The FBI Thrillers Collection 11-15 by Catherine Coulter

Author:Catherine Coulter [Coulter, Catherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Retail, Suspense, thriller
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2012-07-03T04:00:00+00:00

34

WHEN ETHAN CLOSED his cell he said to Savich, “Faydeen wants to know why you didn’t kill the miserable bug.”

Savich said, “I seriously considered it for a second, but I had to let it go. Sorry.”

Ethan shook his head. “We can’t kill him now, dammit. I mean, I’d like to, but I can’t, you know? Now we even have to keep him safe. All right, we’ll deal with it.”

“He couldn’t stymie Dillon,” Autumn said. “Dillon’s like me. We’re—what’s the word, Mama?”

Joanna patted her. “You and Dillon are gifted, thank heaven. You’re both special in a very good way.”

Autumn appeared pleased with that. Gifted. Savich realized it was a good word, the right word, and Joanna had taken a giant step in understanding her daughter’s gift to think of it in that way.

Savich rose and looked down at Blessed. He felt Sherlock’s hand on his arm and placed his hand over hers, squeezed. “We got him, sweetheart. It’s over.”

Joanna looked at him now. “He looks so ordinary. That makes him even scarier.”

That was the truth, Savich thought. They listened to Blessed moan and curse, and, strangely, ask for his mother. Sherlock pulled him away, said quietly, “You remembered, didn’t you, Dillon? You remembered when you got close enough to Tammy Tuttle you saw her clearly. She couldn’t fool you like the others. She couldn’t—what does Blessed call it?—she couldn’t stymie you.”

He nodded. “Yes, I remember. I guess it makes sense.”

“No,” Sherlock said, shaking her head, “it doesn’t make sense. None of this makes any sense.” She drew in a deep breath. “You lucked out.”

Savich shrugged. “Fact is, there wasn’t a choice. He was going to make Joanna kill herself. I had to stop him.”

Joanna said, “That much power in this paltry little man, it scares me to death. Thank you, Dillon, for my life.”

Savich smiled at her.

Ethan said, “Joanna, you don’t look woozy or disoriented. Actually, you look okay. How do you feel? Headache?”

“No, no, I’m fine, don’t worry, Ethan.” She sounded surprised, and vastly relieved. “Maybe he didn’t have enough time with me.”

“Possibly so,” Savich said thoughtfully. “Okay, later, when we get this squared away, I want you to tell me exactly what you felt the moment you looked at his face, his eyes.”

She nodded. “I can do it now—fact is, I don’t even remember looking at him, not at first, but it didn’t seem to matter. Do you know, I was certain I’d shot him, that I’d fired my gun, dead-on. For whatever reason, he wanted me to believe I’d pulled the trigger. But I hadn’t.” She looked down at Blessed again, at his blindfolded eyes, and kicked him one more time, on his leg. He jerked and gasped out, “You damned bitch, I’m going to have you roast yourself, have you hop right into a bed of coals, get you ready for hell.”

Joanna said, “Yeah, right, you pathetic monster. You’ll be the one heading to hell, leading that family of yours.”

Blessed gasped out, pain and anger in his voice, “Martin was my family.

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