The Final Cut (A Brit in the FBI 1)

Savich saw them coming and held up his hand to the bartender for two more Pellegrino with lime.

Sherlock greeted Mike with a hug. “Mike Caine, lovely to see you, again, after what—sixteen hours. The red gown suits you.” She held her back. “I got a solid eight hours sleep, but you didn’t, I know. How are you feeling?”

“Jazzed, really. So much is happening and so quickly. What will the next minute bring?” Her eyes went to Savich. “I gotta say, Dillon in a tux is something else.”

She heard Nicholas say to Savich, “Whenever Uncle Bo talks about your laptop MAX, he low

ers his voice to a reverent whisper. I swear he thinks there’s magic involved.”

Savich said, “Truth is, your uncle’s right. MAX gets a daily dose of fairy dust.”

Nicholas laughed. “If you swear by it, send me some.”

Mike said to Sherlock, “I’ve never heard of two married agents working together. However does that work?”

Savich settled an arm around Sherlock’s waist. “So long as she calls me sir every once in a while, we get away with it.”

“He likes to spread this fiction,” Sherlock said, and poked him in the ribs.

Nicholas said, “Uncle Bo tells me you have a little boy.”

Mike said, “Not just any little boy, Nicholas. Sean is currently the most famous kid in the world—his marriage proposal to Emma Hunt in San Francisco is all over YouTube. When this is all over and done with, I’ll show you.”

Sherlock said, “He’s given us a new challenge. Sean is madly in love with three girls, and a fourth is hovering. I fear he wants to marry all of them, not the thing for a mother’s peace of mind.”

Nicholas raised a black eyebrow. “Don’t tell me all of them are at your breakfast table? Shall I speak to him?”

Sherlock laughed. “Dillon might call you for reinforcements. I hear your uncle Bo and his dad were longtime friends and partners.”

Savich nodded. “Bo and my dad used to whoop it up. They’d throw barbecues and invite all the agents over to their houses. I remember all of us kids having a ball. I understand your dad works for the Home Office, which is like our FBI, but you bucked the familial trend and went to work for the spooks in the Foreign Office instead. What made you leave spook world to join New Scotland Yard?”

Nicholas’s expression didn’t change, but Mike felt it—he’d stepped back, withdrawn. He didn’t want to talk about it. What had happened? But he said easily, “For a while all the traveling was fun—shutting down bad spooks, brokering compromises—but to be honest, the constant upheaval, trying to thwart terrorist attacks, got to be brutal. In the end, I wanted to come home, be closer to my family, get my hands dirty on the streets. And London, well, it’s quite a challenging environment.”

That wasn’t the whole truth, Mike could tell. Interesting. She looked down at her watch. “Nicholas and I need to get up to the exhibit room before the crowds are allowed up. Two of our top techs are there with Dr. Browning, collecting evidence. I’m hoping our forensic team has turned up something concrete.”

Savich said, “Why don’t we join you? I want to visit the heart of the museum, see if Bo and his people have spotted any more bad guys.”

The four of them headed toward the elevator, weaving through the crowd, the buzz of their voices droning like bees in a hive. Hundreds of beautiful people were tipping back flutes of champagne, accepting hors d’oeuvres from the dozens of caterers who glided smoothly through them, silver platters held high. The cocktail party was well under way, everyone seemed happy and excited, looking for British royalty, not Prince William and Kate, who’d canceled because of a family obligation that hadn’t been explained, but perhaps a stray duke or foreign minister accompanying the British ambassador, Sir Peter Westmacott. Wisely, no media or paparazzi with their cameras had been allowed in.

Mike glanced back over her shoulder to see a tall, elegantly thin woman in a form-fitting black gown making a beeline toward Nicholas. What was this about?

25

Nicholas hadn’t seen the woman yet. Mike watched him stand to one side to allow Sherlock and Savich access to the elevator first. As he stepped into the elevator, the woman called his name in a cultured British accent, not unlike Nicholas’s own.

“Nicky? Nicky Drummond? Is that you?”

Nicholas had only a moment to think You must be joking before she was on him. She threw her arms around him, then stood back, both hands on his arms.

“Nicky, it is you. I had no idea you were in New York.” She looked him up and down. “You look edible, darling. I always liked you in that tux.”

He said, voice expressionless, “Pamela. It’s been a while. These are my friends.” But he realized she wasn’t looking at him now, she was staring dead on at Savich. “I am Lady Pamela Caruthers, the founder of Beauty in Nature, a very upscale online magazine. I’m doing a spread on the Jewel of the Lion exhibit; I’m simply mad for the Koh-i-Noor, aren’t you? And you are?”

Savich smiled at the beautiful hard-edged woman standing in front of him. He introduced himself and Sherlock and shook her lovely white hand, her index finger sporting a ruby the size of his knuckle.

Nicholas said, “And Pamela, this is Special Agent Mike Caine.”

Pamela gave Mike a cursory look, then moved on. “This is fascinating. All of you are FBI. Why are all of you here, in a law enforcement herd? What’s going on?”