Would Kirsten try to kill Sean? No, Sherlock was protecting him, not firing back, covering Sean, keeping him safe.
As suddenly as it began, it was over. Lucy heard no movement, no noise, not even from the birds, only her own heavy breathing. Then Savich was shaking her, his voice fast and impatient. “Keep behind that oak, Lucy. Thank God, Sherlock’s got Sean; they’re okay. I’m going to circle around after her.”
She heard Coop speaking to the 911 operator as he crouched down behind a park trash bin. She saw Sherlock with Sean in her arms, rocking him as she looked out toward them from behind a tree.
She heard faint shouts from people walking toward the park, wondering what had happened, but they really didn’t touch her. She was lost in a daze of numb shock mixed with such boundless relief she wanted to weep.
She looked up to see Savich trotting back to her, his SIG back in its belt clip, speaking into his cell. She ran to him, said over and over, “You’re all right. Thank God, you’re all right.” She rubbed her hands over his chest, unaware that Savich was standing still as a statue in front of her, staring silently down at her. Finally, he pulled her hands away, held them in his.
She closed her eyes a moment to block out the enormity of what had happened—she’d succeeded, the ring had succeeded, Kirsten hadn’t killed him. But what if she’d been two yards farther away? What if she hadn’t acted fast enough? Savich would be dead; his life would have been snuffed out by that psychopath.
“Yes, all of us are all right,” he said, keeping his voice flat and soothing. “She’s gone now, Lucy.”
“Yes, she’s gone.”
“Lucy—”
She pulled away from him and leaned back against the oak tree. She began to laugh, and her laughter became wild, uncontrolled.
Savich heard that laugh, saw that she was shaking, her eyes dilated, her face dead white. He began rubbing her arms as he said very slowly, knowing he himself wasn’t all that steady, “You were standing way over there, Lucy, Sherlock and Coop with you. I stood up with the bottles of lemonade, and suddenly here you were, smashing into me; then there was a shot. How did you get here so fast?”
Her laugher slowly died.
“Lucy, how did you know Kirsten was even here?”
“Thank God you’re all right, Dillon,” she said again, reached out her hand and cupped his face in her palm.
“Hey!” It was Coop, and he was panting, frowning at the two of them. “What happened, Lucy? I saw you plow into Savich. Did you see her? What’s going on? You look like you’re freezing.” He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it around her shoulders.
Sherlock, clutching a crying Sean close, was on Coop’s heels. She stared from her husband to Lucy, her heart pounding hard and fast, fear so thick in her throat she could only get his name out before her throat closed. “Dillon—”
He touched her, then lightly stroked Sean’s head. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Hey, Sean, everything’s okay.” He looked at Lucy, who was staring down at her feet. He looked back at Sherlock, and a very clear, silent message passed between them. This can’t ever happen with Sean again.
He held both Sherlock and Sean tightly against him. “Lucy knocked me flat; she was protecting me. I’m fine. Now, Sean, Mommy’s going to take you back to the car, and I’ll be with you guys in a minute, okay?”
But Sherlock wasn’t about to leave him, and so Savich kept talking to Sean, who was still clutching his Frisbee tight in his hand. Savich looked over at Lucy. “How did you ever see Kirsten before she shot at me, Lucy?”
Lucy simply shook her head and turned at the sound of sirens, growing louder by the second.
Coop said, “Remember how Mr. Lansford bragged about how he’d taught Kirsten to shoot a rifle? Thank God she missed you.”
“Yes, she missed me,” Savich said, “but only because of Lucy.” He hugged her to him. “Thank you, Lucy Carlyle, for saving my life.”
If you only knew, Lucy thought. Savich slowly released her. She stood motionless, saying nothing, and she was staring down at the leaf-strewn ground, then over at the oak tree where the bullet had struck, hugging Coop’s jacket around herself.
You’re an experienced agent, Lucy Carlyle, but you’re much more shaken than any of us. Why?
He walked to the oak tree, dug out the bullet casing. If Lucy had been a second later—a split second—he would be dead.
