Power Play (FBI Thriller 18)

“I’m okay. A rack got me against the temple, so I’m a bit woozy. Blessed, do you see him?”

He stared at her. “Blessed? No, of course not. He couldn’t have gotten past me.”

“Did you see a little old lady? Sort of bent over, walking with a cane? A camel coat? With a woman and kids?”

He cursed. She was so surprised she stepped onto a can of tomato paste and went down. Before she landed on her back, Savich lifted her under her armpits and pulled her up. People crowded in on them, everyone talking at once. Several more cans rolled out of the storeroom and down aisle five, where they were picked up by startled customers.

Savich said, “Is he in there somewhere?”

“He went out the rear exit. Said he had a stolen Kia waiting.”

They ran out of the store and around to the back door, but Blessed and his stolen car were gone.

“He’ll switch cars, fast,” Sherlock said.

A dozen customers had called 911, and cops were soon swarming all over the store. Before they were pulled into endless interviews, Sherlock called in the Kia and Blessed’s description herself.

It took time to deal with the police, the manager, the customers. Too much time. It was twenty minutes before Savich could start a grid search around Metzer’s Grocers, looking for Blessed in a stolen Kia.

Natalie Black’s house

Thursday afternoon

Carlos Acosta could be anywhere, even back in El Salvador.”

Conversation died, and everyone turned to stare at Natalie. She continued. “I hope he ran because he knew you were looking for him. I hope they didn’t kill him. And all for some stupid graffiti!” She looked ineffably sad, her shoulders slumped, her head down. Then anger took over, and she smashed her hand against the back of a chair. “Who are ‘they’? Who could have coerced Carlos into writing that message, and probably destroying Perry’s motorcycle?”

Perry said, “I can’t imagine killing the delivery boy, namely Carlos, without a reason for it.”

“There’s always a reason,” Hooley said, “unless these people are psychopaths, then the sky’s the limit.”

Davis said calmly, “If he’s dead, then that would mean he found out who they are. They couldn’t risk his telling the police what he knew. Who knows? Maybe Carlos decided to try some blackmail.”

Perry jumped to her feet and started pacing the living room. Davis watched her for a moment, then said, “I spoke to Savich. He and Sherlock are up to their eyebrows with another case. Some lunatic they arrested last year tried to kill Sherlock in a grocery store, of all places, but they’re both all right. They’re looking for the bozo, and will be out for a while.”

He shot a look toward Hooley. “It’s you and me for a while, Beef.”

Hooley flexed his big hands and gave him a ferocious grin, nodded to Connie. “The three of us.”

Perry dusted off her jeans. “You three and the rest of us,” she said, and patted the Kimber, still on her belt. She stopped talking because Davis was no longer paying any attention to her. He was looking down at his cell. He raised dazed and disbelieving eyes to her face.

Natalie stood halfway up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He said, his voice outraged, “Got a text from the CAU. Your daughter reported today that Tebow’s got a girlfriend and she didn’t tell me about it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hooley said, blinking. “No, really, it’s true? Tebow fell?”

“Tell you? She didn’t tell her own mother,” Natalie said.

Connie Mendez called out from the living room doorway. “Mrs. Black, you have a visitor. I believe it’s the secretary of state.”

“Oh, dear, I forgot Arliss was coming. Okay, all of you, out. No, stay here. I’d like her to meet you. Then she and I will speak in my study.”

Davis turned to see Secretary of State Arliss Abbott enter the room. She was dressed in a business suit that shouted boardroom and designer, and she was eyeing all of them, an elegant eyebrow raised. “A party, Natalie? And I wasn’t invited?”

“Anyone who dresses as elegantly as you is always invited,” Natalie said, smiling as she walked to her. “Good afternoon, Madame Secretary.”

Arliss Abbott smiled at her longtime friend, nodded, greeted Perry, Connie, Hooley, and Davis with great charm. No one mentioned Carlos Acosta or Tebow’s girlfriend.

A few minutes later, the two women were alone in Natalie’s study, each with a cup of Earl Grey. They made quite a pair, Natalie thought, with Arliss dressed to kill and she herself in casual slacks, a gun clipped at her waist. Arliss looked tired—wrung out, really—and Natalie felt guilty because she knew she was primarily to blame.