The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 6-10 - Catherine Coulter [647]
“I’m sorry about your Porsche, Dillon.”
“Don’t be an idiot.” Savich pulled her close to him. He felt something wet under his right hand, and his heart dropped to his feet.
“Sherlock, what’s wrong, what’s—”
“Oh dear,” she whispered, swallowing hard. “I guess maybe I didn’t clear the minefield.”
Savich jerked off her coat, saw blood staining her right arm.
Savich picked up his wife and carried her to the paramedics, who were packing their medical supplies away in the back of an open ambulance. John Edsel, not a day over twenty-five, tall and buff as a surfer, immediately snapped to. “Hey, what’s this? Hold on, Gus, we got more business.” John motioned for Savich to ease Sherlock down on a gurney. He lifted her legs.
“No, please, Dillon, let me sit up. The last thing I want is to be flat on my back.”
Savich sat her on the edge of the gurney, held her against him as he spoke to the paramedic.
Edsel nodded. “Agent, you’re going to have to let her go. Take two steps back, that’s all the room I need. Let me take a look. You said she’s been wounded in this arm before?”
Savich nodded. “Yeah, a knife wound a few years back when she didn’t move fast enough.”
“Why didn’t you move fast enough?” John asked her as he cut away her sweater to see the wound.
Sherlock knew he was trying to distract her, but sudden throbbing pain hit her so hard she nearly passed out. She’d forgotten how pain like this could slam down like a hammer on bone. She tried to keep focused on the present. “I guess I didn’t work out enough so I was slow. Dillon was really angry, took it out on me at the gym when I was well enough, worked me so hard I sweated off my eyebrows. Now I’m so strong I could lift that ambulance. Don’t worry, I’m not going to pass out.”
“Oh I see, you’re an FBI agent, too. You guys sure lead exciting lives. Was that your Porsche that got blown up? Okay, this isn’t too bad, Agent, your coat really protected you. Whatever hit you wasn’t flying too fast. You’re going to need a couple of stitches. Let’s get you to the hospital.”
John paused to look over at the twisted, smoking ruin. “A real pity about your Porsche. Okay, you ready to lie down, Agent?” John turned her on the gurney and helped her to lie down, but he was looking over at the Porsche carcass, shaking his head.
CHAPTER 32
WASHINGTON, D.C.
LATE FRIDAY NIGHT
IT WAS CLOSE to midnight when Ben Raven brought them home in his Crown Vic. Sherlock, full of pain meds, her right arm in a sling, was singing the theme to Star Wars, but she was so loopy it wasn’t coming out right. She said good night to Ben and let Dillon carry her inside the house. After they had told Graciella what happened, Savich carried her upstairs. He sat her on the side of the bed and started to undress her when his cell phone rang.
Sherlock stopped singing, whispered, “It’s midnight, right on the dot. He has a sense of timing, doesn’t he?”
She watched Dillon nod as he drew a deep breath, saw his control settle in. He let the cell phone ring three times, then nodded to her, and Sherlock dialed the Hoover Building on their land line to alert them that Dillon was on with Moses Grace.
Savich said, “Quite a splash you made, Moses.”
“Lit up the night, didn’t we? And there you and your little wife were. I like that, shows me how important I am to you. Claudia and I had a ball watching all those yahoos blast out of that club, screaming, pushing, knocking each other over. People are so rude, aren’t they? Good manners only on the surface. No such thing as right and wrong when it comes down to survival. I picked the Bonhomie Club just for you, what with all your friends there. I knew you couldn’t stay away.
“And sure enough, here you come roaring up in your shiny red car, just like I knew you would. Claudia saw you jump out and practically licked her lips.”
The old man cackled, hiccupped, and swallowed phlegm. Savich could almost