“I hope he follows through. Melissa deserves a really good guy. He might have some competition, though. I spoke to her this morning. She’s blooming, enjoying her coworkers drooling all over her.”
“I wonder why the terrorist is insisting on speaking only to you? I mean, you beat the crap out of him. If a woman did that to me in front of the world, the last thing I’d want to do is have a nice chat with her.”
“Everyone’s wondering the same thing. Maybe it’s a case of the devil he knows, or maybe the devil he’d like to strangle if he gets the chance. I’m expecting Agent Giusti to bring us up to date on the investigation and give us an idea of what to expect before I sit with him.”
Cal said, “If he does try to strangle you, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me take him apart this time.”
“Well, okay, I can hold myself back, let you get your licks in. Oh, yes, Agent Giusti doesn’t know you’re coming. She’s probably already assigned another agent to protect me.”
“Another body who can shoot a gun can’t hurt. I heard Giusti’s got quite a rep as a badass in the New York office, and that’s saying something, since a lot of them are yahoos.”
“You have the same rep, Cal. That’s one of the reasons Dillon wanted you with me.”
He looked surprised. “Me? A badass? Nah. Now, Giusti, I’ve never met her, but like I said, I’ve heard some things. I expect she’ll try to take me down a notch—or two—if she can manage it.”
Sherlock pictured Kelly Giusti’s ramrod-straight back and squared shoulders, remembered the small smile she’d finally managed to coax out of her. “My money might be on her, Cal. She’s tough, smart, and focused—hmm, sounds like you, doesn’t she?—except I’m not sure she has your sense of humor. Yeah, I think you can expect some grief from her. So could Darth Vader. I’m sure you’ll both be professional about it, right?” And she punched him in the arm.
“No worries, I’m the very definition of the word.” He fell silent and drummed his fingertips on his knee. “I heard Savich didn’t like your getting involved in this. Can’t say I blame him.”
All Sherlock said was “He wasn’t thrilled.” Dillon had been silent, which meant he was afraid, not about what he was dealing with, but for her. He’d held her so tight she felt her ribs creak. She’d leaned back, held his face between her hands, and kissed him, twice. “I love you. I will be all right. I’ll call you as often as I can.” She had time only to call Sean, tell him she had to leave, a couple of days, no more. New York? He’d asked her to visit FAO Schwarz and buy him something very cool, like Captain Munchkin’s new video game with the river trolls.
EAST THIRTY-FOURTH STREET
NEW YORK CITY
Friday afternoon
It was a beautiful afternoon in New York City, the sun glistening off the East River. Their helicopter flew low over the river toward the thick traffic on FDR Drive. J.J. set them down smoothly on the Thirty-fourth Street helipad. As soon as they were away from the helicopter, J.J. gave them a grin and a wave, and lifted off.
Agent Kelly Giusti, with the wind from the rotor blades whipping her dark hair around her head, strode forward and shook hands with Sherlock, then turned to stare at Callum McLain, a dark eyebrow arched, a look Sherlock admired and had never managed. She was impressed. Giusti said, “Who is this?”
Sherlock gave her a sunny smile. “This is Special Agent Callum—Cal—McLain. He’s in counterterrorism in Washington, so the two of you are automatically on the same team.”
“That remains to be seen,” Giusti said, her dark hair settling into a wild tangle around her face. “Why is he here?”
Cal waved his hand. “Hello, I’m standing right here.”
Giusti never looked away from Sherlock and Sherlock never dropped her smile. “Like I said, Cal’s in the counterterrorism section. Mr. Maitland assigned him as a liaison to our office and to assist in the investigation. We know him and trust him to protect me. Can’t have too many experienced hands, right?”
Cal gave Sherlock a sideways glance. She’d heaped some tribute on his head, but he didn’t think Giusti was buying it. She was looking at him like the Wisconsin lineman who’d slammed him into the ground so hard he’d almost broken his throwing arm. Odd how he’d pictured her older and heavier, with maybe a cell phone bud hooked to her ear and a thin mustache on her upper lip. She was the very opposite—tall, dark-haired, about his own age, almost as tall as he was, wearing black pants and jacket, a white stretch cami, and a lanyard around her neck with her shield. Even though her hair was all over her head, the rest of her was stiff and straight. And would you look at those dark laser-beam eyes—talk about pinning a guy. He wondered if she ever laughed.