CRIMINAL APPREHENSION UNIT

HOOVER BUILDING

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Monday morning

Savich reached out his hand to his phone, paused, drew it back. He wanted to speak to Sherlock, let her reassure him once again that she was all right, although he knew she’d downplay what had happened last night in Brooklyn. He’d let her get away with it, given that Cal was his pipeline. No way would he let Cal shade the truth when it came to Sherlock. He frowned. Could he trust even Cal to be totally up front? Or, like Sherlock, was he leaving out details, not wanting to worry him? Savich hated being apart from her, hated not knowing she was safe.

Was he being a hypocrite? He wasn’t about to tell her what he was going to do to try to expose Dalco. He believed his logic was sound. There was nothing she could do to help him, so there was no point in worrying her.

Interviews and physical evidence couldn’t tie Dalco more directly to the crime scenes, he hadn’t even been there. And that meant there was nothing else left to Savich but to destroy Dalco. Then he would have to convince the federal prosecutor not to prosecute Walter Givens and Brakey Alcott because they hadn’t been responsible for the cold-blooded murders they’d committed. A formidable challenge, but he was the only one who could save them. He had a plan, he was now ready to move, to face it head-on. He needed Griffin. He walked to where he was working on his computer, Ollie standing at his elbow.

Griffin looked up, met Savich’s eyes, and nodded. He said something to Ollie, turned off his computer, and followed Savich into his office. Savich waved him to a seat, said without pause, “I have a plan, Griffin, but before we drive to Plackett to the Alcott compound, I want to make sure you understand what you’re getting into. It could be dangerous.

“As you know, some of the Alcotts—or all of them—have been lying, covering up who Dalco is, probably because they’re afraid of him. There’s anger and conflict in that family, there has to be, because of Dalco using Brakey to commit murder, and they’ve been covering that up, too. It’s a front they’ve kept together, and it’s gone on long enough. I’m going to blow it all up if I can. It’s the only way forward, the only way to find out who Dalco is.

“I told you Dalco has already tried to kill me himself. If you come with me to the Alcotts’ today, you might provoke him into targeting you, too. It’s a risk you need to consider.”

“I’ve already been in Dalco’s sights, in McCutty’s woods with you. We’re in this together, Savich.” He gave Savich a wide grin. “Hey, danger is my business.”

Savich grinned back, but his voice remained serious. “Yes, but there’s physical danger we risk every day, but then there’s this. What did Anna have to say about the ambush on Saturday?”

“I haven’t talked to her about it. I didn’t want to frighten her, didn’t want to have to try to explain the inexplicable. She’d believe me, but it would scare her and I don’t want to do that. Maybe after we’re married and she knows me better—we’ll see. Right now, though, I don’t want her involved.”

Savich didn’t understood that, but it was Griffin’s decision. Anna was a DEA agent who could kick the crap out of a drug or gun dealer and whistle as she slapped on the cuffs. Savich thought she could deal with anything. She and Griffin had met when she was undercover in Maestro, Virginia, a couple months before, and had fallen for each other, a surprise to both of them.

“I ask because Sherlock woke me up when Dalco attacked me. She heard me moaning, thrashing around. I don’t know what would have happened if she wasn’t there.”

“Anna’s also a heavy sleeper. She’d be dead to the world even if I was lying there panting like a dog.” His face split into a big grin. “But she claims her dreams are light and sweet since she met me—” Griffin broke off, embarrassed. “Well, it wouldn’t be easy, telling her about a case like this.”

“For what it’s worth, my advice is to tell her, Griffin. She might have some good ideas, like Sherlock. Use her.”

Savich could tell Griffin wasn’t going to say a word to her. Nothing more he could say. “You in?”

“Oh, yes, I’m in. You know what, though? I’ll bet none of those agents out there have the slightest idea what we’re talking about in here.” He paused, looked straight at Savich. “Or maybe they could guess.”

Savich shook his head, rose. “Let’s do it.”

WYVERLY PLACE

LONDON