Blowout

is stupid. He knew cops would swarm here within minutes after he fired those shots. He had to know too that it would be a miracle if he got to Fleurette after the first miss. Maybe they’ll find his car, or one of the people who lives a couple of blocks over saw him running to his car, got the make. Maybe someone actually got a look at him.”
    Sherlock said, looking around the shattered living room and at each of them in turn, “Günter took his shot, missed, but all of you know he’ll be back. He wants Fleurette dead and he’s not going to stop until it’s done or we get him first.”
    Savich said, “We were lucky your parents weren’t here, Fleurette.”
    Fleurette, still plastered against him, shuddered. “If they’d still been here, he might have shot one of them. I can’t stand this. I don’t understand why he’s doing this. I don’t know anything!”
    Sean began humming, the sound very loud in the entrance hall. It made everyone smile, which was a good thing. Sherlock was standing to the side, close to the staircase, rocking him from one leg to the other. She said, between kisses on Sean’s cheek, “We’re all okay, but this was way too close. I’m thinking that to keep you completely safe, Fleurette, we need to take you to Quantico. No one could get near you there. Security could catch a runaway flea there. Little sucker could end up on the firing range.”
    Fleurette looked shell-shocked, but she straightened, her eyes blinking as if waking from a dream. She looked toward Sherlock. “That was funny. You guys are so amazing, so—what if he’d hit Sean? I couldn’t take that. It would have been my fault.”
    Sherlock’s voice was calm. “You know something, Fleurette? You’re right about one thing. I’m thinking about our boy too. He’ll be safer with you out at Quantico. This is the second time violence has come into our home. If it were just Dillon and me, that would be different, but Sean’s the important one, and we’re supposed to protect him. Now, no more angst from any of you. It’s done. I’ve got to clean up that coffee before it stains the floor, and then you’re going to Quantico, Fleurette. You can call your parents from there. They can visit you there for as long as they’re in town.”
    Savich rose, took Sean from Sherlock, and began rocking him in exactly the same way she had, one large hand going up and down on his son’s back. “I really wish we didn’t have to tell your parents about this, Fleurette.”
    “No choice, Dillon,” Callie said. “It was on the police radio, and soon it will be all over the news. I don’t see any choice. The media will descend any moment. And they’ll be all over us if we’re still here.”
    Sherlock muttered under her breath at the coffee and tea spreading over the floor. She walked into the kitchen to get paper towels to clean it up. “Callie’s right, Dillon,” she said as she came back into the living room. “This is Georgetown. If the chef at Pamplona’s cuts his thumb chopping a carrot, it’s front page in the Post. Worse, this is an FBI agent’s house, who also happens to be the lead investigator on Justice Califano and Danny O’Malley and Eliza—” Her voice caught in her throat and she dropped to her knees and viciously wiped up the coffee and tea, in wide, heavy strokes, her pain palpable to Savich. Savich handed Sean to Ben, who nestled him into the crook of his arm, gathered up some more paper towels and helped her.
    Fleurette and Callie stood silent, watching Ben rock Sean, and Savich and Sherlock clean up the spreading spill. The creamer ran into the seam where the wide oak planks met. “It’s a beautiful oak floor,” Fleurette said, and grabbed some paper towels and went after the creamer. “My mom said it was the prettiest floor she’d ever seen and she wondered how you kept it so nice what with Sean running all over the place. Will it stain?”
    “No, it’ll be fine,” Sherlock said, took a final swipe and rose to her feet. “Callie, we don’t need you down here on your knees too. Thank you, Fleurette. There, all done. Hey, Ben, you’re a natural. Sean’s nearly out.”
    Ben paused in his rocking and looked at her. Sherlock wanted to laugh, the expression on his face was so priceless. Then he said slowly, “Yeah, I guess I am a natural. Thing is, I’d be a natural too with a red Porsche.”
    Callie laughed, got up, and walked to him. She punched him in the arm. “You are such a