Bulletproof & Locked, Loaded and SEALed

by Cynthia Eden

  He’d turned off the lights in the reception area, but a glow beyond the front desk area gave her hope. “Hello? I’m back.”

  She ducked beside a table where someone had fanned out all the magazines from the rack and stacked them together. Ginny from the front desk usually straightened up the reception area on her way out of the office. Sophia dropped the magazines into different slots on the wall rack and opened the door that led to the offices in the back.

  The quiet suddenly unnerved her. Hamid must’ve gone home. She stepped through the door and the toe of her shoe kicked something on the floor. She dropped her gaze and her eyebrows collided over her nose as she nudged the stapler with her foot. Licking her lips, she peered around the corner to the front desk area where Ginny ruled the roost during the day.

  Her heart slammed against her chest as she jumped back from the chaos that marred Ginny’s typically orderly work area. Someone had whipped open all the drawers, and the contents of those drawers had spilled over onto the floor. The overhead bins yawned open, discharging their contents in a humble-jumble mess.

  The hair on the back of her neck quivered, and she twisted her head over her shoulder, almost giving herself whiplash. Were the thieves still here? If they were looking for drugs, they could’ve targeted a better office.

  Swallowing hard, she took one step toward Dr. Fazal’s office and the exam rooms and paused with her head cocked to one side. Silence greeted her. They’d either left already or had heard her come in and were lying in wait, ready to pounce.

  Her gaze darted to the front door of the office, which had closed behind her. Her street sense told her the thieves had left the scene of the crime. Her street sense was also sending a shiver up her spine.

  She crept down the short hallway, trailing her fingers along the wall. She poked her head into exam room one, her jaw hardening. The intruders had rifled through this room, too…and the next.

  She continued her stealthy approach to Dr. Fazal’s office. He’d be devastated by the violence perpetrated against his practice. He’d come here to get away from the violence of his homeland.

  Holding her breath, she walked into his office. She released the breath with a sputter. Someone had ransacked the room. Papers were strewn all over, sofa cushions were pulled out and hastily stuffed back in place and the drawers of the credenza behind Dr. Fazal’s big desk stood open and half-empty.

  These people must be some stupid junkies to think they were going to find drugs in here—but then weren’t all junkies stupid? A heavy smell in the air made her shudder and close her eyes. Reaching for the phone, she stepped around his desk.

  She froze. Then she dropped to her knees beside Dr. Fazal crumpled on the carpet next to his chair.

  “Dr. Fazal! Hamid!” She curled her arm under his neck to raise his head and blood soaked the sleeve of her sweater. Blood—her subconscious had recognized the smell. One side of Hamid’s head had been blown away. She choked out a sob and her throat burned.

  The smell of gunpowder permeated the air. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? She sat back on her heels and another shock jolted her body—a gun lay next to Dr. Fazal’s hand.

  “No, no, no.” She shook her head. He never would’ve taken his own life. Why would he mess up his office first?

  She closed her eyes and dragged in a long breath. She didn’t like the police, didn’t trust the police, but right now she needed the police.

  * * *

  THE BOSTON PD COP, Officer Bailey, scratched his chin with the end of his pencil. “It looks like suicide, ma’am. There’s gunpowder residue on the doctor’s hand, the shot to the temple looks like it was done at close range.”

  “And the condition of the office?” Sophia brushed the hair out of her face with the back of her hand. “He ransacked his own office, ran back in here and shot himself because he couldn’t find a pencil? That’s ridiculous. And I already told the detective that his computer’s missing.”

  “Had you noticed a change in his demeanor lately? Depressed?”

  “He was…” She pressed her lips together. She didn’t want to betray Dr. Fazal, but she didn’t want to withhold any information that might help the investigation into his murder—because this was a murder. “He’d been agitated the past few days, distracted.”

  “Was anyone hanging around the office? Disgruntled patients? Problems with the wife?”

  “Dr. Fazal was a widower. I already told the detectives.”

  “You have my card, Ms. Grant. The detectives on the case will have more questions for you later.” He circled his finger around the reception area where he’d been questioning her. The coroner hadn’t removed Dr. Fazal’s body from the office yet. “We’ll finish up here and barricade it as a crime scene. Are you expecting patients tomorrow?”

  “It’s Saturday. No. But I’ll call Ginny Faraday, our receptionist, to let her know what happened. She can start calling our patients.”

  The cop tapped his notebook. “That’s the name and number you gave me earlier?”

  “That’s right.” She hugged the framed picture she’d taken off the floor next to Dr. Fazal’s body.

  Officer Bailey noticed the gesture and pointed to the picture. “What’s that?”

  She turned it around to face him. “I-it’s a picture of Dr. Fazal congratulating me on an award I won last year.”

  “Was it in his office?”

  “On the floor. He must’ve knocked it over when he fell.” She pressed it to her chest again as one tear rolled down her cheek.

  “Sorry for your loss, ma’am. You can take that with you.”

  Bailey asked her a few more questions, double-checked her contact info and asked her if she wanted an escort to her car.

