formal Bexholt Group plans printed up for her scheduled meeting with Nikki and Nathan Bexholt, brother and sister, Nathan, COO, and Nikki, VP of the Bexholt Group their father had founded, including how the Bexholt people would interface with hotel security and with the Central Bankers’ own security teams. What a joy that would be. She knew Nathan Bexholt was smart, savvy, and driven, and could barely tolerate his sister, Nikki. Not that the feelings weren’t mutual. Nikki was officially in charge of the operation, and he would try to find holes in her plans to look superior, so Jasmine knew everything set out had to be perfect. If all went well, Nathan would never know what the real plans were, what they were really going to do in the meeting room.
Jasmine looked up when her door unexpectedly opened, and there stood a tall, good-looking hunk duded up in a dark suit, white shirt, and dark tie, giving her a dead-man’s stare. Where was Glynn, her assistant, who guarded her door like a mother bear? She gave the man a quick study. He looked tough and professional, made her wonder what he’d look like stripped down. In the next moment, she saw a woman standing just behind him—tall, slender, curly red hair—Jasmine jumped out of her chair. “You’re Agent Sherlock!” She came around her desk at a run and stopped in front of Sherlock. “You’re here and you’re all right. I’m so sorry I hit you, I didn’t see you. No excuse, but I’m so sorry.”
“Ms. Palumbo,” the man said in a dark sexy voice, a nice addition to the package. Jasmine looked away from the woman staring at her curiously.
He was holding out his creds. “I’m Agent Dillon Savich, FBI, and this is Agent Sherlock. But you already recognized her.”
Sherlock nodded to her, said nothing. So this was the person who’d struck her. Palumbo was tall and fit, dressed all in black. A requirement for a security engineer?
Jasmine, flustered, stepped back. She accepted Savich’s creds, gave them a cursory look, handed them back. She waved away Sherlock’s creds, splayed her hands in front of her. “I already knew who you were, Agent Sherlock. Again, I am so sorry.”
Sherlock said quietly, “But you do have an excuse, Ms. Palumbo. You were watching for Justice Cummings. You saw him running out of the alley and he distracted you. Maybe you thought you could bring him down?”
Jasmine froze, but only for an instant. She had to keep her head. How did they know? It had to be a guess, nothing but a guess. She shook her head, looked bewildered. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember anyone running out of an alley. No, I lost concentration thinking about a security project I’m leading—for a meeting here in Washington, and I—I really don’t know who this person is you mentioned. Justice, you called him?”
Savich said, “We’d like to talk to you about him, Ms. Palumbo. And the accident.”
Jasmine wished she were anywhere but here, facing these two FBI agents. She’d even jump at a meeting with Nathan Bexholt and Nikki sniping at each other. She turned, walked back to her desk, and slowly sat down. She waved them to the two chairs in front of her. She knew, of course, they’d recognize a delaying tactic when they saw it, but it didn’t matter. She needed time to get herself together. She had a superior brain, she could do this.
She should have known the FBI would come to talk to her, but she hadn’t expected them to know about Justice Cummings and she hadn’t expected Agent Sherlock. Of course she knew what Sherlock looked like from pictures and from countless videos, but in the flesh, she looked as stylish and kick-ass in her black blazer and low-heeled black boots as the male agent. She’d heard Sherlock had left the hospital, but she was back at work already?
Jasmine said matter-of-factly, “Look, I know you’d like to speak to me about the accident. I mean, I did hit an FBI agent. Again, I’m so sorry for my inattention. But I’m afraid I don’t know who Justice Cummings is. Is he the man you crashed into?” Her voice came out nice and smooth, utterly sincere, even though she was still shocked at hearing they’d even considered a connection. Athena—Nikki—had been so sure they wouldn’t—it was the first time she could remember her being so wrong.
Savich could see no obvious sign she was lying. She was good, steady and