Deadlock (FBI Thriller #24)(24)
“He might not believe her attempted kidnapping had anything to do with Zoltan and this Big Take.”
“And he could be right.”
“But you doubt it.”
“Yes, I do. I’m about ready to bring Zoltan in for questioning, see what shakes out. Regardless, Congressman Manvers will have a lot of questions. I know I would in his position.”
“Do you think she told her husband everything?”
“If I were her, I would have. We’ll see what happens. But you know, I’m surprised Zoltan’s played her cards this way. Even if Rebekah’s kidnappers had succeeded, it would have painted a big X on her chest.”
Twenty minutes later, Savich pulled into a wide driveway behind Rebekah’s Beemer on Belmont Road NW in beautiful Kalorama Heights. Savich had long thought the Heights was the prettiest place in Washington. He and Sherlock occasionally walked here with Sean, and, of course, visited the ice cream shop in Kalorama Circle. The lots were big and filled with trees, denuded now on November 1. “The silver Beemer, that’s Rebekah’s car,” Savich said. “Behind it is Griffin’s new Range Rover, isn’t it?”
“Yes, an identical twin with his last one, but with that lovely new car smell. I wonder if the story about his now-deceased Range Rover going over a cliff was a new one for the insurance company.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Nah, I bet they’ve heard it all.”
Sherlock got out of the Porsche and looked around. “This is quite a place.” The house was two stories, with ivy climbing up the age-mellowed redbrick walls. The grounds were beautifully maintained, like the rest of the yards in the neighborhood. The house itself looked well settled, probably more than a hundred and fifty years old. Sherlock said, “I bet before the War of 1812, this site was probably a lovely wooden Colonial. But after the Brits burned Washington, wood was out, only brick.”
“At least in this old neighborhood.”
Griffin answered the door, greeted them, and turned to Rebekah Manvers, standing behind him. Savich introduced her to Sherlock.
Griffin said, “Rebekah, like I told you, I have to go to a birthday party.”
“You didn’t say who’s celebrating. A friend, relative?”
“Nope, I only know the person giving the party. Please, don’t ask. I’ll be back about three o’clock, hopefully, and I’ll stay until your husband gets home. About six, you said?”
Rebekah nodded. Griffin gave Savich a salute and left, whistling.
Rebekah looked after him. “What’s that all about?”
Savich merely smiled and said, “Ask him when he gets back. You’ll find it amusing.” He studied Rebekah’s face and saw no obvious signs of stress, though he knew she still had to feel afraid. But looking at her now, it wasn’t obvious. “Is your arm all right today?”
“Yes, only a little sore.” She rotated her shoulder to show him. She was wearing a white camp shirt over black skinny jeans and black socks on her feet, no shoes. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail. Rebekah looked back and forth between Savich and Sherlock, cocked her head. “You’re not only partners, are you? You’re together, right?”
“Yes,” Sherlock said, and gave her a sunny smile. “You’re very perceptive.”
Rebekah smiled, shook her head. “The two of you—it’s obvious to me you guys have a connection.”
Sherlock decided on the spot she liked Rebekah Manvers.
They followed her into a high-ceilinged, old-style living room filled with early American antiques.
Sherlock said, “How lovely. The antiques fit the room beautifully. Everything is from about the same time period, right?”
“Yes, 1838, to be exact. Needless to say, the house has been transformed many times during its lifetime. As you can see, though, all the beautiful molding and fireplaces have been kept and dutifully restored. As to the furniture, my husband seems to think a congressman needs to surround himself with American period pieces, to give him gravitas and a solid sense of embracing history. Me? I prefer Danish modern, which my husband finds appalling. At least this stuff is fairly comfortable. Let me introduce you to Kit Jarrett, my partner, my friend, and my one and only investigator in our art consulting business.”
A petite young woman stepped forward, smiling. She was loaded with curves she displayed in black leggings and a long black turtleneck sweater to her hips. Kit shook their hands and cocked her head to one side, sending her glorious straight hair swinging against her cheek. Her words nearly jumped out of her mouth. “Believe me, it’s a great pleasure. Goodness, Agent Savich, if you hadn’t been in Celeste Manvers’s neighborhood when Rebekah needed you, she would have been taken. Do you know yet who did it? The bastards. It makes my heart stutter to even think about it.” She grinned really big, showing a crooked eyetooth. “Well, you can see I don’t do ‘measured and mature’ very well.” She looked at Sherlock and drew a deep breath. “Does your husband have a habit of swooping in just in the nick of time?”
Sherlock said, “I’ve always found his timing to be excellent.” She realized how what she’d said could be interpreted and blinked up at Dillon, who smiled at her.
Rebekah’s cell buzzed. She looked down. “Excuse me a moment.” She walked a couple of steps away from them. A moment later, she turned back. “That was my husband. Turns out his meeting was cut short. He’ll be home in about twenty minutes.”