The coast was clear. She ran down the driveway toward the gate, which now stood open. She risked a peek over her shoulder, only to see one of the men running down the porch steps in pursuit. Her feet thumped loudly on the ground as she picked up her pace.
Her mind raced as she tried to decide on the best possible escape. She’d make it to the train station, and then what? Wait on the platform for a train until one of the guys came and threw her onto the tracks?
In her search for a passing car she could flag down, she noticed a bus waiting at the stop a hundred yards ahead. The right blinker began to flash and she yelled, waving her arms. With a burst of energy, she picked up speed, praying the driver would see her and wait.
The bus drove forward.
“Wait!” she screamed.
It jolted to a stop a few feet later. The doors swung open, then closed behind her. After paying the fare, she collapsed onto one of the seats in the back. A wave of relief washed over her, warming her cold, clammy skin. Her heart continued to beat faster than ever.
She stole a glance out the window to see a dark figure standing on the sidewalk, outside of the beam of a street lamp, watching as the bus drove away. With one violent movement, he ripped the ski mask from his head and threw it on the ground. The bus was already too far away for her to recognize any of his features, but not too far away for her to notice the blade of a knife glinting from his hand.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“You’re good to go, ma’am,” the security guard said in a heavy Midwestern accent. He snapped Leila’s passport shut and handed it back to her.
“Thanks so much,” Leila said, shrugging the strap of her bag over her shoulder. She took her passport then spun on her heel and raced to the next building.
She had completely forgotten about having to go through security—which included several questions about the purpose of her visit, getting half undressed, and a pat-down after she still managed to set off the metal detector—at the American embassy in London.
She reached the flat-roofed building and entered the glass doors situated underneath a waving American flag and a giant brass eagle. After a brief inquiry at the reception desk, she was pointed in another direction to the FBI offices.
A few curious glances were thrown her way as she was brought into a large room filled with desks. While each desk was fitted with a computer and piles of paperwork, only a few of them had occupants. They turned away and refocused on their monitors or busied themselves with a phone call.
“Go ahead and have a seat,” the lady in a skirt suit said as she showed Leila to Mark’s workspace. A suit jacket hung over the back of the chair, but there was no sign of him. “Mark is in a meeting, so don’t worry about being late. He should be out in a few minutes. Feel free to help yourself to the coffee machine.”
Leila thanked her and, not seeing seats designated for visitors, sat in his desk chair. She swiveled around to face the desk. The computer was shut off and several yellow Post-It notes were peeling off the monitor. The surface was spotless, aside from a law textbook opened to a page on tax evasion. She swiveled to her left and her eyes fell on the single photo pinned to his bulletin board among an array of handwritten notes and newspaper clippings. She leaned forward to get a closer look at a young girl with dark, flyaway hair and a broad grin revealing gaps where she had lost a few teeth.
“My niece, Maria,” came Mark’s voice from behind her.
Oops. Leila swiveled around and glanced up at him, relieved to see he didn’t seem angry. Now that he was out of the desert and in an office, he was in his element. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows and his tie hung loosely at the neck. Under one arm he had tucked a stack of manila folders. In his other hand, he held a Styrofoam cup.
“Oh. Sorry for snooping. Cute kid,” Leila said.
“Not a problem,” Mark said with a smile. “I like showing her off.” He took a sip from the Styrofoam cup. “So. You made it. Great. We can use Roger’s office. He’s out today.” He gestured for her to follow him by tilting his head over his shoulder.
• • •
“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” Mark shouted. His face had become ashen as Leila told him how she had gotten the photos. As she recounted her story, he had held his head in his hands and let her finish. Now she was getting an earful. He got to his feet and began to pace in front of the bookshelf spanning the entire wall of the office.
“What were you thinking?”
“I know, it was crazy.” Leila circled in the swivel chair so her back was to him, her face warming uncomfortably. She should have expected this. After his return from Lyon, he had contacted her by text, insisting on meeting at his office with a warning not to do anything stupid. But it came too late.
“You realize you could have been killed? I could be investigating your murder right now!”
“I know,” Leila said again to the door, wishing he would finish his lecture.
He cursed under his breath then walked back to his chair and dropped into it.
“Thanks for taking my advice,” he said sarcastically. “You have any idea how lucky you are? Al-Rashid could have sent someone to check things out. Did you at least recognize either of them?”
“No.” Leila shook her head and picked at her thumbnail. She frowned then swiveled around to face him again. “But did you know about all of this?”
Mark glared at her for a moment then uncrossed his arms and sat up. He took one of the photos in his hand.
“Well, the fact Harrison and Al-Rashid were classmates, yes. All you had to do was ask me instead of trespassing in abandoned houses with knife-wielding murderers.”
He was making her feel stupider by the minute. Yes, she should have waited, but she didn’t need the reprimand. Determined to keep the subject off herself, she threw out another question.
“Is that what the ‘previous connections’ were?”
Mark glowered. “Apparently. Amir Al-Rashid had made various claims during his unfortunately short incarceration, and the police decided they needed to get the other side of the story. Which is why they took Harrison in for questioning. Your pictures do back up what Harrison said, though.”
“What kind of claims?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He shook his head and waved a hand. “You don’t want to hear it. Trust me.”
“Just tell me. What did he say?”
“Well, if you must know, Al-Rashid had a video from the hotel we once had dinner at, remember? Well, I didn’t know this at the time, but it’s one that belongs to his father. Go figure. Anyway, he has surveillance video of you and Harrison having some discussion, and then you bumping into him at one point.”
Leila scowled, confused. She had bumped into Amir? What? She’d never seen him before in her life.
“His version of events is that you had met him before. You were jealous of his girlfriend, and so you and Harrison came up with the kidnapping story to take revenge. He used the video to back up his claims. In addition to that, he had an alibi he was busy playing in polo tournaments those few weeks. He was apparently so busy he couldn’t possibly have had time to go back and forth between the villa and the tournament. There was even a witness who said he saw the accident happen where he hurt his eye.”
Leila folded her arms on top of the desk then leaned forward and used her arms to cradle her head. “Please tell me the police didn’t believe him,” she groaned, the sound muffled. Of course Amir would come up with a story as big as his ego and somehow manage to find his version of evidence to convince the police.
