“Uh, hey. Sure. What can I do?”
“I need to borrow your jet. Today.”
CHAPTER 7
The pink glow on the horizon faded into a deep blue, stars twinkling faintly as they greeted the dawn. Xander stepped down the gangway, his footsteps loud and hollow against the metal, then strode onto the tarmac.
He forced himself to keep his sanded eyes open and ignore the pounding in his head. Even though the soft, plush seats on Mark’s private jet were more comfortable than his favorite lounge chair at home, he’d only had a fitful sleep on the flight. But he didn’t care if he didn’t sleep at all until they found Leila.
He breathed in the fuel-scented air while aircraft engines hummed in the background. The cool breeze prickled at his arms, although the orange beams of the sun promised that the desert heat would return later that day with a vengeance. But who cared? The heat belonged to Egypt.
Xander collected his suitcase on the tarmac and hopped into the van waiting to bring him to the terminal. He stared out the window during the familiar ride across the apron, past refueling jets and overloaded luggage carriers. He’d done this countless times before, yet somehow it all felt different to him. Disconnected.
After he cleared the turtle-paced passport control, he entered the arrivals area and scanned the heads in the crowd until his eyes fell on a well-known face. Soliman met his gaze, greeting Xander with a grim expression instead of his customary smile.
“How was your flight?” Soliman asked, firmly grasping Xander’s hand. Dark rings shadowed the skin under the professor’s eyes. Wisps of white hair stood on end, and wrinkles embellished his shirt. Had this lack of personal care been going on longer? Or was he as worried about Leila as Xander was? Either way, it wasn’t a good sign. Soliman shook his head.
Xander’s shoulder’s dropped. No news.
“Long,” he answered finally, although he shouldn’t complain. Soliman didn’t look like he needed to hear his grievances. He already knew them well enough.
“I’m sure today is the day. She’ll turn back up,” Soliman attempted to reassure him as they headed for the exit. It was a wasted effort. The professor reached for Xander’s suitcase but he tightened his grip on the handle.
He slipped on his sunglasses as they left the terminal. The sky had brightened to a golden glow emphasized by the light brown toned earth that lined the sidewalks. They passed groups of tourists wearing flip-flops, businessmen in suits, and locals dressed in white, ankle-length jellabiyas.
“We can head over to the police station later today,” Soliman continued as they followed a crosswalk to the other side of the street. “As soon as you’re ready. The detective assigned to the case is curious to speak to you.”
Xander nodded, unsure how much a visit with the police would solve at this point. It would make more sense for him to jump into the investigation. Retrace her steps. Immerse himself in her head. He knew how she ticked better than anyone else on the continent. If anyone could find her, it was him.
“Actually, d’you think it would be possible for me to see her flat?” It made the most sense to start there. After that, the lab, then the restaurant. “I know it would have been searched, but maybe I’ll notice something.”
Soliman shrugged. “Her flat has been secured as far as I know, so you’ll have to get permission. I’m sure they’ll be willing to arrange that. You’re police, after all.” The professor stepped up to a silver vehicle blanketed in a layer of dust. When he hit the button on the fob in his hand, its taillights flashed yellow and the locks popped open. Xander tossed the suitcase behind the hatchback door and they dropped into the front seats.
Soliman was correct. Xander was police. And he would use that to his advantage.
“Hotel first?” Soliman backed the car out of the parking space.
“Just a quick stop,” Xander agreed, even though it made his stomach twist. Every delay felt like it would lessen his chances of finding Leila. “Then we can pay the detective a visit.”
• • •
After checking into his hotel room and dumping his bag, Xander arrived with Soliman at the municipal police station in Cairo. An officer ushered them into a meeting room and offered tea or coffee. Xander requested the blackest coffee they could provide. He gulped it down, even though it tasted like brackish pond water.
He and Soliman sat at the long table, the ceiling fan whirling above their heads at top speed. It shook and rattled as if it would take off any moment. Despite the air conditioner droning in the window, the room was stifling. As tempting as it was to open a window, all that would do is let in more hot air.
It’s a dry heat. Xander wiped the moisture from his forehead with his palm.
Before he could act upon his impulse to fling the window open, a round-headed police officer, dressed in black trousers and shirt, shuffled into the room. He came to a stop at the head of the table and shifted the stacks of folders into his left hand.
“I apologize for the wait,” he said as he shook each of their hands. He paused when he turned to Xander, his kind brown eyes studying him from beneath black eyebrows. “I’m Inspector Riad Elmahdy. I’m already acquainted with Professor Soliman and he told me a bit about you. You’re Ms. Leila Sterling’s boyfriend, I understand. And he tells me you are employed by the Metropolitan Police?”
Xander swallowed and slipped out his badge. He had nothing to be nervous about. He was legitimate law enforcement. While no detective, he had no intention of allowing that detail to stop him from getting the necessary intel. How much would that matter to Elmahdy? He cleared his throat and held up his hand.
“Constable Alexander Harrison. SO1.”
Elmahdy’s gaze darted to his badge and he narrowed his eyes studiously. Then he nodded.
“I’ll leave you two to discuss the case.” Soliman patted Xander’s shoulder with a reassuring hand as he walked by. “Let me know if there is any way I can help.”
Xander and Elmahdy thanked him, then turned to each other after the professor left.
“What d’you have so far?” Xander slipped his wallet into his pocket. “I’d like a full briefing.”
The detective ran his hand over his bushy mustache as he lowered himself into a chair. But everything Elmahdy said, Xander had already heard from Soliman and Emma. Discouraged, he flopped back in his chair and stared at a mark on the table. The police weren’t doing enough.
“We will continue with the missing persons posters and adverts. Should someone know something there is a hotline they can call—”
“Are you kidding me?” Xander curled his hands into fists, fighting the urge to kick the clanking air conditioner out the window. They couldn’t quit already. It had been less than two days.
“This is all standard procedure. We have already done what we could and there are no obvious leads.”
Xander banged a fist on the table. “Posters?”
“Mr. Harrison.” Elmahdy held up a hand. Xander glared at him, noting the omission of his occupational title. A frown tugged Elmahdy’s mustache downward. “You’re from London. You know what big cities are like. We care about our visitors, but sometimes we simply don’t have the manpower to do it all.”
Xander’s heart sank. The detective didn’t see much point in putting more energy into the case. Did he already consider it cold?
“If you don’t have the manpower, then let me investigate.”