  “I do, thanks.” The cops might think Dr. Fazal had committed suicide, but she knew his killers were on the loose out there somewhere.

  Bailey called over another officer on the scene. “Nolan, can you walk Ms. Grant down to her car in the parking structure?”

  “Absolutely. Lead the way.”

  Sophia took one last look at the office where she’d spent just about the happiest year of her life and sucked in her trembling bottom lip. Dr. Fazal hadn’t killed himself. He wouldn’t have left her like that—not like everyone else had.

  When Officer Nolan touched her back, she jumped and then barreled out the office door. A detective was questioning Norm by the elevator.

  Sophia stabbed the call button and then turned to Norm. “Did you tell the detective that you heard someone on the stairwell right before I came back, Norm?”

  “I sure did, Sophia.”

  “They think it was suicide.” She snorted. “No way. You should’ve seen the office.”

  “D-do you think that was the doc’s killer on the stairs?” Norm’s eyes bugged out.

  The detective questioning Norm raised his eyebrows at Officer Nolan. “I’d like to question the witness in private.”

  “Sure, sure.” Nolan’s face turned red up to his hairline and he prodded Sophia into the elevator when the doors opened.

  When she got inside, she slumped against the wall, folding her arms over the framed picture. “I just wanted to make sure Norm told the detective about hearing someone on the stairwell. That could’ve been the killer.”

  “You’re convinced Dr. Fazal didn’t kill himself?”

  “He wouldn’t do that.”

  To me, the voice inside her head screamed. He wouldn’t do that to me.

  She lifted her shoulders and dropped them. “Besides, why would he search his own office like that?”

  “Maybe he was looking for something, couldn’t find it and decided to end it all. Did you know he kept a gun in his office?”

  “Who said it was his gun? Maybe the killers shot him in the head and planted the gun in his hand.
”

  “I guess we’ll know more when the homicide detectives look into everything and we get the ballistics report and the autopsy.”

  The elevator reached level two of the parking garage and the doors opened on an empty aisle.

  Sophia grabbed the officer’s arm. “Wait a minute. When I was returning to the office, a car came careening around the corner, tires screeching and everything. Do you think it might be connected?”

  “What kind of car? Did you get a look at the driver?”

  “It was an old car, beat-up, midsize and dark. I didn’t see who was driving, but can you tell the detective?”

  “I’ll tell him and you can tell him yourself when you talk to him again. This lot is straight in-and-out, right? No attendant?”

  “If you’re a visitor, you take a ticket on your way in and pay at a machine before you leave. There should be some record around that time.” She slipped the photo into her purse.

  “I’ll pass it on. This your car?”

  It was the only car left in the aisle, maybe on the entire level.

  “This is it. Thanks.” She hit the key fob, and the officer waited until she got into the car. She waved at him in her rearview mirror as he stepped back into the elevator.

  Then she broke down.

  Her messy cry lasted a good five minutes. When she got it all out, she bent forward and reached into her glove compartment for some tissues.

  As she straightened up, she heard a whisper of movement behind her. Her eyes flew to the rearview mirror and she met the steady gaze of a man in her backseat.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Austin held his breath. He had to play this right or this emotionally overwrought woman just might go ballistic on him. And he’d deserve it.

  He held up both hands. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m a friend of Dr. Fazal’s, and I think I know what happened to him.”

  One of her hands was gripping the steering wheel and the other was covering the center where the horn was located. If she drew attention to them, to him, it would be all over.

  Her breath came out in short spurts and her gaze never left his in the mirror. “Do you have a gun on me?”

  He could tell her he did and she’d probably do whatever he asked, but he didn’t want to frighten her any more than he had—any more than she had been by tonight’s events.

  “I don’t have a gun on you. You can lay on that horn and I’ll hightail it out of your car, out of your life, but you may never know what happened to Hamid… And your own life may be in danger.”

  Her dark eyes, beautiful even with makeup smudged all around them, narrowed—not exactly the reaction he’d expected.

  She blew her nose with the tissue and tossed it on the floor of the car. Turning slightly in the driver’s seat, she asked, “If you know so much, how come you’re not up there right now talking to the Boston PD?”

  “For the same reason I didn’t come and knock on your front door or give you a call. I’m trying to keep a low profile—for reasons I may not be able to tell you.”

  “Because you killed him?”

  “I didn’t kill him, and I won’t harm you.”

  “How do I know that?”

  “You’re alive, aren’t you?” He relaxed in the backseat, his hands on his knees in full view. “You already know I’m no threat to you. You sense it. In fact, you’re a street-savvy woman, aren’t you, Sophia Grant?”

  She spun around to face him. “Who the hell are you? How do you know me? Dr. Fazal?”

  He splayed his fingers in front of him. “I’m going to reach into my front pocket.”

  Nodding, she curled her hands into fists as if ready to take him on.

  He slipped his military ID from his pocket and held it in front of her face. “That’s me. I’m US military, and I’m on an assignment.”

  She squinted at the laminated card and shifted her eyes to compare his face to the picture on the ID.

