“I think that’s a mistake,” Adam said, thinking of the logistics. “I
don’t think we need anyone else in on this. I’m worried about
maintaining control here.”
“Trust me on this, Adam. We do need him. He’s got lots of contacts
and is very, very smart. Don’t worry that he’ll talk and expose
Becca’s whereabouts if he comes on board. He won’t. Have you
learned anything more of value?”
“There’s nothing at all to be found in any of McCallum’s
records. The governor says he doesn’t know a thing. I assume
you’ve come up dry as well?”
“Yes, but I think that Dillon Savich will be able to help us there
as well. Word is he’s magic with a computer and gathering information.”
Adam said, “We don’t need anyone else, Thomas.” The instant
the name was out of his mouth, Adam jerked his head up. Becca
was looking at him, her eyes narrowed, intent. He cleared his
throat. “We don’t want more hands stirring this pot. It’s too dangerous.
Too much chance of cracks and leaks. It could lead to
Becca.”
“You slipped, Adam. Is she listening?”
“No, it’s okay.” At least he hoped it was. She was now simply
looking wary and interested, both at the same time.
Adam said again, “Maybe you could just have this guy do some
specific searches for you.”
“That, too, but he’s a specialist just like you are. All right. We’ll
see. I’m meeting with him to see what he has to say. Maybe he
won’t want to join up with us, or maybe he won’t have the time. I
just wanted you to know. Keep her safe, Adam.”
“Yeah.”
Becca shook her head at him when he closed his cell phone. She
knew there’d be downright lies or at the very least evasions out of
his mouth. She was furious, frustrated, but, surprisingly, she felt
safer than she had in weeks. When he looked like he would say
something, she smiled at him and said, “No, don’t bother.”
The Egret Bar & Grill
Washington, D. C,
Thomas Matlock rose very slowly from his chair. He didn’t
know what to say but he didn’t like what he saw. Damnation, Savich
wasn’t alone.
Savich smiled at the man he’d never heard of before receiving
the e-mail at four A.M. that morning. He extended his hand. “Mr.
Matlock?”
“Yes. Thomas Matlock.”
“This is my wife and my partner, Lacy Sherlock Savich, but
everyone calls her Sherlock. She’s also FBI and one of the best.”
Thomas found himself shaking the hand of a very pretty young
woman, on the small side, with thick, curling red hair, the sweetest
smile he’d ever seen, and he knew in his gut, knew without even
hearing her speak or act or argue, that she was tough, probably as
tough as her hard-faced husband, a man about Adam’s age, who
looked stronger than a bull. Meaner, too. He didn’t look like a
computer nerd. Whatever that was supposed to mean nowadays.
“So,”Thomas said,”you’re Buck’s son.”
“Yes,” Savich said and grinned. “I know what you’re thinking.
My dad was all blond and fair, a regular aristocrat with a thin
straight nose and high cheekbones. I look like my mom. You can
bet that my dad was always pissed about that. I never had my dad’s
smart-ass mouth, either. That pissed him as well.”
“Your dad could charm the widow’s peak off a fascist general and
outwit a Mafia don. He was an excellent man and friend,”Thomas
said, eyeing the man. “I wasn’t expecting you to bring anyone else.”
He found himself clearing his throat when Savich didn’t immediately
respond. “This is all rather confidential, Mr. Savich. Actually,
it’s all extremely confidential, there’s a life at stake and–”
Savich said easily, “Where I go Sherlock goes, sir. We’re a package
deal. Shall we continue or would you like to call this off?”
The young woman didn’t say a word. She didn’t even change
expressions. She just cocked her head to one side and waited, very
quietly, silent. A professional to her toes, Thomas thought, just like
her husband.
Thomas said then, “Is your name really Sherlock?”
She laughed. “Yes. My father’s a federal judge in San Francisco.