CHAPTER NINETEEN
Our FBI agent was sitting beside our desks, hands draped on her lap in front of her. Long hair fell across her shoulders in a mass of dark waves. She was wearing dark navy-blue slacks with a dark jacket of the same material. Underneath the jacket was a white silk blouse. Around her neck was a gold chain with a small gold medallion hanging from it.
She sat in a chair beside my desk, a gray coat draped across her lap as she waited. She looked patient and in control as her dark eyes stared off into nothing. Patient and competent. As we stepped toward her, she came to her feet, and nodded at us as we greeted her.
“Good afternoon, Agent Benjamin.”
“Good afternoon, Sergeant Turner,” she answered, nodding again as her dark eyes played across me casually. “You seem to be recup