  He asked, “Can we go somewhere and talk? You might feel more comfortable in a public place.”

  “I might feel more comfortable if you sit in the front seat where I can see your hands.”

  He held up his hands again, pinching his ID between his fingers. “They’re right here. I’d rather stay in the back for now. I don’t want to be seen in your car in case…”

  “In case someone’s watching me, following me?” She started the car’s engine. “Why would someone be interested in me?”

  Why wouldn’t they be? Austin dragged his gaze from her luscious lips and met her eyes. “Because you worked with Dr. Fazal.”

  “It wasn’t suicide. He didn’t kill himself.” Her chin jutted forward as if daring him to disagree with her.

  “He may have killed himself, but only because he had no choice. The men after him would’ve killed him anyway—and probably after hours or days of torture.”

  She gasped and covered her mouth with one hand.

  A twinge of guilt needled his belly. He’d gone too far. Just because she hadn’t screamed and hit the horn or fainted didn’t mean she had a hard shell impervious to pain.

  “I’m sorry, and you’re right. Dr. Fazal was not suicidal, but I would like a better idea of what was going on with him. Can you help me out?”

  “I knew it.” She smacked the steering wheel. “Those idiots were trying to tell me he killed himself when the office had obviously been searched.”

  “Searched?” His pulse sped up. “Was anything taken?”

  “Just his computer as far as I could tell. The cops had me look around, but I was too rattled to see straight.” She put the car in Reverse and backed out of the space. “I know a place in Cambridge, not too far from here—dark, not too crowded, but crowded enough so that we won’t be noticed.”

  “Sounds good.” He ducked down and lay across the backseat. “I’m going to stay down. I want you to check your mirrors when you drive out of the parking structure to make sure you’re not being followed. Keep an eye out. Slow down and let cars pass you, take a few turns if you think someone’s tailing you.”

  “You’re not making me feel any better.”

  “You’ll be safe—with me.” The same couldn’t be said for Dr. Fazal, and Austin felt the failure of showing up too late to protect him gnaw at his gut.

  The tires squealed and the car bounced as she pulled out of the parking structure. Austin’s forehead hit the back of the driver’s seat. “Did you see someone?”

  “All clear so far. Why?”

  “You stepped on that gas like you had the devil himself on your tail.”

  “To get out of that parking structure, you gotta move or you’ll be waiting there all night.”

  Apparently, every intersection she blew through had the same problem as the car sped up, lurched around corners and jerked to a stop every once in a while. If Fazal’s killers didn’t end him, Sophia’s driving would.

  “No headlights behind you?”

  “Not for any length of time. Don’t worry. I got this. I’m no stranger to losing a tail.”

  “Should that concern me?”

  “It should make you happy. We’re almost there.”

  Rubbing his forehead, Austin sat up and peered out the window. They’d already crossed Longfellow Bridge and were speeding into Cambridge.

  A few minutes later, the car crawled along a street lined with bars and restaurants as Sophia searched for a parking space.

  He tapped on the window. “There’s a public lot with space.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m not paying twenty-four bucks to park my car.”

  “I’ll spring for the parking. We could be driving around here all night looking for a place.”

  “Your call, but it’s a rip-off.” She made an illegal U-turn in the middle of the street and swu
ng into the lot, buzzing down her window.

  He pulled a crumpled twenty and a five from his pocket and handed them to her.

  The attendant met the car. “That’s twenty-four dollars, please.”

  She gave him the money, and then pinched the one dollar bill he gave her between two fingers and held it over her shoulder. “Here you go.”

  When they got out of the car, Sophia crossed her arms, gripping her biceps and hunching her shoulders.

  “You don’t have a jacket? It’s cold out here for just a long-sleeved shirt.”

  “I had a sweater.” She slammed the car door and locked it. “It has Dr. Fazal’s blood all over it.”

  “I’m sorry. Take my jacket.” He shrugged out of his blue peacoat and draped it over her shoulders, his hands lingering for a few seconds.

  She hugged the coat around her body and sniffed. “Thanks.”

  They joined the Friday night crowd on the sidewalk—students, professors, young professionals, a few tourists. They could fit in with this bunch, even though Sophia still wore a dazed expression on her pale face.

  She led him to one of the many bars, crowded but not jammed, a duo at one end singing a folk song.

  “We can probably still get a booth, but we’ll have to order some bar food.”

  “That’s okay.” He tipped his chin toward a booth in the back of the long room that three people had just left. “There’s one.”

  He followed her as she wended her way through the tables scattered along the perimeter of the bar. Her black hair gleamed under the low lights, and he had a sudden urge to reach out and smooth his fingers along the silky strands. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead.

  A waitress swooped in just as they reached the table. “I’ll clear this up for you.”

  When the waitress finished clearing the glasses from the previous customers, Sophia slid onto the bench seat and he sat down across from her.

  Hunching forward, she buried her chin in her hand and the small diamond on the side of her nose sparkled. “Tell me who you are and what the hell is going on.”