Riptide

pancakes
    happy."
    'Yeah, what?" She just didn't care anymore. She smashed her
    other fist into his left kidney.

He held both her wrists now. He knew she'd bring up her knee
    next so he jerked her around so her back was pressed against his
    chest. He held her arms pressed to her sides. "You'd look better as
    a blonde. Usually a woman's roots are darker than her hair. In your
    case, you've got all this baby-light hair at the roots."
    She kicked back, grazing his shin. He grunted. He sat back
    down on the chair, holding her on his lap. She was pinned against
    him and couldn't move. "Now," he said, "I'm sorry that we're playing
    only by my rules, but that's the way it's got to be unless I'm told
    otherwise."
    "You need to shave. You look like a convict."
    "How do you know?You've got the back of your head to me."
    "You've got as much hair on your face as you do on your chest."
    "Oh yeah? Well, you did get an eyeful in the bedroom."
    "Go to hell."
    Adam's cell phone rang. "Well, shit. Will you let me answer this
    without attacking me again?"
    "Actually, I don't want to be anywhere near you."
    "Good." He dropped his arms and she jumped off his lap.
    He flipped open the small narrow phone. "Carruthers here."
    "Adam, it's Thomas Matlock. Is Becca there with you?"
    "As a matter of fact, yes."
    "All right, then, just listen. I sent an e-mail to Dillon Savich, a
    computer expert here at FBI headquarters in Washington. I knew
    his father very well. Actually, Buck Savich was the only other person
    who knew about all the mess with Krimakov. He's been dead
    for a while. I e-mailed his son for help. His job is finding maniacs
    using computer programs. He's good. He managed to track me
    down before I could even get back to him. That's beyond good.
    He's agreed to a meeting. I'm going to see him. We need all the
    help we can get."

"I think that's a mistake," Adam said, thinking of the logistics. "I
    don't think we need anyone else in on this. I'm worried about
    maintaining control here."
    "Trust me on this, Adam. We do need him. He's got lots of contacts
    and is very, very smart. Don't worry that he'll talk and expose
    Becca's whereabouts if he comes on board. He won't. Have you
    learned anything more of value?"
    "There's nothing at all to be found in any of McCallum's
    records. The governor says he doesn't know a thing. I assume
    you've come up dry as well?"
    "Yes, but I think that Dillon Savich will be able to help us there
    as well. Word is he's magic with a computer and gathering information."
    Adam said, "We don't need anyone else, Thomas." The instant
    the name was out of his mouth, Adam jerked his head up. Becca
    was looking at him, her eyes narrowed, intent. He cleared his
    throat. "We don't want more hands stirring this pot. It's too dangerous.
    Too much chance of cracks and leaks. It could lead to
    Becca."
    "You slipped, Adam. Is she listening?"
    "No, it's okay." At least he hoped it was. She was now simply
    looking wary and interested, both at the same time.
    Adam said again, "Maybe you could just have this guy do some
    specific searches for you."
    "That, too, but he's a specialist just like you are. All right. We'll
    see. I'm meeting with him to see what he has to say. Maybe he
    won't want to join up with us, or maybe he won't have the time. I
    just wanted you to know. Keep her safe, Adam."
    "Yeah."
    Becca shook her head at him when he closed his cell phone. She
    knew there'd be downright lies or at the very least evasions out of

his mouth. She was furious, frustrated, but, surprisingly, she felt
    safer than she had in weeks. When he looked like he would say
    something, she smiled at him and said, "No, don't bother."

    The Egret Bar & Grill

    Washington, D. C,

    Thomas Matlock rose very slowly from his chair. He didn't
    know what to say but he didn't like what he saw. Damnation, Savich
    wasn't alone.
    Savich smiled at the man he'd never heard of before receiving
    the e-mail at four A.M. that morning. He extended his hand. "Mr.
    Matlock?"
    "Yes. Thomas Matlock."
    "This is my wife and my partner, Lacy Sherlock Savich, but
    everyone calls her Sherlock. She's also FBI and one of the best."
    Thomas found himself shaking the hand of a very pretty young
    woman, on the small side, with thick, curling red hair, the sweetest
    smile he'd ever seen, and he knew in his gut, knew without even
    hearing her speak or act or argue, that she was tough, probably as
    tough as her hard-faced husband, a man about Adam's age, who
    looked