CHAPTER 60
Three teenage boys had told Coop they’d seen this jazzy woman, carrying something under her arm wrapped in a jacket, jump into a dirty dark blue Chevy Monte Carlo, with a ding on the back passenger-side fender.
They talked over one another until a tall, skinny kid won out because his voice was the loudest. “Short red hair, in spikes like a punk, you know. She was tall, and kind of skinny.”
They’d nailed Kirsten down to the “jazzy.”
“Dude, sir, she was flying. Ponce here yelled after her, and she shot him the finger and was outta here.”
“She nearly clipped a fire plug, you know, headed out of the park on Clotter Street.”
“Clotter’s one-way, heads right to the Potomac.”
“That old Monte Carlo, she floored the sucker, rooster-tailed gravel.”
Coop, the dude himself, looked around now at the half dozen agents sitting at the CAU conference table. “Any ideas where she would go? She should be desperate, low on money, no supports left that we know of, having to rob or steal most everything she needs.” Then he frowned. “Of course, we can’t be sure of that.”
Savich said without hesitation, “She isn’t going anywhere until she kills me. Today she nearly did.” He looked at Lucy, who was sitting silently next to Coop. She looked as if she wasn’t there, as if she were far away, in a world no one else could see.
Ruth said, “Bruce Comafield wasn’t just trying to scare you, Dillon. She must be fixated on killing you, given the chance she took trailing you to the park and opening fire on four armed agents.
“So, you’re not going to be alone until we bring her down. No more playing Frisbee in the park. In fact, we all think you should camp out here in the CAU. We’ll bring in veggie pizzas.”
Like that was going to happen, Savich thought. Then he realized he hadn’t eaten, and he was hungry. One of Dizzy Dan’s pizzas sounded pretty good.
Dane said, “I still don’t understand how you did it, Lucy, how you came to knock Savich down the second before Kirsten fired at him. What did you see?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Beneath the table, Coop took her hand, squeezed it. Her skin was cold—not a surprise, given that death had crouched on her shoulder that morning. And what she’d done, knocking Savich down like that, had scared him just as much. Savich had flirted with shock as well when he was standing there digging out the casing in the oak tree, but he’d focused on his son, jollying him out of fright, telling him what an adventure they’d had, how Marty was going to be so jealous she might not speak to him for a day or two. Still, Coop knew both Savich and Sherlock had to be worried sick about Sean, about how death had brushed too close to their little boy.
“Lucy?” Savich said.
Eric Clapton sang out “Tears in Heaven.”
“Savich here.”
A brief pause, then he said clearly, “You’re talking too fast, Kirsten. Say that again.”
Ollie was out of his chair, racing to trace the call.
Everyone at the conference table leaned toward Savich. Savich’s face, Coop saw, was red with rage, but that rage didn’t sound through in his voice.
“How did you get my number, Kirsten?”
They all stared at Savich’s cell, silently praying that she would keep talking until Ollie located her phone. They could hear her screaming at Savich, something about Bruce Comafield.
“Bruce died because he was with you, Kirsten. It’s on your head, not mine.”
More screaming.
“Truth is, I’m sorry he died. I was thinking I could put it out he was aliv
e and lure you back to the hospital to try to save him. But he didn’t make it.”
More screaming, then a moment of silence before Savich said, “If you were me, you’d have thought about doing the same thing, wouldn’t you?”
That was good, Coop thought, keep her arguing. He saw Ollie was nodding at them through the glass door. Dane and Ruth were out of their chairs, racing to the elevator, Ollie with them, still talking on his cell.
Savich continued after a moment, voice calm and slow, “Would you have come to the hospital to see Bruce?”
Coop heard cursing vile enough to curl his mother’s hair. After she’d run down again, Savich said, “You’re not going to have another try at Ann Marie Slatter. She’s safe now.
“No, don’t congratulate yourself on that, either. The redhead isn’t dead; your drugs didn’t kill her. She’s very much alive, and she will stay that way, just as Ann Marie Slatter will.
