TailSpin - Catherine Coulter [126]
“Sorry, ma’am, I can’t tell you.”
“Why not? Who cares, after all?” He heard it then, fear in her voice, a thick undercoat of it. She moved closer, the movement making her diamonds dance and glitter madly.
He leaned close, as well, and went with his gut. “Do you know who shimmied up the oak tree to climb in through a second-floor window, Mrs. Kostas? Did her scream scare him away? Or was it the alarm going off?”
She took a quick step back from him and looked toward her husband, who was speaking now to a senator from Arizona. She turned, said to him over her shoulder, “Can you really see one of us climbing a tree, Agent Savich? I think not. But it seems to me Rachael has to run out of luck sometime.”
“Everyone eventually does,” Savich said. “You included, ma’am. Ah, here are Agent Sherlock and your niece.”
“She’s not—” Laurel shut her mouth, something, Sherlock imagined, she did neither often nor easily. But she was smart enough to get the lay of the land before she charged into battle.
Savich introduced Sherlock to Laurel, who ignored her to land squarely on Rachael.
“So,” Laurel said, looking Rachael up and down, “you have to have an agent sticking to you now?”
Rachael said, “Yes. I’ve found I prefer it.”
Quincy and Stefanos joined them, probably, Savich thought, because they believed Laurel needed reinforcements. Laurel made begrudging introductions.
Sherlock shook the men’s hands. Stefanos held her hand a bit longer than he should have. She cocked her head at him. “You have such lovely hair, Agent Sherlock,” he said, that accent meant to warm and seduce. “There is no red hair like yours in my country. It is glorious.”
Boy, you lay it on with a trowel, don’t you? She smiled at him.
Quincy Abbott looked like he wanted to bolt, but inbred civility won out and he shook Savich’s hand. He gave only a mildly displeased nod to Jack, who was standing at Rachael’s shoulder. When he took Sherlock’s hand, his eyes went hot. Now that was interesting. It wasn’t lust, not at all like the message Stefanos had broadcast to her. What was it? Was it anger? Did his look mean he hated female cops? She’d heard Rachael say he was a misogynist. She looked at Dillon. He was stone-faced.
Stefanos said, “You look magnificent, like a cabaret singer from the thirties, Agent Sherlock.”
“Thank you,” Sherlock said.
Savich agreed with Stefanos. Sherlock was wearing a long black skirt, a black top that bared her shoulders, and her hair was loose, a sunset of curls around her head, pulled back from her face with two black clips. She looked good, that was Savich’s remark when he saw her, and she’d known he wanted to haul her back upstairs. Even Sean, standing at his father’s side, had stared at her. “I wouldn’t know it was you if it wasn’t for your hair, Mama.”
She’d laughed and kissed him soundly. But Savich bet she had no plans to kiss Stefanos Kostas.
Stefanos said, “You’re really an FBI agent? You?”
“You were thinking I was perhaps a runway model?”
“Maybe that’s not too much of a stretch.”
Rachael said, “Agent Savich and Agent Sherlock are married. They have a little boy.”
“What?” Stefanos asked. “You’re actually married to him? But, I—”
Laurel rolled over her husband. “Married? I’ve never heard of FBI agents being married to each other before, but I suppose our government allows just about anything.”
“Not really,” Sherlock said.
“I have two boys,” Laurel continued. “The elder is nearly grown up now. He met a girl in New York City and is convinced he’s going to marry her.”
“How old is he?” Jack asked, though he knew very well.
“Damian is sixteen.”
Quincy said, “Stefanos isn’t happy about this, even though it’s only a young boy’s crush, isn’t that right?”
Stefanos shrugged. “He can have his fun. I only hope he doesn’t contract some disease from her.”
Quincy said, “You’re an expatriate