The ringtone buzzed twice. Then there was a click.
“I thought you’d never find it,” a deep, feminine voice drawled. Egyptian accent.
A cold sweat dampened his brow. He had found his lead. He swallowed.
“What’s going on? Where is she?”
A moment of silence. Then, “It’s not that easy, I’m afraid.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
She’s lying. She has to be lying. “What do you mean?”
“Meet me at the Cairo University Bridge in one hour, alone. If you call the police you can forget about it.”
The line went quiet. She hung up on him. Xander looked at the phone, his mouth hanging open. She wanted to meet?
He opened the map on his phone and looked up the bridge, then glanced at the time. The drive to this bridge in the middle of Cairo would take him an hour in good traffic. At this time of night he might get lucky.
Without another thought, he grabbed his gun, wallet, and keys, then bolted out the door.
• • •
Xander pressed his phone to his ear and leaned forward to look out the windshield of his rental car. The street lamp above him flickered, threatening to go dark. He scanned the surroundings, checking the parked cars, searching for suspicious shadows on the roofs.
Dusty satellite dishes pointed toward the sky and thick wires hung precariously over the street. He glanced up and down the road, but it was free of traffic and pedestrians. Finally, someone answered the phone.
“Harrison?” Elmahdy spoke with a hoarse voice. “Is everything okay?
“I think I have a lead,” Xander said, skipping formalities or any apology for waking the detective at this hour.
“A lead?” The detective now sounded wide awake. “I’m listening.”
“I don’t have much information yet. Meeting a person of interest at the Uni Bridge here in Cairo. I’d appreciate it if you’d send a team out. If I can detain her, we can bring her in for further questioning.”
“Don’t you dare, Harrison. I’ll send someone out immediately, but wait until—”
Xander hung up and stuck his phone in his pocket. After one more check to make sure the street was still quiet, he got out of the car and locked the doors. He shoved his hands into his pockets, wrapping his fingers around the cool metal of his gun handle.
The rushing sound of the Nile River filled his ears as he approached the bridge. Other than a car that zipped past, he didn’t see anyone walking or lingering. He didn’t know where their exact meeting point was supposed to be but instinct pushed him toward the center of the bridge.
The structure was a good four hundred feet long, so it was entirely possible she was waiting on the other side. Few people walked the bridge at this time of night. It would be hard to miss her if she did actually show. A part of him didn’t think the woman would—she’d probably chicken out.
Unless she was supposed to kill him and had lured him out in the open. He’d deal with it if it came to that.
As he walked, his shadow multiplied into several silhouettes, slowly disappearing and reappearing as he passed beneath the street lamps lining the bridge. Once he reached the center, he stopped and turned toward the heavy steel railing.
He placed his hands around the top bar, the green paint flaking off and sticking to his palm. His gaze roamed the highrises along the river, their facades dotted with yellow squares.
A long, flat boat slowly drifted downstream beneath him. Somehow it didn’t matter if this was a trap. He needed answers more than anything else. Besides Leila.
He stole a glance at the time on his phone and tried not to be disheartened. It was a quarter to two. She was late. As he slipped his phone back into his pocket, a sound like a pebble being kicked across concrete came from his left. He whipped his head around but only saw the deserted bridge. Then cold metal pressed against the right side of his neck.
He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. She’d used the oldest trick in the book.
“Don’t move,” the woman’s deep voice warned. Definitely the same voice he’d heard on the phone. “Keep your hands on the railing.”
His pulse remained even and his breaths calm. He would get his answers. As long as he didn’t screw this up.
Her hand slipped into his pocket and pulled out his handgun.
“Any other weapons on you?” she asked, pressing her firearm more firmly against his neck.
“No.”
The barrel left its spot on his neck and the woman stepped away. Xander dared a glimpse over his shoulder. The woman had lowered her gun and tucked his own into her belt.
“You’re alone?” she asked.
Xander turned around, his arms outstretched, and looked from side to side. “Yep.”
She crouched slightly, as if she would bolt any moment. He studied her tense features, the cluster of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes that put her age around forty, but didn’t recognize her from any of the security footage. She was good at this. He never would have found her if she hadn’t left that clue.
“She hasn’t come back?” she said in a clipped voice.
Xander narrowed his eyes at her. “No,” he answered slowly. Hopefully the woman was feeling chatty about all of this. “Was she supposed to?”
