Power Play (An FBI Thriller) (29 page)

Savich’s house

Sunday night

S
herlock snuggled in, pressed her cheek to his neck. Her curly hair tickled his nose, a familiar feeling, both comforting and unsettling, and he breathed in the faint rose scent that always stirred him up. He hugged her close. “We need to sleep.” He kissed the top of her head.

“I know, and believe me, I’m so tired I’m ready to fall over, but I’m wired, can’t seem to shut off my brain, much less slow it down. First Blessed last night, and tonight someone fires on Davis and Perry. I hate guns. Well, and motorcycles, too.”

“Ben Raven has the neighborhood locked down, Sherlock. Blessed won’t come back here again, not tonight. He’s probably afraid of you now, after being in that grocery storage room with you and all the flying cans and shelves that weighed a ton when they toppled over.”

He felt her mouth curve up. “Now, that was something. Too bad Blessed didn’t get pinned under one of those shelves. I can’t believe he was dolled up as a little old lady. I wonder where he got
the clothes. Off a clothesline, I hope, and not off someone he killed. He’s a nightmare, Dillon.”

“The operative description here, sweetheart, is failed nightmare. We’re still here and Blessed won’t be.”

“But I don’t know how I’m going to get to sleep, Dillon. Too many crazy people tromping through my brain.”

“What if I tell you a story about me you haven’t heard yet? That’s right, rest your head on my chest and close your eyes and I’ll get you to sleep in no time. That includes your hand. Your hand can’t be strolling downward. Really. You’ve got to help me out here.”

“Maybe my fingers can find us a better way to relax. You think?”

He had to admit it, she had a point.

•   •   •

A half-hour later,
Savich pulled the covers over them, kissed her forehead, squeezed her tight. “Ready to sleep now?”

She heard the lazy satisfaction in his voice, and lightly punched her fist in his belly. “Not yet. I want to hear that bedtime story you were going to tell me.”

“Well, then, I’ll tell you,” he said, and pulled her against him. “When I was fifteen years old, my junior high school football coach, Mr. Jeffries, was in a bad car accident. A drunk driver, we heard, ran him into a bridge abutment. He went right over it, twenty feet down into the Beaver River, and you know what? He managed to get out of the car and swim to the surface. A passerby saw the whole thing and called nine-one-one. The doctors said it was a miracle he survived the fall, even more of a miracle he was
able to climb out of the car with all his internal injuries and broken bones. And the biggest miracle, it looked like he might pull through. My dad went with me to visit him in the hospital. I’ll tell you, to see my coach, a man about my own age now and strong as a bull, always in charge, all broken and bandaged, even his head—he looked nearly dead to me. They had sedated him and put him on a respirator. Only his eyes were open.

“His wife, Mrs. Jeffries, was standing on the opposite side of the bed when we walked up and looked down at him. I wanted to run, but I was with my dad, so I didn’t. She suggested we leave, that he needed to sleep, but he saw me, recognized me. I don’t know why, but I took his hand, and I waited. He looked over at his wife, then he looked at me, right into my eyes. His fingers tightened in my hand. And I knew what he was trying to communicate, as if he were speaking to me, clear as day. Of course, he wasn’t speaking, wasn’t even moving his mouth, since that hissing regulator in his mouth was breathing for him.”

“What was he saying, I mean, what was he thinking to you?”

“That he was afraid of his wife, that she’d hired someone to run him off the bridge. He’d heard her on her cell phone when she believed he was still unconscious, talking to someone, telling him she was real mad because she’d wasted five thousand dollars.

“I remember I wasn’t scared when I first heard his voice in my head. Surprised, yes, but then it felt like the most natural thing in the world. His wife was pacing. She wanted us gone. I was afraid she’d try to kill him then and there as soon as we left.”

Her voice was getting low, a bit slurred. “This had never happened before?”

