Whiplash

her, tried to feel her. Nikki, please come. There's trouble here, and I know you can help me.

He waited, tried to relax, and opened his hands on his desk. He made her face as clear in his mind as he could, as if she were right in front of his nose.

He felt nothing at first, and then it seemed her face was floating, but it wasn't clear anymore. It was swallowed up by what seemed like a fog, cold and gray. Suddenly the fog was churning in front of him. It seemed substantial, and yet he knew he could put his hand through it, knew it would be wet if he did, but she wouldn't really be there to grasp his hand. There would be nothing. Nikki, make yourself clear.

The swirling fog thinned, and he saw a vague outline, blurred, then clearer, but never clear enough, as if she were a prisoner behind the thick veil, unable to come through. He concentrated hard on trying to see her face, but there was nothing but a vague outline he could hardly make out. He thought he heard her voice, faint and hollow, her words indistinct and distant, as if she were retreating, farther and farther away.

Savich's eyes opened slowly. He looked at Dane Carver, who stood in the doorway of his office, stone still, watching him. Dane asked calmly, 'You get anything from the wife?'

Had Dane knocked and he hadn't heard him? Very probably. Savich had to grin. There was no doubt in his mind the whole unit knew now about Senator Hoffman's dead wife. There was no doubt in his mind either that not a word about it would get out. 'No, well, she couldn't seem to come through to me. Very weird, actually. What's going on, Dane?'

'You need to switch gears back to Connecticut. Maitland just told me the top-dog director of Schiffer Hartwin, Adler Dieffendorf, and one of his subordinates, Werner Gerlach, marketing and sales, are on their way here from Germany.'

'Isn't that a nice surprise? It seems this is very important to them if they don't trust their lawyers to handle it. When are they arriving?'

'Tomorrow afternoon at JFK.'

Savich picked up his cell from his desktop. 'I'll give Sherlock and Bowie a heads-up. Things are going to happen fast up there now.'

31

STONE BRIDGE, CONNECTICUT

Early Wednesday evening

'Hot diggity,' Sherlock said. 'The mountain's coming to Mohammed. I can't believe it. I've got Bowie right here, I'll tell him.' Sherlock rang off, gave Bowie a fat grin. 'Guess what? Dillon told me the big German guns are coming here, all the way from Hartwin, Germany, the managing director, Dr. Adler Dieffendorf, and Mr. Werner Gerlach, director of pharma marketing and sales.'

Bowie made a victory fist. 'Here I was picturing us going to Germany and having them slam the door in our faces, the German cops kissing us off, and here they come, right into our open arms.'

Erin was spooning taco meat from a skillet into a bowl on the table. Her heart was pounding hard, but she tried to look only mildly interested. She had to be cool, had to keep her excitement under wraps, well hidden from these two pairs of sharp eyes and sharper brains. 'That's great, right? And even better, they'll speak English.'

Sherlock smiled at her. 'How do you know that, Erin?'

Erin's spoon dashed taco meat onto the table. 'Oh, rats, look what I did. How do I know they speak English? Well, all the higher-ups in the big corporations in Europe speak English. They'd have to, wouldn't they? I thought everybody knew that.'

'I didn't,' Bowie said, and helped her spoon up the meat. 'Is the placemat clean?'

'Yes. In any case, don't forget the five-second rule. Georgie,' she called out, 'come to dinner.'

'I didn't know that either,' Sherlock said. She knew something was up here, knew it to her red toenails.

Erin gave them both a distracted smile. 'Now you won't underestimate us private investigators in the future. We know lots of stuff.' She turned to Georgie, who looked adorable, Sherlock thought, dressed in jeans and a red, white, and blue T-shirt that had Wonder Woman emblazoned across the chest. 'Hey, kiddo, your hands clean?'

Georgie held up her hands, palms out.

'Good. Tacos, Georgie. You said you could match me. Come and prove it. You really think you can eat a dozen?'

Georgie came skipping into the small dining room. 'Not twelve, Erin. Daddy can't even eat twelve tacos.'

'So now you're trying to welsh on the bet?'

Bowie looked from one to the other. 'You've got a bet? Twelve tacos?'

'We didn't actually specify a number,' Erin said, and motioned Georgie to her chair. 'You get your homework done, sweetie?'

Bowie did a double take. He watched his daughter slip into her seat, shake her head at Erin. 'You're nagging, Erin. I got nearly all of it done, but Daddy needs to help me with the grammar part. We have to put in commas and periods. Okay, Daddy? After dinner?'

Bowie nodded. Georgie had been living with Erin for only two days, and here Erin was acting like her mother? The thought stopped him cold. He had to bring this case to a close so he could get his daughter out of here, away from Erin. He didn't care that Erin Pulaski was smart and nice and sincerely liked his daughter, and liked him too, he thought; there was no way he was traveling down that road again, not after Beth. His brain froze as it always did when he thought of Beth, like he'd stepped to the edge of a black hole and leaped back. At least the memories no longer burst through into his dreams to give him nightmares. And that made him think of Krissy, which was odd. He and Krissy had been friends, with benefits, for nearly four months, but neither of them wanted anything more, at least he had thought that. He said easily to his daughter, 'I got a call from Krissy today. She sends you her love. She wants to bring you something from Harrods in London. Is there anything in particular you'd like?'

'What's Harrods?'

'It's a big, gorgeous department store,' Erin said, 'with more cool stuff than you can imagine, including this huge floor just for food, with everything from candy to filet mignon. Me, I love their stuffed olives.'

'Okay, tell Krissy we'd really like some olives. I don't know about stuffing them, though.'

Bowie's eyebrow shot up. 'What is this, Georgie? You're ordering food all the way from England? Erin doesn't have enough to share? You won't be here long enough to worry about that. Glynn will be better soon and home again. Don't forget, Erin has that big important client, right, Erin?'

Does he suspect something isn't right, like Sherlock? She stared down at her taco, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Sherlock said when Erin didn't reply, 'You remember, Erin, your case dealing with drugs, right?'

Erin said, 'You can tell Krissy any of the candies would be great, okay, Georgie? Candy will travel better than stuffed olives. Whatever she brings will make you dance on the ceiling, something I haven't yet figured out how to do. Big case? Well, really, it's not big at all. No, it's not about drugs.'

Hmm. Sherlock said to Georgie, who was all ears, 'By any wild chance did you hear us talking before dinner?'

'Well, maybe I heard some things, Aunt Sherlock.'

Bowie nearly dropped the handful of lettuce he was spreading on top of his taco. Aunt Sherlock?

Georgie continued, 'You know, I might have heard some stuff when I got real close to the door. Erin's walls aren't very thick, you know. It's an apartment, and Daddy says apartments have crappy construction.'

'Well, I didn't say exactly that,' Bowie said. 'Don't say 'crap,' Georgie.'

'I didn't say 'crap' exactly, Daddy.'

'Close enough. Whatever.'

Georgie gave her father a sweet smile and continued, 'Erin knows lots of neat things. She's known people in Europe speak English for years and years. I think I knew it too.'