Blindside Read Free Page B

men’s locker room. She watched him again when he came out of the locker room fifteen minutes later, showered and dressed, shrugging into his suit coat. He wished there were more men in Washington, D.C. Maybe he should introduce her to old Arnie. He found Sherlock talking to Bobby Curling. He grabbed her and hustled her out before she could say a word.
    She asked as she got into the Porsche, “What was all that about?”
    â€œI’d rather tell you when we get home.”
    Savich brushed out a thick hank of Sherlock’s curly hair and carefully wrapped it around a big roller. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. I’m glad you were at the gym tonight.”
    She watched him in the mirror, concentrating on getting her hair perfectly smooth around the roller. He was nearlydone. He really liked doing this ever since they’d met an actress who’d had a particularly sexy way with hair rollers. Of course, the rollers didn’t stay in her hair all that long. “Why? What happened?”
    He paused a moment, smoothed down her hair on another roller, and slowly turned it. Sherlock shoved in a clip to hold it. “There’s this woman. She’s not taking the hint.”
    Sherlock leaned her head back until she was looking up at her husband’s face. “You want me to go kick her butt?”
    Savich didn’t speak for a good thirty seconds. He was too busy untangling the final thick hank of hair for the last roller. “There, done. Now, be quiet. I just want to look at you. You can’t imagine how that turns me on, Sherlock.”
    She now had a headful of fat rollers, perfectly placed, and she was laughing. She turned and held out her arms. “Now what, you pervert?”
    He stroked his long fingers over his chin. “Hmmm, maybe I can think of something.”
    â€œWhat about this woman?”
    â€œForget her. She’ll lose interest.”
    Sherlock did forget all about the woman during the removal of the rollers in the next hour. She fell asleep with a big roller pressed against the back of her knee.
    It was just after six-thirty on Friday morning when the phone rang.
    Savich, Sean under one arm while Sherlock was pouring Cheerios into a bowl, picked it up. He listened. Finally, he hung up the phone.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?”
    â€œThat was Miles. Sam’s been kidnapped.”

3
    D on’t give up, don’t give up. Never, never give up.
    Okay, so he wouldn’t give up, but it was hard. He’d cried until he was hiccupping, but that sure hadn’t done him any good. He didn’t want to give up. Only thing was, Sam didn’t have a clue where he was and he was so scared he’d already peed in his jeans.
    Be scared, it’s okay, just keep trying to get away. Never give up.
    Sam nodded. He heard his mama’s voice every now and again, but this time it was different. She was trying to help him because he was in big trouble.
    Don’t give up, Sam. Look around you. You can do something.
    Her voice always sounded soft and kind; she didn’t sound like she was scared. Sam tried to slow his breathing down.
    The men are in the other room eating. They’re watching TV. You’ve got to move, Sam.
    He’d been as quiet as he could, lying on that stinky mattress, getting colder and colder, and he listened as hard as he could, his eyes on that keyhole, wishing he was free so he could scrunch down and try to see what the men weredoing. He heard the TV; it was on the Weather Channel. The weather guy said, “Violent thunderstorms are expected locally and throughout eastern Tennessee.”
    He heard that clearly: eastern Tennessee.
    He was in Tennessee?
    That couldn’t be right. He lived in Virginia, in Colfax, with his father. Where was Tennessee?
    Sam thought about his father. How much time had passed since they’d put that cloth over his face and he’d breathed in that sick sweet smell and not really