Catherine Coulter - Backfire

Yeah, he might get an ulcer worrying, but she might get one, too. Only fair. They’d share that worry, like Savich and Sherlock already did right now. Sherlock and Savich were solid, and Eve and Harry could be, too. They even had a little boy, Sean. A kid? Now, that was something to think about.

He raised his hand to knock on the door when Sherlock opened it. “Hi, Harry, I heard you coming. You walk heavy, so I knew it wasn’t Charlene with an ax in her hands. You didn’t see Dillon? No matter. So Dillon volunteered you to stick close.” She shook her head. “Thing is, Dillon’s very protective, but I really don’t think-”

Harry looked at her beautiful serious face and its halo of rioting red hair and raised his finger to touch her mouth. “Stop. I’m here. Think of me as your overcoat. Is Sean safe?”

“Yes. He was so excited about his surprise trip to Yosemite, he was whooping and hollering around the house. Bless my parents. Dad simply called the chief judge and postponed his upcoming drug trial for a couple of days. Sean’s safe.”

Sherlock studied his face. “I apologize for trying to brush you off. Let’s chalk it up to an idiot moment. I’m very glad you’re here. And now that I look at you, Harry, I’d swear you look like you’re about to burst. What’s happened?”

He was that transparent? He shook his head. What was happening between him and Eve was nobody’s business. It was private business, his business, and when he decided the time was right, he would make it Eve’s business too. He said, “Eve is running scared.”

“Not for Ramsey, I hope. He’s better guarded than the president.”

“No, she’s scared about us. Maybe she thinks I’m a sucky risk.”

Sherlock marveled. No matter how grim a situation, people still found each other. It was, she thought, one of the very fine things about being alive. She patted his arm. “Nah, you’re not a sucky risk. Your first wife didn’t have the guts to deal with your job, so you cut her loose. That was the right thing to do. It’s time now you let yourself move on, Harry.

“If anything, Eve’s probably scared her dad and her brothers will freak that she’s allowing a pantywaist FBI special agent to spend quality time with her, as opposed to one of their own-a mighty macho U.S. Marshals Service deputy.”

Harry blinked at her. “You think?”

Sherlock nodded solemnly. “I’d say from the way she’s been looking at you lately, you don’t need to worry.”

And Harry realized his private business was now lying on the floor in front of Sherlock. Why had those words, his own business, popped out of his mouth? Was Sherlock right? He remembered Eve’s snarl in Judge Hunt’s room.

Sherlock lightly touched his arm. “Nice jacket,” she said. “Harry, stop worrying, it’ll work out okay. I’ve seen that look before. All of us pantywaist FBI agents will write you references for her family if you need them. Eve’s something else, isn’t she? She really impressed Dillon in those two Cahill interviews.”

He didn’t want to say anything more, he’d said too much already. His lips were now zipped. He said, “Savich was right, she’s sharp, she’s intuitive. I love her cheerleading ponytail, Sherlock, and her big heart. She’s got a huge heart. Do you know, after my divorce I swore off women for as long as I drew breath, and would you look at what happened? I’m thinking about long walks on the beach a week after first seeing her. Is that insane or what?”

Sherlock wanted to laugh, she really did, but she saw he wasn’t joking. She said calmly, “All I know is both you and Eve are smart and honorable, and that your heart’s as big as hers. You’ve got a lot going for you. She wants you, Harry, and one reason is because you’re sexy. And look at that Shelby you drive, that car’s nearly as sexy as you are. Seriously, Eve will be fine. She just needs some time. Like you said, it’s only been a week. Her family will be ecstatic once they meet you. You know that as well as I do.”

He wasn’t going to say another word, never again was he going to spurt all his thoughts out like a shaken soda bottle. “When I left Judge Hunt’s room, it’s true, she looked at me like I was a steak.”

Sherlock laughed. “Talk about a positive sign. Harry, come sit by me and let me tell you what I’ve found out about Charlene.”

Dr. Kardak came in ten minutes later to hear Sherlock say, “You wouldn’t believe Sean, Harry. He made his grandparents both promise to let him use their cell phone cameras so he could take lots of photos of El Capitan in Yosemite to show his three girlfriends. Hello, Dr. Kardak. Sorry for the delay.”

“I’d like to meet this pistol,” Dr. Kardak said waving away her apology. “I hope there aren’t any more emergencies, Agent Sherlock, and you won’t be haring out of here again.”

Harry rose to excuse himself, but Sherlock smiled up at him. “Nah, Dr. Kardak won’t make me take off my clothes to see a head wound. Harry, please supervise, make sure he does things right.”

And so Harry watched Dr. Kardak push back Sherlock’s hair, remove the small bandage with a light hand, and probe around the stitches.

He did a quick neurologic exam, asked her a few questions, and pronounced her free of him. He looked down at his watch. “That took all of five minutes, and no emergencies to interrupt either of us. Call me if you have any concerns, Agent Sherlock, and do let me meet that son of yours sometime.”

Sherlock was glad to be done with it all as they walked to the elevators. Done with the medical part, that is. Harry watched everyone, checking out any man or woman who even looked in her direction. They were far from done with the rest of it.

Sherlock said, “The hotline is getting reports of Charlene sightings from Fresno up to Redding and reports of Xu from as far away as Montana. They’re following up on as many leads as they can.

“One thing worries me, though, worries me a lot. We still don’t know who was driving that second car that screeched out of the Skyline Motel Thursday night.”

Harry had fretted over this loose thread as much as Sherlock had. Everyone he knew was thinking about it. “No. We don’t have a clue.”

“According to Maria Conchas, Charlene is a guided missile. My gut says she won’t stop until she’s shot down. Probably she couldn’t call a halt even if she wanted to. She’s got herself hardwired.”

Harry said, “Charlene Cartwright’s crazy. Xu isn’t. I don’t know who’s more dangerous.”

“I guess I’m more afraid of crazy, since Charlene’s the one who shot me and Ramsey.”

Sherlock saw the same tech who’d had the misfortune to come into the CT waiting room on Wednesday walking toward them, whistling. He saw her, saw Harry, who was staring at him as if he was measuring him for a hole in the ground, and stopped in his tracks.

What was his name? She finally remembered. “Mr. Lempert, it’s okay. This is Agent Christoff. Harry, this is Mr. Lempert. The thing is, Harry, last Wednesday Dillon was a little hard on Terry.” The use of his first name brought him back, and he even managed a tentative smile. He came one step closer to her, shot a glance at Harry, and cleared his throat. “You’re looking good today, Agent Sherlock. You must have come from Dr. Kardak’s office.”

He darted a look at Harry. “I’m not a killer-well, unless I feel threatened, that is.” He cleared his throat when Harry didn’t change expressions. “That was a joke, Agent. Really.”

“And a good one, Terry,” Sherlock said, and patted his arm. “I’ve got to tell you, I sure hope I don’t have to see you again for a while-professionally, that is.”

She spotted a women’s room near the elevator and excused herself. “Harry, maybe you want to message Deputy Marshal Barbieri? See if everything’s okay on the steak front?”