'Yes, I did. On purpose. Douglas is jealous of you. If I'd called you 'Dillon,' it might have pushed him over the edge. Then you might have had to fight him. You could have messed up all my beautiful new furniture.'
That gave him pause. He grinned, toasted her with his teacup, then said finally, 'This was the man who was married to Belinda?' At her nod, he said, 'And this is his new wife. Tell me about this, Sherlock. I love family messes.'
'I'll say only that Douglas thinks he might like me a bit too much. As for Candice, his wife, she told him she was pregnant with his child, he married her, and then it turns out she wasn't pregnant. He's angry and wants a divorce. She blames me. That's all there is to it, not a mess really, at least it doesn't involve me.' She sighed. 'All right, when I was talking to Douglas on the phone, he said some things he shouldn't have said and she overheard them. She was upset. She probably wants to kill me more than Marlin Jones does.'
'Do you realize you're speaking to me in nice full sentences? That I no longer have to pry basic stuff out of you?'
'I guess maybe I was a bit on guard when I first came to you. On the other hand, you were a criminal in Hogan's Alley and kicked two guns out of my hand before I overcame overwhelming and vicious odds and killed you.'
'Yes, you were wary as hell. But it didn't take too long to break you in. You've been spilling your guts for a good long time now. As for my day as the bank robber, you didn't do too badly, Sherlock. No, not badly at all.' He raised his hand and lightly stroked his fingers over her cheek. 'She walloped you pretty good, but I don't think you're going to bruise too much. Makeup should take care of it.'
Suddenly his cheekbones flushed. He dropped his hand and stood up. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a blue sweatshirt that read ACHY BREAKY COP. He looked big, strong, and harassed. His fingers had been very warm. They'd felt good against her cheek.
'Go to bed, Sherlock. Try to avoid any more trouble. I can't always guarantee to drop by when you're butt- deep in trouble.'
'I've really never had so many difficulties in such a short time before in my life. I'm sorry. But you know, I could have dealt with this all by myself.'
He grunted in her general direction, and was gone. Just plain out of there, fast.
She touched her own fingers to her face, saw his dark eyes staring at her with antagonism and something else, and walked slowly to the front door. She fastened the chain, clicked the dead bolt in place, and turned the key in the lock. What would have happened if Savich hadn't shown up? She shuddered.
She'd caught Belinda's killer and her life seemed messier than ever. What had her mother meant, '... since your father tried to run me down?''
She walked out of the doctor's building the following afternoon, trying to put up her umbrella in the face of a sharp whipping wind and swirling rain-hard, heavy rain that got you wet no matter what you did. It was cold and getting colder by the minute. She got the umbrella up finally, but it was difficult because her arm was still very sore. She stepped off the curb, trying to keep herself covered, and started toward her car, parked just down the block on the opposite side of Union Street.
Suddenly she heard a shout, then a scream. She whipped about, the wind nearly knocking her over, her umbrella sucked out of her hand. The car was right on her, a big black car with dark tinted windows, a congressman's car, no, probably a lobbyist's car, so many of them in Washington. What was the fool doing?
She froze in that blank instant, then hurled herself back onto the sidewalk, her sore arm slamming into a parking meter.
She felt the whoosh of hot air even as she went down half into the street, half on the sidewalk. She twisted around to see the black car accelerate and take the next corner in a screech of tires. She just lay there staring blankly after the car. Why hadn't he stopped to see if she was all right? No, naturally, the driver wouldn't have stopped-he'd probably be arrested for drunk driving. Slowly, she pulled herself to her feet. Her panty hose were ruined, as were her shoes and clothes. Her hair was plastered to her head and over her face. As for her healing arm, it was throbbing big-time now. Her shoulder began to hurt, as did her left leg. At least she was alive. At least she hadn't been farther out into the street. If she had been, she wouldn't have stood a chance.
She'd gotten three letters of the license plate-PRO. Now that she thought of it, it hadn't been a government license.
People were all around her now, helping her to straighten up, holding umbrellas over her. One gray-haired woman was fussing, patting her here and there, as if she were her baby. She managed to smile at the woman. 'Thank you. I'm all right.'
'That driver was an idiot, a maniac. The man over there called the cops on his cell phone.'
A businessman said, 'Miss, do you want an ambulance? Jesus, that guy could have killed you!'
She held up her hands. The rain pounded down on her. 'No, no ambulance, please. I'm all right.'
The cops were coming soon; she didn't have much time. She was on the phone dialing Savich's number in under two minutes. He wasn't there. Hannah answered. Where was Marcy, Savich's secretary? She didn't need Hannah, not now, but there was no choice.
'Hannah, I need to know where Savich is. Do you know? Do you have a number for him?'
'No. Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you.'
'Hannah, listen to me. Someone just tried to run me down. Please tell me how I can get hold of Savich.'
Suddenly Ollie was on the line. 'What the hell happened, Sherlock? Marcy's down in the lunchroom. Hannah and I are covering Savich's phone. Someone tried to run you down? It doesn't ring all that often because everyone knows he prefers e-mail. What the hell happened?'
'I'm all right, just really dirty and wet. I'm right in front of Dr. Pratt's building. Savich knows the location, since that's his doctor, too. Please tell Savich where I am. Oh dear, the police are here.'
It was nearly an hour before Savich strode up and knocked on the window of her car. He was very wet. He looked very angry, which wasn't right He didn't have any right to be angry just yet.
'I'm sorry,' she said immediately, as she opened the passenger door, 'I didn't know who else to call. The cops just left about twenty minutes ago. My car wouldn't start.'
He slid into the passenger side. 'Good thing this is leather or the cloth would stay wet for weeks. Now tell me what happened.'
She did, saying finally, 'It sounds pitiful. I think whoever was driving just lost it. Maybe he was drunk. When he realized he could have killed me, he didn't want to hang around.'
'I don't like it.'
'Well, no, I don't either. The police are certain it was a hit-and-run. I did see the first three letters of the license plate-PRD. They said they'd check it out. They laughed when I showed them my FBI badge, just laughed and laughed.'
'Who knew you were going to see Dr. Pratt?'
'Everyone in the office. It wasn't a secret. I even met Assistant Director Maitland in the hall, three clerks, and two secretaries. All of them asked about it. Oh no, sir, you don't think it was on purpose, do you?'
He shrugged. 'I don't know anything. I really like this car. I'm glad you didn't let your little designer buy it for you. Jesus, he'd have gotten you one of those dainty little Miatas. When did you buy this car?'
'I knew what I wanted. I called a car club and they got one and had it sent over.'
'How's your arm?'
'Fine. I just banged it against a parking meter. I went back up to see Dr. Pratt and he checked it out.'
'What did he say?'
'Not much, just shook his head and suggested that I might consider another line of work. He said being president was a lot safer than what I did. He put the sling back on for another couple of days. Why won't my car start? It's brand-new.'
'If it stops raining, I'll take a look.' He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. 'As I said, I don't know anything or think anything particular at the moment. If someone tried to kill you, then you've brought me into another mess. And don't call me 'sir' again or I'll pull off that sling and strangle you with it.'
She was much calmer now, her breath steady, the deadening shock nearly gone. 'All right, Dillon. No one would have any reason to hurt me. It was an accident, a drunk driving a big black car.'
'What about Douglas's wife?'
'All right, so I did think about her, but that's just plain silly. She was angry, but surely not angry enough to kill
