Bombshell
Page 82
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You’re an idiot to come back. Who cares if you’re wearing jeans and a sweater that smell like hamburgers and fries? You’ll be back in Washington soon enough.
This was nuts. I’m smart and I’m fast, so shut up! Anna pressed her Glock against her leg and refused to sweep it around her as she walked to her front door.
She heard something, something like a branch dragging on the ground, and froze in her tracks. Then nothing. She didn’t fumble with the keys, in and open, and she had her back pressed against the wall next to the door, her breath coming fast, and for a crystalline instant, she was back in the abandoned warehouse in New Orleans that was really a meth lab where she’d seen her first and only firefight. You came through that, didn’t you? You stayed focused, didn’t lose your nerve, even though, admit it, your hands were clammy with sweat and fear, and your heart was beating a mad tattoo. You did okay; you did great.
She’d never before been so spooked, so close to having her control shatter. It was humiliating.
Would Griffin be scared?
No, he wouldn’t. She wouldn’t, either. She’d get a grip.
Sure enough, no one was hiding behind the mop in the kitchen pantry. Nothing had disturbed the meager lineup of shoes in her closet, and she heard no quiet breathing that wasn’t her own. She opened the bathroom door and turned on the light, the white tile glaring back at her. Her heart skipped as she remembered Delsey finding Arnie’s body behind her shower curtain, his blood trailing into her bathtub. She stared into the bathroom mirror at the pasty white face of a woman running too close to the edge. She stood there and changed that woman’s face into her own, strong and sure and ready to kick big butt. She heard a car engine, heard fast footfalls coming toward the front door.
Griffin was here. There was a loud knock on the door, and his steady, sane voice: “Anna?”
Washington, D.C.
Monday evening
It was way past Sean’s bedtime, but since Delsey was a new chapter in Sean’s life, they’d let him stay up, even microwaved a bag of popcorn. Savich watched Delsey clean the butter off Sean’s fingers as he confided in her how his future wife, Emma Hunt, could play the piano nearly as well as his mama. He was going to make sure Emma had a big grand piano so she wouldn’t regret marrying him, and maybe Delsey wouldn’t mind playing it, too?
Savich grinned as he leaned down to pick up stray popcorn from the kitchen floor. He liked Griffin’s sister, the Trouble Magnet, and so did his son.
Jimmy Buffett sang out “The Piña Colada Song” on Savich’s cell. Savich met Sherlock’s eyes. They both hated late calls because a lot of the time it meant bad things had happened, that their night with Sean was over. He was aware that Delsey was staring hard at him.
“Savich.”
He listened to a hysterical Melissa Ivy screaming at him: “He’s dead! Oh, dear God, Peter’s dead!”
“Where are you, Melissa?”
“I’m in Peter’s apartment. I just walked in and he’s dead, do you hear me? He’s dead!”
“Listen to me now, Melissa, I want you to call 911 and do as they say. Wait for the police. Tell them you called me. We’ll be there as quickly as we can.”
“What?” Sherlock said.
Savich punched in Detective Moffett’s cell number as he said to Sherlock, “Peter Biaggini’s dead. That was Melissa Ivy. She found him; she’s at his apartment.”
“Stony and now Peter? What’s going on here? Oh, Delsey, this is about the Tommy Cronin murder. We’ve got another”—she gave a quick glance at Sean, who was all ears—“incident.”
Delsey felt bile rise in her throat, gulped. “I’ll take care of Sean.” She looked down at the little boy, who was still staring at his parents. “Do you mind staying with me, Sean, while your parents go out and take care of some business?”
Sean thought about this as he watched his father punch in a number on his cell.
“Do I have to go to bed?”
“Not yet. Let’s play some Hot Dogger. I’m good, really good at skateboarding, Sean. I can skateboard with the best of them.” Hot Dogger, Sean had told her, was like the real thing.
“We only got Hot Dogger a week ago, but Daddy said I’m already a champion at it.”
“We’ll see. You ready to put your thumbs where your mouth is, Sean?”
“I want to play until Mommy and Daddy get home.”
Delsey smiled back at Savich and Sherlock, nodding.
