Power Play (An FBI Thriller) by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page B

antique-gun show.” She sighed. “Or maybe I imagined the whole thing and it will turn out to be a Beretta.”
    Officer Clooney asked for a description and Sherlock told him the man was wearing a camel wool coat, his face covered up, and he was wearing sunglasses, adding, “I couldn’t tell his age, but when the motorcycle hit the fire hydrant, he was pretty fast jumping off and getting out of there.”
    Officer Clooney jotted this down. “Okay, I’ll put out an APD,our people will canvass the neighborhood, but you know as well as I do it doesn’t look promising.
    Officer Clooney called in the motorcycle’s license plate. A moment later, he said, “The Kawasaki belongs to Don E. Huzar, Farlow, Maryland, reported stolen early this morning. You have any idea why this guy would try to kill you, Agent Sherlock? Is there some gnarly case you’re working on? Maybe a drug gang?”
    “I honestly don’t know who it was.” She started to tell Officer Clooney about her feeling someone had been staring at her, then stopped at the roar of the Porsche engine taking a corner too fast onto 34th.
    She smiled. “That’s my husband. I guess your nine-one-one operator called him.”
    Officer Clooney grinned. “Agent Savich, right?”
    “Right.”
    “You bet it was all over the air. You and your husband are always good business.”
    Savich pulled the Porsche with great precision close to the opposite curb, burst out and hit the pavement running. He stopped six inches from her, saw she was all right, and took several deep breaths. Slowly he reached out his hand and cupped her face, studied her.
    Officer Clooney said, “She gave as good as she got, Agent Savich. Look where the bozo’s ride ended up.”
    Savich glanced over at the wrecked motorcycle.
    Sherlock said, “Turned out okay, but I was aiming at him, of course. At least I got a tire.”
    Savich took her arms in his hands. And felt something wet. His heart jittered. He looked to see her coat was ripped high on her arm. He said in a deep, calm voice, “He got you.”
    Sherlock looked down at her arm, and of all things, she felt a sudden stab of pain. “Isn’t that a kick? I didn’t feel anything at all until you pointed that out. Now it hurts. Well, I did it again.”
    Savich peeled off her coat, pulled her sweater off her shoulder, and saw it was only a graze, really, the bullet scratching through her skin. No need for stitches. Antiseptic and a small bandage should do it. Still, his heart was galloping even with the proof in front of him that it wasn’t much of anything, thank the Good Lord. It wasn’t even bleeding now. He pulled her sweater and coat back into place. He stood there with her hands now in his and wondered where his brain had gone. “You’re all right,” he said finally. “You’re all right.”
    She knew he was scared, knew he was remembering San Francisco, knew that if it had been him, she’d be a mess. She smiled. “Yeah, no worries, I promise. We’ll take care of it at home. You made really good time, Dillon.”
    “The nine-one-one operator called me.”
    Officer Clooney smiled. “Which one, Agent Savich?”
    “Jodie.”
    Officer Clooney nodded. “Well, Agent, we’ve got two women, Agent Sherlock one of them, who both claim to be the guy’s intended victim.”
    Savich stared hard at Sherlock. Her nose was red from the cold. She was pale, not from what had happened, but from something else, something like guilt from some knowledge she hadn’t shared with him? He looked away from her, over at the ruined tire, breathed in the smell of burning rubber, and said very calmly, “If Agent Sherlock says the shooter was after her, there’s no question here.”
    The cop who’d been speaking to the older couple across thestreet jogged over. “Agent Sherlock, I asked that old couple to describe the man who jumped off the crashing motorcycle. They said they really didn’t see him.”
    “But they were right there,” Sherlock said. She weaved