Blind Side
Page 107
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Detective Raven said, “You think one of the McCamys survived?”
“No one could have survived in that house, Detective,” Miles said.
“Then what’s your point?”
Katie said, “I guess maybe I was just surprised that they hadn’t cleaned everything up. It’s just strange, all of it.”
“Basically, we ain’t got anymore diddly than we had yesterday,” Detective Raven said, rising, and dusting off his jeans. “I’ve always hated too many possibilities. It sucks, big time.”
“Yeah,” Miles said, “I agree.”
Savich’s cell phone played the 1812 Overture. He held up a staying hand, listened, and when he hung up, he said, “That was one of my agents. The white Toyota Camry the shooter was driving was stolen two days ago from a Mr. Alfred Morley, in Rockville, Maryland. Right out of his driveway, during the night. He told the local police and they put out an APB on it.”
“I don’t suppose the car’s turned up?” Detective Raven said.
Savich shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Well, like my daddy always says, if things come too easy in life, you have more fun than you deserve. Okay, that’s it then. Thanks for the scones.” He looked down at his watch. “Well, damn, I’ve missed a good half of the game.”
“The Redskins are probably losing anyway,” Savich said. “No fun watching that.”
40
MONDAY EVENING
WASHINGTON, D.C. Savich was depressed, he admitted it. Sherlock was in a meeting when he left headquarters early to stop at the gym. He wanted to sweat out some of the day’s frustrations and see what his back could manage. Maybe he’d find someone he could practice some easy throws with.
What he didn’t want to find at the gym was Valerie Rapper; her eyes were on him the moment he came out of the men’s locker room.
He nodded to her, nothing more, and headed into the big room to stretch. She followed him, stood at the barre in front of the mirrors and did some ballet moves with her toes pointed out. She said, “I’ve missed you, Agent Savich.”
He didn’t answer her, tried to concentrate on stretching out his knotted muscles. The stress had left him feeling tight and cold. At least his back wasn’t bothering him.
“Would you like me to walk on your back? I’m really very good at it and you look like you could use it.”
“No, thank you, I’m about all set now,” he said and left the exercise room. He worked out hard, moving between the weights and the treadmill, aware that she was always near, and it was driving him nuts. When she got on the treadmill next to him nearly an hour later, he knew he had to put a stop to this.
“Ms. Rapper.”
“Yes, Agent Savich?” She cocked an eyebrow at him, actually ran her tongue over her bottom lip. He stared at that slip-sliding tongue of hers, not out of overwhelming lust, but amazement that she actually did that. The only thing he knew for sure about Ms. Valerie Rapper was that she had supreme self-confidence. Hadn’t any guy ever said no to her? Evidently not.
He said with a touch of humor in his voice, “Why don’t you go introduce yourself to Jake Palmer? You see the good-looking guy down there doing bench presses? He’s single, been divorced for a good long time, and I’ve heard he’s ready to start dating again. I’m not in the dating market, Ms. Rapper.”
“I’m glad you’re not, Agent Savich. I want you all to myself.”
Her arrogance astounded him, and he was silent for a moment. “I’ve already told you I’m married, Ms. Rapper. I’ve got a wife who wants me all to herself. I’m not available. Please, enough is enough. Hey, Jake can out-bench-press me.”
She stretched out her hand and pressed the “stop” button on his treadmill. He stared at her as she stepped over onto his treadmill, right in front of him, ignoring the dozen or so people on the machines near them, and pressed herself against him. She went up on her toes, clasped her palms around his face and kissed him, hard.
There was no punch of lust, just shock at what she was doing, and then anger.
He heard a wolf whistle, but mainly there was just stupefied silence. There was a comment, within hearing, about at least taking it to the parking lot.
“Shall we go to that sexy red Porsche of yours?” She said into his mouth. “But you’re a big man, Agent Savich. My Mercedes is roomier than a Porsche, so how about we go there instead?”
