Xander let out a growl. He didn’t have time for this.
“Call this number,” he said, handing the officer a business card for the Egyptian Central Security Forces. The contact there could answer his questions. Some of them, anyway. “They’ll get them back to you.” He shut the door again and reversed away from the guard shack, tires squealing.
All he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. The streetlamps flashed by in a blur. He drove as if on autopilot, allowing habit to take him where he needed to go. Leila couldn’t possibly be involved. She’d have said something if she knew Soliman was involved.
But she’d been caught with a backpack full of antiquities stolen from the museum.
What on earth was going on? He tightened his grip around the steering wheel, the leather squeaking under his damp palms.
She had told him she was home.
His stomach twisted into a knot. She’d lied to him.
Just like he’d lied to her.
CHAPTER 8
The twenty-minute drive went by in a blur. Xander’s mind whirled with questions, his limbs moving as if of their own accord. He arrived in the neighborhood where the safe house was located, parked a block down the street, and ran.
Fifteen seconds later, the safe house came into view. From the outside, it looked like any other building in the neighborhood—it rose three-stories high, wedged between two similar flat-roofed, sand-colored structures. Green paint peeled off the front door, and the windows on either side were barred. The decision to meet here worried Xander. It meant Jones didn’t want them to be at their field office in the embassy to conduct the questioning.
That was not a good sign.
Xander veered to the right and jogged around the side of the building, then down a flight of cement steps to the basement entrance, hoping to bypass his colleagues. When needed, interrogations were done in a room down there—a windowless, concrete dungeon.
He swung the heavy steel door open and stopped. Blast. Jones and Hawkins waited in the hallway, as if they’d guessed his intentions.
Valerie Hawkins, a reporting officer, stood with a clipboard in her hands, her expression neutral. She was dressed for business in a blouse and straight skirt, her brown hair pulled back in a smooth ponytail.
The station chief, Bentley Jones, looked furious. That was nothing new. His tree-trunk arms were crossed over his chest, and a deep scowl creased his cheeks and forehead. Judging by his black T-shirt and jeans, he must have been doing fieldwork—probably meeting with assets to gather information about Soliman.
Hawkins watched Xander pointedly as the door closed behind him with an echoing bang. “You’re not going in there.” Although she wasn’t his boss, she was his superior, having been with the SIS for over a decade. With a level head and slow to anger personality, it was nice having her around to counter Jones’s constant crankiness.
“Of course I am.” Tempted to push his way past, Xander clenched his fists. Leila was just behind one of the doors lining the hall, probably terrified out of her mind. He didn’t even care what she had to say, he just needed to see her, to tell her he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. To look her in the eyes and know this was all some insane mistake.
“Upstairs,” Jones said as if speaking to a child who had missed curfew. “Now.”
Xander pressed his lips together to keep himself from speaking. That bear of a man could knock him out with an impeccably placed punch. And his biceps were already twitching.
So Xander followed the two intelligence officers up a flight of stairs. He cast one long look at the closed interrogation room door as he went. Upstairs, they led him into a back room, where monitors brightened the dim space with a bluish glow. Clive Robinson sat inside, furiously typing away at a laptop, his back to them, flame-red hair sticking up at odd angles around the headphone strap over his ears.
Jones and Hawkins ignored Robinson as they gathered in front of one of the flat-screen monitors. Xander stood next to Jones to examine the screen. It showed several clear, color videos of Leila, each from a different angle. She sat with her arms crossed, ignoring the water on the table in front of her.
His gut twisted at the sight. This was real… and it wasn’t good.
“As you requested, no one has spoken to her yet,” Hawkins informed him coolly.
He leaned forward to get a closer look. He studied Leila’s downcast eyes, the declining turn of her lips. Her cheeks were pink, like they got whenever she cried. It took everything within him to stay in front of the monitor and not run down to her.
“She was taken into custody by police at Soliman’s home,” Jones said curtly. “Once we’d received word, we had her transferred here. The only thing she’s said so far was that she wanted a lawyer.”
Xander nodded. Demanding a lawyer sounded like Leila, but alone in Soliman’s house with stolen artifacts… not so much.
“She’ll talk to me,” Xander said, trying to sound confident. There had to be a good explanation. She wouldn’t be running around Cairo in the dark, breaking into houses to steal artifacts. She’d been through enough to know why that was a bad idea.
“Do you really think so?” Hawkins turned to him and lifted one eyebrow. “You seem just as surprised about this as we are. She’s been hiding this from you for how long?”
Xander clamped his teeth and forced himself to ignore the dig. While Hawkins wasn’t accusing him of hiding something, it implied a couple of unpleasant things. One, he was blind, and two, Leila was a liar.
“And even if she does feel more comfortable speaking to you,” Hawkins continued, “you’re too close. It may make it easier for her to lie, especially in this environment.”
Xander kept his gaze on the monitor, wishing Hawkins wasn’t right. Leila shifted and anchored her gaze on her lap. She had been lying to him, possibly for months. What would stop her now? He searched his memory, wondering if she had given him a hint, a clue, but he couldn’t think of anything.
He sucked in his breath as the first drop of anger simmered in his chest. “She asked for a lawyer.”
“We don’t have time,” Hawkins pleaded. “Our assets don’t have any information. Mukhabarat and Central Security Forces have come up dry so far. We need to find Soliman. We need to find out exactly where the next bomb will go off. Whitehall expects answers. Today. She’s our only lead.”
Of course, the British government would already be breathing down their necks. But what if Leila did admit something? She’d end up in prison and there would be nothing he could do to help her. He felt sick.
“Look.” Hawkins touched her fingertips to her forehead. “If it makes things better, all of this will be off the record. Any footage or audio from this morning will be permanently erased.”
Xander’s heart thumped. “If you don’t get anything out of her, then let me go in.” This way, Leila should be okay. Hawkins knew how to coax things out of people using words. Jones… didn’t. Goosebumps prickled on Xander’s arm as he recalled the Iranian he’d had to drag out of here a few days ago. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
“We’ll see how it goes.” Hawkins was already heading for the door, fumbling with an earpiece. “If you think of anything specific to ask, let me know.” The door slammed shut and the room fell quiet, except for the occasional typing from Robinson in the corner.
Xander stole a glance at his boss, who leaned against the wall, arms still crossed, watching him. Jones’s jaw twitched. “You don’t go near her.”
“I’m not making any promises,” Jones said without emotion.