“No, first time. I squeezed his hand, so he’d know I’d tell my dad. On our way out, Mrs. Jeffries thanked us for coming and said
she was sorry her husband hadn’t been with it enough to thank us himself. But she didn’t sound sorry at all.

“I knew the cops wouldn’t believe me if I told them that, so I told my dad everything on the elevator back down to the hospital lobby.”

He waited for her to ask what happened, but she didn’t. She was down for the count. He kissed the top of her head, wishing Sean was in his bed down the hall and everything was back to normal.

“What happened then, Dillon?”

So she wasn’t all the way out. “My dad never doubted me for a second. We went back up to the hospital room and he informed Mrs. Jeffries that he’d be assigning a guard to protect her husband. He held her there until he got a warrant to take her cell, one of those big suckers everyone used back in the day, and check her cell phone records, and sure enough, there was a series of calls back and forth from the man she’d hired. Later, they discovered there’d been another man in the background, a lover. My dad arrested her himself, hauled her to the New York FBI Field Office at Federal Plaza, before turning her over to the police. My coach lived, remarried two years later and has three grown kids now. He’s still coaching.”

He felt her mouth curve against his shoulder. She was finally asleep a couple minutes later, and soon Savich was, too. He didn’t dream about the crazies who’d kept Sherlock awake, he dreamed of a long-ago evening in a man’s hospital room when he’d realized what was possible.

Criminal Apprehension Unit
Hoover Building

Monday morning

J
anice Hobbs poked her head into Savich’s office. “I got blood.”

“Blood from Perry’s yard?” Davis said, right behind her. “I was right? I wounded the shooter last night?”

“Yep, one of the officers found a couple of bloody leaves on the ground right where you thought it would be. Had to look close, though. I had enough to type, all ready for a DNA match. We’ll run it through the database, of course, but have you got a live suspect handy?”

Davis said, “Not yet, but we’ll have him in twenty-four hours, okay?”

“Yeah, it’ll wait, but matching DNA is like sex, you know? You get all ready, all excited, but it’s no good without two people. Perry Black was there with you, right? Okay, I’ll need cheek swabs from both of you to cover all the bases. I won’t find my dancing partner, so you gotta make my day, Davis. Get me the bozo that’ll match. Hey, I like that Band-Aid on your face. Those leopard spots look cute, like you’re a little kid who got banged up on the jungle gym.”
Janice punched Davis’s arm and took off, like she was wearing roller skates, waving to agents in the unit as she glided by. She called out as she disappeared out the door, “Hey, Davis, did you get the Sex Pistols mix I sent you?”

“Yeah, I’m already singing it in my sleep,” Davis called back, but Janice was already halfway to the elevators.

Savich smiled, shook his head. “So you have someone in mind to bring in, Davis?”

Davis settled himself into a chair across from Savich. He said, “I’d bring in William Charles McCallum, if he were in reach. Has there been any word from Scotland Yard?”

“The car they tracked down appears to be a dead end. The owner isn’t talking, or doesn’t know anything more. They’ve had no luck running down the identity William is using, and neither has Homeland Security. We can’t exclude him as the attacker last night, but he’s got a fresh bullet wound, and it’s hard to see any strong reason for him to go after Perry like that. Sure, Natalie is well protected now and harder for him to reach, but Perry had nothing to do with what happened in England.”

“I know it wasn’t him. He’s an experienced fighter in a bloody civil war, an expert at exploiting surprise and position. If he was the shooter and he’d wanted Perry or me or both of us dead last night, we’d be dead. Whoever that was last night squandered his chance by shooting up Perry’s condo like an arcade. I suppose it could have been a hired thug who didn’t know what he was doing. Or someone else entirely, with a different agenda.”

Savich said, “What agenda would that be?”

“To terrify Perry? Perhaps to separate her from her mother? That’s an agenda, but to what purpose?”

