know something they don’t, yet,” Maitland said, and rubbed his big hands together.
Savich said, “Before we go to Langley and possibly get blindsided, Sherlock and I should pay a visit to Bexholt, see if we can’t find out how these two women tie together with Justice Cummings.”
“Hmmm. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get more ammunition. Okay, yes, go to Bexholt, find out what in blue blazes is going on there. I want to be armed with everything possible before we storm the CIA.” Maitland checked his watch. “And, of course, it would be nice if we could find Justice Cummings.”
At the elevator, Sherlock said, “Does he usually kick his desk?”
“Maybe. It could be this is only the first time we’ve caught him doing it.”
Sherlock said matter-of-factly as she punched the elevator button, “Everything seems unsolvable right now, but I suspect it’ll all be simple once we figure it out. Most things are.”
He marveled, wondered if she realized it was something she’d said many times in the past. What was more, she was usually right. He lifted his hand to touch the bouncing curls, and froze. She was humming a country-western song he’d written for her years before, about a man finding his mate at long last at the dollar slots.
He said, “I think you first heard that song at the Bonhomie Club. It’s a nightclub run by an incredible woman, Ms. Lily. I sing country-western music there a couple of times a month. My friend James Quinlan, another FBI agent, plays the sax, makes it weep. You’ll meet him soon enough.”
He shut up at the helpless look on her face. He’d told her that morning that his boss, Mr. Maitland, had a fine brain and he didn’t meddle. Savich had assured her she liked him, and his four linebacker-size sons. And his wife, June. And then he’d stopped cold—if she didn’t know Mr. Maitland, how could she possibly know June Maitland? She didn’t even know her own son. She remained too scared to see Sean, still too scared Sean would realize something was wrong. Her fear warred with her guilt.
So he talked to her about everything else—their cases, their vacations, memories they’d made together as a family. His Sean stories made her laugh, but he knew they amused her from a sort of distance. There was no emotional punch to remember. Except for the guilt.
He helped her into the Porsche, handed her his phone. “Remember I told you Mr. Maitland doesn’t meddle? But this time is different. He told me his gut is doing the rumba, he knows this could be something big.” He scrolled down in his photos. “This is a photo of Jasmine Palumbo and recordings of everything Ben gathered for us, including her interview when they took her in after she hit your Volvo. We’re going to surprise Ms. Palumbo. I checked and she’s there.”
It took them only an hour to get to Coverton, Maryland, with Sherlock asking questions about the information Ben Raven had given them. She said, “When I look at her photo, I think she looks familiar. I think I must have seen her face just before she hit my car—a Volvo?”
“Yes. It makes sense you saw her face before she struck you. Why not?” He patted her hand. “I can’t wait to see her face when she lays eyes on you.”
* * *
Jasmine Palumbo stared off into space, ignoring the piles of work on her computer screen, primarily the schedules and assignments for Bexholt staff for the security installation at the Kentington Hotel. It was a top-drawer contract for top-drawer clients. The Bexholt Group would be providing communications security for a series of private negotiations between staff of the Federal Reserve and the European Central Bank, starting on Monday. She smiled as she rubbed her arm through the sling. Not broken, they said, but it still throbbed, and her smile quickly fell away. She didn’t want to take any more pain meds, they fuzzed her brain. What were the odds it would all come down to an accident? What wretched luck she would drive into that intersection and into an FBI agent’s car just as Justice Cummings shot out of that alley and went flying over the agent’s hood. There was still no sign of that pissant idiot. Was he holed up somewhere? Dead behind a dumpster on K Street? No, she knew he was out there somewhere, injured but still a threat.