Twice Dead - Catherine Coulter [95]
She said, more to herself than to either of them, “If they don’t get him, then how do you come up with a strategy to catch a shadow?”
Thirty minutes later, their driver pulled up in front of a white two-story colonial house, set back from the street on a gently sloping grass-covered yard, right in the middle of Bricker Road in the heart of Chevy Chase. It looked like many of its neighbors in this upper-middle-class neighborhood, lots of surrounding land, lots of oak and elm trees, and beautifully landscaped lawns.
“Your house, sir. No one followed us.”
“Thank you, Mr. Simms. You took excellent evasive action.”
“Yes, sir.”
Thomas turned to Becca, who was staring out the car window. He took her hand. “I’ve lived here for many years. Adam probably told you no one knows about this house. It’s a closely guarded secret to protect me. Given Krimakov’s actions, he hasn’t discovered this house. Don’t worry. We’ll be safe here.” Thomas looked over at the oak tree just to the side of the house. He and Allison had planted it sixteen years before. It was now twenty feet taller than the house, its branches full and laden with green leaves.
“It’s lovely,” Becca said. “I hope it does all end in New York. I don’t ever want him to find out where you live. I don’t want him to hurt this house.”
“No, I would prefer that he didn’t, either,” Thomas said. He gently took her hand to help her out of the car.
“Mom and I always lived in an apartment or condo,” she said, walking beside her father up the redbrick steps to the wide front porch. “She never wanted a house. I know there was enough money, but she’d always shake her head.”
“When your mother and I were able to meet, she usually came here. This was her house, Becca. You’ll see her touch everywhere, and I’m sure you’ll recognize it as hers.”
His voice was low, so filled with pain, with regret, that Adam turned away to focus on the rosebushes that were blooming wildly beside the brick stairs up to the front porch. He saw two agents in a car half a block down the street. He wondered if Thomas would tell his daughter that this house might look like a home-sweet-home, but the security in and around the place was state-of-the-art.
“It’ll be dark in about three hours,” Adam said, looking up from his watch. “Let’s make our phone calls, talk to the guys in New York, get the status on everything, make sure they stay alert. I have this gut feeling that Krimakov is going to try to get into NYU Hospital soon. Now we can tell them exactly who they’re up against. As you said, Thomas, there are always leaks. Detective Gordon, for example. I can see her telling everyone in sight. If he doesn’t act in the next twenty-four hours, then he won’t, because he’ll know it’s a trap.”
Adam looked down at Becca, who was staring intently at the house. He knew she was trying to visualize her mother there, perhaps standing next to her father, smiling at him, laughing. Only she wasn’t there, had never been a part of the two of them. He said, “Get rid of that ridiculous hair dye, will you, Becca?”
Thomas turned at his words. “That’s right. Your hair is very blond, like your mother’s.”
“Mom’s was more blond than mine,” she said. “All right, Adam, but I’ll have to go to the store. Who wants to go with me?”
“Me and about three other guys,” Adam said. The look on her face had changed, lightened, and he was pleased.
At seven o’clock that evening, Savich and Sherlock, Tommy the Pipe, and Hatch arrived at Thomas’s house for pizza and strategy, pizza first. Adam doubted there would be much helpful strategy, but it was good to have everyone together. Who knew what ideas might pop out after hot, cheese-dripping pizza?
Savich was carrying a baby draped over his right shoulder. The kid was wearing only a diaper and a little white T-shirt. Adam looked at Savich, checked out the baby’s feet, and said, “You’re this little guy’s father?”
“Don’t act so surprised, Adam.” He lightly rubbed