Savich gave him a long look. “Has it occurred to you the shooter
may have been trying to separate Perry from you? Didn’t you say most of the bullets hit closer to you than to Perry?”

Davis said, “All right, then. Day Abbott comes to mind. He’s been calling Perry all week. She’s known him since she was born, more or less, and now he’s got it into his head she’s going to marry him. I’ve been letting talking with him slide because Perry speaks very highly of him, and why would he threaten her? After last night, though, we have to interview him. There might be something there. Remember Carlos knew the alarm code to Perry’s condo. It’s very likely Abbott would know that code. And he knew how much she loved her Harley.” He shook his head. “Was he hoping she would turn to him for help?”

Savich said, “The thought he’d be so jealous of you to put Perry at risk at the same time—it’d be insane obsession. If he’s that far gone, he hides it well. Still, we should see what he has to say. Be careful, though. I get a sense you don’t like him. Does he have a reason to think you’re poaching on his turf?”

“I don’t have any turf here. He doesn’t, either, only he doesn’t know it yet. Listen, Savich, sure, Perry is great, but nothing like that has happened. As for my not liking Abbott, who cares? It doesn’t matter what I think of the man.”

“All right, go talk to him. Take Griffin with you. Remember who the man’s mother is, Davis. Tread lightly.”

Davis nodded and looked down at his watch. “By this time, Natalie should be giving her speech to the General Assembly at the UN.”

“An interesting venue the president picked to bring her back in the public eye. She was good with the talking heads last night. They liked her, empathized with her. So did I. I expect she’ll have
them all on her side in a few days.” Savich typed in the URL of the direct video feed from the UN as he spoke.

They watched Secretary of State Arliss Abbott standing in front of the General Assembly, looking around at faces, acknowledging delegates she recognized before she spoke. She gave a fulsome introduction of Natalie Black, U.S. ambassador to the United Kingdom, in a strong, ringing voice. She praised her friend’s courage and her outstanding service, even in the face of an assassination attempt at her home three nights before. She left little doubt they were about to hear from an American icon.

When the applause died down, Natalie thanked her and spoke for eight minutes, never mentioning the attack on her life. She spoke clearly and concisely about concrete initiatives to expand trade with emerging nations. Some of her speech was rather arcane, and none of it was entirely new, but the delegates seemed glued to her every word.

When she finished, there was more sustained applause, obviously meant to honor her. Some of the representatives from the emerging nations she’d mentioned applauded along with the rest but looked frankly bewildered at the warm response to her speech.

Davis scratched at the leopard Band-Aid from Perry’s medicine cabinet she’d plastered on his face that morning. “I really do love that woman,” he said.

Harlow, Benson, and Lerner
1980 Avenue K, Ashland Building
Washington, D.C.

Monday, noon

A
ccording to the very young, very pretty receptionist, Ms. Liu, Mr. Abbott was in his office, but he was very busy and expected in a meeting in forty-five minutes. She stammered a bit as she spoke, kept sneaking looks at Griffin. Davis was used to that. Women from fifteen to eighty seemed to fall all over Griffin at the sight of him.

“Mr. Abbott may be between clients, Agents. S-shall I see if—”

Griffin smiled at her and she simply stopped talking. “No problem, Ms. Liu. We’ll announce ourselves.”

Davis knew Ms. Liu was staring after Griffin all the way down the hall. He said, “I’ll bet Anna loves that.” Anna was the DEA agent Griffin had met on a case not long ago in Maestro, Virginia. “Loves what?” Griffin asked, pausing for a moment to glance at one of the sepia photographs of 1850s steamships lining the walls.

Davis gave a hand wave back to the reception area. “Shall I give Ms. Liu your phone number when she asks?”

Griffin said matter-of-factly, “Anna is laid-back for a woman who carries a gun. She’ll get in anyone’s face if they cross her, but with me she’s an angel—actually, I get my way about half the time.”

