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clearly. She pegged them for feds based on their dark suits, and that guess was confirmed when one of them flashed a badge and exchanged words with the patrol officers milling on the sidewalk. Jeff Grimlich—a cop she did know—had just emerged from the shop with a steaming cup of coffee. He said something brief and gave a nod in Maddie’s direction, sending them her way.
    Maddie checked her watch. Whatever these two wanted, it wouldn’t likely be quick. She looked them over. The one leading the charge appeared to be her age, in his mid-thirties. His shaved head and his solid, stocky build would have made him look like a bouncer, had it not been for the suit and the determined scowl that said cop .
    Maddie shifted her gaze to his friend. Taller, probably six-one. Broad-shouldered, muscular, lean at the waist. He had sandy-brown hair that was cropped short on the sides and longer on top. The word military popped into her head. It wasn’t just the haircut and the build but also the supremely confident way he carried himself. He was watching her, too, but in contrast to his partner’s expression, this guy looked utterly relaxed.
    “Are you sure you don’t want to get this looked at?”
    She turned her attention to the EMT handing her an ice pack. Maddie pressed the pack to the side of her face, where a bruise was forming.
    “I’m good.”
    “Because it’s entirely possible you could have a concussion.”
    “Thanks, but I’m fine.” And a trip to the emergency room was the last thing she needed tonight. She had an aversion to hospitals.
    “Well.” The woman flipped shut the lid to her first-aid kit. “Suit yourself. I can’t make you take commonsense precautions.”
    “Madeline Callahan?”
    She turned, startled. She hadn’t expected such a deep voice from someone so young. He stared down at her, hands resting at his hips, suit jacket pushed back to reveal a semiautomatic pistol and—as she’d suspected—an FBI shield. She lifted her gaze to his smooth, clean-shaven face. If she was right about the military thing, he must have graduated from the Academy about a week ago.
    “I’m Special Agent Brian Beckman with the FBI. This is Special Agent Sam Dulles.” He nodded at the bald guy. “We’d like to ask you a few questions, ma’am.”
    Dulles leaned back against the patrol car parked perpendicular to the one where Maddie stood. Clearly, he intended to hang back and observe. Maybe this was a training exercise.
    “Ma’am?”
    She looked back at the young one. Beckman. He was watching her intently with those hazel eyes.
    “Could you take us through what transpired here, please?”
    Transpired . Typical cop-speak. Maddie folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the side of the car. “It was a mugging.”
    His eyebrows tipped up. “Could you be more specific?”
    “Someone attacked me in the parking garage. Stole my purse, along with my brand-new camera.”
    “Your camera?”
    “I’m a photographer. I was doing a photo shoot down at the park—a couple getting married.”
    Both men were regarding her with frank interestnow, and she had the feeling she was missing something.
    Beckman eased closer. “We’d like you to walk us through the entire incident, ma’am. Step by step.”
    Irritated by the ma’am-ing, she shot a look at Dulles. “Since when does the FBI have jurisdiction in a mugging?”
    No answer.
    “Maddie?”
    She turned to see Jeff walking toward her, hand outstretched. Her brown leather purse dangled from his fingers.
    “Oh, my God! Where was it?” She beamed a smile at him and snatched up the bag.
    “Scanlon found it under a truck near your car. Phone’s in there, too. You just had a call come in.”
    “Thank you! You have no idea how much trouble this saves me.” Maddie already had the phone out, and her heart lurched when she saw the text from her boss. It was just as she’d feared. She was needed at a crime scene, ASAP. He’d sent her a message coded 911 and a