think we’re each a little of both.”
She said nothing for a moment, then, “I wish I could see my mom and dad’s faces, see what Sean eats for breakfast.”
“He eats Cheerios, one sliced banana on top. He’s asking for a three-speed bike for his birthday, which he won’t get, of course, but he will get his favorite birthday cake—chocolate.
“I’ll show you a photo of you with your parents, okay?” He saw her chew this over. This was uncharted territory and he hated it, felt like a blind man trying to feel his way.
She nodded, rubbed her forehead. “It just hit me. I’m really pretty tired, Dillon.”
Savich kissed her forehead. “We’ve both had a long day. Let’s get ourselves some sleep.” He put their phones on the chargers and switched off the bedside lamp.
They lay side by side on their backs. After a couple of minutes of dead silence, Sherlock said, “This feels weird.”
“Yes, but weird is what we’ve got. Weird is okay for now, don’t worry.”
“Okay.” She leaned toward him, kissed his cheek. Neither of them said anything. She wished the bedside lamp with its thirty watts was on, she wanted to see his expression, but then again, she really didn’t know what she wanted to see. She whispered, “Good night, Dillon. Thank you for having my back.”
42
* * *
WASHINGTON, D.C.
THURSDAY NIGHT
She’d been a moron to run from that man walking toward her SUV in Justice Cummings’s neighborhood. She should have handled it, said she was surveilling a cheating wife, or even waiting for a friend. Anything at all. But like an amateur, she’d panicked and floored the SUV. Ellie Corbitt wanted to kick herself, not that it would do any good. She’d bet the man got her license plate.
She squeezed her eyes closed. She had to get up the courage to call Athena, warn her. No, easier to call Jasmine. She was responsible for letting Justice Cummings escape. She’d screwed up even more than Ellie had. But this was a close second.
Jasmine answered on the first ring, and Ellie talked fast. Jasmine was silent for a long time after Ellie had said it all. Then she let out a long breath. “This isn’t good, Ellie. Whoever the man was, whoever he’s working for, they’ll find out the SUV belongs to Bexholt, and from there they’ll identify you.”
“I bet the guy who spotted me was CIA,” Ellie said. “I mean, they must be looking for him, too. And the guy was dressed in a spiffy black suit, their standard uniform. If not CIA, then the FBI. Doesn’t matter, either one is bad. Should I call Athena? Warn her? Jasmine, what should I do?”
“Ellie, it will be all right. For now, you stay out of sight, and do not, I repeat, do not go into work tomorrow. Call in sick, you got that? I’ll call Athena,” and she talked about mistakes and how everybody made them, just look at what she’d done!, and not to worry.
“Yes, I’ve got that, but then what?”
“I’ll let you know,” and Jasmine hung up.
Ellie was so scared she couldn’t think straight. Sure, she was smart, committed to this wonderful project. She was so tired of scrimping to make ends meet, but the fact was, she was an accountant, not a trained operative—Stop making excuses. She should have called Athena directly, groveled, told her she’d panicked, that she was sorry. Now she had to trust Jasmine to handle it. Jasmine had offered up such nice forgiving words, but it didn’t change the fact Ellie had let the group down. She’d compromised everyone, and the success of the project. She kept reliving the scene in Cummings’s neighborhood over and over in her head, wondering what was going to happen now, to her, to Jasmine, and to everyone else. Her brain squirrelled about as she lay in bed, even tried to talk her into hopping an express train to the West Coast, or a nonstop flight to the Philippines. What would happen now? Jasmine would know what to do. Wild ideas kept tromping through her brain until she finally took two prescription sleeping pills at 2 a.m. They dragged her deeply under.
She never felt the bullet that slammed into her brain. She fell from sleep into death without ever knowing she’d died.
43
* * *
GAFFER'S RIDGE
FRIDAY MORNING
After breakfast at Jenny’s Café, Griffin and Carson walked Savich and Sherlock to the Porsche. Savich said, “We talked about everything except Quint Bodine’s computer. My worm got his files downloaded and out to