Deadlock

by Catherine Coulter

  Griffin said, “Is he afraid Savich will arrest him if he doesn’t drive right over and give you a check?”

  “I hadn’t thought that far. Maybe he will. That’d be good. Dillon’s called me three times, so I know he’s driving like a maniac. It shouldn’t be long now.” She looked down at her watch.

  Griffin said, “I’ve spoken to him as well. And no, I didn’t mention arson. He’s scared enough as it is. Knowing him, he’ll have a police car on his bumper.”

  Luke Mason, his face blackened, ran around the side of the house toward them, still wearing his civvies. He smelled like nasty smoke, but he was smiling. “Sherlock, it looks like we’ve got the fire under control, and your neighbors’ houses are safe. First, let me say the kitchen’s gone, but the guys assure me the fire didn’t gut the rest of the house.” He started to pat her shoulder, realized he was filthy, and drew back his hand. “All I know is the fire started at the back of the house. Hang in there, Sherlock. I’ll be back when I have more to tell you.” Lauren handed her and Griffin each a cup of coffee, strong and sweet, from her mother, Lauren told them, to ward off shock.

  A red Porsche roared around the corner.

  Griffin smiled when he saw a Metro car pull in behind the Porsche. He checked his watch and grinned. “Thirty-seven minutes from St. Lumis. That’s pretty impressive, maybe a record.”

  Savich jumped out of the Porsche and turned off his flasher, yelled, “Sherlock!”

  Sherlock held tight to the blankets wrapped around her and ran to meet him. She saw his face was hollowed and grim in the light from the neighboring houses. She’d been willing him to hurry, to run every red light in Maryland and in the District. She felt everything inside her break apart. She shucked off the blankets and threw her arms around him, squeezed him as tightly as Sean had squeezed her. “I’m all right, really, I’m okay. So is Sean, and Astro. Sean’s not crying because he doesn’t want Marty to make fun of him, but he’s upset because he lost his basketball. I remembered MAX and ran back to get him. Griffin brought out your grandmother’s painting. I called Ethan Brothers, and he’s on his way.” She realized she was spurting it all out a mile a minute, stopped, panting, and hugged him tight again. “I’m so glad you’re here. Thirty-seven minutes. I bet dispatch knew about the fire and told them to let you through.”

  Of course he fastened on to the most critical thing she’d said. He spoke calmly, but he was so scared he wanted to shake her. “You went back into a burning house for a fricking computer?”

  She smiled up at him. “No, not just any fricking computer. I went back for MAX. He’s your creation, Dillon. I didn’t even think about it. I pulled my Redskins sweatshirt over my nose, and I was in and out fast. Dillon, I hardly even breathed.”

  He wanted to yell at her for what could have happened, but he didn’t. He drew a deep breath and hugged her close again. He wouldn’t let her go, even though she’d assured him she was all right when he’d called her several times on his mad drive to Washington. He called out, “Griffin, thank you for saving my grandmother’s painting.” At the moment, he didn’t even wonder why Griffin was there.

  “Papa!”

  He turned to see Thomas Perry holding Marty’s hand on one side, Sean’s on the other. Alice Perry was rocking their small baby boy, keeping away from the smoke a breeze was blowing toward them. Thomas gave Sean a hug. “Your daddy’s here. Go.” Sean shouted and ran full tilt toward him. Sean was fully dressed, and how could that be? Astro was barking his head off, and now Gladys joined in. The black Labrador Boris from down the street filled out a trio. Savich felt his throat close as he scooped Sean up in his arms and hugged him close. All the while Sean was talking nonstop. “Mama carried me, Papa, and she was fast. She wrapped me up like a hot dog so I wouldn’t get smoke up my nose, and Astro was barking and jumping. And Mama leaped down the stairs, and we ran outside.” Sean stopped, studied his father’s face, and patted his cheek. “It will be okay, Papa.” Had Sean seen the empty fear? “Marty said I could sleep with her new little brother tonight if I wanted to. She said he’d wake me up every ten minutes because he was hungry. Mama, you’re crying. What’s wrong?”

  She gulped but managed to smile. “Happy tears, Sean. We’re all safe and together.” She hadn’t thought of where they’d sleep tonight, or for that matter, for the foreseeable future. Not in their own house, that was for sure. It didn’t matter. They were together; they were safe.

  Savich continued to hold Sherlock and Sean against him until Luke Mason trotted over to them. It took Savich a moment to recognize him, as his face was black, his clothes filthy. Why wasn’t he in his fire gear? Luke raised his voice. “Folks, all your houses are safe. The firefighters got here fast enough.” He turned to Savich and Sherlock. “As I told Sherlock, the kitchen’s destroyed, but nothing else structural is burned, only smoke and water damage that couldn’t be avoided. Savich, I’m glad you’re here.” He beamed at the three of them. “Your family’s all right, and that’s the most important thing. It’s good Sherlock got out so fast, didn’t try to fight it. A house is only a house, after all—well, in this case, a kitchen is only a kitchen. Tell you what, let’s get a little away from your neighbors.”

  Luke walked them toward one of the ladder trucks. “Good, no one else can hear us here. I’m sure you’re wondering, so let me spit it out. The fire inspector will make the final decision, but I can tell you now this was no accident. Sherlock was right. We found a can of gasoline behind the kitchen, and one of the guys found one of the kitchen windows smashed. Someone started this fire. And whoever it was also left the gasoline can there on purpose. They wanted you to know.”

  “Not an accident,” Savich said slowly. He felt a cold rage, nearly shook with it. Sherlock and Sean could have died. Whoever had set the fire had brought a war to his home. He would make sure he finished it. He looked at Sherlock’s face. Of course, she’d already known. He looked at Griffin. He nodded.

