Backfire by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page B

anything on the beach, so no need to traipse down there,” Harry said. “You ever hear of Savich and Sherlock before?”
    “Who hasn’t? Only two weeks ago they were front and center on the Kirsten Bolger case, and can you believe it, Bolger grew up right here in San Francisco?” She’d savored the colorful reporting, even felt a good dollop of envy, although she’d never admit it, at least to an FBI agent, particularly this FBI agent.
    Harry said, “At least the local coverage has finally run out of juice on Kirsten Bolger’s family. They’ll be taking a rest until the trial begins next year, when they’ll light up their torches again.”
    Eve marveled at the two agents—married. What could two people in such stress-filled, dangerous jobs possibly have to say to each other after, say, a violent shoot-out, like the one with Bolger in a North Carolina tobacco field?
Hey, sweetie, you want to go get a beer to celebrate we’re still alive?
She wondered if Sherlock painted her toenails, and imagined a nice French. And Savich was big, tough, hard as nails, good-looking. “Is Savich as fast as he looks?”
    Harry nodded as he braked for a red light. “He is. He’s a fourth-degree black belt. Sherlock is a first-degree, a
shodan
—”
    “Yeah, yeah, I also know when you’re a sixth
dan,
you wear a red-and-white belt. I mean, come on, why care so much about the color of your freaking belt? One big show, a business, that’s all it is. The bottom line in the real world is to beat the crap out of your opponent, however you can.”
    “How do you know about a sixth
dan
?”
    “From a book I saw at my boss’s house.”
    “At Maynard’s?”
    “Yep. He hosts these big barbecues, feeds all hundred of the deputy marshals regularly.”
    “That’s a lot of spareribs.” Harry shot a look at her. “Cheney is new at his job, but I wouldn’t mind if he picked up on the barbecue ribs idea from Maynard. So that’s what marshals do? What about fighting?”
    She gave him a fast smile, gone in the next instant. “We’ve got martial arts experts of our own, with all sorts of belts and colors. Lots of our deputy marshals are scrappers who like to show off their ripped-up knuckles and bruised kidneys.”
    “And you’re not into martial arts?”
    “Don’t know about that. I fight dirty, real dirty. Like I said, you want to put your opponent on the ground, his knees around his neck, as fast as possible.” She started to ask him if he’d like to visit her in the marshals’ gym, wear a couple of his prized belts, then remembered her boss telling her,
Play nice, Barbieri, play nice.
She cleared her throat. “So Savich is a computer expert, right?”
    She fought dirty? He thought of her toilet adventure in the Macy’s women’s room in Omaha and smiled. “Give Savich a motherboard and he can make bread with it in no time at all.”
    “Hey, that was sort of sweet.”
    “Sweet? Hey, I tell you what. Let’s mix it up one of these days, Barbieri. I’ll get you feeling a little respect for the discipline. Because you’re so cute with that blond cheerleader ponytail swinging around, I’ll go easy on you.”
    She batted her eyelashes at him, very effective, since she was so damned pretty. “Your best shot is I’ll be dazzled by your multicolored karate belt. Turn right here, we’re nearly there.”
    When Harry pulled his Shelby into the Hunt driveway a few minutes later, he couldn’t help it, he gawked. “Some digs.”
    “It’s got about the best views in Sea Cliff—the ocean, Marin Headlands, and the Golden Gate Bridge. Looks like all the news people have left. So has the SFPD. I don’t like this; someone should be here.” She pulled out her cell, punched in Carney Maynard’s number, and then she dropped her cell and pointed. “Hey, that’s Emma—she screamed!”
    Eve was out of the car before Harry could turn off the motor, her Glock 22 in her hand, her long strides eating up ground.

Molly jerked open the