“Look, I can’t help you,” her voice cracked. “I don’t have the information you need. All I can say is Soliman never would have done it. I-I just work with him. I’ve known him for years and I can tell you one thing… artifacts are his life. He’d never do anything that could destroy them, and he’s not violent. He wouldn’t hurt or kill people like that. It wasn’t him.”
The man frowned, then slowly stood from his seat, his leather boots creaking in the silence. He planted his fists on the tabletop, then leaned forward until his hot breath brushed against her numb face.
“That touchy-feely stuff doesn’t work with me, lass. I don’t want to hear what you think you know. I don’t want theories; I want facts. And you’re going to give them to me.” He pushed himself away from the table and strode into the shadows.
Leila took in a shaky breath. “Those are the facts. I’m telling you the truth. That’s all I know.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he rummaged around in the darkness. She heard what sounded like a drawer being slid open. There was a flicker of light and a small flame appeared, then the round, orange glow of a cigarette being lit.
That’s a good sign, right? Aren’t cigarettes supposed to be calming?
Leila’s heart thundered when the red light from the camera blinked off. That… that is not a good sign.
A moment later, the man approached the table again, his head enveloped in a thin cloud of smoke. Instead of sitting back down, he went around the table and seized Leila’s wrist.
Stunned, she scooted back in her chair, tugging her arm away, but his hold remained as strong as iron.
“I don’t like it when people lie to me,” he whispered dangerously, a pungent wisp of smoke billowing around her face. He forced her wrist against the arm of the chair. She could only watch as he tied her down with a nylon rope.
“I’m not lying,” she said, her voice giving way to a sob. This couldn’t be happening.
He finished binding her other wrist to the chair, then gave her a crooked smile as he drew the cigarette from his mouth. “I’ll be the one who decides that.”
The rushing sound of blood roared louder in her ears as she looked up at him, pleading.
He ground the glowing end of the cigarette into her arm.
CHAPTER 10
Xander twisted his arm at an uncomfortable angle, grimacing at the burning pain on his wrist. He sat on the tiled floor of a windowless room, typically reserved for prisoners. The room was furnished with nothing more than a narrow fold-out cot that stood against a wall, and a bucket in the opposite corner, which served as a toilet. At least his fellow agents had had the courtesy to turn the light on for him.
Struggling against his bonds, he glared at the solid metal door across from him. Breaking out wasn’t going to be easy unless someone happened to feel sorry for him and help. It was unlikely—his colleagues would be too afraid of Jones throwing them in there too.
And they were right to be scared. Xander slumped and rested his head against the wall. He’d crossed a line and was way past punch-in-the-face trouble.
Brilliant, absolutely brilliant… I’m in end-up-in-prison trouble.
But what could he do? Jones had a hard time knowing when enough was enough—the man belonged in prison himself. And now Leila was stuck with him. Xander’s stomach twisted as the image of her sitting in the interrogation room flashed through his mind.
He’d almost lost her once before. The horror of discovering her missing, possibly dead, had been agonizing, and all too real still. The way she’d looked when he finally found her—bloody, bruised, gaunt—was something he never wanted to see again. Giving up now and leaving her to whatever fate Jones decided for her wasn’t an option. He’d never forgive himself.
Hang in there, Leila. I’m coming.
After a deep breath, he resumed his attempt to break free. The jagged plastic tightened and bit into his skin as he pulled his arms. At last, he managed to twist one wrist flat against the other, then wrenched his hand out.
One obstacle down.
He removed the zip-tie from his other wrist and straightened until his back rested against the wall. Ignoring the throb from the bruises, he kept his hands behind his back, maintaining the illusion that he was still confined. They would be watching him from that little camera above the cot.
Now he had to figure out how to get out of the door and reach Leila before she was turned into a bloody pulp. Without a key or tool, there was no way he’d be able to open the door from the inside. It would have to be opened from the outside, which meant someone would have to do it for him.
He ran his tongue over his teeth. This could be doable after all. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but he had other things to worry about. Still holding his hands behind his back, he rose to his feet and stepped up to the door, then gave it a hard kick.
“Open the door!” he screamed. Whoever was still downstairs would ignore him, but not for long. He screamed and kicked until he was hoarse, and his feet were numb. He didn’t stop until the stomping of footsteps could be heard on the other side of the door. The handle rattled and he backed away before the door swung open.
Robinson stepped inside the room and glared at Xander, his thick, red eyebrows knitted together. He tapped the end of a shiny black baton in the palm of his hand.
“You need to calm down,” he said, his words clipped with annoyance.
Xander scowled. “What’s Hawkins doing?”
“She’s watching the monitors, making sure Jones behaves himself.”
Xander clenched his teeth. That was highly doubtful. He knew how Jones worked—and it was without a chaperon and without cameras. Xander’s gaze flickered to the Beretta at Robinson’s hip, then back up to his face. Xander had tested the agent’s reactions just the morning before. Robinson was good, but nothing he couldn’t handle.
I can’t believe I’m doing this…
“So,” Robinson went on, “why don’t you sit still for a minute and just relax? Everything is going fine. She’s started talki—”
Xander lunged, aiming his elbow for Robinson’s nose. It met his face with a sickening crunch. Robinson recovered quickly, a string of blood flowing from his mouth, and struck Xander’s arm with the baton. Despite the smarting pain, Xander snatched the baton and twisted. Robinson held on, trying to pry the club from Xander’s grip.
From the corner of his eye, Xander saw Robinson reaching for the gun at his hip. Xander released the baton with a shove and grabbed the front of Robinson’s shirt. Robinson smashed the club into Xander’s neck, but he kept his momentum and slammed the man against the wall. The agent’s head knocked against the brick with a thud.
Xander stepped back as Robinson slid to the floor, the baton clattering on the tile. Silence descended over the room. Xander’s arm and neck throbbed, and hot fluid dripped from his nose.
Stepping over Robinson, Xander reached down and slipped the Beretta from its holster. His pulse thrummed in his ears. He was going to be in so much trouble. But he couldn’t leave Leila with Jones any longer. He had to get her out of there before it was too late. He’d taken far too long to help her already.
After an apologetic look to Robinson, who still hadn’t stirred, he gripped the gun with both hands and held it in front of him. He stepped into the hallway and cast a fleeting glance to his left and right. Except for a potted palm tree and the security camera in the upper right corner, the hallway was empty. A good sign. Hawkins would be on her way upstairs by now if she’d been watching. If he were lucky, she’d be completely focused on the search for Soliman and would have no idea he’d gotten out.
