each of the kidnapped girls’ parents, verify if they were considered different, had special abilities. Send me what you remember from Quint’s file before it was erased.”
“Yes, I will.” After Savich punched off, he and Sherlock recorded everything on MAX they could remember before the wipe program had erased the words, emailed it to Griffin. Savich turned off the light and eased a bit closer to Sherlock.
He felt her warm breath on his shoulder, said against her hair, “It’s coming together. Don’t worry about Griffin. He’s not stupid. He’ll do what’s smart and needful.”
Savich also trusted Griffin to arrange for backup. “Now we figure out what’s going on with Justice. At least he’s with us and as safe as we can make him. Justice made me promise no one would know where he is, not even Mr. Maitland, which will piss him off, royally.”
Sherlock said thoughtfully, “I wonder what ‘smart walls’ means?”
He loved her brain, the way she looked at things, made leaps and connections. “We’ll ask Justice more about all of it tomorrow. You ready to sleep, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart. Was that his usual endearment for her? She swallowed, took a leap. “Maybe you want to kiss me, Dillon?”
Did he want to kiss her? Was she nuts? He’d like a whole lot more, but it was a wonderful start, and it was her idea. He turned his head to smile into her beloved face. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, “what if you start singing and wake up Justice?”
She was dead silent for about a second, then she laughed, her warm breath fluttered against his cheek. “You willing to chance it?”
“Yeah, well, maybe.” Control, he had to keep control, he couldn’t scare her. Start slowly, let her take the lead.
She did. She kissed his cheek, his nose, his chin—light forays, then at last she lightly touched his mouth, her lips seamed. She touched her forehead to his. “That was nice.”
An understatement. “Yes, nice,” he repeated as he lightly stroked his hands up and down her back over her tiger stripes. He wasn’t going to lose it, wasn’t about to let that happen. He stilled his hands. “So what do you think? Maybe another kiss?”
“I can’t imagine having a lover since we’ve been married. I mean, look at you.”
“No, you haven’t. Neither have I. You and I—we’re a team, Sherlock, a unit.”
She was silent a moment. They were a unit. That sounded right. She put her palm flat on his chest, wished he didn’t have on a shirt, wished for a moment his boxers were on the floor. She pressed him back onto his back, bent over him, and kissed his chin. “If we made love, it would be like taking a lover. I know that sounds weird, but I don’t remember us as a unit, and I see you as a kind of hot stranger—”
“Sherlock? Savich?” Their bedroom door burst open and there stood Justice Cummings, sounding both scared and excited.
Sherlock snapped to immediately, jerked up. “What’s wrong, Justice?”
He realized what he’d interrupted and took a quick step back, stammering, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have barged in like this, but I remembered something and I knew it was important and you’d want to know right away. I remembered because of my dream.”
61
* * *
Savich turned on the bedside lamp to see Justice Cummings in the pair of blue pajamas Savich’s mother had given him the previous Christmas. They were too big for Justice, but the drawstring kept them up. He was pale, but his eyes were bright and focused. He was very nearly vibrating.
He gulped, took a quick step back. “I’m sorry, really, I’ll leave—”
“It’s all right, Justice,” Sherlock said, and pulled the sheet up to her shoulders. “Come sit down on the chair by the dresser. How is your leg?”
“I took another of Dr. Breaker’s pain pills, so it hardly hurts at all now.” Still, he walked carefully to the chair, pulled it closer to the bed, and sat down. He lightly touched his fingers to his bandaged nose and smiled. “My nose doesn’t hurt, either.”
“Tell us about the dream,” Savich said.
“Okay, but I’ve got to back up first. Maybe a week and a half ago, I was having lunch with one of my co-workers, Peach—that’s what everyone calls her because she’s from Atlanta—and all she wanted to talk about was the upcoming NFL season and if I was going to play fantasy football. Finally, I told her I really don’t like sports very much, even football, sorry, and I