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“Dillon,” Sherlock said, “that’s a tad indelicate. Ms. Rapper, not all redheads have freckles. Now, please remove yourself or I will take action in the next couple of seconds.”

Valerie waved this away. “You know if she weren’t here, you’d be pulling me out of this wretched gym in no time at all.”

“Do you really think so?” Savich inquired, and a black eyebrow shot up a good inch.

“Of course I do! This is ridiculous. Don’t you know who I am?”

Sherlock said, head cocked to the side, “A pushy broad with an embarrassing last name?”

“You little bitch, back off! My father is the CEO and major stockholder of Rapper Industries. I am his daughter.”

“Fancy that,” Savich said, looking impressed, his mouth smiling, but his eyes hard. “Actually, when you said he was your father, I figured you just might be his daughter.”

“I could buy your dumb-ass FBI with my trust fund!”

Now this was interesting, Savich thought. “How ignorant of me. I hadn’t realized who you were. Just imagine, the daughter of the famed Mr. Rapper. Now that I realize you’re very rich as well as very beautiful, it makes all the difference. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”

Sherlock, her smile still in place, nodded. “It sure does. It makes me realize it’s time to bring out my big guns.” She pushed Dillon out of the way and stepped up right into Valerie Rapper’s face, making three of them on the treadmill. “I don’t suppose you know who we are, do you?”

Valerie Rapper blinked. “Of course, you’re a couple of unimportant little cops. So what?”

“If he’s so little, then why do you want him?”

“I was referring to you. I saw him on TV. I saw those women reporters looking at him. Go away now.”

Sherlock didn’t touch her, even though she badly wanted to. She said, not an inch from Valerie Rapper’s face, “Oh no, he’s mine. Now, Ms. Rapper, you won’t believe my big gun—it’s a cannon really. My father is the famous federal judge Sherlock. If I tell him you’ve been annoying me, why, he could have your father and his entire conglomerate investigated. What do you think of that, missy?”

Before Savich could throw in his own big gun and tell her he was Sarah Elliott’s grandson and he controlled millions of dollars in paintings, Valerie Rapper stepped off the treadmill, grabbed her bottle of water, waved it at them. “Both of you are crazy, totally crazy. Judge Sherlock! What a ridiculous name!”

“You should know,” Sherlock said.

“Don’t you dare have my father investigated, do you hear me?”

“Well, I’ll think about it if you leave my husband alone.”

“I’ll bet you dye everything so he won’t guess that your hair isn’t natural!”

“Gee, I didn’t know that was possible. Thanks for the tip.”

“What’s going on here, Agent Savich?”

It was Bobby Curling, the gym manager. He looked both amused and alarmed. “We got a problem here? These two fighting over you? Since when did you become such a sex object?”

Savich grinned at his wife. “Actually, the three of us were just comparing our antecedents. It’s my considered opinion that Sherlock and I come from the better gene pool.”

“You’re not worth my time, either of you!” Valerie Rapper whirled around. “As for you, Bobby, you can take your cheap club and shove it.”

She took the stairs two at a time going down, something Savich had never seen anyone do before. Bobby grinned up at him. Savich gave Bobby a thumbs up. “No problem now, Bobby, everything’s cool.”

“Yeah, but you guys just lost me a customer.”

“Maybe,” Savich said. “But we also put on quite a show for everyone else.”

“I’d say we’re easier to get along with anyway,” Sherlock said.

Bobby hunched his huge muscled shoulders, took a last look at Valerie Rapper stomping into the women’s locker room. “She sure is pretty,” he said, and sighed. “I’ve been watching her go after you, so I guess in the spirit of keeping marriages together, it’s okay with me she’s leaving.” He sighed again, and turned away. “I’ll bet she’s really rich, huh?”

“She says she is.” Savich turned to his wife, lightly touched his fingertip to her cheek. “Thanks