“Listen, Kirsten, you need to stop this. What you’re doing isn’t about them, anyway. You need to meet me alone, and we can have it out. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Or do you want to hide and try to shoot me from a hundred yards away again? Yep, we found where you’d been crouched down, waiting to get a good shot at me. But you missed, didn’t you? Why was that? I guess you’re just not good enough.”
There was more screaming, and Savich held the phone a bit away from his ear.
“You can try to kill me, Kirsten, but what makes you think you’ll do better next time? How did you get my cell number?” After a pause, he said, “Yes, I did ask our unit secretary to give out my number to any woman who called. Again, wouldn’t you have done the same thing?”
She didn’t answer; she hung up. Savich pushed a button on his cell. “Dane, where is she?”
“She was moving in a vehicle near Arlington National Cemetery. We lost her when she turned off her cell. The cops are on their way. We’ve got to hope she’s still driving the Monte Carlo.”
Savich slipped his cell back into his breast pocket. “Now we wait.” He added, more to himself than to the group, “Sherlock will be back later, after she drops Sean with his grandmother and Senator Monroe. We wanted him as far away from Kirsten as possible.” He paused, remembering the park and how scared he’d been. He drew a deep breath. “Unless we’re lucky, they won’t know what she’s driving, but she’ll call me back after—”
“After what?” Coop asked.
Savich’s voice was utterly emotionless. “She’s in a killing rage. Someone in Virginia will die very soon now.”
CHAPTER 61
Wesley Heights
Lucy sat cross-legged on the bed, her fingers twisting and untwisting the fringe on a bright blue afghan.
Coop said nothing, simply sipped at his coffee and watched her. Finally he said, “Kirsten’s call to Savich this afternoon kept you from explaining what happened in the park this morning, Lucy. You’ve had time to think about it. Want to try out your explanation on me? I’ll give you a fair hearing.”
The light touch of sarcasm floated through her brain, then wafted away, not really touching her. She looked up, smiled at him. “What a day.”
A dark eyebrow cocked up.
“You know, Coop, I’d rather haul you to the bedroom and take you down on that rock-hard mattress.”
He eyed her, not changing expression. “As a distraction, that’s a perfect ten.”
She kept twisting and knotting the fringe, all her attention on her fingers. She drew a deep breath. “Okay, give me your fair hearing. I saw Kirsten, saw the glint of her rifle, saw she was aiming at Dillon. I ran my heart out and managed to get to him in time.”
He rose and looked down at her. “All right, the verdict. That would sound plausible enough to anyone who wasn’t there, but not to me, or to Savich or Sherlock, either. At that distance, there’s not a chance in a million you would have seen enough to make that connection, or get to Savich in time. Did you have some kind of premonition?”
“I’m a fast runner, did you know? I ran track in high school, like Ann Marie Slatter. Not in college, though, too many boys.” And she laughed.
His cell phone rang. After a minute, he slipped it back into his pocket. “Unfortunately, Savich was right. Kirsten’s killed again, a young woman in her home in Fairfax. Strangled her. Her boyfriend found her body. We need to go.”
He tossed her his jacket as he strode to the door, and said over his shoulder, “Saved again by a phone call.”
CHAPTER 62
Georgetown
Saturday night
It was midnight when “Tears in Heaven” filled the silent bedroom.
“Hello, Kirsten. I’ve been waiting for you to call.” Savich quickly pressed two buttons, heard a low “Got it,” and switched to speakerphone.
Kirsten’s voice was high and wild. “Yeah, well, I can’t sleep, now, can I? Not with you still pulling air into your lungs, you murdering cop bastard.”
“Me? Now, that’s funny, Kirsten. Do you even know the woman’s name you strangled today?”
“Yeah, something dippy, like Mary. Who cares? Suspicious little bitch, didn’t want to let me in even though I was smiling really big and offering her a totally free trial of my company’s new vacuum. I had to kick her backward, then she started crying, trying to run, but I caught her fast enough.”
Savich felt the familiar feeling of dread pass through him—her madness, he knew, and now she’d lost any semblance of control.
