Sherlock gave a cheerful smile to the woman who was standing frozen, still too close to Dillon. “Hi, Ms. Rapper. If you don’t get your hands, your mouth, and all the rest of yourself off my husband, and step off his treadmill, I will deck you. Then I will put my foot on your neck and I will rub your nose into a sweaty mat. Is that enough of a threat?”
Valerie took a step back, couldn’t help herself, not knowing what to say to that miserable little red-headed monster. She wanted Savich, wanted him, not anyone else. He’d been playing the faithful game-oh yes, a man could be as coy and tease as well as any woman-but it would have ended quite soon. She said to him, “Would you just look at her. I’ll bet she dyes all that wild red hair. There aren’t any freckles on her face, and that means a dye job. It’s not even well done. I can see roots.”
Savich said, “I can assure you that all that wild red hair is quite natural. I’m her husband, I’ve got the inside track on this.”
“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 for showing up. Good timing, as always.”
“The Special Forces couldn’t have moved any faster than I did getting here. I’d hug you but you’re sweaty. Oh, who cares?” She plastered herself to him and whispered against his neck, “When I saw her pushing against you, I have to admit I nearly lost it. I wanted to heave one of the bicycles at her or throw her over the railing or knock her beautiful capped teeth into her tonsils.”
“You were the model of restraint,” he said, hugging her.
She cupped his face between her hands, pulled him down, kissed him hard. “Thank God you’re so sweaty, I can’t smell her on you. We’re a pretty good team.”
He looked down at her. “From the time I kicked your SIG Sauer out of your hand in Hogan’s Alley, I knew we would be.”
She bit his neck, which tasted like salt. “I called Lily. She came dashing over to watch Sean. You want to go rescue your sister?”
“Nah. Lily’s always complaining that she doesn’t get him to herself enough. Let’s give her another hour. Now, I’ve got to shower. Maybe we could stop off at Dizzy Dan’s and get a pizza. We could take a couple of slices home to Sean and Lily. They’ve both got a big pizza tooth.”
Sherlock laughed. “A little kid and he loves his pizza with artichokes on it.” She grinned up at him. Yes, everything was under control. “Let’s do it. We’ll get you the Vegetarian Nirvana, which sounds scary to me.”
“Only Sean and I truly appreciate pineapple and broccoli,” he said.
“You got that right. Me, I’m pure carnivore,” she said, and bit his neck again.
41
A gent Dane Carver said, “Glad you guys made it in time. He just made his move, see him? He’s over there by the side of the house, trying to hide in the shadows, but he’s too damned big. I was just on my way after him.”
Sherlock said, “Would you look at that bulky wool coat he’s wearing. He looks like a huge black bat.”
“Let’s have a closer look,” Savich said. Dane gave Savich his infrared glasses and Savich saw him clearly, skulking to the side of the small 1940s cottage using the oak trees as cover.
Sherlock said, “Did you get her name?”
“Ms. Aquine Barton, single, longtime math teacher at Dentonville High School. She’s in there alone, Savich.”
“Okay, Dane, hang back and call the cops when I signal you. We’re going to let him heave himself over the windowsill into the cottage, then we’ll get him. I don’t want him getting close to the teacher. Just close enough so it’s the final nail in his coffin. Keep your fingers crossed he doesn’t try anything stupid, and keep your gun ready.”
Savich, Sherlock on his heels, ran bent over, SIG Sauers drawn, to the front of the cottage. “We’re being cowboys,” she said to the back of his black leather jacket.