Deadlock (FBI Thriller #24)(99)
“I’ve learned a lot from her, of course, but—” Pippa took a sip of her rich cabernet, carefully set down her wineglass, and looked at Savich, who nodded. She said, excitement in her voice, “Yesterday I asked for a transfer to the CAU, with Dillon’s permission and backing. I really did like bringing down white-collar slime in Financial Crimes, then again—” She shrugged. “I think the CAU is the best fit for me. Now I have to wait and see.”
Savich raised his glass. “Let me announce, Agent Cinelli, despite your current boss’s best efforts, you won’t be returning to Financial Crimes. I talked to Mr. Maitland, and he’s pleased to approve your transfer to the CAU. You’re ours now.”
“The fourth woman in the unit,” Sherlock said, and squeezed her hand. “Welcome aboard.”
Savich’s cell phone vibrated. He looked down, then rose. “Excuse me a moment.” He walked to the arch that led to the restrooms. “What’s going on, Griffin?”
“Rebekah has asked me to accompany her and Kit to Amsterdam. They’re on the trail of a forged van Gogh. Several days, maybe a week. Is this all right with you?”
Savich smiled. “I think it’s a great idea. Take a week. Help them track down forgers, make the art world a better place. How is Rebekah doing?”
“Kit told me she’s been on the quiet side, understandable with all that’s happened in the past week and a half. She doesn’t want to talk about it. We’ve both left her alone to sort through things herself.
“Rebekah did tell me she spoke to her half sister, Caitlin, and Rebekah has made plans for the three of us to fly to Spain after she and Kit finish in Amsterdam. On the way home Rebekah also asked Kit and me to stop with her in Birmingham, England, to meet her mother, Constance Riley.” Griffin paused a moment, added, “I assume Caitlin told her all about her birth mother, since Gemma wouldn’t give Rebekah the time of day, and there’s no one else who knows. Rebekah’s spoken on the phone to her mother, quite a thing for both of them. She said she’s looking forward to meeting her daughter.”
“You’ll be a rock for her, Griffin, you and Kit both. And there’s no reason for you all to stay here. Gemma refuses to see anyone again, Duvall would seriously like to pin someone to gain leniency but can’t, and Zoltan has managed to disappear quite effectively, if she survived the gunshot. And I’ll bet my Redskins tickets she did. But who knows, maybe something will turn up.” Savich doubted it. He added, “You make Rebekah smile, Griffin, maybe tell her Congressman Manvers lost his greatest asset, namely her. I can understand her being private about their breakup. A great deal has happened for her to work through, but it came as a surprise.”
Griffin said, “True enough. Kit will be a great support to her. She’s got this wonderful smile, a really sly wit, and she loves Rebekah. And you wouldn’t believe how smart she is, she—” Griffin coughed, shut up.
Savich was grinning into his cell, but his voice was matter-of-fact. “Yes, she is.” He paused a moment, then said, “Do you know, Griffin, I find myself wondering whether Rebekah knows more than she shared with us about the Big Take. Do you think she might know where it’s hidden?”
“I asked her, and she just gave me a look. Yes, she knows, but I doubt she’ll ever tell a soul. She’s only sorry Gemma won’t ever pay for her crimes, especially for killing Nate.”
As Savich walked back into Clyde’s dining room, he thought, Sometimes there isn’t any justice even if you know the truth. But acceptance was difficult. Still, Clyde’s lights were soft, the conversation low and steady, the waiters were bringing plates, pouring drinks. He looked up to see Sherlock smiling toward him and let it go. He thought about Griffin and Kit Jarrett. You never knew. People were amazing.
EPILOGUE
MONTEGO BAY, JAMAICA
EARLY IN THE NEW YEAR
Zoltan, who now called herself Sharma, hummed as she plaited cornrows in a young girl’s long blond hair on her chosen beach in Montego Bay. Pretty girl, not more than sixteen, and spoiled rotten. It was easy enough for the teen to more or less order her mother to pay for the cornrows even though it was obvious Mrs. Grace Chivers, rich enough to own this five-star resort, didn’t want cornrows on her daughter’s head.
She hardly listened as the girl talked trash about her supposed best friend, her thoughts returning to the night that man had broken into her house to kill her. She had known it had to be Gemma Clarkson who’d hired him, and she’d called her, outraged. She should have thought it through, she’d realized once she’d calmed down, a big mistake on her part. She’d yelled at Clarkson for not having any faith she could coax Rebekah back, but now she was involving her in violence. Gemma hadn’t even bothered to argue with her. It was clear she would stop at nothing. Zoltan had prayed she was wrong, but she’d realized she could be in danger. Agent Savich had brought that home to her.
And so she’d pulled out her small Colt buried in the back of her underwear drawer and carried it around in her pocket. It had saved her life. She’d shot him when he surprised her, a nice center shot, she hoped, after his bullet had only gone through the flesh of her arm. She lost lots of blood, of course, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing what she needed and driving out of Washington. She’d stopped at an urgent care clinic in North Carolina, and then it was a straight shot to Miami.