The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 6-10 - Catherine Coulter [50]
“I surely hope not,” Lily said and closed her eyes.
Savich’s cell phone rang.
11
Washington, D.C. Three days later
“You go to bed now, Lily. No arguments. You look like a ghost out of A Christmas Carol.”
Lily managed a small smile and did as she was told. She was still weak, and the long plane trip back east had knocked her flat. She awoke an hour later to hear Dillon and Sherlock talking to Sean. They cuddled, hugged, and kissed him until finally he was so exhausted he hollered big time for about two minutes. Then he was out like the proverbial light. His nursery was right next to the guest room, where she lay quietly in the dim light. She didn’t realize she was crying until a tear itched her cheek. She wiped it away.
She closed her eyes when she heard her door open slightly. No, she wasn’t ready to see anyone just yet, although she loved them both dearly for caring about her so very much. She pretended to be asleep. When she heard them go downstairs, she got up and went into the baby’s room. Sean was sleeping on his knees, his butt in the air, two fingers in his mouth, his precious face turned toward her. He looked just like his father, but he had his mother’s dreamy blue eyes. She lightly rubbed her fingers over his back. So small, so very perfect.
She cried for the beauty of this little boy and for the loss of Beth.
Late that evening, over a good-sized helping of Dillon’s lasagna, she said, “Have you checked back with your office? Did they find Marilyn Warluski?”
Savich said, “Not yet. They found the boyfriend, Tony Fallon, but he claims she hasn’t contacted him. But there were a couple of folk in Bar Harbor who identified a photo of her, said they’d seen her recently. They’re going back to put his feet to the coals. We’ll know something soon.”
“We hope,” Sherlock said. Then she smiled. “You should have seen Dillon’s mother when we picked up Sean—she didn’t want us to take him. She said we’d promised her at least a week with him all to herself, but we’d lied; it was barely a week. She was shouting ‘Foul’ even as we were pulling out of her driveway.”
Savich shook his head. “Now he’ll be so spoiled that we’ll actually have to say no to him a couple of times to get him grounded back into reality.”
“I bet Mom would love to baby-sit him on a regular basis,” Lily said.
“Well,” Savich said, “she’s got her own life. She’s his treat; two or three times a week he gets big doses of Grandma. It works well that way. Our nanny, Gabriella Henderson, is the best. She’s young, so she’s got the energy and stamina to keep up with him. Believe me, he can wear you down very fast.”
Lily was laughing, looking over at Sean, who was seated in his walker, a nifty contraption that let him scoot all over the downstairs. If he ran into something, he just changed directions.
Savich said, “Those wheels are bad for the floor, but Sherlock and I decided we’d just have them refinished when he moves on to crawling and walking.”
Lily said slowly, “Isn’t it strange? I never imagined you with a kid, Dillon.”
Savich smiled and helped her down on his big stuffed chair. “I didn’t either, but here came Sherlock, blasted right into my comfortable life, and it just seemed like the right thing. We’re very lucky, Lily. Now, sweetheart, we’ve been traveling all day and you’re jet-lagged, probably really bad what with the surgery a week ago. I want you to sleep at least ten hours before you face the world here in Washington tomorrow.”
“You and Sherlock have to be jet-lagged too. Even though you travel a lot and you are FBI agents, you—”
The front doorbell rang.
Savich walked around Sean, who was speeding toward the front door. It was Simon Russo. Savich knew him as a man of immense energy and focus, a man who just didn’t quit. And now Simon was looking beyond him to the living room.
“Simon, it’s good to see you. What the devil are you doing here?”
Simon grinned at his friend, shook his hand, and