Bombshell Part 35

You'll stay alive.

"Hey, where will I stay? What happened to Marauder One?"

"You're staying with my boss, Dillon Savich. As for practicing your music, I know Agent Sherlock has a beautiful Steinway, and she'll love to listen to you.

"I've heard Sherlock play, by the way. I was told she was on her way to Juilliard when she changed her mind. Maybe you can compose an FBI movie theme song together."

"I don't want to fly on Marauder Two until I find out what happened to Marauder One."

"Maybe they've got a fleet of Marauders. You can ask Agent Sullivan. See, that was a good landing, wings level, no bounce or skid at all."

The plane slowed after it touched down and taxied slowly toward them. A tall, whip-lean man wearing a Redskins cap climbed out. He looked up at the snow-laden clouds and frowned, zipped up his brown leather jacket, and walked toward them-no, he didn't walk, he moseyed, Delsey thought, like a loose-limbed cowboy.

Griffin stepped forward. "Agent Sullivan?"

Off came the ball cap to show mussed dark hair. "Yep. It looks like snow's coming in pretty fast, so we'd better take off now. You Agent Hammersmith?"

"Yes." The two men shook hands. Griffin said, "This is my sister, Delsey Freestone, your pa.s.senger. This is Anna Castle, DEA."

Agent Sullivan gave Anna a long look. "Didn't I beat your socks off on the firing range at Quantico? Or was that one of your spastic bros?"

"It must have been Agent Hammersmith here. I doubt either of you would give me any compet.i.tion worth mentioning."

"Good answer," Sullivan said, smiled, and gave her a salute.

Delsey said, "Before I put my life in this stranger's hands and get in that tiny little flying box with him, I want him to tell me what happened to Marauder One."

Sullivan laughed. "Agent Jack Crowne had a small bomb problem a while back. He survived, but Marauder One bit the dust. Good plane, held together long enough for Jack to bring her down. Look at those black clouds hovering like bad dreams. Not much time; let's get going."

He took Delsey's hand and began pulling her away.

"I'll speak to you later today, Delsey," Anna called. "Don't worry. I'll take care of your pretty brother here, keep him out of trouble."

Griffin and Anna stood side by side, listening to Delsey and Agent Sullivan argue as they walked toward the plane. They watched him pick her up and heave her in, climb in after her, and pull the door shut.

Anna smiled. "I'm glad Agent Sullivan wasn't nice to Delsey; she'd have run all over him."

"I'm not pretty."

Anna patted his arm. "You keep telling yourself that. Hey, you've got some boss at the FBI to pull this off, and so fast."

"Yep, I'd say he is." A snowflake hit Griffin's nose, and he pulled his parka up over his head. "Thanks for coming out here with me. And for trusting Delsey with your cover. I have one less worry since she got on that plane. Want to drive back to Sheriff n.o.ble with me and talk strategy?"

Anna pulled him up. "Agent Hammersmith, I'm here undercover. The whole point is n.o.body knows who and what I am. Now look at me. Sheriff n.o.ble and Ruth and even Delsey know. I wouldn't be surprised if it's scrawled in the men's room at Maurie's pretty soon."

"Nah, it's way too early, but I'll check next time I'm in. No one who knows is going to give you up."

"I don't want anyone to see me in your company, since they know you're FBI. I only came with you this morning to say good-bye to Delsey, and, well, you thought she'd kick up a fuss about leaving even after MS-13 tried to kill her last night. It was the least I could do for her after what she'd been through. I took a risk no one would follow us this lovely morning. I've got to get back to my next s.h.i.+ft soon, back to being sweet Anna at Maurie's Diner until my boss, Mac Brannon, tells me otherwise."

Griffin patted her face, pulled up her parka, zipped it to her chin. "Listen, being out and about is lots safer than being alone in your house. If anyone notices you're with me they'll think we're talking about my sister. Everyone knows you guys are close." He paused a moment. "You know it'll be all over town by noon that the same guy who struck Delsey down in her apartment Friday night was shot trying to kill her last night."

They both turned to watch the plane clear the mountains and disappear in the morning mist.

Anna hated that he made even a bit of sense, remembered she'd been relieved to pull her Kia out and away from her house that morning, away from the quiet of the Wolf Trap Road and its thick trees and her old house that creaked and groaned with wind at night, scaring the bejesus out of her. She now carried her Glock in a clip on her belt even during work.

She kicked a pebble out of her path and jerked the Camry's pa.s.senger door open. She looked at him over the roof. "You've got your hands full-two homicides, banging some of the gang members' heads together if you can even find one hanging somewhere, and finding that guy in the alley. I wish I could help."

"I know, but you've got to stay in character. By the way, if we ever compete on the firing range, you don't have a chance, not in this lifetime."

The thought of his having the last word frosted her, and it wasn't going to happen on her watch. She said, "Maybe not, but you'd still be pretty."

The Hoover Building

Monday morning, three hours later

Savich said to Agent Sullivan, "Thanks for picking Ms. Freestone up in Maestro, Davis, and delivering her to us in one piece."

"Not a problem. Always a pleasure to be flying." He turned to Delsey. "It was fun spending some time with you, Ms. Freestone, but you've gotta suck this one up-you're way off base about Vincent and the Onepotts. And if you don't like Big Escape, you're an enemy of rock 'n' roll. Hey, what's not to like about tattoos and huge doses of punk att.i.tude?"

Before Delsey could jerk out his tonsils, he added, "I was out surfing with my brother in L.A. last June. He took me to hear them play in Santa Monica at the One-Up Club. He actually called it a little retro for his taste. It takes all kinds, right? So, I'll pick you up tomorrow evening at seven o'clock, at Agent Savich's house. Any problems, there, Savich?"

"Not a one."

Davis Sullivan gave them a general salute and was out the door.

One of Sherlock's brows shot up. "Davis is a fast worker. Be careful, Delsey, that man's got a reputation that would make Mama's hair turn white."

"I used to," Delsey said sadly.

Savich said, "As long as he doesn't wear a dog collar like Vincent, I'm fine with it."

"Sounds like it's his brother I want to meet," Delsey said.

Savich grinned, and Delsey found herself smiling back at the big man with the hard face. "Sherlock, before you take her home and settle her in, we need to speak a moment."

"I'm really staying with you? You don't mind?"

"Not a problem," Sherlock said, and patted her arm. "It will be our pleasure."

Delsey fretted her thumbnail. She suddenly felt like she was being tossed around like so much flotsam, sleeping in yet another strange bed, intruding on strangers, like she didn't belong anywhere, and she hated that. "I've never been to Was.h.i.+ngton before. Davis said you live in Georgetown."

Sherlock nodded. "Your room is across from Sean's. He's our five-year-old son, and a live wire. Sometimes he talks in his sleep. You can either join in and discuss Flying Monks, one of his gazillion video games, or ignore him.