly, listen a moment before we go in. You know Emma will be safe at your dad’s compound, and Dillon has agreed he and I will fly to Las Vegas. Ben Raven has a BOLO out on M. J. Pederson. We will find him. There will be an end to this.”
“I guess I should tell you. My dad will want to go to Las Vegas with you, no doubt in my mind.”
“Oh, joy. Well, on the plus side he’ll be able to open some doors. We’ll talk to Rule Shaker, maybe see your former stepmom, Eve, and her new husband.”
“Be sure to give her my regards,” Molly said, her voice dripping acid. “The bitch.”
“Don’t blame you for that shot, Eve deserves it. Try not to worry, Molly. Let us do our jobs.”
A man bumped Molly, sending her into Sherlock. As Sherlock grabbed her to keep her from falling, she felt a gun muzzle dig into her back. She reached for her Glock clipped at her waist as she pivoted, brought up her knee. A man whispered in her ear, “I know what and who you are. You pull that gun and I’ll kill her right here, where she stands. Get that knee down. You understand me?”
