how noxious the smell was and knew it couldn’t be good for Sean, or any of them.
When he, Luke Mason, and Captain Ells rejoined his family, Savich shook the firefighters’ hands and thanked them for saving his house. Ells said, “You’ll get this figured out, Agent Savich. Right now, though, it’s time to take care of your family.” Griffin gave him a doughnut. Ells laughed and ate it. “Sorry, guys, here come the media. Looks like you’re newsworthy, Agent Savich.”
The media was all they needed. Savich hadn’t even thought of them and was surprised they’d come. How did they know so fast? One of the firefighters or dispatchers, no doubt. Three reporters and their cameramen piled out of their cars and vans, all of them homing in on him, questions flying from six feet away.
34
WASHINGTON, D.C.
EAST CAPITOL STREET NE
MINNA SAVICH’S HOUSE
MONDAY NIGHT
It was well after midnight. Senator Monroe had left, Savich’s mother had gone to bed, and Sherlock was upstairs in Sean’s bedroom, holding him close as he cuddled an exhausted Astro. Savich wished he were with them, but not just yet. He and Griffin were speaking quietly downstairs in his mother’s living room.
Griffin nodded toward a photo set on the mantel. “That’s your dad, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Savich looked at the large photo in its place of honor. His larger-than-life dad, FBI agent Buck Savich, had been a big-time cowboy in an office full of cowboys in the FBI New York Field Office. In the photo, he was laughing, his arms around Minna and his children. Savich remembered when the photo was taken by one of his dad’s FBI friends. He’d been about twelve. Savich wondered what Senator Monroe thought about Buck Savich being so prominently displayed. He was brought back, his throat closing, when he thought again, Sherlock and Sean could have been killed, burned to death, and I wasn’t there.
However much time Griffin had bought them when he’d awakened Sherlock had helped save their lives. “Griffin, I owe you more than I can ever repay. Thank you.”
Griffin looked down at his smoke-streaked hands. “I’ll tell you, Savich, what I heard, I knew that sound meant fire. It nearly scared me to death. I was afraid I wasn’t close enough to your house to help Sherlock.”
“Where were you then, Griffin?”
“I found myself driving toward your neighborhood, no idea why really, and I called Sherlock, just to check on her. I heard a loud whoosh, sounded like a big-ass grill being fired up, and like I said, I knew. After I called Sherlock, I called 911. She left the line open, and I heard the smoke alarm go off, then after a moment, your security alarm. When I got there, I remembered your grandmother’s painting and ran in to get it and there came Sherlock down the stairs carrying MAX.” He paused. “It was close, Savich, too close. Do you have any idea who’s responsible?”
“No, not yet. But it’s got to be about the St. Lumis case. That’s a lock, after that third part of the puzzle they sent me showed a man burning in a fire the same day someone tried to burn down my house with Sherlock and Sean in it. The question is why.”
Griffin nodded. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Keep protecting Rebekah Manvers.”
Griffin suddenly grinned. “Do you know your mom kissed me and patted my cheek, told me I was an angel, even with a smoky face?”
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