Deadlock (FBI Thriller #24)(53)
Savich said simply, “You are an angel. And Mom doesn’t know the half of it.”
Griffin, embarrassed, said, “Ah, but still with an eau de smoke smell. Maybe after I shower I’ll smell sweet enough for your mom to hug me again.”
Savich said, “Our firefighter neighbor told Sherlock it would take at least three rounds of soap and water for people not to cross the street to get away from her and Sean. Of course, Sean doesn’t want another bath. He can’t wait for the other kids at school to smell him.”
Griffin said, “I want a Sean.” He shrugged, looked down at his sooty hands. “Sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”
Savich thought of Anna, Griffin’s former fiancée, who’d broken up with him that past spring and left for Seattle. He said, “Having your very own kid is a life changer. Everything shifts, sharpens. Don’t worry, Griffin, you’ll have your son or daughter, and when you do, you’ll be good at it.”
“That’s what Delsey, my little sister, says about herself. She and Rob Rasmussen are serious.” He looked shocked. “Already talking about kids.” He paused, took a sip of his tea, and set the cup down next to a Sports Illustrated magazine with the whole Warriors team on the cover, set there for Sean, of course. He said, “The fire captain said the house should be cool enough by tomorrow morning for a more thorough investigation. There’ll be a number of experts there, arson specialists. Would you like me there, too? About nine o’clock?”
“Sure. Both Sherlock and I will try to be there, too. There are so many balls in the air right now.” Savich knew he was crashing, could hardly make sense anymore. “Sorry, Griffin, for the life of me I can’t think straight.”
Griffin rose. “I’d give you a hug, but I smell too bad. Go to bed, and kiss Sherlock and Sean. We both need some sleep.”
Savich walked Griffin to the door. “I want to stay involved, Savich,” he said. “So you think it’s connected to the burning man in the puzzle?”
“Got to be. The man in St. Lumis who knocked Pippa out and tied her up did it to pull me away from Washington. The puzzle itself was meant to draw me out there, and when I sent Pippa instead, they had her disappear so I’d go out there after her.”
“So someone could set your house on fire and kill Sherlock and Sean.”
Savich nodded. “I’m thinking it could even be the same man who knocked Pippa out and tied her up. Tomorrow she and Chief Wilde will be working with a local artist to see if they can come up with any sort of decent sketch.”
Savich’s expression never changed, but his voice was cold as an ice floe. “I don’t think he’s the one behind the red-box puzzle. He’s a hired tool. What are they after? To hurt me? By killing my family?” Savich paused, then said quietly, “When I find the person behind this, I’m going to destroy him.”
When Griffin’s car disappeared around the corner, Savich set the alarm and turned off the lights. He paused. Did the arsonist know about his mother’s house? If they stayed here for more than a couple of days, it would be easy to find them. They would have to be very careful.
Soon, he was spooning Sherlock, who was spooning Sean, Astro tucked close. But, despite his exhaustion, he had trouble falling sleep, with Sherlock and Sean in the crosshairs.
When he finally slept, he dreamed he saw the shadow of a woman staring at his house. Even though he couldn’t see her face, he knew she was smiling. He called to her, but she didn’t turn to him, only laughed and pointed. He saw a match burst into flame and watched her hold it up. He yelled at her to stop. But she threw the match, and the house exploded.
He jerked away when Sherlock shoved him. “Wake up, Dillon. You’re having a bad dream, and no wonder. Keep close, all right?”
He fell back asleep, breathing in the smoky smell of Sherlock’s hair.
35
SAVICH HOUSE
TUESDAY MORNING
Savich looked at his burned-out kitchen and smelled the acrid odor of charred paint and wood coming off the walls and appliances. He actually wished he could still feel some of the heat he’d felt last night, since it was a cold morning, hovering in the low forties, but there wasn’t a trace. He, Sherlock, and Gabriella, Sean’s nanny, had already gone through the rest of the house, accompanied by Flash Randy, the fire department arson investigator. The water damage wasn’t as bad as it might have been, according to Flash, though it looked bad enough to Savich and Sherlock. He’d seen her staring at the soaked furniture and sodden rugs in the living room and taken her hand, squeezed it. He’d looked at the empty spot over the fireplace where Griffin had taken down his grandmother’s painting. Griffin’s act was a debt he’d be hard-pressed to pay back.
Upstairs, there was a light veil of soot on the walls where the smoke had hovered near the ceiling. “The walls will need a thorough cleaning and some paint,” Flash said. “Pack what you need, but be careful. Stay away from any damage you see. You never know. I’ll be right here.”
They collected clothes, badly in need of washing, and gathered bathroom essentials. The smell was the worst in Sean’s room, directly above the kitchen. They packed his clothes in his Captain Corbin roll-on and gathered his favorite games and, of course, his beloved basketball and Steph Curry sneakers. When Savich walked into his office, the foul mixture of burned wood, smoke, and water nearly overwhelmed him. At least MAX was safe, thanks to Sherlock.