Blind Side
Page 101
“Hey, Sean, come back here!”
Savich was off, scooping up his son, swinging him over his head, letting his shrieks of laughter flow over him.
Miles said to Savich once he’d trotted back, Sean under one arm, “I sure like the sound of your Porsche engine. You get it tuned up recently?”
“Oh yeah. God’s creation gets checked if it hiccups once. Sounds really good, huh?”
“You know it does. Sherlock was telling me that Sean loves that car, that you’ve promised to give it to him when he’s eighteen.”
“Yep, I did.”
“By that time the Porsche will be in a museum.”
Savich grinned. “How about that? Hey, all you’ve got left from McCamy is just a faint line down your cheek. It looks like it just might stay with you.”
Miles touched his face. “A good thing. It’ll fit my image.”
Savich smiled. “How’s Cracker dealing with your marriage?”
“Oh, she’s fine with it. She’s always a brick. No problem at all.”
Savich wondered if Miles really didn’t have a clue as to his sister-in-law’s feelings for him, or if he was just in denial. He sincerely doubted that Cracker was a happy camper with another woman in the house and this one Miles’s wife.
Suddenly, they heard a shot, sharp and clear in the still air, not at all close. It was up ahead, near Katie and Sherlock.
For a brief instant they both froze, then Miles whirled about. “Oh, damn! What’s happening?”
Savich yelled, “Sherlock, Katie, gunfire! Hurry, get down!”
“Savich, get Sean behind that tree! I’ll get the kids!”
There were two more shots in rapid succession, closer to them.
Savich would swear that he felt the heat of that second bullet as it tunneled past his head before he dropped to his knees behind a huge oak tree, Sean clutched against his chest. Sean was crying and his father was shaking so badly he couldn’t do anything except rock his boy, holding him close, trying to cover every bit of him with his body.
He saw Sherlock crouched down behind a square garbage receptacle some thirty feet beyond them, looking all around, waiting. Katie was on her hands and knees, her cell phone out.
He heard a car door slam, but couldn’t see where. He whispered nonsense to Sean, heard his boy sob, felt his small body heave, pressed very tightly against his father’s body.
God, that bastard could have shot his son. He called out, “Miles?”
Miles’s voice was out of breath. “I’ve got Keely and Sam. We’re down, about twelve feet behind you. Is Sean all right?”
“Yes, just scared to his bones, like I am.”
Savich heard voices, lots of them, some screams. Not all that many people in the park, thank God, but enough.
Savich was sitting on the ground, his back against the oak tree, rocking Sean back and forth in his arms, holding him as close as he could.
Not thirty seconds later, Sherlock was in his arms, Sean sandwiched between them, and she was whispering against his chin, “Thank God you’re all right.”
“I’m fine, sweetheart.” He sounded all calm again, but he didn’t let her go.
Savich heard Katie say, even as she clutched Keely tightly against her, “Hey, Sam, that was the sort of excitement I’d hoped we’d seen the last of in Jessborough, wasn’t it? Did you dive behind a garbage can?”
“There sure are lots of bad guys, Katie,” said Sam, who was plastered against his father’s side, and blinked at her. He shook his head, “There wasn’t a garbage can close. Papa grabbed up me and Keely. We were over behind that big tree.” He paused a moment, his forehead wrinkled. “Who’s after me this time?”
“Someone who heard you were bad,” Keely said, and, bless her heart, she reached out and punched him.
“Sam, I don’t think anyone was after you this time,” Miles said. “You guys okay? Really?”
“You promise, Papa?” said Sam.
Smiling, Miles picked both of them up, then reached out his hand to Katie. Like Sherlock and Savich, they stood close for a very long time, at least until their hearts slowed.
Katie said, “I called nine-one-one. They’ll be here any minute now.”
Sherlock said, “I spotted a late-model white Camry screech out of here. I got four numbers off the license plate: WT twenty-seven—that’s it.”
Miles and Savich looked at each other. Savich said, “Looks like the women took care of things.”