  33

  Sean pushed against his father’s arms and shouted, “Grandma!”

  Savich set him down, and his son ran to his grandmother, Senator Robert Monroe smiling really big at her side.

  Minna Savich scooped Sean up and squeezed him so tight he yipped. She looked into her son’s eyes and saw huge relief, mirroring her own. She looked him over, then Sherlock, and closed her eyes a moment, squeezing Sean again. “I never prayed so hard in my life.”

  Senator Robert Monroe looked toward the smoke still pluming upward, then back at Savich and Sherlock, and slowly nodded. He patted Sean’s small shoulder. Sean looked up. “I’m glad you brought Grandma over, Uncle Bob.”

  Savich started to say something, but Minna said over Sean’s head, “You have Bob to thank for our getting here so fast. One of his friends at Metro called him on his ham radio to alert him about a 911 call to your home, Dillon. He picked me up, and here we are.”

  Savich felt surprise at the brief stab of resentment he felt at seeing his mom with Senator Monroe, though they’d been together for several years now. He remembered he’d once disliked the senator on principle—he wasn’t Savich’s dad—but he’d proved he could stick and he loved Sean. Savich shook the senator’s hand. “Thank you for helping, sir, and for bringing my mom.”

  Sean was leaning back in Minna’s arms, talking a mile a minute, about how Mama ran back into the burning house and Uncle Griffin, too, to get his great-grandma’s painting, you know, the really big one over the fireplace. His basketball was still stuck in his closet—if it got real hot would it melt? Would it still bounce? Minna listened with half an ear, though Sean would never realize it, her eyes on Sherlock. Her face was streaked with smoke, but her breathing seemed fairly normal, thank heaven.

  Senator Monroe scooped up a barking Astro and held him up for Sean to hug.

  Sherlock said, “So Sean’s told you most of it already, except that someone dumped gasoline in through a smashed kitchen window and outside the kitchen door. The firefighters say they contained it in
the kitchen and saved the rest of the house. And we got out all safe and sound, didn’t we, Sean?” She hugged him, couldn’t help it. It had been too close, too close.

  “You’re saying someone set fire to your house? It was arson?” Minna’s voice climbed two octaves as the enormity of it hit her.

  “Yes. Our firefighter neighbor told me we’ll have an arson inspector and the police department working together on it.”

  Minna put her arm around Sherlock, Sean between them, hugged them both close. “You and Dillon will catch the people who did this.”

  “You can bet on it,” Sherlock said. “We’re working two current cases. You know there’s a connection to one of them.”

  Senator Monroe said, “At least you won’t have any problems with the insurance company. I’m a senator, and you’re FBI. Do you think they’d want to mess with either of us?”

  For the first time that night, both Savich and Sherlock grinned.

  Minna said, “Bob’s house in Hannibal, Missouri, burned down a couple of years ago—ancient wiring that finally gave up the ghost. Bob knows exactly how to deal with them.” She saw Ethan Brothers, the family insurance agent, speaking with a firefighter, and gave him a big shark smile. Minna added, “You’ll come to my house tonight. We’ll see to clothes and whatever you need tomorrow.” She drew Sherlock and now Savich into her arms, sandwiching Sean again. “When Bob called me about the fire, I was so scared.” Her voice caught, and she began to cry.

  It was Savich who held her close and whispered in her ear he loved her while Sean patted her face. “Grandma, please don’t cry. Are you sad because you weren’t here and Mama had to carry me down the stairs?”

  Minna sniffed, swallowed. “Maybe after she carried you down, she’d have come back for me.”

  “Mama’s real strong. She could do it.”

  “Here now, Minna,” Senator Monroe said, “tears are for sad occasions. Most of the house will be good as new once it’s repaired. And everyone is all right. As for the man who set that fire, his days are numbered.”

  Savich found himself looking at the people he loved, finally accepting that they were safe and unharmed. He felt so thankful it smothered his rage, at least in this moment. It wasn’t important right now. He had things to do.

  He called Ben Raven, who told him their people and the arson investigator would set up a forensic team. He accepted a check from Ethan Brothers to cover short-term living expenses. He made the rounds of their neighbors, thanked them for their care, and where did anyone get doughnuts this time of night? He listened to their outrage at someone setting fire to his house, and underneath it he heard their fear that something far worse could have happened, maybe to them. He knew there was no way to reassure them, except to find the person who’d done this. He walked with Captain Ells, the fire chief, and Luke Mason to the back of the house and looked into his burned kitchen. The appliances were scarred and black, but still in one piece. His once-proud coffee machine, what was left of it, was melted into the counter. The cabinets, table, and chairs had burned to cinders. All the dishes, pots, and pans were scattered, breaking where they’d dropped, or melted. The beautiful oak floor was still intact, and amazingly, he saw a single black mug lying on its side in the sink, unharmed. It was his gift from Sean last Christmas. MY DAD was written on it.

  Savich looked up at the ribbons of black smoke still drifting slowly upward out of what was once their kitchen. For the first time, he realized how noxious the smell was and knew it couldn’t be good for Sean, or any of them.

  When he, Luke Mason, and Captain Ells rejoined his family, Savich shook the firefighters’ hands and thanked them for saving his house. Ells said, “You’ll get this figured out, Agent Savich. Right now, though, it’s time to take care of your family.” Griffin gave him a doughnut. Ells laughed and ate it. “Sorry, guys, here come the media. Looks like you’re newsworthy, Agent Savich.”

  The media was all they needed. Savich hadn’t even thought of them and was surprised they’d come. How did they know so fast? One of the firefighters or dispatchers, no doubt. Three reporters and their cameramen piled out of their cars and vans, all of them homing in on him, questions flying from six feet away.

  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 f
or 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.