Tail Spin

is still in surgery, but it looks good. She should be okay unless something unexpected happens. Then, just maybe, we can cut a deal with her.”
    “It could be a week before she’s up to physically visiting Quantico. Maybe we can deal with her at the hospital, have Dr. Hicks visit her.”
    “That’s a good thought.”
    Sherlock pushed the cool-down button, a bit on the violent side. “I like to impress the boss.”
    That black eyebrow of his went up again. “You do, every single day.”
    “You’re a guy, so you’re easy,” she said, and stepped off the treadmill. “We need to get back to Dr. MacLean.”
    Elvis’s voice crooned out again. “Yeah, Savich here. Hi, Jack. Talk to me.” And Savich listened, asked a few questions, listened for a very long time, actually, then, finally, punched off, looking thoughtful.
    “What? He and Rachael okay?”
    “Yeah, no problem. He told me a bit more about Laurel, Quincy and Stefanos . He said Laurel is the Big Peg, her husband is a slime, and Quincy probably has ulcers He said Laurel hates Rachael’s guts, doesn’t try to hide it. About Quincy, Jack said that’s a tougher call. Quincy Abbott’s all about packaging—he’s flashy, a near prince in his nice Italian duds, and he’s a coward, which probably also makes him a bully, but he’s under his sister’s thumb. He said Quincy’s toupee is prime.
    “If we need to reach Jack, he said he’s staying with Rachael in her house in Chevy Chase.”
    Sherlock said, stretching, “I’m not at all sure I like the sound of that.”
    That eyebrow of his went up again.
    “For heaven’s sake, I’m not talking about sex. I bet they could sleep in the same bed and Jack wouldn’t touch her. Well, that’s optimistic. I was talking about the danger.”
    “You know Jack is good. Nothing surprises him. He’s focused and wily. Don’t worry, he won’t let anything happen to Rachael. They’re going to see Senator Abbott’s head staffer, Greg Nichols, tomorrow morning. Nichols is already heading up another senator’s staff. Jack said he can’t wait to see what Nichols has to say to them.”
    “I’d like to speak to Nichols, too, feel out how much influence he had over Senator Abbott.”
    Savich nodded, sighed. “Jack asked me about Timothy MacLean, asked me what he could do. Unfortunately I didn’t have anything to tell him.”
    Sherlock sighed right along with him, her righteous snark all gone in the face of what was happening to Timothy MacLean.
    Savich began to slow his stride. “I’m thinking you and I should focus on the two who appear to have the best motives—Congresswoman McManus and Pierre Barbeau. We’ve got to check out timelines, see if Jean David Barbeau drowned before the first attempt on Timothy’s life. To be on the safe side, I’ll have Ruth and Dane begin on his other patients.”
    “That sounds logical.”
    Savich said, “Let’s visit the congresswoman first, see what she’s got in the way of an alibi—not that it matters since she would have hired a thug to do the deed. I’ll have Ollie check with the Atlanta detective who worked her dead husband’s case, see if they had any leads. Maybe we can get a line on the thug she hired—in Savannah, was it?”
    “That’s what Dr. MacLean said.” She cocked her head to the side as Dillon ended his cooldown. “Do you believe she really had her trucker husband murdered so he wouldn’t stop her run for Congress?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    Sherlock chewed on that for a moment. “Maybe so. Still, I’m betting on Pierre Barbeau. Lots of wormy stuff going on there.”
    “We’ll find out. How’s your French?”
    Laughter spurted out of her, from wherever it was hiding. “You’ve never complained before.”
    He grinned as he wiped his face with a towel. “You made me forget why I was asking.”
    Sherlock popped her knuckles. “You ready to come with me to the slam room?”
    “Is that its new name?”
    “Oh yeah. I’m going to make sure you’ll relate to it shortly.” She swatted at him with her towel as she walked past him.
    Because he saw blood in her eyes and wasn’t a fool, Savich allowed himself to be pummeled and thrown, and generally smacked around. The kick pad he’d held for her fared no better. He thought, at the end, it was worth it because Sherlock was laughing as she counted the number of times she’d thrown him. Violence, he thought, as he showered, appeared to calm the woman down and restore her perspective He’d