“Tell you what, why don’t you work the Black Beret case with Coop in the mornings and take the afternoons off to get yourself moved. It’s a big house, Lucy. Are you sure you want to rattle around in it alone?”

“I grew up in that house. I love it.”

He frowned.

“What are you thinking, Dillon?”

“What? Oh, someone walked on my grave. I had this strange feeling someone else was outside Mr. Patil’s Shop ’n Go when the cops started arriving, but that’s impossible, the cops would have seen anyone out there.

“Now, Lucy, you promise me you’ll holler loud if you need help? With anything?”

Savich watched her walk slowly from his office, after less resistance than he’d expected. It seemed she’d have agreed to anything just to get out of there. There was something going on with Lucy, and he’d bet some fresh grilled corn on the cob it was more than her grief for her father. No, this was something else, and it was connected, somehow, to her grandmother’s house. Too bad his gut wasn’t telling him any more than that. He’d have to keep a close eye on her.

Savich rose and walked to his one big window. It was a cool day, with lots of sun, and there were a good dozen people already eating an early lunch in the park across the street. He felt it again, someone walking on his grave, and he let his mind float back to that night, trying to focus on something or someone who didn’t belong beyond that huge glass window at the Shop ’n Go just as the police arrived, but it was growing fainter in his mind.

CHAPTER 7

It was a glass half full, Lucy thought, but working a half day was better than nothing. She got out of Dillon’s office as fast as she could. He always saw too much. She cleaned up some paperwork, humming to herself to keep focused, because her brain kept splintering off to her father, laughing or smiling, or to his face slack in death, and tears would clog her throat. An hour later, on her way out, Coop called her over. “I got a call from the Cleveland PD. A bartender notified the police department last night, said our guy came in the bar about nine o’clock, looked around, then left real fast when he saw the bartender looking hard at him. He said he ran outside and looked around for the guy, but he didn’t see him. Then he called the police.”

“So he’s aware everyone’s on the lookout for him.”

Coop nodded.

“Same description?”

“He didn’t even change his black socks.”

“Do you think he will now?”

“He got a scare last night. I’m thinking he’s gonna have to get out of Dodge, head to another big city, maybe Philadelphia or New York, and change his routine and color scheme.

“Hey, why don’t I buy you some lunch—there’s that new Moroccan restaurant over on Crowley. My friend at State says the couscous is pretty good.”

She eyed him. He wasn’t acting like a conceited jerk. In fact, she didn’t ever recall his being anything but nice to her, and she realized she appreciated it. She didn’t have to jump on his busy fishing line if he threw it her way. She started to say no, and then her stomach growled. When was the last time she’d eaten? She couldn’t remember. Coop grinned. “Yep, it’s that time. You got something heavier than that wimpy jacket? It’s pretty chilly out there.”

They stopped by Lucy’s black Range Rover in the Hoover garage, and she shrugged into her leather jacket she kept in the backseat. She paused for a moment, eyeing the jacket. “I wonder if the cleaners can get blood out of leather?”

“What did you do?”

“Me? Nothing. I was thinking about Dillon’s leather jacket, the one he put over the head of that woman robber at the Shop ’n Go.”

“I don’t think I’m going to ask him. How’d you come by that Range Rover?”

“My dad gave it to me when I graduated. He said an FBI agent couldn’t have too much muscle, car included.” Coop led her to his blue Corvette with its black-leather interior that smelled like a million bucks.

Lucy ran her fingers over the shining hood. “This is a very sexy car.” Not that I’m surprised; a cool car would be a must to maintain your rep.

He lightly tapped his hand on the top of the car. “I had to put the top back on two weeks ago for the winter. In the summer, though, cruising around as a convertible, she’s something else. The color is called jet stream blue.”

“Not a girlie blue, yet not so dark it’s nearly black. It’s nice. The metallic finish gives it a kick. Jet stream blue? Neat name. Yep, very sexy, Coop.” She couldn’t help it, she smiled at him. Was she nuts?