Georgetown, Washington, D.C.

One week later

Savich slipped his cell phone back into his pocket and watched Sherlock toss a piece of popcorn in a high arc to their manic dog, Astro. Astro took a flying leap off the living room carpet, caught the popcorn two feet in the air, dropped back down, chewed for a millisecond, and raced back to Sherlock, barking for more. It was a game that had no end until the popcorn was gone and they'd proved to him that it was gone, usually by letting him carry the empty bowl around in his teeth.

Savich picked up The Washington Post, pointed to a photo of the Koh-i-Noor diamond in its setting in the Queen Mother's crown. "You and I haven't had a chance to talk about the Jewel of the Lion exhibit at the Met next week. I spoke with Bo Horsley, you remember, my dad's old partner?"

"Oh, yes. Did he congratulate you on saving the world?"

"I spoke to him before there was any saving, but he did email me with a 'well done' this morning. I think I told you he's heading up the private security for the Jewel of the Lion exhibit at the Met. Not only has he got us a town house in Chelsea, he wants us to go to the opening gala as his guests, eyeball the Crown Jewels and the Koh-i-Noor diamond, and rub elbows with the rich and famous. He's trying to talk his nephew, Nicholas Drummond-Bo called him the youngest muckety-muck at Scotland Yard-to come over. His added inducement was Detective Inspector Elaine York, a colleague of his nephew's who's the official 'minder' for the exhibit. He really likes her. Also, she's a vegetarian."

Sherlock rolled her eyes. "He have any more perks to offer?"

Savich grinned at her. "That's about it. He did add in his email that Nicholas is not only a chief detective inspector with Scotland Yard, he's also a computer expert, probably better than me. He says it's about time we met. Maybe we could duke it out. I could hear him laughing with that shot."

Sherlock said, "Wait a minute. We've got Nicholas Drummond, a Brit who's with Scotland Yard, and yet his uncle is American FBI. How does that work?"

"Bo told me Drummond's mother, Bo's sister, is American, starred in a TV sitcom here in the late seventies, early eighties. She met his father, a Brit, in L.A., they married, Nicholas was born here, and then they went back to England, where they stayed. Drummond's grandfather is a viscount. An English peer-isn't that a kick?"

"I wonder if Drummond's as cute as you are."

"No," Savich said. "No way."

Sherlock grinned up at him. She nodded to the open copy of The Washington Post. "I wouldn't mind seeing the Crown Jewels, and the idea of having our own house-sure, let's go. Take MAX. I want to see if he recognizes this Nicholas Drummond as a kindred spirit or kicks his royal b.u.t.t to the curb."

A SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT

FROM CATHERINE COULTER

I've got a surprise for you-a new series of crime thrillers featuring American-born, UK-raised Nicholas Drummond, a tough, focused chief detective inspector with Scotland Yard. Think James Bond-dark and dangerous, with a quirky sense of humor and a no-nonsense view of the world. A Brit in the FBI series kicks off with The Final Cut, an international crime thriller.

Everything changes for Drummond when the Koh-i-Noor diamond is stolen from the Queen Mother's crown while on display in a special exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum in New York City and his former lover, in charge of the jewel's security, is found murdered.

Drummond teams up with the FBI in New York, as well as Savich and Sherlock, to solve the murder, find the thief, and recover the missing diamond.

What follows will blow your socks off.

Welcome to my new series, written with renowned author J. T. Ellison. The Final Cut will catapult you into a reading adventure that will keep you turning pages so fast you won't even stop for ice cream.

For a first look, turn the page.

-CATHERINE COULTER

A BRIT IN THE FBI

The Final Cut

CHAPTER

1

London

January 2013

Very early Thursday morning

Nicholas Drummond lived for these moments. His hands were loose, warm, and ready inside thin leather gloves. He could feel his heart beat a slow, steady cadence in his chest, feel the adrenaline shooting so high he could fly. His breath puffed white in the frigid morning air, not unexpected on an early January morning in London. There was nothing like a hostage situation to get one's blood pumping, and he was ready.

He took in the scene, as he'd been trained to do, complemented by years of experience: shooters positioned on the roofs in a three-block triangular radius, sirens wailing behind shouts and screams, and a single semiautomatic weapon bursting out an occasional staccato drumbeat. The streets were shut down in all directions. A helicopter's rotors whumped overhead. His team was lined up behind him, waiting for the go signal.

His suspect was thirty yards away, tucked out of sight, ten feet from the left of the entrance to the Victoria Street Underground, and not being shy about letting them know his position. He'd been told the guy was a nutter, not a surprise, given he'd been wild-eyed in his demands for money from a second-rate kiosk at dawn. Instead of making a run for it, he'd grabbed a woman and was now holed up, shooting away. Where he had found a semiautomatic weapon, plus enough ammunition to take out Khartoum, Nicholas didn't know.

At least he hadn't killed his hostage yet. She was a middle-aged woman, now lying on her side maybe six feet from him, trussed up with duct tape. They could see her face, leached of color and terrified. He could imagine her screams of terror if her mouth weren't taped.

No, she wasn't dead. Yet. That presented a problem-one wrong move and a bullet would go into her head.

Nicholas glanced over his shoulder at his second, Detective Inspector Gareth Scott, tucked against the curb, his expression edgy, a flash of excitement in his eyes. He clutched his Heckler & Koch MP5 against his chest. His Glock 17 was in its shoulder holster.

The suspect stopped firing his weapon, and there was sudden, blessed silence. Nicholas didn't think the guy had run out of bullets. Had the gun jammed? They should be so lucky. What was he thinking? Planning?

Nicholas dropped down beside Gareth. "We have ourselves a crazy. Tell me what else you know about him."