millions of dollars in paintings, Valerie Rapper stepped off the treadmill, grabbed her bottle of water, waved it at them. “Both of you are crazy, totally crazy. Judge Sherlock! What a ridiculous name!”
“You should know,” Sherlock said.
“Don’t you dare have my father investigated, do you hear me?”
“Well, I’ll think about it if you leave my husband alone.”
“I’ll bet you dye everything so he won’t guess that your hair isn’t natural!”
“Gee, I didn’t know that was possible. Thanks for the tip.”
“What’s going on here, Agent Savich?”
It was Bobby Curling, the gym manager. He looked both amused and alarmed. “We got a problem here? These two fighting over you? Since when did you become such a sex object?”
Savich grinned at his wife. “Actually, the three of us were just comparing our antecedents. It’s my considered opinion that Sherlock and I come from the better gene pool.”
“You’re not worth my time, either of you!” Valerie Rapper whirled around. “As for you, Bobby, you can take your cheap club and shove it.”
She took the stairs two at a time going down, something Savich had never seen anyone do before. Bobby grinned up at him. Savich gave Bobby a thumbs up. “No problem now, Bobby, everything’s cool.”
“Yeah, but you guys just lost me a customer.”
“Maybe,” Savich said. “But we also put on quite a show for everyone else.”
“I’d say we’re easier to get along with anyway,” Sherlock said.
Bobby hunched his huge muscled shoulders, took a last look at Valerie Rapper stomping into the women’s locker room. “She sure is pretty,” he said, and sighed. “I’ve been watching her go after you, so I guess in the spirit of keeping marriages together, it’s okay with me she’s leaving.” He sighed again, and turned away. “I’ll bet she’s really rich, huh?”
“She says she is.” Savich turned to his wife, lightly touched his fingertip to her cheek. “Thanks for showing up. Good timing, as always.”
“The Special Forces couldn’t have moved any faster than I did getting here. I’d hug you but you’re sweaty. Oh, who cares?” She plastered herself to him and whispered against his neck, “When I saw her pushing against you, I have to admit I nearly lost it. I wanted to heave one of the bicycles at her or throw her over the railing or knock her beautiful capped teeth into her tonsils.”
“You were the model of restraint,” he said, hugging her.
She cupped his face between her hands, pulled him down, kissed him hard. “Thank God you’re so sweaty, I can’t smell her on you. We’re a pretty good team.”
He looked down at her. “From the time I kicked your SIG Sauer out of your hand in Hogan’s Alley, I knew we would be.”
She bit his neck, which tasted like salt. “I called Lily. She came dashing over to watch Sean. You want to go rescue your sister?”
“Nah. Lily’s always complaining that she doesn’t get him to herself enough. Let’s give her another hour. Now, I’ve got to shower. Maybe we could stop off at Dizzy Dan’s and get a pizza. We could take a couple of slices home to Sean and Lily. They’ve both got a big pizza tooth.”
Sherlock laughed. “A little kid and he loves his pizza with artichokes on it.” She grinned up at him. Yes, everything was under control. “Let’s do it. We’ll get you the Vegetarian Nirvana, which sounds scary to me.”
“Only Sean and I truly appreciate pineapple and broccoli,” he said.
“You got that right. Me, I’m pure carnivore,” she said, and bit his neck again.
41
A gent Dane Carver said, “Glad you guys made it in time. He just made his move, see him? He’s over there by the side of the house, trying to hide in the shadows, but he’s too damned big. I was just on my way after him.”
Sherlock said, “Would you look at that bulky wool coat he’s wearing. He looks like a huge black bat.”
“Let’s have a closer look,” Savich said. Dane gave Savich his infrared glasses and Savich saw him clearly, skulking to the side of the small 1940s cottage using the oak trees as cover.
Sherlock said, “Did you get her name?”
“Ms. Aquine Barton, single, longtime math teacher at Dentonville High School. She’s in there alone, Savich.”
“Okay, Dane, hang back and call the cops when I signal you. We’re going to let him heave himself over the windowsill into the cottage, then we’ll get him. I don’t want him getting close to the teacher. Just close enough so it’s the final nail in his coffin. Keep your fingers crossed he doesn’t try anything stupid, and keep your gun ready.”
Savich, Sherlock on his heels, ran bent over, SIG Sauers drawn, to the front of the cottage. “We’re being cowboys,” she said to the back of his black leather jacket.
“Not really. This guy’s not going to give us any problems once we confront him. Keep down and stay behind me.”
“Sometimes I hate it that you’re the boss.”
He grinned into the darkness as he eased the lock pick into the front-door keyhole.
It took under three seconds. The lock released and the front door slid open with just a push of his toe.
It was utterly black inside. The air smelled like jasmine, so much jasmine your nose felt stuffed with flowers.
They paused, listening. They’d watched him jimmy the window into the dining room, not more than twenty feet away from where they were crouched over in deep shadows by the front door. It was lucky he hadn’t tried to go right in through a bedroom window. That, they couldn’t have allowed. They walked lightly, pressing themselves against the wall in the hallway, listening to him try to get through the window. How he could get in without awakening Ms. Barton neither of them could imagine.
They heard him land hard on the dining room floor.
“That’s it,” Savich said and ran lightly into the dining room.
Savich said, quietly but clearly, “You can stop now, Troy. It’s all over.”
Troy Ward’s head jerked up. He recognized Savich’s voice even though he couldn’t see him clearly.
He yelled at the top of his lungs, “Get away!”
As his voice echoed off the dining room walls, they heard a woman yell loud enough to make the crystals on the chandelier over the dining room table dance. “You little creep! How dare you come in here to rape me! Just look at you, all dressed in black like some sort of gangster, sneaking into my house, landing like a brick on my dining room floor! How’s this, you nasty little pervert!”
There was enough light coming through the window to see Ms. Aquine Barton bring a huge old iron skillet down on Troy Ward’s head. Troy’s finger jerked the trigger on his gun in reflex, and a bullet slammed into the lamp on Ms. Barton’s sideboard. It exploded, sending shards of glass flying all over the room.
“Get down, kids!” Aquine Barton yelled even though there were no kids around. “Look what you did, you little creep! That was my mama’s lamp.” She leaned over Troy Ward’s still bulk and kicked him in the ribs with her bare foot. Then she looked up, saw two more shadows, heard them breathing hard, and flipped on the light, skillet raised high. “Two more of you?” She waved that skillet toward them. “You just come here and I’ll lay you flat, too.”
“Ms. Barton? Please don’t hurt us. I’m Agent Savich and this is Agent Sherlock. We’re with the FBI. Please don’t slam us with that skillet.” He pulled out his shield and flipped it open.
She looked them both up and down, then checked out his FBI shield. “A woman’s got to protect herself. Had this skillet under the bed for a good fifteen years now. First time I had to use it. Who is this nasty fat little man anyway?” She waved the skillet very close to Troy Ward’s head. “What is all this about? What are you doing in my house at midnight? I have school tomorrow, you know.”