A guy couldn’t ask for more than that, Davis thought. Davis knocked on a door with three-inch gold letters that spelled out
DAYTON EVERARD ABBOTT
.

“Come in, Cindy.”

Davis opened the door, stepped in, looked at Day Abbott across the expanse of rich pale gray carpet. He looked for some sign Abbott had been the shooter at Perry’s condo last night. A bandage somewhere beneath his beautifully cut suit coat where Davis had shot him? But Day Abbott looked perfectly healthy and bewildered at seeing them. Then a look of fear leached the color out of his face. He jumped to his feet, his eyes on Davis. “It’s Perry, isn’t it? Did you let something happen to her?”

Davis said quickly, “No, Mr. Abbott, Perry is all right. But we were shot at last night at her condo.”

“Why didn’t she call me? She should have told me. Why wasn’t it on the news? Who was it who shot at her? Have you caught him?”

“Let’s sit down, Mr. Abbott,” Griffin said. Once he and Davis were seated across from Day Abbott’s beautiful antique mahogany desk, Davis said, “Perry really is all right. I’m all right as well. The shooter missed both of us.”

“Did you catch the man?”

“No, not yet.”

“You swear she wasn’t hurt?”

“She’s fine.” But not the Tiffany lamp she loved, he thought, a gift she’d told him Day’s own mother had given her when she graduated from college.

Day Abbott was pale, his hands fisted. “But why? It’s like that
bloody note—someone’s trying to frighten her, trying to get to her mother through her. You know it, I know it, why can’t you put a stop to this?”

“We’re going to do exactly that,” Davis said. “Mr. Abbott, you’ve known Perry for a very long time and—”

“Yes, I have. We grew up together. And we’re going to get married and spend the rest of our lives together.” He sat forward, his hands clasped in front of him. “You’ve been guarding Perry since last Wednesday after her Harley was trashed, right?”

Davis nodded.

“But you still haven’t learned anything at all useful.”

Davis ignored that. “Mr. Abbott, would you please tell us your whereabouts last night around ten o’clock?”

“Me? You’re asking if I was the one who shot at Perry? That’s insane. I love Perry. Why would I want to kill her?”

Griffin said, “Actually, Mr. Abbott, more of the bullets were aimed at Agent Sullivan.”

Day Abbott seamed his lips in a flash of rage. “So now you have me gunning after FBI agents? I don’t particularly like him, but I don’t want to kill him, either.”

Davis eyed this sleek young cannibal, probably a future congressman. He didn’t particularly like him, either. He knew Perry hadn’t told him yet she wasn’t going to marry him, felt a moment of sympathy for him about it, until he saw the gleam of contempt in Day’s eyes. “We don’t think you’re involved, Mr. Abbott. This is a necessary formality. Tell us where you were last evening.”

Abbott steepled his fingertips together, tapped them to his chin. “Last night? I had planned, of course, to spend the evening with Perry, but that didn’t happen.” He looked at Davis for a long moment, then said, “Turns out she would have been safer with me last
night than with you.” He got no response, and shrugged. “I was with two friends, watching Mrs. Black’s interview on Fox. I’ll have Cindy give you their information.”

Davis said, “You’ve known Perry all her life, as you have her mother. You and Perry were raised nearly as brother and sister.”

Day said stiffly, “We were. That was a long time ago. Now we’re adults. Now things are different. Look, Agent Sullivan, you should focus on who’s trying to kill Ambassador Black, it will be the same person, then this will all be over and we can get back to our lives. Then you won’t have to be near Perry anymore.”

Griffin wasn’t blind to Day Abbott’s jealousy. He obviously wanted Davis out of her life and out of his sight. “Do you own a gun, Mr. Abbott?” he asked.

“What? A gun? Of course not. What kind of question is that?”

Griffin continued. “Again, a formality, Mr. Abbott. But your father owns a Smith and Wesson, right? Did he give it to you when he moved out and left the state, or did he forget it, leave it here?”