Split Second - Catherine Coulter [141]
He stopped cold, swallowed. He realized he’d been babbling, when Lucy had almost died as well and had lost yet another family member. Like Savich and Mylo Dwyer, he simply didn’t understand what had driven Miranda to try to kill Lucy, then to kill herself. So who cared if Alan Silverman wasn’t her father? Did it matter so much to her? Evidently so. And that ring. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lucy interrupted him. “Smile, Coop, and relax, you’re feeling all those meds they gave you. Enjoy not having any pain. That’s a good thing.”
Sherlock leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Well done, Coop. You brought Kirsten down.” Then she clasped Lucy’s shoulders and smiled at her. “I am so relieved you are all right.” And she hugged her.
Sherlock looked after them as they walked to the waiting room, Coop flying high and happy. She could hear him humming from where she stood, his arm around Lucy’s shoulders. “He looks like he should be punching cattle in Wyoming in that shearling coat. I’m glad he didn’t ruin it, only the one little blood spot inside.” She gave Dillon a look. “I’d have to say he looks nearly as hot in it as you do in your black leather.”
He arched a brow at her, then called after them, “Lucy, if you want to talk to me about what happened, give me a call.”
Lucy didn’t slow, said over her shoulder, “I don’t think I’ll ever have anything else to say, Dillon, but thank you.”
Coop stopped humming. “You’ll tell me all about the ring, won’t you, Lucy?”
She didn’t look at him—the horror of what had happened was too fresh, the utter waste of it all. Miranda’s ruined face was clear in her mind; she could still see blind death in her eyes. She cut it off and looked up at Coop, hugged him to her side. “I want to tell you everything that’s important to me, Coop. Always.”
CHAPTER 78
Georgetown
Sunday night
Sherlock was giving a dishcloth a final pass over the kitchen counters when Jerry Lee Lewis sang out “Great Balls of Fire.” “Oh, dear, I hate it when the phone rings this late.”
“Savich.”
“Ben here, Savich.” He paused for a moment, breathed in deeply. “Mrs. Patil is dead.”
“What? Jasmine Patil? Not Mr. Patil?”
“That’s right. She was picking up some papers that needed Mr. Patil’s signature in the office of the Georgetown Shop ’n Go. The clerk, Rishi Ram, a Patil cousin many times removed, heard a gunshot and ran back to the office, saw Mrs. Patil’s head on the desk, her blood everywhere, covering all the papers. He said he called nine-one-one right away, then ran to the back door, which is usually locked, saw it was wide open. He said he ran outside, saw a car driving away.”
“What kind of car?”
“He thought it was a Kia, black, didn’t see the license plate or the driver. Then he burst into tears and said it could have been a Cadillac, for all he knew. His mom owned a Kia, and so he’d just said that. Go figure.”
“Is Mr. Patil still in the hospital?”
“No, he went home yesterday. I was told he’s recovering nicely. And now this. First him and now his wife.” Ben drew in a deep breath. “He doesn’t know yet. The cousin many times removed is still with the police. Will you come with me to tell him?”
“Yes, I’ll come.”
“Meet me there, okay?”
“Twenty minutes,” Savich said, and punched off his cell.
Sherlock was squeezing his hand. “Dillon, Mrs. Patil was shot? She’s dead?”
Savich nodded, but he was silent, staring toward the two pumpkins he and Sherlock had carved for Halloween. He saw a couple of pumpkin seeds on the floor, bent over and picked them up. “I’d hoped, even prayed, we were wrong, but I knew in my gut what had happened. But we didn’t follow through fast enough; there was too much going on. That’s why I asked Ben to assign a cop to Mr. Patil. I didn’t see what was coming. I’m an idiot.”
She lightly touched her fingertips to his cheek. “No, you’re not an idiot. Just think about everything that’s been happening—talk about a lot on your plate.”
“Well, yes, but I should have given it more thought.”
“Now you will, and now you’ll act.”
He nodded, smacked his fist