“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

Janice 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.”