One Last Scent of Jasmine (Boone's File Book 3) Read Online Free Page A

Officer.
    “Certainly, Mister Bradley, sir. ”
    His voice took on a soft enough tone to convince her she was not in trouble. It assuaged the thought of returning to face arrest in Virginia. “Safe travel, Boone. I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early, please.”
    “Until the morrow, mon ami, ” came the easy reply. The connection severed, and Boone replaced the handset. She stared at the device for a moment, despite the fact she should have already been in her room, packing her bags. Bloody hell. What just happened that Terry won’t discuss over a secured and encrypted phone line?

 
     
    Liberty Crossing
    McLean, Virginia
    Thursday morning
     
    Feeling dualistic after her travel ordeal, Boone had dressed in the white Chanel blouse and slacks she had picked up in Seoul earlier in the year. The great looks of her strappy pumps, however, would not begin to compete with their complete impracticality on a November day in D.C. Instead, she was shod with a more tactical choice of low, sturdy wedges. They were, of course, coordinated well over insulating silk hose. The footgear deserved nothing less while bearing the maker’s mark of an exclusive shop in Paris. Her long, black coat and white scarf, as well as her usual impenetrably dark, round-lensed shades, completed the ensemble. She knew she looked professional, and successful, and her best. Current, Confident, Competent, and Capable. Ready for anything you care to bring, unpredictable world.
    The three security stations had her name in the system for an early arrival, and so she was able to pass directly into the inner sanctum of the Office of the Director of National Intelligence. There, the suite—beyond the frosted glass etched with the seals of the USIC and the ODNI—remained early-day darkened and still secured. She tried her access card and found it worked just as well for the outer office as it always had for Terry’s. Boone smiled, wishing his rotund and usually disapproving administrative supervisor, Edna Reese, was here to be a witness. I mustn’t surprise her should she come in, Boone resolved. The poor woman could easily have a coronary. Better I should wait in Terry’s space.
    As she entered, Boone smelled before she saw the outer office had experienced an influx of floral arrangements … a conclusion she could confirm as the motion-activated lighting brought up the overhead fluorescents. Every desk held the handiwork of a florist, and a folding table set up near the glass exterior wall held the overflow.
    She took in the sight, wondering how many trips through the triple-layer security Terry’s people had been forced to make during the previous day in order to transport the vases of flowers and potted plants displayed here. Wedding? Anniversaries? Someone’s new baby? Boone’s analytical side kicked in a moment later. No. Sympathy!
    Going to the nearest desk, she checked the arrangement there for a card, finding it removed. It was the same at the next desk and at the table. What did I miss? What made Terry bring me in on the overnight flight?
    The quiet swish of the office door sounded from behind, reminding her she had meant to be out of sight when Edna appeared. Boone turned and saw the DNI there instead, looking as if she had discovered already a subject he had intended to broach in other ways. She gestured around the bedecked room. He nodded, but said nothing. “Terry … what has happened?” she asked.
    The Director of National Intelligence sighed, removing his topcoat. “We need to talk, Agent Hildebrandt.”
     
    A minute later, their coats hung in his office behind a secured door, and Bradley was signing into his workstation. He remained quiet. Bringing up an info panel, the DNI swung his right-hand monitor into her field of view. “We kept the news off your SITREP. I didn’t want you to find out in an impersonal way,” he explained.
    Peering at the display, Boone saw the wire story of a traffic accident on the Beltway, one of many