On the third ring, Savich heard a low pissed-off voice. “Yeah? Moffett here. I’m not on call.”
This was nuts. I’m smart and I’m fast, so shut up! Anna pressed her Glock against her leg and refused to sweep it around her as she walked to her front door.
She heard something, something like a branch dragging on the ground, and froze in her tracks. Then nothing. She didn’t fumble with the keys, in and open, and she had her back pressed against the wall next to the door, her breath coming fast, and for a crystalline instant, she was back in the abandoned warehouse in New Orleans that was really a meth lab where she’d seen her first and only firefight. You came through that, didn’t you? You stayed focused, didn’t lose your nerve, even though, admit it, your hands were clammy with sweat and fear, and your heart was beating a mad tattoo. You did okay; you did great.
She’d never before been so spooked, so close to having her control shatter. It was humiliating.
Would Griffin be scared?
No, he wouldn’t. She wouldn’t, either. She’d get a grip.
Sure enough, no one was hiding behind the mop in the kitchen pantry. Nothing had disturbed the meager lineup of shoes in her closet, and she heard no quiet breathing that wasn’t her own. She opened the bathroom door and turned on the light, the white tile glaring back at her. Her heart skipped as she remembered Delsey finding Arnie’s body behind her shower curtain, his blood trailing into her bathtub. She stared into the bathroom mirror at the pasty white face of a woman running too close to the edge. She stood there and changed that woman’s face into her own, strong and sure and ready to kick big butt. She heard a car engine, heard fast footfalls coming toward the front door.
Griffin was here. There was a loud knock on the door, and his steady, sane voice: “Anna?”
Washington, D.C.
Monday evening
It was way past Sean’s bedtime, but since Delsey was a new chapter in Sean’s life, they’d let him stay up, even microwaved a bag of popcorn. Savich watched Delsey clean the butter off Sean’s fingers as he confided in her how his future wife, Emma Hunt, could play the piano nearly as well as his mama. He was going to make sure Emma had a big grand piano so she wouldn’t regret marrying him, and maybe Delsey wouldn’t mind playing it, too?
Savich grinned as he leaned down to pick up stray popcorn from the kitchen floor. He liked Griffin’s sister, the Trouble Magnet, and so did his son.
Jimmy Buffett sang out “The Piña Colada Song” on Savich’s cell. Savich met Sherlock’s eyes. They both hated late calls because a lot of the time it meant bad things had happened, that their night with Sean was over. He was aware that Delsey was staring hard at him.
“Savich.”
He listened to a hysterical Melissa Ivy screaming at him: “He’s dead! Oh, dear God, Peter’s dead!”
“Where are you, Melissa?”
“I’m in Peter’s apartment. I just walked in and he’s dead, do you hear me? He’s dead!”
“Listen to me now, Melissa, I want you to call 911 and do as they say. Wait for the police. Tell them you called me. We’ll be there as quickly as we can.”
“What?” Sherlock said.
Savich punched in Detective Moffett’s cell number as he said to Sherlock, “Peter Biaggini’s dead. That was Melissa Ivy. She found him; she’s at his apartment.”
“Stony and now Peter? What’s going on here? Oh, Delsey, this is about the Tommy Cronin murder. We’ve got another”—she gave a quick glance at Sean, who was all ears—“incident.”
Delsey felt bile rise in her throat, gulped. “I’ll take care of Sean.” She looked down at the little boy, who was still staring at his parents. “Do you mind staying with me, Sean, while your parents go out and take care of some business?”
Sean thought about this as he watched his father punch in a number on his cell.
“Do I have to go to bed?”
“Not yet. Let’s play some Hot Dogger. I’m good, really good at skateboarding, Sean. I can skateboard with the best of them.” Hot Dogger, Sean had told her, was like the real thing.
“We only got Hot Dogger a week ago, but Daddy said I’m already a champion at it.”
“We’ll see. You ready to put your thumbs where your mouth is, Sean?”
“I want to play until Mommy and Daddy get home.”
Delsey smiled back at Savich and Sherlock, nodding.
On the third ring, Savich heard a low pissed-off voice. “Yeah? Moffett here. I’m not on call.”