Savich grabbed her arms, pulled them to her sides, and held them there.
“No one could have survived in that house, Detective,” Miles said.
“Then what’s your point?”
Katie said, “I guess maybe I was just surprised that they hadn’t cleaned everything up. It’s just strange, all of it.”
“Basically, we ain’t got anymore diddly than we had yesterday,” Detective Raven said, rising, and dusting off his jeans. “I’ve always hated too many possibilities. It sucks, big time.”
“Yeah,” Miles said, “I agree.”
Savich’s cell phone played the 1812 Overture. He held up a staying hand, listened, and when he hung up, he said, “That was one of my agents. The white Toyota Camry the shooter was driving was stolen two days ago from a Mr. Alfred Morley, in Rockville, Maryland. Right out of his driveway, during the night. He told the local police and they put out an APB on it.”
“I don’t suppose the car’s turned up?” Detective Raven said.
Savich shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Well, like my daddy always says, if things come too easy in life, you have more fun than you deserve. Okay, that’s it then. Thanks for the scones.” He looked down at his watch. “Well, damn, I’ve missed a good half of the game.”
“The Redskins are probably losing anyway,” Savich said. “No fun watching that.”
40
MONDAY EVENING
WASHINGTON, D.C. Savich was depressed, he admitted it. Sherlock was in a meeting when he left headquarters early to stop at the gym. He wanted to sweat out some of the day’s frustrations and see what his back could manage. Maybe he’d find someone he could practice some easy throws with.
What he didn’t want to find at the gym was Valerie Rapper; her eyes were on him the moment he came out of the men’s locker room.
He nodded to her, nothing more, and headed into the big room to stretch. She followed him, stood at the barre in front of the mirrors and did some ballet moves with her toes pointed out. She said, “I’ve missed you, Agent Savich.”
He didn’t answer her, tried to concentrate on stretching out his knotted muscles. The stress had left him feeling tight and cold. At least his back wasn’t bothering him.
“Would you like me to walk on your back? I’m really very good at it and you look like you could use it.”
“No, thank you, I’m about all set now,” he said and left the exercise room. He worked out hard, moving between the weights and the treadmill, aware that she was always near, and it was driving him nuts. When she got on the treadmill next to him nearly an hour later, he knew he had to put a stop to this.
“Ms. Rapper.”
“Yes, Agent Savich?” She cocked an eyebrow at him, actually ran her tongue over her bottom lip. He stared at that slip-sliding tongue of hers, not out of overwhelming lust, but amazement that she actually did that. The only thing he knew for sure about Ms. Valerie Rapper was that she had supreme self-confidence. Hadn’t any guy ever said no to her? Evidently not.
He said with a touch of humor in his voice, “Why don’t you go introduce yourself to Jake Palmer? You see the good-looking guy down there doing bench presses? He’s single, been divorced for a good long time, and I’ve heard he’s ready to start dating again. I’m not in the dating market, Ms. Rapper.”
“I’m glad you’re not, Agent Savich. I want you all to myself.”
Her arrogance astounded him, and he was silent for a moment. “I’ve already told you I’m married, Ms. Rapper. I’ve got a wife who wants me all to herself. I’m not available. Please, enough is enough. Hey, Jake can out-bench-press me.”
She stretched out her hand and pressed the “stop” button on his treadmill. He stared at her as she stepped over onto his treadmill, right in front of him, ignoring the dozen or so people on the machines near them, and pressed herself against him. She went up on her toes, clasped her palms around his face and kissed him, hard.
There was no punch of lust, just shock at what she was doing, and then anger.
He heard a wolf whistle, but mainly there was just stupefied silence. There was a comment, within hearing, about at least taking it to the parking lot.
“Shall we go to that sexy red Porsche of yours?” She said into his mouth. “But you’re a big man, Agent Savich. My Mercedes is roomier than a Porsche, so how about we go there instead?”
Savich grabbed her arms, pulled them to her sides, and held them there.