As for Katie, she needed to get to a bathroom, fast.
Savich was off, scooping up his son, swinging him over his head, letting his shrieks of laughter flow over him.
Miles said to Savich once he’d trotted back, Sean under one arm, “I sure like the sound of your Porsche engine. You get it tuned up recently?”
“Oh yeah. God’s creation gets checked if it hiccups once. Sounds really good, huh?”
“You know it does. Sherlock was telling me that Sean loves that car, that you’ve promised to give it to him when he’s eighteen.”
“Yep, I did.”
“By that time the Porsche will be in a museum.”
Savich grinned. “How about that? Hey, all you’ve got left from McCamy is just a faint line down your cheek. It looks like it just might stay with you.”
Miles touched his face. “A good thing. It’ll fit my image.”
Savich smiled. “How’s Cracker dealing with your marriage?”
“Oh, she’s fine with it. She’s always a brick. No problem at all.”
Savich wondered if Miles really didn’t have a clue as to his sister-in-law’s feelings for him, or if he was just in denial. He sincerely doubted that Cracker was a happy camper with another woman in the house and this one Miles’s wife.
Suddenly, they heard a shot, sharp and clear in the still air, not at all close. It was up ahead, near Katie and Sherlock.
For a brief instant they both froze, then Miles whirled about. “Oh, damn! What’s happening?”
Savich yelled, “Sherlock, Katie, gunfire! Hurry, get down!”
“Savich, get Sean behind that tree! I’ll get the kids!”
There were two more shots in rapid succession, closer to them.
Savich would swear that he felt the heat of that second bullet as it tunneled past his head before he dropped to his knees behind a huge oak tree, Sean clutched against his chest. Sean was crying and his father was shaking so badly he couldn’t do anything except rock his boy, holding him close, trying to cover every bit of him with his body.
He saw Sherlock crouched down behind a square garbage receptacle some thirty feet beyond them, looking all around, waiting. Katie was on her hands and knees, her cell phone out.
He heard a car door slam, but couldn’t see where. He whispered nonsense to Sean, heard his boy sob, felt his small body heave, pressed very tightly against his father’s body.
God, that bastard could have shot his son. He called out, “Miles?”
Miles’s voice was out of breath. “I’ve got Keely and Sam. We’re down, about twelve feet behind you. Is Sean all right?”
“Yes, just scared to his bones, like I am.”
Savich heard voices, lots of them, some screams. Not all that many people in the park, thank God, but enough.
Savich was sitting on the ground, his back against the oak tree, rocking Sean back and forth in his arms, holding him as close as he could.
Not thirty seconds later, Sherlock was in his arms, Sean sandwiched between them, and she was whispering against his chin, “Thank God you’re all right.”
“I’m fine, sweetheart.” He sounded all calm again, but he didn’t let her go.
Savich heard Katie say, even as she clutched Keely tightly against her, “Hey, Sam, that was the sort of excitement I’d hoped we’d seen the last of in Jessborough, wasn’t it? Did you dive behind a garbage can?”
“There sure are lots of bad guys, Katie,” said Sam, who was plastered against his father’s side, and blinked at her. He shook his head, “There wasn’t a garbage can close. Papa grabbed up me and Keely. We were over behind that big tree.” He paused a moment, his forehead wrinkled. “Who’s after me this time?”
“Someone who heard you were bad,” Keely said, and, bless her heart, she reached out and punched him.
“Sam, I don’t think anyone was after you this time,” Miles said. “You guys okay? Really?”
“You promise, Papa?” said Sam.
Smiling, Miles picked both of them up, then reached out his hand to Katie. Like Sherlock and Savich, they stood close for a very long time, at least until their hearts slowed.
Katie said, “I called nine-one-one. They’ll be here any minute now.”
Sherlock said, “I spotted a late-model white Camry screech out of here. I got four numbers off the license plate: WT twenty-seven—that’s it.”
Miles and Savich looked at each other. Savich said, “Looks like the women took care of things.”
As for Katie, she needed to get to a bathroom, fast.