Push her, push her. “You were too afraid to meet me, weren’t you, Kirsten? So you went after another innocent who didn’t have a clue how crazy you are. Does it make you feel powerful? Strong?”
“I’m not crazy!” She began cursing him again.
“What would you say you are, then?”
She fell silent. Seconds ticked by. Didn’t she know he was tracing her cell?
“How about this—you’re the daughter of one of the craziest, most perverted and depraved lunatics in history. Since your dad took the names of many of his victims to his grave, no one knows how many women he murdered. So how will you ever know when you match up to Daddy? Did you ever play with all those girls and women you murdered in San Francisco? Like Daddy did?”
“Shut up! Just shut up about Daddy! I’m going to make you suffer, suffer, suffer—” She was gasping for breath. “I should have nailed you right through your black heart at the park. I had you all lined up. I don’t know what happened—”
“Yeah, yeah. So when are you going to come after me again, Kirsten? You want me to make it easy for you? Tell you what, tomorrow morning, real early, I’ll go for a run in Deer Creek Park. You care to join me? Try to take me down again?”
“Do you think I’m stupid? You’ll have the place crowded with cops, one behind every bush. No, I’m thinking I’m going to kill that little redheaded bitch next—you know, the one you told me survived? Like you killed Bruce? I know she’s not just another one of your agents; she’s your wife. You know how I know that? You’re even on YouTube. Hey, why don’t you hand her your cell. I’ll bet she’s listening, right?”
Even though Savich was shaking his head at her, Sherlock said, loud and clear, “Hey, Kirsten, when we were bellied up to the bar together in Baltimore, you sounded sane, like you were even fun. I can see how the other women thought you were fun, too. Boy, we were all wrong, weren’t we? You’re as crazy as one of those rabid bats that hang in the Ozark caves. You want to play with me again? What makes you think you’ll have any better luck with me than you did with my husband? He’s nice, my husband, but I’m nasty, Kirsten, mean as a pit snake. I’ll kick your bony butt through your backbone, then I’ll clamp my teeth in your neck and chew. When you’re hollering and begging, I’ll hold you down and jerk out all your teeth. Yeah, you keep cursing, it’s all you know how to do. Why don’t you come to Deer Creek Park, Kirsten? I’ll be there, too.”
Savich jumped up from the bed, turned the cell away from Sherlock. He looked furious, but when he spoke to Kirsten,
he sounded calm as a judge. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kirsten. Don’t let me down or I’ll know you’re not your father’s daughter; I’ll know when it comes to the sticking point, you’re just a wannabe, a no-guts failure.”
She hung up, cursing him.
A minute later, he got a call from Agent Randy McDowell. “She’s moving, Savich, near Hightown, Virginia. I had local cops following her signal. She was heading toward D.C. I’ll keep you posted.”
Savich punched off his cell, rounded on Sherlock, who was sitting on her knees on top of the bedcovers, her hair tossed around her head, ready to fight, shaking her teacher’s finger at him. “You mess with me on this and I’ll take you down, you hear me?”
“Yeah? Like pull out my teeth?”
“Nice visual, don’t you think? That’s what Kirsten’s all about.”
“You aren’t going anywhere near her again, you hear me?”
“I’m fine physically, and you know it, so don’t try that one.”
“I’m your boss, so listen up. You are not back to one hundred percent, so don’t lie to me. I said you’re not going anywhere near that insane woman again. Even if I have to tie you down, you’ll stay right here.”
She had only a pillow at hand—a pity—but she threw it as hard as she could. He caught it out of the air.
“You try it, hotshot. Now, you listen up. The question is, did it work? Should we make arrangements to have people at Deer Creek Park in the morning?”
He growled at her and lunged. He landed against her, threw her back, and came down over her, jerked her wrists beside her head. She had no leverage, and he knew it. He stared down at her, at a loss for what to say. She looked ready to fight for a second, but then she said on a laugh, “How long are you going to hold me down?”
“As long as it takes me to think of something else. You’re going to clamp your teeth in her neck and chew?”
“Yep. Another good image, don’t you think?”
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