The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 1-5 - Catherine Coulter [185]
“Huh. I like Sherlock better. It gives you distinction.”
“I agree.”
“You need anything, Sal?”
“No, Dillon. I just want to sit in this lovely sun, rest my bones, and feed my birdies. I got them a pound of unsalted peanuts. I don’t want to harden their little arteries.”
Lacey was still smiling when they went back into the Hoover Building.
She wasn’t smiling ten minutes later.
11
“SO HE’S going to take you to Boston. How’d you manage that, Sherlock?”
Hannah Paisley was leaning over her, her voice low and furious in her ear.
“You shouldn’t be going. You’re new, you don’t know anything. You don’t deserve to go. It’s because you’re sleeping with him, isn’t it?”
Lacey slowly turned in her chair, looking up. “No, Hannah. Stop this. This is all business, nothing else. Why don’t you believe me?”
“You’re lying, damn you. I’ve seen women look at him. They all want him.”
“Ollie told me that Savich doesn’t believe in becoming involved with anyone in his unit. That includes all of us, Hannah. If you want him, then I suggest you transfer out. Listen, I just want to catch this monster in Boston. Actually I did lie. I do want Savich’s brain and his expertise. Does that count? Is that brain lust?”
Finally Hannah had left.
Now Lacey leaned her head back against her new sofa and grabbed one of the fat pillows to hug. She closed her eyes and thought of the woman who had just about everything and wanted more. She was sorry if Hannah loved Savich, but there was nothing either of them could do about it. Hannah had to get a grip. Lacey was the last woman on earth who was a threat to her. No matter now. She wouldn’t worry about it anymore. It was Savich’s problem. She leaned over and stared at the phone. She picked up the receiver, stared at it some more, then took a deep breath. She dialed the number very slowly.
It rang once, twice, then “Hello, Judge Sherlock here.”
“Hello, Dad.”
“Lacey?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“This is a surprise. You usually only write. Is something wrong?”
“No. I just didn’t have time to write. How are you? How is Mom?”
“Your mother is the same as ever, as am I. So Douglas tells me you’re in this special unit in the FBI and then I read about you and this genius guy catching that murderer in Chicago. You happy now?”
She ignored the sarcasm in his voice, but it was difficult. She’d always hated that awful cutting tone of his that used to annihilate her when she was growing up. In letters, she usually missed it, which was one reason why she only wrote him letters. But there was no time for a letter now. “Dad, he’s struck again.”
“What? Who’s struck whom?”
“The monster who murdered Belinda. He’s struck again in Boston. He killed a woman exactly the same way he killed the seven women in San Francisco. It’s been exactly seven years since he stopped. It’s a cycle. He’s on a seven-year cycle.”
There was no sound, no breathing, nothing.
“Dad? He’s begun again. Didn’t you understand me?”
“Yes, Lacey, I understand you.”
“I’m going to Boston tomorrow morning with my boss, Dillon Savich, who’s the chief of the Criminal Apprehension Unit. I’m going to catch this monster, Dad. Finally, I’m going to get him.”
She was breathing hard. There was nothing but silence on the other end of the line. She drew a deep breath. She had to calm down. She didn’t want to sound like some sort of obsessed nut.
But she was. That monster had taken everything from her and left her with a fear she’d managed to control, but it was there still, deep inside of her. No, it wasn’t just for her. She just wanted to get this scum off the streets. She wanted to shoot him herself.
“Lacey? What do you mean, you’re going to catch him? You’re not involved. Leave it to the professionals.”
“That’s what I am, Dad.”
“No,” he said, angry now. “No, you’re not. You’re a scared little girl. I think you should come home now. Listen to me. Your sister’s been dead seven years. Seven years, Lacey. Douglas told me what you were doing, but I didn’t want to believe it. We all know you’ve given up the last seven years of your