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.
Zoltan paused in plaiting a cornrow, raised her eyes to the awesome blue sky, and thanked Zoltan for teaching her to always keep a fake passport available. You never knew, he’d say, when it would be best to take your skills elsewhere. She did miss her beautiful old house outfitted with all the dramatic touches for her clients’ benefit, but Jamaica had its own opportunities.
She thought about Rebekah Manvers, wondered if she knew where the Big Take was hidden. A pity Rebekah never trusted her, never believed her grandfather had come to chat, even with her special tea. In the long run, though, would it have mattered? Maybe so, given what she’d read online yesterday. Clarkson United had been bought out. The financial analyst called it a merger, but between the lines, it was clear Clarkson United had been taken over, clear the old witch was no longer in the driver’s seat. And that was the proof Gemma hadn’t gotten her hands on the Big Take.
Zoltan studied the cornrow she’d just finished, saw it wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough. She